starryluvly.org

I’ve been really engrossed with “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” lately. I’ve more or less inhaled two seasons over 3 evenings and am waiting for Season 3.

I can’t help but be taken in by Billie Piper’s Belle Du Jour. She’s smart, sexy, poised and focused. She oozes confidence and seems so methodical in her dealings. The way she susses each man out and has a different hat (or should I say, corset?) for different personalities. The fact that she only uses men’s bath products so that she doesn’t leave a scent.

She almost seems completely in control. Yet at the same time, she is not infallible. She makes bad decisions. But even during her moments of weakness, she tries to remain steady.

In any case, I think she’s kick ass.

I think most feminists would argue that it’s setting womanhood backwards by a century, the fact that she panders to men to a degree – in that she is moulding herself to her client’s expectations and catering to their whims. But I can’t help but wonder – can you truly call her submissive when she does it for her own gain, not so much theirs? Yes, it’s about client satisfaction but let’s face it she needs satisfied clients to stay in business.

Watching the series has made me wonder if I should start treating men as “clients”. And no, I don’t mean that I want to start charging them for the pleasure of my company.

What I mean is, maybe I should start being a bit more cold and business like in my approach and less tolerant of time-wasting bullshit.

After all, preparing for dates is time consuming and let’s face it, an art form – you have to base your fashion and make up choices on what you know about the person you’re meeting. Then you have to maintain an intelligent conversation, suss out the person in front of you and keep a friendly disposition at the same time.

So there’s effort involved and quite honestly, it’s only fair to not be served bullshit.

I mean, even if it’s just a friendship they’re after, I think they need to prove they’re worthy of my time.They need to show an interest. Be there for me. Entertain me. Mentally simulate me.

Actually, maybe I need to apply that philosophy to my friendships as well. It sounds extreme, a harsh line to take but at the end of the day, I’d rather have a few quality friends who I know appreciates me as much as I appreciate them than have a whole gaggle of half-friends.

Friends do not stifle your personality. They do not turn on the radio when you start singing in the car. Friends appreciate when you set time aside for them and they are happy do to the same as well. Friends don’t make you feel guilty about being genuinely unable to fulfill prior commitments when you already feel bad enough without their help. Friends don’t take you for granted. They accept you for who you are and don’t feel they have to spruik you out for people to like you because you’re capable of charming whomever you choose.

It’s a tall order I know but I’m worth it. It would be an insult to accept anything less in return, especially when I will fight to the death for the people who’ve won a place in my heart. I have a lot of love to give and there’s plenty of margin for misdemeanours for the special few but you have to prove your eligibility for that honour first.

Prove it to me.

Now excuse me. This Belle needs to get her gear ready for tonight.

Of course, that statement is operating under the false assumption that I was sexy at one stage. When we all know that I’ve always been and will always be sexy. Hahahahaha.

Joking aside, I felt quite egotistical this morning while standing in front of the mirror and trying to get a good look of my back. I must say that while I am a bit annoyed with myself for not gymming more, that I am quite pleased with my progress. I see slightly more definition in my upper back and arms.

Now I just need to work on my core and my thighs. Blasted problem areas.

In other news. I should probably be used to it by now because I’ve been complimented on my eyes my whole life but I still find it weird when people say something.

Like the manager who was telling me that I was lucky that I had lashes to put mascara on. I was also told yesterday that my eyes are my most striking feature.

In both instances, it just felt strange hearing all that. I always think my eyelashes are mediocre. And similarly, I don’t see my eyes as being big or special. In fact, if anything all I see are the dark circles. And a younger version of my dad’s own peepers. Hehehe.

Must be the insecure fat girl in me. Hmm.

In more other news… so much to do but so little time to do it.

Allow me to make a list to remind myself:

• pack bags
• get false lashes for wednesday
• get hair accessories for wednesday
• unlock iPhone
• pick up prescription from Dr Hodby
• (obviously not essential but preferable in light of exchange rate) get dresses from US
• make bank arrangements with dad
• shop for birthday presents
• shop for pooty presents
• make osso bucco
• work on the food guide for ze manager
• work on my articles

Argh. Much to do but so little time.

Speaking of which, crap I’m gonna be late for work!!!

My never fail cure for the times when I’m feeling frustrated and crappy and icky and everything in between.

It’s such a wonderful feeling to be loved by kids because you know for sure that they love you for you. There are no ulterior motives. There’s no superficiality. There are no pretenses. Just straight up, genuine, pure love.

This little gem from the Mimi as I helped tuck her into bed:

Aunty Naaaadia, I’m going to miss you. When are you going to see me again?

Queue me melting. And negotiating another day to see her. Even if it does mean another day from the gym.

Of course after she said that, the little rascal decided to try and pull my dress down to peep into my top. lol.

But still, spending time with the kiddos is good for my soul.

Of course, the kiddies’ parents are also another source of sanctuary

I think I am turning into a makcik. I had plenty of food in the fridge but instead of eating that, I had this uncontrollable urge to just cook.

So I decided to cook the mother of all pain-in-the-ass dishes from home to cook – Sambal Goreng Pengantin.

Sambal Goreng Pengantin – literally “Bridal Fried Sambal” is a popular dish in Singapore, particularly during Hari Raya. As the name suggests, it is a very indulgent dish, rich in flavours and packed with a plethora of “fillings”. The fillings vary – my own family recipe usually features a mixed of beef, beef liver, prawns, tempeh and tofu. Other families might just have one made purely of beef parts (including paru, or beef lungs) and I think prawns are actually not a common feature of this dish.

Since I don’t like liver, I omitted it from today’s preparation. Although I wish I coulda found some yummy beef lungs. Never mind.

I took great joy in spending hours in the kitchen, simply preparing the ingredients for sambal goreng pengantin. It was strangely therapeutic, just slicing, dicing, chopping and frying the ingredients. It’s almost as if I was in my own little sanctuary, far away from the rest of the world where I could think – only I wasn’t thinking much. I was just focused on food preparation.

And then there was the actual assembly of the sambal goreng pengantin. I’ve always been lucky – somehow my senses overtake me when I’m cooking food from home and the results aren’t too disastrous. It’s like I can hear a whisper in my ear, almost as if I have a grandmother watching over my shoulder, and tell me to do things (like reduce the amount of chillis and stop at that many shallots) just because it seems like the right thing to do. And then I know it’s done when the aroma conjures up that ideal proportions of familiarity, nostalgia and anticipation.

Taste wise, I think I’ve nearly got it spot on. Not bad for my second solo attempt, a definite improvement from my first batch which was fibrous from not processing the lemongrass for long enough. Although I might have put in a bit too much chilli for my liking. I can feel the chilli juice seeping in between my nail and my finger. And it’s absolutely killing me.

But overall, damn proud of myself. I’ll need to make the alterations to my written recipe so that I can fine tune it even more.

Only problem is that I now have a massive pot full of sambal goreng. And only one me to eat it.

Erm. Help?

Is that you always end up preparing way too much food and end up having leftovers 3 nights in a row.

I made papaya salad tonight and ended up only using a quarter of the green papaya I bought. And my belly is already stretched out from eating just that one quarter with a shredded carrot, some cucumber and some tomatos.

Something tells me I won’t be eating som tam for a loooooong time after this.

Thank god mom isn’t here to tell me off for all the food. Hehehe.

I love a good news story. Give me one with a sticky ethical issue to tease questions out of and I’ll engross myself in thinking about it and researching it from every angle long enough for you to rob me blind.

The background:

Claire Murray is a 24 year old mother with two young children with only months to live if she does not get a much needed liver transplant. Here’s the catch: she’s been denied a place on the waiting list because the reason she needs the said transplant is because the liver she received last year has since been damaged by drug use. Then what initially going to be a paid trip to New Zealand for a live liver transplant has now become a interest-free state loan for Claire to travel to Singapore for a live liver transplant.

Perhaps it’s best to start with the biggest question on everyone’s minds:

Does she deserve a second chance?

Yes because she’s a mother. Yes, everyone deserves a second chance.

No, she’s already blown her second chance. No, there are other people waiting on the list.

Both camps have valid points.

But such points are simply too simplistic.

Yes, I agree that she needs the second chance for the sake of her children. But a part of me also asks whether she has been or even will be the mother that they deserve, even after the second liver transplant.

As you can tell, while I am sympathetic, I am tending towards the NO camp because of the fact that the reason she needs the second transplant is because of her relapse into drug use.

But even then, I’m not entirely sure if the fact that she went back to drugs is the issue.

I think I would almost be more pliable to say yes, she’s allowed a second chance, if she relapsed and her liver failed after 5-10 years. Because yes, quitting is hard, you can expect up and downs. You can expect relapses.

I think the bigger question is: HOW MUCH drugs did she do when she relapsed? Within a year of receiving (what I understand to be) a perfectly healthy liver, Claire Murray managed to damage it and put herself in grave danger. Just how much drugs was she on?

And where exactly was her support network when she relapsed? Her parents are out in force pleading her case but where were they when she went back to drugs?

Perhaps I am naive to assume this, seeing how I have never encountered or known a drug addict in my life (aside from accompanying my dad on his voluntary work with the Singapore Anti-Narcotics Association as a child), but surely her support network could have seen the signs of a relapse. Surely the people who have been with her through the highs and lows of rehabilitation could have seen the signs of her dabbling in drugs again before the damage was done? If anything, if her parents recognised that her problem with substance abuse started at the age of 12 (more on that later), they would surely be even more atuned to the important signals.

Listening to ABC Radio (Paul are you proud of me?) a few days ago, I was under the impression that the decision to give someone a new organ is one which is fraught with heavy considerations. The criteria is strict because there are more recipients than there are organs. The decision to give Claire, as opposed to someone else, would have been a difficult one to give the green light to, especially when her history with drugs was known to the panel reviewing her case.

In light of this, surely Claire and her family would have known about the difficulties and therefore been more appreciative of her new lease of life. At least appreciative enough to to take every possible step to ensure that Claire will be able to live a full and healthy life.

Especially during the first year of receiving a new organ – surely that is a critical stage in ensuring the longevity of the donated organ? Surely there’s some sort of regimen that has to be followed in other to assist the healing process? How did it all go so wrong?

Again, let me state: I DO feel sorry for Claire Murray and her family. I wouldn’t wish her plight on anyone in the world. At the same time though, I can’t help but wonder – is this something that could have been prevented.  Was her new start taken for granted?

Just how much blame is the government meant to shoulder?

What makes Claire Murray so special that she can be given a one-off interest-free loan by the government?

According to this ABC article, which quoted Labor MP Martin Whitely, Claire Murray was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 12 and prescribed dexamphetamines which led to her addiction. The implication drawn from this revelation (and this is also emphasised in this article) is that a botched up medical system that should be blamed for the Claire Murray’s predicament.

Yet, according to this ABC report, by 2000 more than 20,000 West Australians were using stimulants. If the medical system can be blamed for Claire Murray, what about the thousands of other West Australians who were given stimulants as part of their ADHD treatment? And if the medical system was so bad, surely there’d be an Erin Brockovich type civil suit seeking compensation. It’s flawed logic to pin the blame on the medical system.

Interestingly, this article (which I’ve only just skimmed, I’ll need to investigate its “credibility”) seems to suggest that treating children for ADHD with stimulants is better than leaving them unmedicated – provided that there were checks in place to ensure that the medication was working.

(Of course therein lies the argument that perhaps Claire Murray was not treated early enough – but I’m no doctor so I’m not even going to delve into that detail).

Surely Claire Murray wouldn’t have been told to go on medication by any random GP. Surely a specialist of some description, who would have kept tabs on her progress, would have assessed her case?

In which case, why should the government assume financial responsibility for Claire’s addiction problem? Why not just get the doctor who prescribed Claire Murray to pick up the bill? Why should taxpayers pay for Claire Murray to get another chance at life, another chance she might blow on drugs?

I simply do not understand why the government is so keen on splashing out nearly a quarter of a million dollars on a single person. It almost reeks of a guilty conscience.

A guilty conscience, which let’s face it, is not fully warranted. Medical systems and regrettable circumstances aside, whatever happened to the notion of personal responsibility? It almost feels like amid the flurry of reports with regards to the tragic nature of this case people have thrown out the idea that Claire Murray is a human being capable of making her own decisions.

If we’re not going to pin at least some responsibility on Claire Murray, again, what about her support network? Where were they?

(Something no one else has seemed to pick up as well: If Claire Murray had been abusing while pregnant and/or breastfeeding (which is a distinct possibility given the previous statement from the Labour MP with regards to her early exposure to drugs) she would have put the lives of her then-unborn children at risk. Not just one child, two. And that’s just the biological impact on the kids. Where is the responsibility that is supposed to come with being a parent? Or is Claire Murray not meant to be responsible for anything at all?)

Changes post-Claire:

The thing about debates is that they expose a willing audience to both sides of an argument. And it is only through hearing both sides of an argument that one can truly make the best judgement. I do not claim to have the most well-informed opinion in this case. In fact, I am always open to changing my beliefs should the right evidence presents itself.

But for the moment, it is abundantly clear that there needs to be changes.

For one, this story highlights the urgent need for more organ donors. And in lieu of that, the health system, which already acknowledges this insufficiency in organs, needs to start looking into implementing a system which makes live organ transplants a reality in WA.

Let’s face it, not every patient will be able to fly to Singapore or New Zealand for treatment. Additionally, while the government may see Claire Murray as an exceptional case, worthy of having a state loan, there will certainly be more patients out there for whom live organ transplants might end up being their only hope for survival.

It’s easy for me to say that we need to equip our hospitals with new technology and skilled professionals who will be able to make live organ transplants a feasible reality. I’m sure it’ll be a logistical nightmare to plan and implement such a grand scheme. In addition to that, if live organ transplant is unchartered territory, there will surely be losses along the way before the best possible procedure is perfected.

But surely the investment would make such a task worthwhile?

Especially considering the unexpected consequence of this story. While it does highlight the need for organ donors but at the same time, it seems that some people ar wary of donating their organs now. It’s understandable – in a utopic world, everyone wants to see the best use of their organs. It’s not just about knowing that you’re contributing greatly to someone else’s well-being, it’s not just about fulfilling the desire to be heroic – you have to think as well about the family of the deceased. How would they feel, knowing that their loved one’s organ has been squandered?

A part of me also sees something else. Something which should but probably won’t change post-Claire Murray.

And that is the West Australian (or possibly even the Australian) attitude towards drugs.

Coming from Singapore, where drug trafficking carries a mandatory death sentence, it really struck me how differently people react to drug addicts here in Perth. How people are so relaxed about indulging in drugs.

I can’t help but feel that Perth is full of bleeding hearts which drone on about how tough addiction is and how it is such a struggle to kick the habit. My drive to work today was fraught with frustration – I was just getting sick of hearing the guest on talkback go on and on about how people make mistakes and how it is hard for people to get over an addiction.

I don’t deny that. Yet, the Singaporean in me can’t help but feel: they got themselves into this mess, they can get themselves out of it. I realise that that sounds cold but bear in mind I come from a country where the dangers and consequences of drug abuse/trafficking is made common knowledge. I still remember the scary anti-drugs posters which were plastered in school. PRIMARY school. This is why I could never date a guy who dabbles in E or enjoys a herbal cigarette or two.

Call me a prude but I can’t help but wonder – if Claire Murray were in Singapore, where would she be right now? Would she be in a halfway house with a not so damaged liver? Would there be as much public support for her? Would the government step in?

I believe that there is a possibility that the government would step in. There would be public sympathy. And who knows, maybe public contributions to help her.

But at the same time, I can’t help but pick up on a sense of entitlement here in Perth that probably wouldn’t be present in Singapore. It seems like the majority of people here thinks that Claire Murray is entitled to her third chance at life.

It’s a common argument to say that no one should be allowed to say who lives or who dies – but the thing is doctors and families of terminally ill patients make those decisions every day. The people who granted Claire Murray her second chance at life simultaneously handed down a death sentence on the other people who wanted that liver. As it is, there are SEVEN other people waiting for a liver, without Claire Murray jumping the queue for another go.

Additionally, I think that if we’re going to say that we can’t choose who lives and who dies, we should also accept that we should not be insistent that someone deserves to live. As I said earlier – what makes Claire Murray a better candidate for life than anyone else?

Yes, I realise that the family is going through a tough time and is doing what good family members do – that is to fight for their loved ones. But I can’t help but wonder if their fight for her survival is sending out the wrong message – that you are entitled to fight for life at the expense of other people’s lives.

I know I’ve probably come off as sounding a bit harsh in my commentary BUT I do believe these are things which need to be said and considered in the sea of sympathy that seems to be surrounding this case.

Mollycoddling and piling on the pity is not a solution. As the old saying goes, you can give a man a fish a day or teach him how to fish and he’ll feed himself for life. And the same goes here: what good is it in the long term to buy a quick fix solution if we do not learn from this situation? And worse still, if it ends up breeding a whole generation of people who believe that the government will bail them out, regardless of any trouble they get themselves into?

I wish Claire Murray all the best. I do hope that she lives to become a good mother to her children. And more importantly, I hope that this story does not repeat itself in not just her life but in everyone else’s.

When this bimbo manages to set up her new computer as a workstation for Goldmine.

Especially after the distributors of Goldmine in Perth, Aaromba, told her that she has to BUY A SUPPORT contract so that they can answer a single question about whether she needs to download SQL Tools for her setup.

But she managed to nut it out anyway. An hour later and she’s got Goldmine up and running beautifully… and she did it all by herself.

Take that, Aaromba. Didn’t need your overpriced support options nor your curt, snobby “customer service consultant” after all.

My dear Pooey.

You know I love you to bits and I would do *nearly* anything for you.

You know I rely on you to be my listening ear and non-judgmental confidante.

You know that I am here for you too if you need someone to talk to about anything.

But WHY OH WHY did you have to tell me about the mutual acquaintance who apparently wears g-strings because other undies are just too tight at the buttcheeks.

The mutual MALE acquaintance, at that.

God help me the next time I see him. He might look all rockstar macho with a shaved head, moustache and his guitar but I won’t be able to keep a straight face imagining that he might have a larger g-string collection than me.

And guys, if you can’t get the image out of your head… let me quote what my dear Pooey said when I was cursing at her on MSN:

“Good things must share”