The Orange Room

Perth: Sunny Side Up

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 03:30:00 +0000

Having read Ecky's post, I too have to reveal something that both mr.mck and I have found since the day we set our foot here in Perth. Everywhere we go, everybody who serves us, from the baker, the florist, the staffs at the shops and supermarkets, delivery people, guys at ticket box, the call centre staffs - basically, well, everybody! - is incredibly friendly.

I must say I find it extraordinary because having lived in UK and traveled a bit around Europe, smiles can be as rare as the sunshine. Some shops have friendly and helpful staffs, but the friendliness would stop at 'hello, how are you?' or several other bits of conversations. Most of of the time the staff would mutter a 'hiya' under his breath, followed by forced smile sometimes, before getting busy with the order. There is no necessity to engage a deeper conversation with the customers, unless asked. Both parties feel the need to rush out, to finish the buying-selling process, and to go back for being moody again.

In Indonesia, or Asia in general, on the other hand, the staffs constantly smile up to the point it is either scary or you'd think you have spinach in between your teeth and they try to tell you something. These are smiles without meaning: genuine, but don't reflect what they think or feel and the staffs don't engage in any conversation rather than answering the questions about the products they sell, and unfortunately many of them don't have vast knowledge about them, or have no idea how to handle customers. In many occasions customer would enter a shop to find staffs following them on every step and offering products they sell, or sitting down at the end of the room staring back at customers blankly and only move when someone ask for assistance.

Of course it is not always the case. There are places both in Europe and in Asia which have impeccable service. I recently flew with Garuda Indonesia and noticed the cabin crew and the ground staffs have new way of greetings, with both hands put in front of the chest, accompanied by smiles. Individual shops in Europe tend to be looked after by the owners who normally put extra effort to be friendly with their customers. Back in Aberdeen there was an electrician who spent 5 minutes checking up on our cables and another 45 minutes telling a story about his holiday in Thailand.

However, Perth is somewhat different. It feels like everybody is happy. Maybe it's the sun that shines all year around. Maybe it's the beautiful beaches and warm temperature. Maybe it's the ground, awful taste, tap water. I don't know.

Upon receiving my new ATM card two months a go, I had to call the bank to activate it. The guy on the phone was not just politely asked how I was, but he also chatted a little bit about - no, not about the weather like a standard conversation in Europe - but what brings me to Perth. He sounded interested in my answers, followed by enthusiastic questions about Scotland and Indonesia. All while typing all information I gave him, and suddenly the process was done. He thanked me and wished me good luck and hoped that I would enjoy Perth. I didn't want to end the conversation because I actually enjoyed it!

The lady at the telephone company where we signed our contract up was another example. Smile never leaves her face and she was sincerely passionate about everything. And it is not only that, she even left me her mobile number, which was totally unnecessary, so I could call her just in case something went terribly wrong. Her bright mood is contagious I always left the shop feeling happy. And it is more than enough to forgive her when she put the wrong date on the column of application that results in a delay in our cable installation, and when I have to go back again to the shop as she has forgotten to ask me to sign the bundle contract. In other words, I - the feisty, impatient girl who wants everything to be correctly done and it has to be done now - didn't mind at all, just because a friendly treatment.

Another girl at the furniture shop also was very helpful and friendly, she alone was responsible for our extra spending. We came just to have a look, and ended up having a huge bill. Staffs at some luxury shop - who are famous for being quite snotty - are also nice. I once ended up chatting with a sales person about his past jobs back in Europe and how we both enjoyed the city of Bath, something that would never happen, say, in London.

Even the bus driver is very friendly. On once occasion a driver stepped down to help a senior citizen finding the right bus to go home and to escort her back to the bus stop. In Aberdeen, on the other hand, a bus driver closed his door and drove off just because the queue was moving too slow!

Of course not all Perthians are happy and cheerful. There is always a person who think he or she is better than anyone else and treats others like dirt. There is always a person who think he or she is more important than others and has to get his or her way, no matter what. But so far our experience in Perth has been very positive. And hopefully it stays like this until the next 3 years.

Selling Ghosts and Other Bizarre Stuff on The Internet

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 03:20:00 +0000

A man in New Zealand is selling what he claims are two troublesome exorcised ghosts on an internet auction website. He claims the ghosts, one of an old man and the other a young girl, were removed from his house by a spiritualist and are now captured in vials of holy water. The seller, known only as Melvin S from Christchurch, says on the www.trademe.co.nz website that the spirits created havoc in his house before the exorcism, switching lights on and off, turning an electric kettle on, and terrifying the dog.

Of course, this is not the first time people try to sell wacky things on the internet. Webupon published an article titled This Is Not Right: The 10 Most Eccentric Items Ever Auctioned Online where it list down extremely strange objects sold by humankind on the internet, from... are you ready for this? ......... a man's soul, an imaginary girlfriend, a haunted rubber duck, until Justin Timberlake's french toast.

Wait, there's more.
Remember when Britney Spears had supposedly chewed and spat out a piece of bubble gum at the 2000 Wembley Arena concert? It was sold on ebay and the winning bid was $14,000. A tissue used by Scarlett Johansson has only been sold for $5,300 (£3,600) on auction website eBay. The actress was appearing on US talk show Tonight when host Jay Leno handed her a tissue after the star said she had caught a cold. Johansson blew her nose twice, leaving some lipstick and mucus behind, before putting it in a bag and signing it. Although proceeds from the sale are going to hunger charity USA Harvest, the charity of Scarlett Johansson's choice, I still couldn't fathom the fact that someone, somewhere, thinks it's worthy to have someone's snotty tissue, or chewed bubble gum, or half-eaten toast. What would they do with it? Frame it and hang it up on their living room wall?

In August 2008 Reuter reported that an Australian woman has taken revenge on her cheating husband by putting a photograph of his lover's underpants up for sale on the auction site eBay. In the listing the woman says she is selling a picture of a pair of lacy black knickers and an empty condom wrapper "size small" found in her bed after her husband had an affair with another woman. The seller -- identified on eBay only as annastella007 -- provides a rather unflattering description of the knickers: "They are so huge I thought they may make someone a nice shawl or, even better, something for Halloween perhaps".

If those are not interesting enough, how about buying the meaning of life? That’s right, folks. For $3.26 it’s all yours. The answers to everything you could ever ask. But if you live outside of the U.S., that’s just too bad because the seller would only ship within the U.S. The exact nature of this item was not given and the only picture was the rainbow.

If you ever feel lonely, you might want to buy a month of friendship, which thankfully includes two e-mails a week, phone calls and text messaging. It was auctioned on ebay and the final bid reached almost $2,000.

There's also a vampire killing kit, an UFO detector, and of course, several cheetos/doritos/toast that looks like Virgin Mary, Jesus, Pope, penis, a state of Illinois and so on auctioned on the internet (you can laugh all you want, but two sisters from Virginia found a cornflake that appeared to be the same shape of the state of Illinois and sold it for over $1,000!).

So, think hard and look at surround you. You might find something that bizarrely interesting enough to sell on the internet!

Not My Lucky Day

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 03:39:00 +0000

On one Sunday mr.mck and I decided to go for a brunch, and since the day before we had a quite successful experience with Boucla Cafe using the book "The Food Lovers' Guide To Perth" as our inspiration, we decided to check another spot listed in the book, and we decided this time to do it alphabetically. So we chose Aubergine Gourmet Foods as a start.

I was the designated driver, and for the first time in Australia we used and tested our tomtom, which just downloaded Australian map into its system. The cafe is located in Fremantle (or Freo, as the locals would call it) and everyone seems to like the area and always speaks about it with a great fondness. Since we had been to Cicerello's and had its fish & chips which tastes alright (no better than Aberdeen fish &chips!) and Little Creatures, which beer mr.mck really likes, we were looking forward to another culinary experience. When we arrived, Fremantle was buzzing. The streets were full of people. All the cafes and restaurants were all busy. I felt we made the right decision, as it seems everybody has chosen Freo for their Sunday brunch.

We passed the street where the cafe was supposed to be, and the tomtom lady has yelled, "You have arrived in your destination" several times. But since on-street parking is prohibited, I had to drive a bit further to park the car, and soon we secured a spot which wasn't far from our lunch destination. It didn't feel far indeed, but we got lost only after hundreds of metres. I tried to follow tomtom's direction - which made mr.mck stood a few feet away from me: men chose to get lost for hours than looking for a help! - but for some reason it took us round around in a big circle. Finally after several unnecessary Victory laps, we arrived in South Terrace, and started looking for this Aubergine Cafe. Every time we passed another cafe we got even more hungry looking at the meals presented on the patrons' tables, and were really looking forward to try the cafe's delicious menu.

But we couldn't find it! We walked back and forth several times but didn't see it. We consulted with tomtom which indicated it was still 2 km away from where we stood, which can't be right, because we had been back and forth South Terrace and still couldn't find the cafe. Mr.mck's iphone also said the same, although sometimes it put our current position in the middle of the sea. We got more hungry every minute and felt the unforgiving sunshine at the back of our head. After 30 minutes we gave up and chose another one that looks interesting, Madmonk. Their front outdoor terrace was full, and there were 2 big pans of paella being cooked and spreading flirty aroma. The inside part was also busy but we're lucky to get a table. The menu looks interesting, and mr.mck ordered flat bread, goat balls, and 6-hour cooked lamb. I ordered paella, of course. The flat bread and goat balls came first, and while I was nibbling mr.mck's food, I was more convinced that the paella would be really great, as everywhere I look everybody was eating the dish. Even all 6 people in the table in front of me had paella, nobody bothered to have anything else.

But after the bread and the goat balls were finished, my paella still hadn't turned up. We checked it with the waitstaff, who came back and said that the paella had gone and the chef was cooking a new batch, but it will be another 20 minutes to be ready. I was getting annoyed but even more determined to try it, so I said I'd wait. It must be really popular if it's gone quickly! Mr.mck's lamb came and I tried it a little, but I saved myself for the legendary paella.

The lamb, which was really, really good, was finished. 20 minutes had passed a long time a go. But my paella's whereabouts is still a mystery. It was 3 PM in the afternoon, and I had been waiting for over an hour. Dammit, I was hungry, fed up, annoyed, disappointed, but most of all, well, hungry!! We canceled the paella and paid our bill. The 2 big pans of paella were right in front of the cashier, and I was glad we decided to cancel the order, because they didn't look ready, even after 40 minutes. I was still hungry, but also lost my appetite altogether. I wanted to eat, but didn't know what I wanted. After walking with pouty lips, sulking, I decided to stop by at another cafe which displays pastries and ice creams and provides Italian coffee. The pastries look delicious, and the ice cream is home made so I was convinced all will taste good. I asked for one profiterole and another pastry, with a cup of cappuccino. We chose to seat outside, and I began to relax, knowing for sure that least my meal will come soon because it doesn't involve cooking at all!

An Italian man approached our table and gave me a cup filled with black water, so I looked at him and said that I ordered cappuccino. He repeated the order, "long black?" in a heavy Italian accent, but I shook my head and insisted I ordered cappuccino. He went to another table next to us, where the lady said she ordered "long mac" (I suspect it's macchiato? Why do Australians like to shorten everything, even though it doesn't take longer time to say it in full?), not black. They guy, defeated, went back to the kitchen.

I began to wonder if today wasn't my lucky day, as a simple order like cappuccino can go wrong. But when another man appeared with my profiterole, I was happy again. It didn't taste as good as I expected, nothing compares to Patisserie Valerie in London definitely, but since I was hungry, I devoured every single piece of it. However, half way on my attempt to finish the gigantic pastry, I found a fly, lifeless, with its legs sticking out in the air and its wings flat and limped, on the bottom of the plate!

Really, let's just go home, shall we? Before I find a dead cockroach on the bottom of my coffee. Please?

I was still traumatised and frustrated by the whole unfortunate experience in Fremantle, so at dinner time we rewarded ourselves with a bottle of Semillon Sauvignon Blanc (or SSB, naturally, since saying its full term is too tiring for Australians). I only had a glass and a half before we went upstairs to call mr.mck's friends and family in UK, but suddenly I felt so dizzy and nauseous and in a mere minute I found myself in a toilet with my head down. I am not sure what had happened, but I suspect the dead fly in the pastry was something that I could see, and who knows things that I couldn't see in it? Probably the alcohol has accelerated the effect. Whatever it was, it's not a pleasant experience at all.

I went to bed with stomach pain, severe nauseous and dizziness altogether. I couldn't move because my head was spinning, but I had to go back to toilet again when my stomach screamed, which caused another headache and dizziness. It went on forever until I was finally tired and fell asleep.

So much for quite Sunday brunch. So, Fremantle again? Hmmm... Maybe not now....

Little Something For Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 03:36:00 +0000

Recession? What recession?

Some people are literally showered with money, and if you and your mega-rich friends have an extra million or two to spend, British newspaper's The Sun's has some ideas about the most opulent and OTT presents for Christmas this year:

Iphone 3GS Supreme, contains 271g of 22-carat gold and almost 200 diamonds. The navigation button is from 7.1 carat rare diamonds. Only for £ 1.92 million. Contact stuarthughes.com to order.

Every lady needs a perfect handbag. This one is definitely going to guarantee the compliment from everyone. Made from pure platinum and set with over 2,000 diamonds, for only £1 million, it is cheaper than the above gold-diamond iphone

Looking for something practical? This is great gift idea for your loved one for only £65,000. This 2010 Jaguar XJL has massage seats, heating steering wheel (perfect for winter!), and voice activated heating control. No information about colour choices, but I am sure you could pick one.

Your girlfriend might appreciate this little bottle of perfume adorned with white diamonds. From clive.com, it's for £2,700. Such a bargain, especially if you need to buy 11 pressies for all of your girlfriends!

Read the complete story here.

Indonesian Expat is Finally Launched!

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 23:11:00 +0000

Click

http://indonesianexpat.com

to connect with other Indonesians around the world

Finally, after several months delay, we proudly announce the launch of Indonesian Expat site, which mission is to inspire your success living in a foreign country by providing you this website to share stories, network globally, and find the best resources which hopefully will help your journey overseas.

Mind you we are still in the soft launching phase, there are lots of to add, fix, repair, and change, so please bear with us. However please do not hesitate to contact me at finallywoken@finally-woken.com if you have any ideas, comments, suggestions, or complains.

Hope to see you there!

Gift Ideas for Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 15:58:00 +0000

Christmas is coming, and it means it's a gift time! I am sure most of us have been in and out shops to find out the perfect gifts for our loved ones, but usually, we either forget one important person, or the purple scarf we have bought for Mrs Boss suddenly look to cheap or you overheard her say she hates the colour. Or like my dear husband, you couldn't bear to go into overcrowded shop where the guests are elbowing you and the assistants pretend to be too busy to serve you.

With so little time and so much to do, especially in this chilly winter, online shopping comes to the rescue! But having to open the virtual world suddenly we are usually overwhelmed by so many websites offer so many things. Before we know it we'd spend hours on the net trying to find the best deal on perfume or Barbie doll.

That's why the website like Savebuckets and its extensive range of gift ideas is perfect for us. The site is a price comparison site which allows you to compare prices on a wide range of products through hundreds of different shops.

Check out its Christmas Gifts section, listing products from shops like House of Frasers and I Want One of Those. If you are looking for gift particularly for children, you could click here. Your girl deserves the best perfume so find the best one for her in the perfume section. You want to send a hamper for your boss? Savebuckets has food hamper section you could look into. Need a cool gadget like laptop for your men? Try to find it here. Or if you fancy an ipod touch (I know I do!), the website offers the product that starts from £221.70 to £409.00.

Isn't cool? It's like going from Harrods to House of Frasers to Harvey Nichols with your jammies and slippers, by sipping a big cup of coco! No snotty shop assistant, no rude customers, no frozen toes for standing too long outside the shop, and no wasted time to find perfect gifts!

Good luck!

Thinking About Career in Fashion Industry?

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 18:36:00 +0000

Since the first time I saw Rachel from Friends, I thought how cool it would be to be able to do my greatest hobby, which is shopping, for a living. Rachel's job as an assistant buyer (and briefly as personal shopper), shows the glam and luxury of working in the fashion industry. I also have a friend who works as a fashion stylist, and I remember how jealous I was every time I saw her with the latest skirt, bags, and shoes, immaculate dress and incredible make-up.

Just like in any other industry, there are many things people could do in fashion industry. If you're in the production, you could be Fashion Designer (the next Coco Chanel or Yves Saint Laurent?), Accessory Designer, Fashion Merchandiser, Fashion Sales Rep, Showroom Sales Rep, Product Manager, Clothing Patternmaker, or Pattern Grader.

In the media and promotion side, you could be Fashion Writer (remember The Devil Wears Prada book and movie?), Fashion Stylist, Fashion PR Specialist, Fashion Editor, Fashion Illustrator, Graphic Designer, or Fashion Photographer (like the legendary Annie Leibovitz. Imagine you spend all day taking picture of beautiful people!).

There are many other careers available in fashion industry. In marketing and merchandising, you could be Fashion Buyer (yes, like Rachel!) Fashion Coordinator, Retail Merchandiser, Visual Merchandiser, Retail Store Manager, or even Boutique Owner. And of course, don't forget Costume Designer, Personal Stylist (ever heard the name Rachel Zoe? She is the legend behind Cameron Diaz and many other celebrities' funky style) and last but not least, Model (Heidi Klum, Kate Moss, Gisele Bundchen to name a few).

I can't turn back the time and become a college student again. But you might!

Whether you are interested in fashion design, fashion merchandising, or the business side of fashion, there are many degrees that provide the building blocks you need to succeed in your career. You could learn about the numerous fashion degree programs available in Fashion Schools. The site research fashion careers, schools and trends to help you get connected to the resources that you need to start or continue an exciting career in the fashion industry.

Isn't it cool? Click Fashion Schools to find more!

The End of An Era (?)

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Fri, 28 Nov 2008 01:02:00 +0000

It's official.

Bugils Jakarta (I can never know the right spell. Is it Bugil's or Bugils? BuGils or BuGil's?) will hold their very last party in December 13th. We have heard the rumour about Bugils closing down forever, but this time it is for real. It should be official, because the bar throws the countdown parties, starts from Monday, December 8th, and ends on Saturday, December 13th.

It's a goodbye, big goodbye to its loyal customers who have survived together with the legendary bar during raids, floods, ghosts, deaths, smelly socks, drunken customers, crazy barmaids, and God knows what else. A friend told me that she is planning to fly to Jakarta to attend the party. Another will fly from Hong Kong. I am sure the original shareholders, who are as mysterious as the myth of a beer glass put every night to feed the ghost, will turn up too. I am sure Bart will try to push the sale of 'Barack Bites' stroopwafels, the same stroopwafels which have been around for at least a couple of years before reemerging with a new name. The book, Bule Gila: Tales of A Dutch Barman, certainly will be there too. I don't know if the second book will ever come out, since Bart has been busy with his new celebrity status, being interviewed by CNN and such, and embracing the holy mission of conquer the world with his Aaltje Bakery's stroopwafel.

Every year, every body tries to beat the record of staying, standing, and surviving at the party. I heard the record is from two PM until five AM, 15 hours, held by none other than Lens, the man behind Eastern Promise's phenomenal success. That's a lot of beer. Every year, and just for once a year and only in that particular party, the bar will suddenly be flooded by young, gorgeous, broke, tan, fit blokes, outnumbering sleazy, aging, pot-belly men. They look too young to drink (but who cares and is there such rule in Indonesia?), perhaps make a detour from their international schools, and definitely come for free beer. It is refreshing. Every year, everybody suddenly becomes friends with real friends, ex-friends, enemies, frenemies, ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, ex-fiances, ex-wives, ex-husbands, their new partners, their ex-partners; basically the entire romance history suddenly will flash before your very eyes and there's nothing you can do except to nod and smile, keep a poker face and jot down a mental note that A is now seeing B, C just broke up with D, E is pregnant by F, and G is gay.

I wish I could be there to say goodbye to the bar personally. The last time I attended the party was in 2007 and as far as I remember, and judging from the immortalised moment on the right, it was a blast.

But I know Bugil's Jakarta would not be easily defeated. So wait for another year or two, and Bugil's Jakarta part two, will re-emerge somewhere. Just like Bart's stroopwafel!

Something Scottish For Today

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 17:44:00 +0000

You might not realise that Donald Trump is half Scottish. But it is the only reason why he insists on building the golf resort in Scotland, surrounding his mansion (which is called 'The Donald' by his ex wife Ivanka) in Balmedie, north of Aberdeen. Trump was reportedly considered more than 200 sites in Europe before opted Scotland. The plan was rejected by the local council last year, but the central government decided to take over the matter and...

After over two years of legal battling with local and national officials in Scotland, Trump International Golf Link has finally received the green light. The proposed £1 billion resort will be the biggest in Europe, as along with the two links golf courses, it will feature a clubhouse, a golf academy, a five-star 450-bedroom hotel and spa on site, 960 holiday homes, and 500 private houses.

The new Star Trek film is infuriating its Scottish fans, apparently, because chief engineer Montgomery “Scotty”, played by actor Simon Pegg, has unconvincing Scottish accent. But this is not the first time an attempt by a non-Scot to do Scottish accents provoke controversy. The Sunday Times (Nov 23/08) made a list of actors who tried and failed successfully, like Mel Gibson, who was said to "had eaten something that didn't agree wit him judging by this pained, vowel crushing performance" in the famous Braveheart (1995) movie, and Christopher Lambert, who in Highlander (1986) sounded more "Gallic than Gaelic".

Although I wasn't equipped with Scottish accent, I have survived last Saturday's snowy St. Andrew's ball, despite wearing strappy stilettos. My bare feet and toes were frozen, sunk in the snow when I was walking from the front door to the taxi and from the taxi to the reception hall. I didn't wear tights or thermal underwear underneath my gown - couldn't take risk of flashing uninteresting sight when dancing and accidentally lifting the skirt up - and the photographer who stopped us by the door insisted on taking our picture under the snowflakes without my coat on. Stuart was on kilt so he was securely protected from head to toe; I consider myself lucky I don't catch pneumonia. I didn't know that the cloak room was actually a room (I thought it was a tiny closet like in the movies) and other ladies smartly wore wellies and changed into their jeweled shoes when they were in the ballroom, put the wellies in in the cloak room, and changed their stilettos back into their sensible wellies when they were about to go home. The Indonesian St. Andrew's Ball will be held in Jakarta this coming weekend. It is so much easier as you don't need to coordinate your gown with coat scarf and a pair of gloves and Ugg boots and dancing shoes! If you are interested you should click here.

The band at the ball is Red Hot Chili Piper and everybody loved them. The band members either has red hair, red socks, or red glasses. I have never seen bagpipers who play AC/DC and Queen before and these guys make bagpipes and bagpipers look so cool.

I am off to Edinburgh this weekend and going to try the ghost tour where it will "take a light-hearted look at Edinburgh's dark side, including tales of witchcraft, plague and torture. You will explore the eerie alleyways and creepy courtyards of the Old Town with your ghostly guide, who will blend history with humour and facts with fables, while 'jumper-ooters' provide guaranteed ghastly appearances". I just hope this weekend wouldn't be freezing, snowy, and windy, otherwise I'd be seeing real ghosts. I wonder why Indonesia doesn't organise such tour. We have so many ghosts like 'si Manis jembatan Ancol' and pretty much every single item surround us has a history and its ghost. Might as well make money out of it!

And The Music Takes It All

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 17:46:00 +0000

It's been a painful week, basically: mentally, physically, spiritually. Practically avoided 3 dimensional human being and ignored phone calls and texts and only did a one way communication through faceboook, which isn't really communication but over-sharing tool. Funny that we could decide not to tell anything while at the same time reveal everything. Decided to go all the way with plurk, twitter, and ping. Maybe I will follow Tree's step to create a porn-self. It was fun for a while.

Life goes on and it was decided on Wednesday although it will take forever to heal the wound. Funny that something that is not even real can mean so much more than anything in the world. The world stopped spinning and the heart stopped beating and for a while the room seemed much smaller than before. Didn't even know how to start but the grief forced to be noticed so nothing else to do but curled up and embraced it.

For no reason jumped into a mission of finding a song which tune has been bugging for days. Remember the video clip but never paid attention to it since it was lame but tonight it was a holy search. Video clip memory didn't help because still needs band and title, or at least some part of lyrics. Google still cannot find things by humming, have made a note to self to send a suggestion so they could develop some tool to hear, not just to read.

So tried to type 'one hit wonder' and after hours found that the bug was East 17's Stay Another Day. Very ironic because whatever that was it decided to not stay for another minute and said goodbye early this week. Bah.

After a bottle of wine and hundreds of calories, The Killers asked if we are human or dancers and for a second I thought the were asking about me. I wondered if Chris Martin ever takes a shower because he always seems to overdue in hygiene department although it doesn't stop Gwyneth Paltrow and other millions of fans to adore him. I'm lost in Lost! (don't forget the exclamation point) together with Jay-Z. Suddenly remember the very first crush was George Michael when the picture of him in white underpants in the shower graced "Hai" magazine about 20 years a go. Him, and Bon Jovi, of course. All loooked so well groomed. Not like Chris Martin. Does being enviromentally friendly mean to grow 5-o'clock shadow to be 5-weeks old shadow?

Sick of Katy Perry's I Kissed The Girl tune, because, honestly who hasn't? But only her who boasts to the entire world about it and now it is a big deal again. Funny that Beyonce thought to undergo a sex change operation because she wondered if she was a a boy. Maybe she wanted to kiss Katy Perry. The Script's Breakeven and Take That's Greatest Day were in every channel and I couldn't tell the difference. The first thought by wearing leather jacket and real mic means they're more tough. I enjoy the songs though. Rihanna thought I should live my life and Kanye West instructed to keep the love locked down, but he's always in holier-than-thou mode and no one dares to tell him that his glasses are so ugly. I don't understand why Kanye is such a big hit even himself thought he wasn't worthy to receive the MTV award and said Lil Wayne was better. But that before he punched some paparazzi.

St. Andrew's Ball will be a good thing because it pushes nice dress to be out of closet and mindset to be at anything but that. Maybe there will be panic at the disco. It's almost 4 AM and I should get some rest and try to look good tomorrow tonight.

Update November 22:

Forgot to mention the most anticipated Guns N' Roses' new album: Chinese Democracy, which is already banned in China. One newspaper gave 2.5 (out of 5, I guess) for the album, but I think after 17 years there is too much expectation on Axl. The fact that it is just him without Duff, Izzy and Slash slips from everybody's mind. It's Axl and the band, not Guns N' Roses. It's not the same. But it would be a great choice for Christmas gift though. That, and a Prada bag.

Another Reason To Drink And Be Merry

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 17:50:00 +0000

Cazbar is celebrating its anniversary, and I am proud to announce to the world, that the bar, which name was formed during a weekend away at one of the shareholders' house through some quiz (the one who came up with the name that would be used for the bar will get free beer and {updated Nov 21} the stool with his/her name), is already 3 years old, and they will share the joy and happiness by throwing a fab party with free beer and entertainment for the whole night.

I like Caz not because I have to, but because the place is friendly for female patron who comes alone. The staffs are friendly and call you by your name, and the place provides free wi-fi too. I feel secure there and could hang around for hours with my macbook and glasses of wine or cappuccino without being interrupted or disturbed by sleazy old men like in most bars. I spent many times having work lunch at Caz since my L'Oreal office was only stones away, mostly with Tamara or Rocky. I occasionally took my staffs for afternoon coffee (disguised as 'meetings'), and spent Saturday mornings with late breakfast and The Guardian papers. Friday lunches were sometimes with GG and he would be having fun guessing what I would have for the day. Most of the times he was right as I often went for lamb chop (still do), although apparently my choice of meal was criticised by an Indonesian blogger -- who thought I trespass the international luncheon code of ethics because lamb chop should only be served as dinner -- which is funny since the said blogger a) definitely isn't a chef, has a zero knowledge of how to build up a menu for international guests or how to run a restaurant or pub; b) has never set foot at Cazbar, let alone tasted its food, yet found a liberty to criticise its menu. Rocky the chef would be delighted; c) as an Indonesian, should be familiar with full meal breakfast concept like fried rice, satay, or soto and even can have them at 2AM off of street stalls and yet thought that having red meat at lunch time is wrong and d) urged me to stick with vegetable instead, which is the most bizarre advice I have ever got in my life, especially since the said blogger isn't my dietitian, personal trainer, doctor, spouse, even friend.

Cazbar was also a choice of venue to meet other bloggers offline. I met Therry there for the first time, and then met Therry, Elyani and Ecky there too. If I didn't have to have Sunday brunch at 4 Seasons, I would have met Toni and Elyani at Cazbar too! One of Caz's best thing (apart from lamb chop, obviously) is their Caswell coffee. It tastes much better than coffee from other franchise stalls, and although a cup of cappuccino can contain hundreds of calories, I keep ordering it after meal (now that is something that actually the said blogger should criticise, as Italians only have cappuccino in the morning and never have it after meal and have espresso instead).

This Saturday, I would be dancing at St. Andrew's Ball, 12 thousand km away, but in my heart I am dancing for Cazbar.

Happy anniversary, Caz!

Thinking About Buying Burberry?

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 17:52:00 +0000

I have been thinking hard to write something that is mentally, morally, or spiritually challenged, but world peace articles wouldn't attract visitors as much as boobs threads (and those who know me know that I'm an attention and traffic seeker), and as an architect-slash-project manager I don't think I am capable to adopt a patronizing attitude and lecture others about poverty or politics. Plus I'm too shallow and I think talking about fashion would be much more fun!

I know that most girls in Indonesia are brand-crazy. And just like Louis Vuitton and Gucci, some girls are very into Burberry, although not as crazy as Japanese an Korean (A recent survey conducted by MyVoice into high-class brand found that Burberry was also the most owned high-class brand in Japan). The famous English brand, which was founded in 1856, has a distinctive plaid pattern that has become one of its most widely copied trademarks. Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles have granted the company Royal Warrants (which means the royal family has been loyally shopping there).

Sadly though, and this is something that customers outside UK do not know, during the 1970s, the brand became popular with the British football casual cult, leading to it to being associated with chavs , hooligans and members of football firms by the 1990s. The brand became a national joke, particularly when actress Danniella Westbrook was photographed with her young daughter wearing matching Burberry (picture on the left courtesy of The Sun). In 2005, the BBC reported that "pubs and clubs across the country began to ban customers who dressed in the label".

Burberry has certainly been damaged by its walk on the "chav" side. So they have tried to repair the damage by removing checked baseball caps from sale and reduced the visibility of their distinctive pattern. However, the British market represents only a small part of total sales. And when Angela Ahrendts took over the company as the CEO, the brand which almost become a laughing stock in their own backyard has made a dramatic turnaround, claiming the success of the sale of £450 wellies, an £11,000 alligator skin handbag and a £3,000 chevron coat worn by Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex and the City - the Movie. At a time when less-glamorous high street rivals are laying off staff, Burberry said it had sold “several hundreds” of its £11,000 Warrior handbag since January. Sales of men's coats in Britain have been “sensational”, while shoe sales have more than doubled, led by a wellington boot showcased on the catwalk at fashion shows last autumn. Pre-tax profits in the past year are up by 14 per cent to £206 million on sales of almost £1 billion. (burberry car picture is borrowed from here).

However, generally people in UK avoid to buy Burberry's classic pattern and go for something more subtle. Only those outside UK are after its distinctive pattern which can be found everywhere from sunglasses to key ring. So next time if you're thinking about buying something from Burberry, don't go for something like this...

Or this.... (picture courtesy of BBC).

Or this (unless you're baby Suri Cruise)....

And definitely don't go for something like like this! (I mean, wearing tights or leggings is already bad enough but this is sooo wrong in so many levels! Picture borrowed from here).

Instead, opt for something like this:

The most famous Burberry product is trench coat. It was invented by Thomas Burberry who submitted a design for an army officer's raincoat in 1901. I always thought Burberry has only one model of their classic trench coat, but apparently there are many! (Click here to find out more). You wouldn't know it's from Burberry unless you stand close enough to read the label engraved on each button.

But since Indonesia is a tropical country, wearing trench coat will be considered strange, although I am sure there people who are brave enough to embrace the trend without thinking about the appropriate climate. So maybe something like this?

Let's Talk About Breasts... Again

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 18:01:00 +0000

Following Tree and my late night chat we came up with boobs post which inspired Tree to tag others (see Tree's extensive list of 'infected bloggers' here) as part of his world domination plan. Those who were tagged cannot help but post something about boobs. Those who weren't tagged silently took part anyway - too shy to announce their participation but maybe secretly hoping to be noticed by us, I don't know - and before we knew it the boob post became a hit in Indonesian blogosphere.

I have done mine which basically reveals that women are fascinated by our - and other women's - breasts. But if only guys knew how far women would go to maximize their assets, they won't just believe what they 'see' until they see and feel them up close and personal!

Women are equipped with many tools which help us to support our breasts. Small cup? Get a padded bra. Sagging boobs? Get a lifter. No cleavage? Get a push-up. Revealing dress? Get invisible bra.

If only men knew...

Bra

clipped from www.ebrasetc.com

In 1863, Luman L Chapman patented a corset substitute with breast puffs and shoulder-brace straps that tied in back. The first bra was born. Then in 1893, Marie Tucek patented the "Breast Supporter" - the first garment similar to the modern-day bra that used shoulder straps with a hook-and-eye closure to support the breasts in pockets of fabric.

In 1904, the Charles R. DeBevoise Company first labeled a woman's bra-like garment a 'brassiere'. It was a actually a lightly boned camisole that helped stabilize the breasts

1863

1904 Brassiere

By 1907, the term "brassiere" began to show up in high profile women's magazines and eventually, around 1912, it appeared in the Oxford English Dictionary.

Now bra comes in different shape, color, style, and most importantly, function. There are push-up, demi-cup, full-cup, racerback, low back, strapless, wireless, backless, seamless, and many more (guys, now you understand why women need big closet!). There are bras designed for supersmall to superbig cup (brand like Bravissimo, for example, specialised in cup D to K women). There are bras specially fo teenagers (those in Indonesia called miniset), for maternity and nursing, for sport, and of course, for nothing but enticing men.

Almost 8 out of 10 women, however, wear the wrong size bra. I've got a friend who thought she was a C cup whilst I know for sure that she is much bigger than that, she could easily be DD or even E! Click here to find out more about how to find the correct and perfect bra.

Silicone Bra

Not really ordinary bra like we normally know because it is made of silicone. This revolutionary, self-adhesive, silicone bra that looks, feels and bounces like real breasts is backless and strapless, making it invisible under clothing. Many but not all brands have this. Those who look for breast support that will remain invisible when worn with a special dress that has a low back, or wide off set shoulders, or is cut to reveal far more underarm and shoulder than the everyday bra can accommodate without revealing unsightly straps, usually go for this type.

Personally I don't recommend this silicone bra unless you go to an air-conditioned event where you just sit nicely and clap, like Oscar or gala dinner. If you go to somewhere warm and dance away, it will peel off! I had my almost-embarrassed incident when I was out in Jakarta. It was hot at the dance floor and I was sweaty, dancing with a very gorgeous guy when suddenly I felt my 'bra' was peeling off of my breasts. I quickly ducked away, hands on chest, flew to toilet, leaving the guy stunned and puzzled why I suddenly left him. I managed to reach the toilet safely to take them off, but since I only carried one of those tiny clutches which held nothing but keys and mobile phone, I had to tuck my precious silicone cups in.... the back pocket of my jeans - and voila, I had a J-Lo bump! I was lucky though, I can't imagine what I would have said if the thing slid away from my top and fell on the floor! (Picture borrowed from Frederick's of Hollywood).

Nipple Cover

Much safer than silicone bra, but doesn't give any support to breasts - so it is only recommended to those who are brave enough to go commando and have a good shape pair of breasts! It is the answer of many my halter neck-plunging neckline dress. The only downside is when you get home and face your man who will see those tapes and will shriek in horror: "What the hell is that??"

Those who think the picture above is boring probably could try something else like different model and color, like this picture on the left (borrowed from here).

Enhancer

There are many types of enhancer. There is gel inserts which will boosting up cup size (say from AA to DD) like picture on the right (stolen from here). These gel inserts are commonly known as 'chicken fillet' because they look, shape, and feel like... chicken fillet. Their jobs are similar to padded bras.

And there is what they call "adhesive cleavage push-up" which job is to create cleavage under the barest strapless and low plunge styles, like picture on the left (again, borrowed from Frederick's of Hollywood).

Last but not least, I just found out what I myself call 'boobs lifter' which will help those sad sagging boobs back to their perky form. You have to heck on this video to find out more about how it works, it's amazing! Personally I won't need it just now, but who knows, in 20 years....

Just like what I said earlier, you cannot believe what you see until you see and feel them up close and personal. With all above tools to help women to achieve their perfect breasts form, there's nothing you can do except embracing your luck, like lucky dip. Even celebrities cheat and the image that you see and visualize in your head is not always real! Look at this stunning Tyra Banks picture and see what her real breasts look like...

Facebook Phone

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 18:04:00 +0000

For those Facebook fans, you might want this for your Christmas!

clipped from www.guardian.co.uk

INQ1 - 3's 'Facebook phone'

Mobile phone company 3 is hoping to capitalise on the success of Facebook with the release of a new handset in time for Christmas that integrates the social networking site with all the traditional functions of a mobile phone, such as contacts book and message inbox.

The INQ1 - pronounced "ink one" - is likely to be dubbed "the Facebook phone" as it puts users in touch with their social networking circle at the touch of a button. The phone, unveiled today and available in the UK, Australia and Hong Kong from next month, is aimed squarely at users who find "smartphones" such as the iPhone, Blackberry Storm and G1 too expensive, but still want to use social networking, e-mail and instant messaging as well as surf the mobile web.

Mackintosh Is NOT Apple

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sat, 08 Nov 2008 18:07:00 +0000

Whenever you hear about Mac(k)intosh, you instantly think about personal computer or notebook designed, developed, and marketed by Apple Inc. But it is Macintosh - without K.

I am talking about Mackintosh. Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

Those who are in architecture or product design, or have a slight interest in interior design, or maybe just chair in particular, probably are familiar with the name.

Charles Rennie Mackintosh was a Scottish architect, designer, and watercolourist. He was a designer in the Arts and Crafts movement and also the main exponent of Art Nouveau in the United Kingdom. Born in Glasgow on 7 June 1868, his designs were influenced by Asian (particularly Japanese) style and modernist ideas. Mackintosh became known as the pioneer of the modernism, although his designs were far removed from the bleak utilitarianism of Modernism.

In 1884 he began an apprenticeship with John Hutchinson and began attending evening classes at the Glasgow School of Art. In 1889 he became an architectural assistant with Honeyman & Keppie. He also enrolled at the Glasgow School of Art. In 1890 he won a traveling scholarship and toured Italy before settling down into practice.

While enrolled at the Glasgow School of Art, Mackintosh developed an artistic relationship with Margaret MacDonald, Frances Macdonald and Herbert McNair. Known as "The Four", they exhibited posters, furnishings, and a variety of graphic designs in Glasgow, London, Vienna and Turin. These exhibitions helped establish Mackintosh's reputation.

Mackintosh developed his own style: a contrast between strong right angles and floral-inspired decorative motifs with subtle curves, e.g. the Mackintosh Rose motif, along with some references to traditional Scottish architecture.The project that helped make his international reputation was the Glasgow School of Art (1897-1909). During the early stages of the Glasgow School of Art Mackintosh also completed the Queen’s Cross Church project in Maryhill, Glasgow. This is considered to be one of Charles Rennie Mackintosh most mysterious projects. It is the only church by the Glasgow born artist to be built and is now the Charles Rennie Mackintosh Society headquarters.

Mackintosh's designs gained in popularity in the decades following his death. His House for an Art Lover was finally built in Glasgow's Bellahouston Park in 1996, and the University of Glasgow (which owns the majority of his watercolour work) rebuilt a terraced house Mackintosh had designed, and furnished it with his and Margaret's work (it is part of the University's Hunterian Museum). The Glasgow School of Art building (now renamed "The Mackintosh Building") is regularly cited by architectural critics as among the very finest buildings in the UK. The Charles Rennie Mackintosh Society tries to encourage a greater awareness of the work of Mackintosh as an important architect, artist and designer.

With a design philosophy solidly rooted in Scottish tradition, Mackintosh disregarded the architecture of Greece and Rome as unsuitable for the climate or needs Scotland. He believed that a revival of the Scottish Baronial style, adapted to modern society would meet contemporary needs. His buildings clearly demonstrate this belief. (Summarised and quoted from Wikipedia and GreatBuildings).

People are familiar with what nowadays called "Mackintosh chair" like those in the right pictures (click here to see his furniture design). There's a tea room in Glasgow called The Willow Tea Room - designed by Mackintosh entirely, and displays his famous chair - which I hope to visit this weekend. Mackintosh also designed other furniture like book case and cabinet. And all over the world we could buy accessories which are based on Mackintosh design, like bookmark, compact mirror, frame, tea towel, and so on.

For more information about Mackintosh and his works, click here:

Charles R Mackintosh Society

The Mackintosh House

Bart and "Sweet Home Obama" Go International

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 18:08:00 +0000

Bartele Santema is in his element. I can imagine him sitting down in a dressing room, powdered-face, maybe a little bit of lip gloss and mascara to enhance his features, a stack of stroopwafels on the table, a glass of beer in one hand, practicing his lines, trying to remember all of his six bars he has to name in front of the interviewer from Al-Jazeera, CNN and all other newspapers desperately trying to write something different about Barack Obama.

I dare to say that Bartele Santema is a friend. Well, he must be. He announced that Stuart and I were getting married in Bugil's newsletter even before I told my boss about it (and in his usual manner, managed to take credit from it). He was not just invited to our small wedding party last August in Bali, Bugil's Bali had its first job that Saturday. And he has constantly been seen in many of my pictures (like the one on the right, circa 2006, when everybody was skinnier, healthier, and much younger). The last picture probably was Sunday Brunch at 4 Seasons Hotel a few days before we left back to Aberdeen. It was the day after our friends' wedding, and the first time I met Elyani and Toni for coffee.

About 3 PM, when we were finished our brunch, I moved to Elyani and Toni's table for coffee. But my Sunday Brunch group wasn't happy because Bart had escaped from 'jumping into the pool' thing the night before (during the wedding, most people jumped into the pool and sang along with the band on AC/DC and Rolling Stones' songs, and Bart quietly sneaked out) and planned to throw Bart into 4 Seasons' swimming pool. Poor Elyani and Toni, who just got to know me, were crowded by about 15 people who suddenly went to our table and demanded me to introduce each of them to my blogbuddies. Both Elyani and Toni quickly learned that it was just a plot to get out of the dining room, to get to near the pool, and throw Bart into it. We pretended to take a group picture by the pool. Toni was kind enough to do it for us (he must be thinking what a bunch of noisy childish people!). Bart certainly was suspicious about the whole thing and hid behind everybody. When the camera clicked, everybody turned to Bart and tried to grab him. Almost 15 men against 1 and we did not succeed. He walked away. Dry and safe.

That's the kind of man Bart is. His instinct to pick up on suspicious thing. And his radar to smell where the money blows. Bart is the sort of man who is sitting next to you at the bar and shooting hundreds of ideas non-stop, you need a whole notepad just to keep up. But he also shoots them half-heartedly, his eyes keep checking on the bar staffs and patrons, and his hands are busy lifting the beer glass and typing at the same time, you don't know whether he's taking the piss or being serious. By eleven we'd hear him playing guitar and sing "Josephine". By two in the morning it's usually B52 time for everybody, and we'd forget most of his brilliant ideas.

He started the hunt of Obama's former residence in Menteng Jakarta when Obama was racing against Hillary Clinton. Most of you might have known that Obama spent his childhood in Jakarta when his mother married to an Indonesian. And most of you probably know that Indonesians are so delighted that a presidential nominee in the 2008 United States presidential election has a teeny tiny sentimental connection with Indonesia. People think Bart was just having fun, that it's just another silly idea. Nobody took it seriously when he wrote about "Sweet Home Obama" back in February. But he has been persistently following every possible trace (just like he managed to visit a village in East Java and proved its link to Scotland). Moreover, he has been persistently pestering the owner of Obama's former residence. And now, with the prospect of having Obama to make a significant mark in American political history, everybody wants a piece of Bart, just like the headline of Bugil's Newsletter: Bar Owner Makes Headline Worldwide; CNN, The Wallstreet Journal, some Dutch newspapers and Indonesian Newspapers, all mentioned his name. Not bad for a Frisian barman, eh?

His idea is to rent the smaller pavilion of the small colonial-style house Barack Obama lived in as a child to open the "Sweet Home Obama Bar" - a cafe that would feature an "Obama-blend coffee," a mix of beans from Kenya and Java. Bart also would serve stroopwafels, the home-made caramel waffles that are also sold in Starbucks Indonesia (yes, those are Bart's), Cazbar, Eastern Promise, and the other bars.

Bart just announced that he has just purchased an original Obama sofa. I don't know what he means by "Obama sofa", but I suspect it's the sofa that Obama family owned once back in the seventies (I wouldn't want to image the condition of it, hopefully the current owner takes good care of it, otherwise imagine all the dust, the smell and the living creatures inside it). I would imagine he will make the sofa as the centerpiece of the bar, probably with the sign "Obama sat here".

I admire his persistence. His crazy idea. And his way of finding to turn his crazy idea into a real business. I mean, if this is the guy who baked his first batch of stroopwafels in our apartment's microwave (and had us as testers - thank God we're still alive to tell this story) and now could sell them to Starbucks all over Indonesia, even if Obama doesn't win, the Sweet Home Obama could be a potential money maker. Just like Kopi Annan....

On Pornography Law

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 17:10:00 +0000

The new fireplace was just installed and I've been playing with the fire since. The flame is bright orange inside the stainless steel frame, makes the room warm and cozy. It's wild outside, the trees are dancing and the leaves are struggling to glue themselves to the branches. It is only 13 degrees but everybody is grumpy and feeling cold and longing for the sun. The clock will change this weekend and the darkness will fall sooner and longer.

Winter is coming.

But I'm still brave enough to wear my open-toes sandals. Anja looked at my feet today and asked if I wasn't feeling cold. She's Dutch and sensible. I am stupid and would sacrifice my toes in the name of fashion.

It's my last day meeting my girlfriends because I have to catch an early flight tomorrow for a weekend with the other ladies, parties, gossiping, shopping, talking about boobs, and stuff. Tree would have liked it (he starts the new trend, now everybody blogs about boobs now).

I can't remember if the pornography laws bans us from talking, writing or even thinking about boobs. I just had a glass of white wine and am not caring about anything but my new fireplace and frozen toes. Rob has a nice picture of Davina in bikini whilst talking about pornography laws and got lots of comments consequently. I wonder if I would get the same buzz if I put the picture of half naked George Clooney up.

Everywhere I turn, most people don't agree with the law. So I was surprised to receive an email asking for participation to support it. It even asked me and the other readers to sign the petition. And told us that all along we are too stupid to understand the reason behind it, and gave a lengthy explanation about what it means. I cannot resist the temptation to send a reply and change the title from 'support' to 'reject' and gave a link to The Jakarta Post. I sat back and waited for the kettle to whistle for another cup of coffee. Soon enough a new email came, saying that - more or less - "everything that we fight for will be judged by God Almighty; should there be any perplexity we shall surrender the matter back to God through prayer, and the truth is inside our heart".

Booby hell.

I don't see the connection between God and the pornography laws. Except those who are smart enough to produce such bills are those who are playing God and most likely the ones who, morally, need to be examined. See the problem is, those who sit in the parliament are such dirty bastards they think everybody is like them, making amateur sex video or asking for female companies on every transaction (I have heard so many stories about this and it becomes a common practice everywhere up to the sickening degree). There are many more urgent and serious matters to be taken care of. But talking about bikinis and fondling boobies of course are much more interesting and sexy rather than thinking how to adjust the oil price.

I might have to burn all my bikinis. Can't wear them in London. Can't wear them in Bali next January. Maybe we'd just stop in Singapore as you can turn up with hot pants or ball gown and no one cares. I don't know if Oji still sells knock-off porn DVDs at Menteng, he's disappeared when they refurbished the area a while a go.

In the mean time, my frozen toes needs some attention. I need them intact because I'd proudly display them with my jeweled sandals this weekend, even though the weather forecast states it would be 3-8 degrees, and raining, in London.

I'd be back next Tuesday. Hopefully my toes are still with me.

Thinking About Dating A British?

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sun, 19 Oct 2008 17:15:00 +0000

JUST as some women date only prison inmates, so there are those who yearn above all for Englishmen, with their exotic customs and their reputation for making even banal remarks sound like brilliant repartee. For example my friend D* who has dated men from all over the world and now focuses on finding a Mr. Brit. So far she is quite persistent and consistent, although not always successful. She despises Australian after a bad break-up with her last proper boyfriend and swears off Ozzy dudes forever. She doesn't like American because they're too forward. British men, she says, are gentle and caring and honest. But rather than some random dates, she hasn't had secured any Brits yet. I guess maybe, despite her own pushy characters, in between Mr. Darcy with his sexy accents and Hugh Grant with his killer smile, there are other qualities in British men that, probably after spending a couple months with him, would not be amusing anymore.

The British are renowned for their stiff upper lip: politeness, failure to speak out, and not demonstrating their feelings. Reluctance to display emotion in the face of extreme misfortune or extreme good fortune is the first key element of British cool (or coldness). To some, this quality could be more than just an annoying charm.

The tabloid The Sun was the first one reported that Madonna and Guy Ritchie's marriage are doomed. The newspaper claimed that the marriage began sliding towards divorce after her hubby's unsympathetic reaction when she tumbled from a horse. Apparently, when she has been through a traumatic, possibly life-threatening experience as she broke four ribs, her collar bone, scapula and her left knuckle in the accident, Guy's reaction wasn't something she expected. Instead of lavishing her with love and attention, Guy approached the whole thing in what she now calls, 'A very British way'.

When it comes to relationships, even the website UKStudentLife.Com warns their readers that "British men (and women) do not always talk openly about their emotions, especially when they do not know you well already" and "some men prefer not to kiss or hold hands in public, because they think it is more polite to show affection only in private". Although I believe Madonna realises this since she has successfully adopted English accent and English husband, but as the Italian's blood runs through her veins, she definitely couldn't stand it after seven and half years.

Now Madonna blames her man's "no-nonsense" approach to their marriage on his British public school upbringing. She says he was "typical of emotionally-stunted British men" and refuses to ever date another Brit. The pal said: "Madonna's convinced British men are light years behind Americans when it comes to emotional honesty and sophistication."

There are certain things British men like to believe about themselves, according to The Guardian, and one of them is that, while British women take them for granted, women of all other nations find them irresistible (as proved by Hugh Grant in Four Weddings and Notting Hill); and that they could almost definitely take Hugh Grant in a fight; and that the fabled Brit 'stiff upper lip' has evolved to the point where nothing could induce them to 'turn on the waterworks'. This, many British men feel, is something they have over the 'hysterical' Italians, 'namby-pamby' French, and those pathetic hippy Americans weeping and hugging each other on 'Iron Man' bonding weekends.

It might be true. A friend recently went out with an American and she told me how sweet the guy was, and when I asked her what she meant by "sweet", she said he wooed her by talking sweet nothing in her ear. I, on the other hand, after adopting British (sorry, Scottish) man, almost couldn't stop myself for saying "that's rubbish" to her. I might have never been a girl who believes in extravaganza emotional show or probably have been brainwashed by the aloof and distant manner charm of Pride and Prejudice's Mr. Darcy and Bridget Jones's Mark Darcy.

The New York Times, in attempt to understand British charm finally cited that deep down, English men -- for all their suavity and charm -- really don't like women. ''There's a nervousness about being with women,'' said Cindy Blake, an American novelist living in London who has had two English husbands. ''There's a feeling men have that women are going to ruin their fun and their lives and chain them indoors, and make them do things they don't want to do, and not let them do things they do want to do. The idea of being alone with a woman is too scary because then they might have to deal -- or to talk about themselves,'' she continued.

Leah McLaren, a Canadian who was posted in London, was so fed up with British men she wrote on her column about British men that set off a small international incident:

Many went to boarding school at an early age, thus forfeiting essential affection from their mothers, leaving them all but incapable of intimacy with women.

Many drink too much, leaving them all but incapable of intimacy with women.

They are repressed homosexuals.

They simply don't like women.

The New york Times also quoted actress Heather Graham, who accused British men of spending too much time in the pub. Well it might be true, because The Punchbowl Pub was at the root of a lot of Madonna and Guy Ritchie's rows. Madonna was furious about the amount of time Guy would spend there with his London mates. She hated him eating pies and chips there instead of coming home to her micro-biotic diet of steamed fish and pulses (I could understand her first reason, but expecting him to eat steamed fish everyday? Come on).

But if you are still longing for Mr. Darcy, the website eHow.com gives a guide (although very vague) on what you should do, although it seems like the guide is intended for American girls who think London is an exotic place:

Love the good manners and polite behavior of British gentlemen. Don't assume they want you to act completely the same way. British men are used to very uptight British women and love the wildness of American girls.

Expect to be called "duckie," "sweetie," "dear" and other nicknames that might be offensive to you if an American man called you these same names. These are normal and accepted signs of affection from a British date.

Look forward to seeing the wild side of your British date once you visit his apartment to "see his etchings." British men are reserved in public but love affection and romance in private.

Appreciate the fact that British men are loyal. They do enjoy flirting and looking at other women, but even if they stray, it's not because they don't care for you. British men want relationships to last, especially with American women, whom they feel are sexy and more fun to be with than British women.

And here's I have found so far which might be helpful for you:

British people have different sense of humour which might mystify other nations, but the men are very into toilet and dirty jokes. I guess because the whole nation is so repressed, the only outlet is only through jokes. You don't need to pretend that you understand that because believe me, you won't.

Even though he likes you or has become your soul mate for years, expect him to stand at arm's length, literally, away from you, hardly touch you, in social gatherings. It's his way to respect your personal space. And his.

Understand that even though they won't get emotional over anything, they will cry over football match. Don't make joke about that, because they won't see the funny side of it. Football is more important than life and death.

I can't help with Ms. McLaren's claim that many are repressed homosexuals (is it because so many men wearing pink shirt in London?). All I can say is I have seen my husband with his 'boyfriends' and despite the amount of time they spend together doing playstation/Xbox/Wii competition, playing cards, golfing and going away for weekend, it looks harmless. They need to get together to drink and talk bollocks, just like us girls need our girlie time to talk about things that boys won't understand.

Maybe D* should realises that dating a British man requires a different tactic: if she can laugh at his joke, appreciate his Yorkshire pudding, go dutch, be ok for receiving text messages asking for a snog, she'll be fine. I will get back to you when she's successful!

Let's Talk About Breasts

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 17:16:00 +0000

It started with late night discussions with Treespotter, although I don't remember how we came up with the idea because usually we talk about politics, poverty, or world peace. All I remember is we have to post one entry together at the same time, and we agree to post something about breasts, but we haven't been able to synchronize our schedules and the draft has been in my draft box for a couple of weeks, and I kind of forgot it, until...

... A friend circulated a photo of our friend who is suspected underwent a breast surgery to several of us, all girls, and soon everybody had something to say about her, or her breasts.

So I guess I'd just post what I think then.

I am never quite sure why men are so fascinated by women's breasts. No, not fascinated, more hypnotised. We go out and see girls with their plunging neckline tops, showing just a little bit of cleavage, and all men's heads turn 360 degree just to peek at those views. The lower the neckline the longer time men take to stare at the pair hidden underneath the top.

But actually we don't even need to work hard to show them. Have them all covered and men still stare at them, especially when we wear tight tops. Or have a tiny part of them incidentally peeping out when we wear buttoned-up shirt and the gap between buttons spread and show the center of the bra, especially from the side view, and men still crane their necks to get a peek (this was a constant argument between me and jealous boyfriend(s) in college and I had to always have the safety pin tagged between buttons and this was probably the only time I ever wished to have smaller breasts!). Or, if they spy even the slightest hint of nipple, regardless of the fullness of flesh of the surrounding neighborhood, they’re happy as clams (I remember all my friends went crazy over Jennifer Aniston in Friends, and if girls went crazy about her hairstyle, men did because she always seemed to forget to wear bra which cover her nipples, even when she wore a jumper). The point is, whether we hide or show our breasts, men still stare.

I asked several guys why they always act like it is the first time they see a pair of breasts, ever, in every situation possible. Their answer is simple, because they just do.

Actually, the answer to this question is almost unbelievably simple; We like them because they are there, and we don't have them. Not to say that we want to have breasts of our own, so much as we just have this uncontrollable urge to fondle yours.

But perhaps men don't realise that women are as obsessed as men about breasts., although not up to the state of wanting to fondle stranger's breasts. But yes, we are obsessed with our own breasts and also with others women's breasts. We frequently compare ourselves with other women and wonder if our breasts measure up - literally - because our culture in general has created such a fixation on women's breasts that a large portion of women's sexual identity is founded in their breasts. If we see a woman walking by with a nice pair of breasts, we instantly wonder - either innocently or with a little bit of jealousy - whether they are real or fake, or whether she's got that nice bra from La Perla that makes her breasts look perkier.

We are also obsessed with them because we can dress them up with millions of choices of bra models, colors, materials, and brands. Not to mention nipple rings, or bra jewelry. And of course, we use our breasts for personal gain, like showing excessive cleavage to get served faster, or better yet, free drinks, at bars.

Even though we like to tease men's imagination by showing a bit of cleavage, I don't think anyone wishes to be referred to as just a pair of boobs. A friend went to my wedding wearing very daring dress that drew everybody's attention to her breasts, and soon after that when people talk about her, they indicate her by holding their hands in front of their chests about half meter away in form of cups, indicating her large breasts, and say something like, "Hey, where is your friend?" (hands signal). I find their gesture annoying and childish because to me she is more than just a pair of boobs, she is sweet, and funny, not to mention gorgeous; but men now fail to see all those qualities because their eyes and mind will be forever fixed on her boobs. So the challenge would be showing the cleavage without spill the imagination, being sexy without being the sex object, tasteful but teasing, more Scarlett Johannson and less Pamela Anderson. Damn, it's hard to be a woman!

My friend's forwarded photo still gets comment from us after 2 days. The girl-with-fake-breasts in the picture has been our topic since probably 2 years a go when her tops suddenly became too tight and her cups went from A to - I'm not sure but I suspect - E. We talk endlessly about how different they look now (we compare before and after photo), how they feel if we touch them (since none of us has fake boobs), whether the surgery hurt, where she had it, how much it cost, and what they will look like when she is wrinkly and old. We even scrutinize all pictures of hers, trying to find some evidence which show her boobs are indeed fake. We also asked the ex boyfriend to dish us some dirty secrets (and as a perfect gentleman, he refused to reveal anything).

She is one of the example of growing number of Indonesian women who spend more and more money on breast implants, breast enlargement pills or creams, silly equipment, and other cosmetic procedures to increase the size of their breasts. It's because many of us think that larger breasts will give us a sense of empowerment and boost up our sexiness and confidence.

Well, most of the times when the-girl-with-fake-boobs wears non-existent top, she draws attention from both men and women (men wanting to touch them, and women wanting to scratch them, haha!). But, as cliche as it sounds, the new inflated boobs doesn't fix her insecurity and doesn't give her empowerment she is longing for. In other words, it doesn't change her character and personality. She is still single (and moaning about being single), floating from one bar to another, hopping from one city to the next, looking for Mr. Right. She has tons of Mr. Right Now, but hasn't been successful of finding a guy who wants to see her beyond her breasts. On the other hand, like I pointed out to my friends, at least two of them are happy-flat-chested girls. They still get tons of male's attention despite their cup sizes. They're happily admit they have small breasts, and although they wish to have bigger boobs, they don't plan to having them enlarged. They still wear low neckline tops, proudly parading their assets.

So what's the whole point of talking about this?

No point, really. Didn't I just say that we are as obsessed as men if it comes to breasts? I guess the lengthy post is a proof.

Type rest of the post here

Speechless

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sat, 11 Oct 2008 17:19:00 +0000

Less than two weeks and I'm off to London for girl's weekend trip. This would be an interesting meet-up because I only know Nikki who's originally from here but now resides in Assen, and will be meeting others from Assen and one from Oman! So we could call it an international girl's trip with jam-packed schedule of shopping, drinking and dining, everything that screams expensive and posh. We would be having dinner at The Ivy - a place that guarantees celebrities' exposure so who knows you'd see my picture on the next edition of OK! or Hello grinning next to Madonna - and Bambou, and drinks at The Soho and Purple Bar. Those places must be booked waaaay in advanced (I think even I am not allowed to enter Purple Bar unless invited by guest who stays there, that's how snobbish posh they are!).

But before that, I had to be a host for this month's arisan, and this is why I got pissed off on Friday.

Arisan (a-ree-san) is a monthly social gathering between friends and relatives who chip in money to be won in turns through a lucky draw. The one that I am involved at the moment is my very first participation on such event. It's initialised by some Indonesian ladies who live in Aberdeen as a way of meeting others, share gossips, and (I think, most importantly to many of them), try out Indonesian food. At first I joined with such a high spirit because it's a useful for me to meet other people and expand my network.

The such gathering usually takes place at the member's house. It has an unwritten rule that whoever wins the draw will be the host for the next month. The winner is expected to provide some meals too, even though usually everybody will turn up with something and we'd have a big selection of everything.

I did win last month draw, so inevitably, consequently, I would be the host for this month. I have given a heads up that I would be away to London at the end of the month so we need to do it beforehand. I have also mentioned that since our place is not suitable for young mothers who will bring buggies (prams/strollers) and their children (our place is on the third floor), I will host it in Stuart's grandma's place, who's more than delighted with the prospect of a bunch little people running around her house. She also has a huge back garden so children can investigate the nature. She even promises to make us some of her famous pancakes. I came up with 17th as the date and sent the information to several members whose numbers I've got.

The replies came that several of them are still back in Indonesia for holiday, so they will miss the event. Some will be away for midterm school holiday, so they wonder if we could do it before 17th. And some said they're not comfortable with the venue suggestion. Some suggested to meet up in town (although when I said that grandma's place is right in the city center, 5 minutes walk and we'd reach Union Street, no one responded). One suggested her place instead, but I think since I'm the host, I should take the responsibility to provide it this time.

No matter hard I assured them, that the Gran is not a scary old woman carrying broomstick all around the house chasing shadow, or a grumpy old lady who will be annoyed by the noise we would make, that she would enjoy having lots of people around her, apparently, they already judged that the place, even though none of them have ever set their foot in it let alone meet the Gran, makes them uncomfortable. They will never understand that she'd probably sit down in the middle of us and enjoy the whole scene (she's like the female version of Don Corleone) and that she will have a great time questioning each of them (and will remember every detail more than I would!). If you see the picture, it was the Gran last year in Italy. She was 93 in the picture (she just celebrated her 94th birthday in June), complete with trendy sunglasses and borrowed Poggio. Tell me if you ever meet a 94-year-old woman who could work on the computer, reads emails regularly, and does webcam chatting? Yeah, the Gran kicks a**, but she's also very sweet and funny, and there is no reason for these young Indonesian ladies to be afraid of her unless they're drug smugglers. But they still say no.

So with the disagreement over the date and the venue, I gave in, and suggested to move it earlier to next Tuesday and I also suggested the place, Woodbank. The place is a recreational centre, owned and run by a large oil & gas company for its staffs and families, but is open for public as well for the hotel and cafe/restaurant parts. It's not far from the city center, it's quiet so we can have our own privacy and less likely to be kicked out if we only order one cup of coffee for the entire afternoon, it has an outdoor playground for children, so I think the place is perfect. From the picture, you can see that it's gorgeous, right?

But I got replies that majority doesn't want to go to Woodbank and insist that the arisan is to be held on another member's house.

And I thought I was the hostess!

I was insulted, first because they rejected both venues I proposed without any obvious reason, and second because they didn't even bother to ask me (a.k.a this month's host) whether I was ok if we move it to somebody else's house. They decided to go on with it, just like that. Where is their manner? I feel like I am being punished because my place is not suitable for children (since I don't have my own children, I could just ignore this potential issue and host it in my place, and let those young mothers climb up the staircases carrying their buggies and children and spend the rest of the afternoon worrying their kids might fall over the steps!), but despite all the effort I have tried to think about everyone's comfort and to provide the best alternative, they still decide it's not enough. The strange thing is this type gathering is not a crazy or uncontrolled one. It's very brief as many of them must pick their kids up from nurseries or schools in the afternoon, and there is no loud music, alcohol or drugs involved, let alone a young stud as a prize - like some gatherings I've heard in Jakarta - to be taken home and er... utilised by the winner, there is no stuff for sale (some arisans in Indonesia practically become mobile shops with ladies selling everything, from handbags to diamonds) so there is no danger of someone gets out of the house broke. We'd just basically move from one plate to another and do the "ooh" and "aah" over others' kids. We might gossip about something or someone, but that's it. So why they're afraid to have it held at the Gran's or at Woodbank, I have no idea!

Well, sod it.

Lesson learned. This would be my first and last gathering, when the period ends in December I wouldn't extend my participation. I will continue what I have to do and fulfill my duty - whatever that is - but I don't want to have anything to do with the gathering/arisan/whatever the name is anymore.

Now I'd rather spending my time worrying over the dress I should wear for The Ivy. Who knows I might bump into Daniel Craig this time...

Sexy Sarah Palin?

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 17:22:00 +0000

I just got my new pair of eyeglasses. The old one has been with me for about 5 years: the lenses' protective coating has been peeled off, the Gucci logo on the right side is missing, but so far I didn't feel that I had to change my glasses since I'm wearing contact lenses more and only put my glasses on back before bed time.

But six months after my last trip to the optician, they sent me a letter, saying that since I'm a regular contact lenses user, I have to go back there to ensure my eyes are healthy. The optician, after performing several checks on my eyes claimed they are a bit dry, so she suggests me not to wear my contacts for more than 12 hours per day, especially with the type of coloured lenses I bought from Indonesia. That's when I decided to wear my glasses more often.

Hence the new glasses.

Mister husband saw me wearing the new glasses when he went home and found me sitting nicely on the sofa, watching TV.

After complementing my new glasses and how cute I look with them, he then said, "You look like Sarah Palin."

I beg your pardon?

He saw my expression changed, and quickly said that what he meant was that I looked sexy. And the lookie-likey was meant to be a compliment. Because Sarah Palin is sexy.

Huh?

He wondered why I didn't look happy with the compliment he gave. Well, darling, I guess:

First, because she's much older than me, almost 11 years older! No woman likes to be compared with older women, even if they are Sophia Loren or Brigitte Bardot. Or your own mother (I've got that a lot, people approach us and say we really look similar {thank you}, and she looks more like my sister than my mother {mum: delighted. me: but she's 22 years older than me!!}).

Second, it's not common to compare your spouse's look with a politician's. Celebrity, yes (but please refer to number 1 before choosing someone as a comparison point. Angelina Jolie is most welcome). But politician, no.

Third, my glasses are different from hers (see the very first picture? I've got exactly the same pair as the advert).

Last but not least, I don't think Sarah Palin is sexy. Not in a million years.

But she won Miss Alaska Pageant, he said (she actually finished the third). Ergo, she's sexy.

Hmm. Well maybe, 20 years ago. But today she looks like a sweet, regular suburban soccer mom. Don't get me wrong, I think she's pretty. But not sexy.

Do you think she is sexy?

Post Script 10 October 2008: Apparently a blogbuddy wrote a very similar post in her blog about the same time I posted this entry. Read about her being compared to Sarah Palin's voice here.

Questions on Comments and Blogwalkings

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 17:24:00 +0000

Today has been a very busy day. And although I was able to read most emails through my iphone, I couldn't check my blog(s) until 10 PM tonight. By the time I opened this blog, I had lots of comments to responds to. And since Monday is my 'major blogwalking' day, which means I visit all blogs in my blogroll to check the updates (few of them are updated frequently - I visit them more often - but some are only updated once in a week, if that, and that's why I do whole blogwalking on one day just to make sure I don't miss any of my blogger friends' blog updates), I had to stay a bit longer than usual.

Anyway, back to my somewhat overwhelming comments, it's almost midnight and I just finished responding all comments. Which left me wondering, and I hope you don't mind answering my questions:

How often do you check your blog (to see if someone leaves comment on the post or on the shoutbox, or to check if your stat or technorati rank is increasing, to see who just visited by checking your mybloglog or blogcatalog, etc).

Do you wait until you get more many comments on your entry or you respond each comment directly?

How often do you blogwalking?

Do you blogwalk to each of blog on your blogroll? My blogroll isn't that big (less than 100 blogs listed there) and it's already time consuming. But some bloggers can have thousands of blogs listed on their blogroll. That's why I am wondering.

How do you keep tracking on other bloggers' blog? Do you subscribe their RSS readers or do you prefer to visit their blogs directly?

Do you always leave comment on each new post? If not, why?

When you leave comment(s), do you go back again sometime later to see if the blog owner has responded? How important is it to have your comment responded?

Hope my questions can trigger some interesting discussion. Beddy time now!

Cheerio!

ClickSmart: The Expert World in Your Fingertips

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 19:16:00 +0000

I wish I were in Indonesia right now. With many major renovation schedule in our house, I really need to find good, reliable contractors, electricians, joiners, and so on. Back in Indonesia, all I have to do is to stare at my phone list and make a phone call. Easy. Piece of cake.

In here I have to start all over again. I don't know where to go and who to call. I always believe people's recommendation is much better than big advertisement in the shiny magazines.

That's why when I find this website, ClickSmart, I'm impressed. The site claims that they certify small businesses who are experts in their field, and take the guessing out of choosing the right real estate agent, insurance broker, or other professional. They pre-screen each of the Clicksmart Certified Experts on their site for quality and experience.

All I have to do is to choose the kind of expert I need, then click the location, and wait for Clicksmart to find them all for me. For example I click on the mortgage broker, and choose Arizona, and click "go", and voila! Arizona Mortgage. It's the same thing when I click on 'contractors' and Los Angeles: the site gives me an extensive length of contractors.

Now, I wonder why Clicksmart doesn't have the same service in the UK? They will help me big time!

Blog Reopen

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 10:43:00 +0000

Since I have moved to a new domain, http://finally-woken.com, I have been thinking that this blog should not be abandoned like this. With pagerank 4/10 and Alexa rank less than 600,000 it's too good to leave. Certainly I could maintain one more blog. Certainly I could do something, anything, about it.

So I decide to relaunch this blog with a new name. The Orange Room would be it.

Different from Finally Woken, which talks about many personal matters and focuses on expat experiences, The Pink Room will focus on women's interests.

So there you go. Please come and visit this blog again.

See you soon!

GOODBYE, Y'All!

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 13:41:00 +0000

and see you in my new home:

http://finally-woken.com