I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Singin’ in the Rain, cos there’s a song that goes, “Moses supposes…” in it. It’s really cute. I’ve been looking for the song but with little success. I suppose 1950 musicals aren’t all that popular now in 2006, or not as popular as I’d like them to be anyway.

Here’re the wayyyy overdue pics of Moses. He’s now sitting at about eight weeks and totally, completely, unbelievably adorable. Okay, so maybe I’m a little biased. You be the judge.

His first time on the front lawn…

…and he takes a poop!

Radio station Hitz.fm has this morning show where they have a different question every week. The question of the week yesterday was: Is it okay for a 20-year-old girl to be best friends with a married man in his late 30s? Of course you get the usual jumble of “of course it is, what’s wrong with that?” and “no, I don’t think so because something fishy is sure to happen”, and when this dude called up, everyone probably thought he was just another of the former bunch. I know I did.

So he goes, “Of course it’s alright, what’s wrong with it, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it…”, and he’s like getting a little loud and (I thought) overly defensive. Then he goes on to say (note: these aren’t his exact words, I’m just repeating whatever I can remember): “I’m a married man, happily married, and I am friends with this girl in her 20s. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, I mean, there are so many women out there…” He says something at this point which I didn’t catch, but which Y thinks might have been something about being allowed four wives.

“I bought my wife a nice house, a bungalow, I bought her a car, I can afford it, I’m doing justice to this girl. For your information, I am 42 but look 35 and I’m only 3 years younger than this girl’s parents. She makes me feel young. I pick her up everyday…” Whereby the DJ interrupts him to say: “Wait a minute, are you just friends with this girl?”

“No,” he practically shouts. “We’re more than friends.”

Which I imagine was when all the listeners of Hitz.fm stopped whatever they were doing to push their jaws back up. I mean, the nerve of the dude. I hate to say this, but my first thoughts were some pretty racist ones.

What the?

I love the Dec-Feb months. Christmas is in the air, a brand-new year is just around the corner (though it’ll probably get more depressing as I erm… mature), and - best of all - most of (not all) the near and dear ones from Down Under come back! It’s been a very lovely month and a half, and each meeting with much-missed ones I haven’t seen in ages fills my heart with oh-so-many-buckets of warmth and fuzzy happy feelings. I’ve been wanting to pen this for ages, but it’s funny, now that the opportunity has come, I find myself at a loss for words beyond what I’ve already typed.

Maybe this is something that should not be put into words, but that should be kept locked up like some prized possession, to be taken out and remembered from time to time. I can’t describe it anyway, it’s the unexplainable feeling of joy that… never mind.

I’ve been missing Melbourne very much of late. I miss Baker’s Delight, doing my own grocery shopping at Safeway, walking along Lygon Street and the city… I even had a sudden desire to eat Victoria Market’s famed giant hotdogs the other day, and I’ve never had that craving. I’ve only eaten it once my entire life and found it a wee bit too big to stuff into my mouth with any dignity at all. It’s a terrible case of missing-Melbourne-ititis. But each time I think of migrating there, I am filled with a mixture of excitement and sadness that makes it impossible for me to take one side or the other. Do I really want to leave my family, friends, job and life here? I’m not telling you because I don’t know.

It’s 9pm and I’m still sitting in the office. The entire editorial team is still here too. It’s deadline today and though I am done, a rare moment to blog is something not to be passed up. Besides, it’s the weekend tomorrow.

We got a really funny phone call the other day. Some Caucasian bloke calls up and asks to speak to the editor, then informs her that he is from a gay group based in the UK, and that they are insulted by our magazine. The reason: we ran a picture of Elton John and his partner David Furnish, saying they were “married” with open and close inverted commas. The gentleman wanted to know why we used open and close inverted commas, because, he argued, they are basically husband and err… husband.

Exactly! There’s a reason why they keep referring to it in the press as a “civil union” and not “marriage”. Unless the constitution has been changed, the definition of “marriage” was - and probably still is - the state-recognized union between a man and a woman. My editor was totally caught off guard for that one, but we thought it was pretty funny all the same.

Okay, now I’m really tired. Something tells me it’s time to go. Oh, and by the way, Moses is just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. We really must make an effort to take pictures.

My sister does not have a tattoo (refer to last post of 2005). It was one of those drawn-in-henna fakes, and by the time I popped by the house to check it out on New Year’s Day, it had faded into oblivion. She only realized that when she twisted and turned, trying to show me the tattoo she insisted was there, and of which not a trace had been left. I had been conned, and she was most tickled by the fact.

Y said, “I told you so”. Apparently, he says he knew all along that it was a fake because he didn’t believe my sister would have the guts to get a tattoo. I didn’t think she would initially, but I thought she was going to surprise everyone, since one of our cousins her age has gone and got one done. Anyway, I’ve Been Conned.

Meanwhile, the Ngian household has been fussing around our newest member, who arrived yesterday. While a recent picture has yet to be taken, this is what he looked like about 4 weeks ago:

Excuse the bad focus, this was taken with a mobile phone camera. And here’s a picture of him with his brother and mummy. He’s the puppy on top.

Right now he’s about 6 weeks, looks like a very adorable round ball of soft, white fur, and has a face like a teddy bear. We’ve named him Moses, after the very nice breeder we bought him from. Stay tuned for more pics.

I still can’t believe it’s already 2006. I’ve been meaning to blog about my New Year but each passing day has deemed it less significant and I’m now having second thoughts. Nevertheless, because I’m having a free moment in the office, and I have nothing particularly exciting to share, and I still really like seeing Arial fonts appear as I type my entry, I shall.

We counted down to 2006 with some faceless dude on television who was screaming into a microphone “ten, sembilan (nine), lapan (eight), tujuh (seven)…” We laughed so hard at his little linguistic slip-up (what’s wrong with counting down in English anyway?) we missed everything in between until “tiga (three), dua (two), satu (one)…” We don’t know what he shouted after that - it was probably “Selamat Tahun Baru” or some such - cos the “Happy New Years” of about 10 people filled Jon’s living room. Yep, that’s where we crossed over from last year to this. We had grander plans, believe me, but watching U2 Live in Chicago with a Times magazine in hand and surrounded by friends was a pretty good second best.

New Year’s Day was totally uneventful compared to Christmas. There was no hype and no festive spirit, almost as if it was the last day of an entire week’s break that Christmas kicked off (which it wasn’t), and everyone was just tired and grabbing every last bit of rest before work started for real again.

I slept till 10, whereupon I deigned to rise and spent some time with my God (which does not happen with any regularity whatsoever). Y woke up 3 hours later, and we shared a bak kut teh brunch with close friends, watched the guys trash talk each other over PS2 Winning Eleven (I’ve been doing a lot of that lately), spent some precious and dearly-missed time with my siblings, and I don’t remember what else happened… Man, I’m aging. I even have trouble remembering my age. After 21, everything just seems to blend until 25. I have to think before I tell people I’m 23 this year. No, wait, I’m 24. And I only figured that out after counting from 1982. Gee.

Oh wait, I do remember what happened after that. I had dinner and spent the rest of the night watching DVDs on the iBook with earplugs while Y and Weichern screamed at Need for Speed Underground and at each other. Yep, they did that the entire night.

Anyway, all things considered, I reckon it was a good start to the New Year. Just chillin’ and spending time with near and dear ones. I’m excited about this year, and the element of unknown when you’re married to Y certainly adds to the overall thrill. I can’t believe I’ve been together with him for over 2 years. I know we’re married and all, but life in Melbourne seems like such a short time ago. And 2 years certainly sounds a lot longer than it feels. But it’s been good, and I am not getting old.