Unexpectedly good. Not just about the 'live' atmosphere. The usual cliché racial harmony numbers were given a tweak. Without revealing too much, look out for flashbacks. I love that bit very much.

In our bid to 'keep the romance alive', Archie and I decided to spent one weekend away from the city and its dusty air. Except... with The Mother and Brother tagging along. Hah!

Actually it was a promise made to The Mother to bring her to the 'last kampung' in Singapore. Lorong Buangkok was much talked about recently. Its status as the 'last kampung' in Singapore has garnered much interest, especially the babyboomer generation who has seen and lived through the glory days (kampung style). The Mother was really looking forward to the visit. She grew up in Potong Pasir. Kampung girl, full of the kampung spirit. So a nearly 10minute drive later, we were transported back in time...

Well, not really. =) Archie and I had a morning walk at MacRichte Reservoir. My second time hiking in the park. We took a slightly different route this time and took in the wonderful bird's eye view of the entire reserve at the top of Jelutong Tower. Pity I left my Sony Cybershot's battery in office (i was charging it and forgot!!); I could have taken some good pictures.

Ah, anyway we're visiting the museum tomorrow. Despite the not-so-fantastic review Karen gave, I still would like to view the Kangxi exhibition. It's open house day this weekend anyway. But I will brace myself for screaming running kids and jolting crowds. Hopefully not! I hope the crowd (whoever it consists of) goes to Orchard Road and shop their arses off and stay away from the museum!

It is easy to say that I must be crazy to have gone on a late night Safari visit on a weekday night; because work awaits me the next morning. Then again, it makes a whole lot of sense to watch the nocturnal creatures running about comfortably in their (almost) natural habitat, sans the ridiculously noisy chattering weekend crowd. Trust me, there are homo sapeins out there who still don't understand 'Please keep quiet'.


For $10 additional, Boyfriend and I took the tickets with the tram ride. I gave the tram ride a miss that last time I visited Night Safari. Then, the bunch of us from my ex-company was showing a diplomat from Philippines around, and how could we not proudly show off our very own (and world's first) Night Safari? The last visit was my first. A rather intriguing experience, albeit a rather hasty one. I've been longing to tour the entire place again, but this time, minus the weekend crowd, holidaying school kids and touristy peak season.

Verdict: Much better this time. The tram ride took us to certain trails where no foot is allowed to venture on. The Sambar deers were roaming around so close to the tram track; I could almost pat them on their heads. (Not advisable though!) It would be a shame not to take the tram ride. It's pretty surreal to sit down, relax, let the night breeze caress your face and enjoy the natural ecosystem display itself in full glory right in front of you.

I couldn't forget the adrenaline-charged moment when I actually come vis-à-vis with a leopard during my last visit. Literally. Except there's a thick tempered glass in-between us. I squated down and peered into the glass, trying to sight the leopard in the sheer darkness. Just a nano-second later, I realized the creature was standing right in front of me, eyes piercing right through mine. I let out a huge gasp and fell backwards on my arse. Is there another word for 'unforgettable'? Because it's the only word to sum up the entire experience. And this time, I had to revisit the same spot I fell on my arse.

The Boyfriend needs to learn how to take pictures in the dark without flash. Really.

Mini LED lights are really useful for visits to a safari as unique as this. No flash lights and super bright torches are allowed. So low density mini LED lights are good for lighting up the wet slippery paths and providing a little shine for photgraphy, but still less harmful to the nucturnal creatures' ultra photo-sensitive eyes.

Then again, if you want to have your pictures taken decently, the safari rangers would take yours at the start of the tram ride and collection is ready at the end of the 45-minute tram ride. The Canon-pixelised photo, with decent light settings and cheesy photo frame will set you back at $15.

Well, I don't mind settling with grainy pictures and to take in the sight, smell of Mother Nature and upload it into my grey matter. It feels more... real.

Anyway, to kiss The Boyfriend under the stars in the middle of a tropical rainforest, with flying squirrels, erm... gliding above your head, is pretty surreal.

Romanticism is priceless.

Let's just admit: which one of us goes visiting during Lunar New Year because we sincerely want to wish our relatives well and we miss them so much that we can't wait to knock on their doors to see their bright cheery faces when they see ours?

'Fess up!

C'mon we know the real reasons:
1. The gold's in the ang baos (openly known secret).
2. To gamble and wipe clean someone else's ang bao collection.
3. To gamble like there's no tomorrow; know the police wouldn't kill your joy since it's CNY.
4. To watch all the CNY special variety programme at the relative's house since you have no Starhub.
4. To show off your latest arm candy to all the loser 'still single' cousins.
5. To show off your latest Maserati.
6. To persuade all your relatives, including their friends, friends' friends, that they have been leading a sinful life, and by donating to all charitable organisations, their lives would be redeemed forever and ever. Who needs Jesus?

I do remember that when The Dad's extended family was still around, parents would whip out booklets of donation vouchers and passed them around while their kids would cower behind their parents - too paiseh to ask on their own. Well, Singapore schools certainly have a good way of putting the kids in a difficult position. I'm sure I was the only person who had such awful experience. My school would purposely give out donation voucher booklets to us, just a few days before CNY, and 'encouraged' us to sell all the vouchers since (quote) 'it's time to remember the unfortunate during the festive season' (unquote).

My arse. You might have guessed it - I refused to conform. It's utter bullshit. The only reason is because you hardly meet that many people at a single short period of time, and the school teaches us to make good use of the opportunity.

And so I went back to school with the booklets still intact except for two teared snubs. I sold one to myself and one to The Mother. The teacher questioned if I had put in effort in selling the vouchers. I told her I have no family.

I think the worst you could do during CNY is not about finishing all the bak kwas at your relative's/friend's house, nor you accidentally breaking a glassware on the first day of new year. To sell charity vouchers or so-called attempt to spread 'the message of love' in any name, is just darn irritating. (And a taboo to me) I would not disagree that CNY provides an advantage to garner as much donations as possible. People are feeling joyous and wouldn't mind being more generous than usual. I guess I wouldn't mind if my lovely niece Ashlyn asks for my help when her very-dumb-arse school requires her to do the same.

But consider this: your boyfriend's relative meets you for the very first time. She greets you and asks if you're working.

Oh that's nice of her. She's engaging me in a conversation.

You tell her you're working and intends to embark on enthusiastic and meaningful conversation with her.

"Oh you're working hur? So working means you can buy this," she whips out a very suspicious-looking booklet-like thing out from the thin air.

"For only ten dollars you donate....yada yada yada"

Thereforth, all you could hear is static. At the mere mention of 'donate' your mind goes blank and it suddenly dawns upon you why you hated CNY since primary school. Because you loathe such situations.

You might have guessed anyway: the above stated scenario was played out to me. I was asked to buy the most f-ugly calendar I've ever seen in my life. SQ said it looked quite nice. He's right. But I was peeved and I intend to stay biased. Donated to where? Queenstown. Why? Because his cousin's husband is the MP of that town.

But seriously, buay pai seh meh? I bet she hasn't even remembered my name! We haven't even knew what each other's horoscope signs yet, what we like and dislike, and what colours undies we usually wear and she jump-started the whole relationship and elevated up it to 'Surely you can donate some $$ and make my husband look damn good in PAP'.

Normally, I would simply reply: Fark off. I don't even live remotely near to Queenstown! And my ten bucks would be better off contributing to the pool of money to repair my leaking air-con.

But I took out a red note anyway. In spite of wanting to roll my eyes so so SOOO badly, I reckon I should stay nice and sweet to his relatives. It's just this once anyway. And the red note is from one of those ang baos I got from his extended family. No loss actually.

P.S. The f-ugly calendar stays with SQ. I don't need to be reminded how 'well-intended' some people could be.

A woman's intuition is 'pretty scary', according to SQ. Though I have no idea where he's driving to, or the exact location we were at (he thought he lost his way), I looked out of the window and simply pointed out this distant dimly lighted house to him, "I think you're looking for that place,"

"Err, I don't think so," he drove the car to the opposite direction.

Five minutes later, we headed to that same distant dimly lighted house after the restaurant staff gave him directions over the phone. Should have just listened to me, no? =)

Just hours earlier, I was very sure I'd rather chill with The Best Friend than participate in another of those couply 'anniversary' activities with SQ. After I got cancelled, I got to eat the blardy humble pie and so I left it up to him to decide which warm, stuffy, sometimes-quite-smelly hawker centre he wants to take me to. I believe it's out of pure kindness (hah!) that he even agreed to fetch me from office to dinner in such short notice.

PS. Cafe was down on my organiser - "21 Jan 2009: Dessert on SQ's birthday". But that fella decided to bring it forward. I wasn't expecting that. Just like I didn't expect him to turn up at my office mid-day with flowers and dark chocolates. Heh.

Cue: Time for you to puke your breakfast, lunch and perhaps last night's fried rice.

A long, winding wooden platform, lit with spots of warm orange lights, leads one to the establishment which is nestled amidst lush greenery. So secluded the spot, you would mistake it for a haunted house with its low dim yellow lights.

Full length clear glass panels bounce off reflections of the simple round hanging lamps. Cosy, light and airy. The place's pretty packed for a Tuesday night. No rowdy teenagers though, to spoil it all. Except I was slightly irritated by a French couple, seated next to our table, who were (if I may) acting all so anal about their 2007 red wine. Anyhoo...

Listed first on the mains, the Flamed Prawn Tortiglioni looked very promising. It could be the baking soda that the tiger prawns were oh-so succulent. The toasted baguette was oozing with olive oil when I sink my teeth into it. How is that possible without turning the baguette into one soggy piece of bread??



A break from the usual sugar-overloaded chocolate cakes and all, Florida Key Lime Pie offers a refreshing after-pasta-dinner limey zest. No doubt my palate was aroused by its creamy fillings of extreme tanginess. I wouldn't mind seconds if I didn't need to watch my waist line (and SQ's wallet).

We moved out to the al frensco area and lingered for a while. Small clusters of patrons (a mix of locals and ang mohs) sipping their wines make up the demographic. Cool breeze, warm lights and quiet surroundings atmosphered the place for added romance. But I think having sex behind the row of bushes is actually illegal. Since banging is out of the question, we chatted. Hah!


Unknown to The Best Friend, I actually chose to hang out with her yesterday instead of 'celebrating' my one month affair with SQ. Actually what's there to celebrate? Isn't it just another excuse to dine in some fancy pancy restaurant and then live off air for the rest of the month? She felt so damn 'honoured' when she learnt about it much later. But anyway, that bitch got called last minute to tend to her lab's red blood cells (one of her ongoing 'Save The World' missions).

Looking at how things played out, I guess I could forgive her. =)

I have blogged about the street which I worked at and like laughing off people's reaction when I tell them it's a brothel street. Now nearly 4 months since our shift here (albeit just from the parallel street), I have experienced many awkward moments just from the name of the street/road.

Many times when I tell the taxi driver, "Keong Saik Road", they'd ponder for a while. Perhaps the English name is unfamiliar to them. So I'd further explain its location,"Next to Kreta Ayer lor"

Silence.

"Chinatown 牛车水"

"Aohhhh! 恭锡街 har? 小姐，你在恭锡街做工啊?" (in Cantonese)

"Yah."

"你知不知道那条街以前是做什么的吗?"

"Err... Yah."

"哈哈哈哈哈！"

-_-"

On numerous occasions, curious friends have asked me, on nights when I knocked off from work late, if I have been harassed by strange old men who might mistake me for one of 'those girls'. They fear for my safety.

My answer is 'never'. Instead I have been harassed on many occasions by taxi drivers. When they hear the street name, they'd laugh, verify my destination and try to ask me which building exactly I work in. Doh....

Their laughter disturb me....

1. Women with dripping-wet hair when they leave for work in the morning.

2. Women with ugly grey blazer and rooster tail-like clipped hair.

3. Women who wear nude stockings and open-toe heels.

4. Women who replace proper pants with black tights.

5. Women with lousy ready-to-throw-away slanted heels.

6. Men who wear full length jeans with flip flops.

7. Men who wear full length jeans with fraying ends with flip flops.

8. Men with long fingernails.

9. Men with big balls who insist sitting with their legs twice-their-shoulder-length apart.

10. Men who don't shave / can't shave properly.

I hereby propose that the above mentioned categories of homo sapiens to be removed immediately from the streets and never to allowed to expose themselves to the public until they are completely and successfully reformed.

when your day is spent in this manner:

1.05p.m.: Staggers from church to bus-stop with hungry stomach.

2.00p.m.: Stomach starts to cave in. Car arrives.

2.15p.m.: Still looking for East Coast Road.

2.35p.m.: Gobbles up $4.50 Katong Laksa from Stall 429.

2.45p.m.: A big plate of rojak.

3.05p.m.: Orders three Nonya Chang, a Chilli Prawn Chang and Pengkang Ubi from Kim Choo.

3.15p.m.: Can't resist a Salt Baked Chicken from Chakey's.

3.25p.m.: Tries to stop The Mother from buying Tau Kwa Pau at Hong Ann Eating House (but failed).

3.40p.m.: Fingers a New York Cheese cake from Obolo's.

3.50p.m.: First bite of the BEST durian puff in the whole world wide at Puteri Mas.

I will put on weight if this continues...

Okay, so the latest hoo-haa in Singapore is about Jade Seah uttering the big 'F***' word on national television. She apologised and some Indian Chief from Mediacorp issued some press release stating (quote) 'We deeply regret the unintentional leakage of the off-air expletive. Measures have been put in place to prevent such occurrences from happening in the future.' (unquote)

C'mon, cut the girl the some slack. It isn't some big deal. If those guys behind the control console hadn't delayed the microphone cut-off, that F-word would have been a normal human reaction to a blunder made (i.e. she faltered at the athelte's name) just like anyone of us cursing ourselves for missing the last bus.

If you watch enough overseas programmes, you'd know even veteran CNN news broadcasters make frequent bloopers. not just in audio, but captured on-screen! Bill O'Reilly is one, well-known to shoot his mouth off whenever things go wrong on-set.

If an apology is to be made, it should come from the one who is controlling the mic console. So let it go and let her do the job which, in the first place, isn't what she's trained for. Next time, if Mediacorp wants to take 'measures', it should get professional news broadcasters to do the job. Why let a novice into this? No money to hire good people, is it?

I cannot complain where my office is situated. Right opposite The Office, there's good ol' Cantonese congee, famous roast duck noodles and (sometimes) very nice kopi. To the right, there's Ann Siang Hill, Amoy Street, Maxwell Food Market and Tanjong Pagar Hawker Centre. To the left, we have Chinatown Food Market and Pearl Centre. And I can get seats anytime. (Unlike the frustration Shenton Wayers face at every lunch time)

The best thing ever is the building less than 100metres behind of us - New Majestic Hotel. Just two flights of stairs away, I could get a glass of Martini for $10 during Happy Hour. How swell is that?

The Majestic Bar sits on its own at a 3-storey building next to the hotel. Most patrons would opt for the outdoor tables; the evening breeze is quite a treat. The colleagues and I took our seats at level two. At 6.30p.m., the crowd's thin and we had the undivided attention of the bartenders.

Though a treat, I didn't want to burn a hole through my colleague's wallet. So a glass of Gingerbread Man Martini would do.

And it comes with complimentary finger-food! Not cheapskate nuts from 'The Farmer' but very delectable pieces of whitebait, lightly battered and fried, with mango bits.

I'm itching for a glass of Kiwi Mojito as I write.

Happy Hour @ Majestic Bar
5-8pm, Mon-Fri
Bukit Pasoh Road (Next to Outram MRT Station, Teo Hong Exit)

Once you've seen the pristine waters in Australia, you wouldn't go near our beaches' water. Not even for a million dollars. Especially when it comes with human faeces bacteria.

In bid to boost the Night Festival, The National Museum opened its doors, same for all others museums and heritage galleries, to the public free-of-charge. A good move to increase the public's awareness and appreciation of arts in the local scene. After all, arts help cultivate a normally rowdy, pushy, loud-mouth typical Singaporean person's heart, mind and soul.

Then I couldn't help but wonder, before being brought to table of plenty, shouldn't we first be taught the etiquettes of fine-dining?

I spent my weekend strolling about the spacious grounds of various museums. It was heart-warming to see families of young and old spending time together on an outing to the museum. I spotted an old couple studying one of Xu Beihong's Chinese painting and discussing with each other the significance of inscribed calligraphy. The mood was relaxed, the aisles were quiet. Very surreal until... I heard kids yelling and running down the hall. But that's just one. I can live with it. Then came the father shouting at his son for running. Son continued running, father continued yelling profanities, son munched loudly on his crunchy snack, mother... lecturing the sibling. And I rolled my eyes and thought, "Here we go again..."

Tranquility was short-lived, because the museums were soon with more homo sapiens - yelling yakking running screaming and I'm running out of appropriate verbs. I quickly seeked solace in the gallery featuring Alain Fleischer. A little corner room features 'Senstive Screen' - the artist's use of 'analogue and digital photography and film technologies to produce a photographic print derived from moving images'. Sounds out of this world? A video clip was being played repeatingly to demostrate how the art piece was made. So I sat down and watched. People wandered in and out of the room; none stayed long mainly because:

Overheard...
'Eh I don't understand. Go the other side'
'Hur?'
'Hahahaha what is this?'
'Nude pictures is over there lah'

What is the attitude that they have? Are we entering an arts museum expecting to only see beautiful framed pictures which are as simple as an apple in the basket to understand?

Brain of a rocket sciencist I do not have, but I can read what's written on the wall and watch what's played. Explanation as clear as crystal; it's not difficult to understand, unlike the painting of one tiny yellow dot in the middle of a plain blue canvas which used to sit in the gallery below my old office. No description, no explanation whatsoever. That was 'hur?'

Since you are already at the museum, are you expecting to tour the entire area within 15 minutes? If only people could take time to read the introductories on the wall, the art pieces will surely make sense to them.

At the Peranakan Museum, secondary school students were taken on a guided tour through the galleries. I mostly heard them teasing the traditional costumes and something about drama actor Lim Kay Siu resembling 'Harry Potter'. Whatever, it's just gibberish they were gibbering.

All these talks about cultivating the local arts scene makes me wonder if we have placed too high an expection on the locals' level of appreciation for this movement. This takes me to my very first question - before being shown through the galleries, should we be first brought through the basic ettiquettes to be observed and functionalities of various showrooms?

What did the visitors take away with them after leaving the museum? Loads of question marks which double as much before they visited the galleries? Did Georgette Chen leave an impression on them? Do they understand the significance of animal motifs on a bead table cloth when they run around collecting printed stamps on their paper?

How do museums in Europe and America work? Do they face the same kind of crowd? I've never been to these continents so I wonder.

Yesterday marked the wrap of Singapore's First Night Festival. And Friday night saw me swaying to the wicked melodies of live jazz performed at the Singapore Art Museum as part of the a series of programmes lined up during the festival.

I took a seat at Dome's, ordered coffee, laid back comfortably into my seat and let the evening breeze brush playfully across my face as the band played. Then I thought I saw multiple lighting flashed across the sky. I winced and was prepared to move further under the shelter. But it was actually something else - flash bulbs.

Then I couldn't help but wonder, when was the last time we sat through a performance and thoroughly appreciate it with our senses without whipping out our cameras?

The week before, The Best Friend and I attended the opening act for Night Festival at National Museum. Performers would perform (almost) death-defying acrobatic acts mid-air while secured to a harness. Announcements of no flash photography were made repeatedly; sudden lightening would startle the performers and distract them. While I kept my Sony CyberShot in my bag during the performance, everyone else seemed to ignore that announcement and the flashes never ceased.

In a mobile (i.e. moving) act, plots, scenes, movements change in an instant second. Miss it and you will never get it back. I wouldn't want to peel my eyes away and miss a single beat just because I need to figure which buttons to push to achieve less noise in my picture. I want to watch the alluring breath-taking mid-air dancing from A to Z and feel its grandeur with my senses and feel its impact in my heart. Photographed pictures you may take away and keep for a long time after the event, you can show them off to the world, but can you recall the emotions evoked within you that night other than 'Damn where's that ISO HIGH button' 'Shit picture too dark' 'Aiyah that man's head blocking lah'?

Would there come a day when we have photography and no photography - for those who prefer not to be visually disturbed by flashes of lights - at such performances?

I did turn on my camera and took videos of two separate segments, for the silhouettes of the dancers are almost large as a speck of tint in the air. I had to zoom into the image and watch through the large screen. Close enough but I completely lost the plot because watching through the lens just isn't quite the same.

I took no photos that night because I know with such far distance, poor lighting condition and limited capabilities of my Sony Cybershot under those mentioned conditions, it'd be a total waste of time. I prefer to just watch the performances with my eyes, not through the lens.

From Today (18 July 2008):

'George Yeo says political progress in Myanmar 'not as much as I would like'.

Certainly not an A or B, but I would say on the whole, with Asean's assistance and Asean taking the lead in bringing humanitarian assistance into Myanmar, we could give ourselves a C-grading.'

Well said.

Perhaps certain homo sapiens are meant to do bigger things while they can't even provide a proper upgrade for the residents in their constituency which - may I point out - has described as a 'cancer zone' by their own members of representation.

I couldn't help but wonder, if this is akin to a man who welds so much power in his office but cannot change a simple lightbulb in his home?

May I - very humbly - say that the residents' welfare and feedback has not been met with much enthusiasm by the Aljunied Group Representation Constituency. The living environment in my neighbourhood is 'not as much as I would like'. Cockroaches run free, live wires dangling loose, no lifts when more than half of this neighbourhood is eldery etc and etc.

Certainly not an A or B, but I would on the whole, with Yeo Guat Kwang's brilliant foresight that this zone is 'dying like cancer', we could I could give this group representation an, er let's see, E-grading.

Uniformed men down the escalator



















Uniformed men standby at Suntec Convention Centre



















Marching Parade starts at the lobby!

My uni-dar was enabled as I made my way down from Hall 602. My secret fantasy - men in uniform! (okay, like one of the many secret fantasies I have)

It was a strange sight at Suntec Convention Centre this evening. The guard of honour and its accompanying contingencies ready themselves at Sunetc, before marching off to the Marina Bay.The crowd had their share of eye-feasting up close and personal. =)

As if Father Christmas has answered my secret desires early, there is actually a group of poetry enthusiasts who would type you a poem on vintage typewriters.

The Proletariat Poetry Factory offers a novel service which works in simple steps:

1. Throw them a word or two for inspiration.
2. Leave your name behind.
3. Go have a beer. Yes, you.
4. Enjoy a quiet moment to savour the poem written just for you.
5. Pay any amount you want for the service.

How wickedly refreshing! It's like these people have been reading my mind! Poems and vintage typewriters - two of my greatest loves (among other things heh).

The group will 'perform' at Substation this coming Saturday, 5 July from 12-8pm.

Awww... I can't go... I had to oversee the setup of an lighting & technology exhibition. This is so frustrating... =(

Absolutely no disrespect, but I would like to point out that having longer limbs has its disadvantages too.

Monica's hubby, Rick drives a very cool two-door BMW sports car. But it's not so grand when I have to climb into the back seat in a very clumsy manner. First I swing my big bag in. Then I wriggle a little to pull my jeans up. Next I stride my right leg in before bending the other limb and then I slump onto the leather seat like a heap of broken bones. The same circus-like procession happens when I get off the car while Monica (then very pregnant) stands by to watch and laugh. -_-"

And the same goes for Karen's two-door Hyundai. If only I could fold myself up and roll in, then maybe getting on and off such vehicles would take less than 5 seconds. Fortunately I'm usually the only passenger at the back and could have ample leg space to stretch my long limbs.

Public bus rides are more excruciating. My worst nightmare is the old SBS bus which has seats and leg space meant for the midgets. There is no luxury of spilling my limbs to the next seat if it's occupied. I'd try to lean back as much as possible and sit very up-right, but still my knees would be rubbing against the seat back. Sometimes they are just literally stuck to it; I can't even move my legs! And when the bus jerks (which happens so very often), OUCH!

And because I bruise pretty easily, it makes matters uglier (literally).

This is only single 165 bus ride for less than 20 minutes. And now I'm officially the girl who can't wear shorts for the next five days or so. What's more frustrating is that I get this shite every Sunday; bus 165 takes me to my church.

If travelling long-haul could cause DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis), at least you could stand up, walk around and do some stretching. Nobody's gonna stare at you and think you're mental. I certainly can't do the same on a bus! How am I going to stand up from my seat without risk being hurled forward and crush through the windscreen when bus drivers these days like to think that they're driving a Ferrari? The bus jerks so often that I could retch a bagful by the time I reach my destination. And mind you, my motion sickness has improved over the years, and still I had to take deep breaths to calm myself down before boarding the bus.

Since I'm on it, I might as well debunk some myths about being tall.
1. It doesn't make me run/jog faster. It only allows me to take longer strides but if I'm slow, I'm still f***ing slow.
2. I don't jump higher nor further. Happy?
3. The air above is no different from below.
4. I don't get high-altitude sickness when I slid on my 4-inch heels. Stop telling me to stop wearing heels.
5. Tall girls don't always get the guy. Get it?
6. Tall people do have other interests which doesn't necessarily include basketball, volleyball, netball, high jump, pull-ups and being an air stewardess.
7. Tall people are not obligated to change your ceiling light bulbs and don't always have to end up being the 'pole' in Captain's Ball game.

And I cannot fathom why people have to crotch forward, bend their bodies lower when taking pictures with me. Should you be doing the opposite? i.e. sitting really upright.

Anyway I have no qualms standing out from the crowd. I love my height and have always embraced it. But I just think it's high time public transportation, the buses especially, start doing something about the lousy seats. My legs and their kneecaps would very much appreciate it.