Disney'sTangled Soundtrack--perfect music for mommy bloggers

 I'm sure most mommies, especially those who have daughters, have watched Disney's Tangled by now.  I myself watched it twice, both times sobbing, at the scene where Flynn Rider slowly dies in Rapunzel's arms as she cries and sings the healing song.

While I love Disney's Tangled and believe it to be one of Disney's best animation ever, I truly recommend listening to the movie's soundtrack.  I think the 8-time Academy Award winner Alan Menken did an amazing job composing all the songs (all original!) for the movie.  My personal fave is "When Will My Life Begin".
I don't know about you, but when I listen to the words, they sound very much like what goes on in my head as I go through my day being a full-time housewife and mom.  Why, it's basically a song filled with complaints, but rather than sounding forlorn and depressing, it is upbeat and refreshing!  I found it hilarious and really entertaining.  A perfect music to listen to for us mommy bloggers!

Bikini Whacks!

You know what I hate the most about having a bikini wax?  Other than the excruciating pain of having your pubic hair being yanked out of their roots over and over again? Other than the burning sensation that follows after?

Yeah, you'd think that anybody in their right mind would surely abstain from subjecting themselves to such agony...

But as revealed by the title of my blog, it is pretty much established that I am NOT of the right mind.  Therefore, not only did I try it once, but I am one of those suckers who continues to strip my bikini zone free of hair every month, hoping each time I would somehow grow immune to the pain, but always ending up disappointed at my body's inability to develop a thicker skin where I needed it most.  The resulting yelling of expletives comes next, completing the whole routine that would be on repeat in four weeks time.

There is indeed no end to this torturous practice. Contrary to what the experts at the salon told me (note: the word "expert" here does not pertain to any academic or scientific title; it is more the "I do this tens of times a day"-kind of expert), I'm still waiting for evidence of softer, less hair growth resulting from my rigorous waxing.  Somewhere in their lengthy explanations about the merits of waxing, they missed mentioning the inevitable ingrown hair problem.  Yeah, THAT problem, yo.

Aaargh, I can sense the onset of my obsessive compulsive trait just by thinking about it!  If there is one thing I hate the most about bikini wax, it is the sight of those little benign bumps where upon close inspection, a small pinpoint part of the underlying hair may be seen under the skin bump. 

Lets not forget why women wax, which is to achieve the illusion of neat, properly tended to, smooth area where unwanted bushes tend to grow.  So what did I do when I've gotten rid of the bushes but found that there were suspicious looking things lurking beneath the surface?  I armed myself with the tweezer and started plucking of course!  I digged, tweaked, yanked, and extracted; complete extermination was my sole mission.  I even bought myself one of those little light attached to a headband thingy for increased visibility.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" came a knock on my bathroom door.

"Err, you've been there for a while. Are you okay?" my husband asked from behind the locked bathroom door.

With single-minded doggedness I remain focused on the task at hand (literally).

"Hellooo? Anybody there?" my husband's voice again.

"Mommy, Mommy, let me in!!! Why are you taking so long?" my daughter whines.

Bloody hell, can't they see I'm busy here?  What's one got to do to have a little peace around here?  I need to concentrate, for goodness sake!

By the time I decided I could pluck no more, an hour had gone by, and I've got a stiff neck from bending down for too long, cramps in my fingers, and my nether regions look like an excavation site gone haywire.  Ewww! Too much information? Sorry.

So now not only must I embrace the one (or more like two, for me) week of gloriously feminine Pre-Menstrual Syndrome every month, I got this other thing to worry about.  Well, that and a million other things, ranging from: why does the increase in my husband's income not correlate with the increase in the prices of consumer goods, to why am I growing white eyelashes? (seriously, I'm not kidding!).

Okay, back to the topic of bikini wax, shall we?

Photo by brazilianbikiniwaxspa.com

Let me clarify that I'm not one of those people who does this for the sole purpose of pleasing the man in my life.  I don't have sex that often, remember?  I honestly just like the look of it (do you know you can have different shapes such as an arrow, a heart, a bow, or a triangle to name a few, I guess depending on how much hair you've got).  Besides, the absence of bikini hair goes quite handy when you go to the beach (no stray hair peeking out of your swimsuit), and for avoiding that sticky (and painful) situation when your hair got caught on the adhesive part of your sanitary pad. Ouch!

But at this rate, I'm really, really starting to question the sanity of having my bikini region waxed.  Those solutions that are supposed to reduce ingrown hair?  Have you ever tried them on?  Holy cow, they hurt!!! Laser treatments? I'm definitely not exposing that area to any kind of laser beams anytime soon.  And yet, left unattended, mine is the sort that would grow into primeval forest in record time.

So, will you still see me at my neighborhood waxing salon?  Uhm, yea. Sadly, my vanity has been known to defy the laws of gravity, hence, all commonsense in general.  And if there are some stuff in life that should be put in my Mommy List of "Do as I say, Not as I do," this definitely qualifies!

Mommy Don't Want to Go to Disneyland

A typical conversation between me and my 6 yr-old daughter:

6 yr-old Daughter: Mommy I want to go to Disneyland.
Me: No, noo, nooo I don't waaaant!
6 yr-old Daughter: Okay. I can go there next time then.

I guess it's obvious who's the mature adult here.

Day 1-3 of my Hong Kong Trip

Day 1: ate kung pao snake for dinner
Day 2: fell off the boat while riding in wooden sampan across the harbor; made headlines in China Post.
Day 3: ran the Hong Kong marathon and finished 8th.

JUST KIDDING...

Been in Hong Kong for three days and am having a guilt trip over not doing anything more cultured than shopping and eating.  My greatest adventure so far was figuring out how to walk from the Landmark building back to my hotel in one hour (the locals usually managed it in 5 minutes).

Was planning on taking my camera with me, but always decided at the last minute that adding one more thing to my handbag was too much of a hassle.

And here I thought I was gonna be the next Ian Wright...

The Power of Fart

Hubby and I got into a fight four nights ago. Over farting issues.

Yep, you read it right.

After a decade or so of complaining about how hearing him fart loudly--in the mornings while he's brushing his teeth, when he's in the toilet doing number two, and at nights while browsing in front of the computer--is such a turn-off, husband chose last night to get offended and went on a defensive.  "Goddamn it," he barked, "You complained so much!  I can't fart, I can't pick my nose, I can't clean my ears, I can't do anything in my own house!!!"

Naturally, I fired back, "Obviously that's not true, cos I've been saying the same thing for the last decade or so, and you're still farting, picking your nose, cleaning your ears, and doing all your personal grooming in front of me.  Do NOT make it seem as if I'm some dominant wife who's gonna whip your ass at the slightest signs of passing gas!"

Ok, while this sounded as stupid an argument as it gets, we both were pretty pissed that night and refrained from speaking to each other for the next two days. I even deleted his contact from my BB messenger (and I only do this to people I hate and don't want to be friends for like, ever).  I know, I know, that was pretty immature of me...

But really, if I knew married life would involve witnessing my "prince charming" engage in the following activities: compulsive removal of ear-wax in my presence, constant extraction of dried nasal mucus or foreign bodies from the nose with a finger (sometimes two), incessant expulsion of gas accompanied by several high-sounding "toot" that varies in duration, and habitual scratching of his scrotum, I would probably have opted for the joy of single life.  Or at least tracked down a way better looking guy.  One whose face would pretty much makes up for just about anything--questionable hygiene and habits included--assuming he's also stupid enough to want to marry an average looking, uninspired, and obstinate gal like me.

Seriously, as if married life isn't hard enough with the customary display of bed head look (I'm talking about the frightful, not the sexy, Hollywood version kind) and morning breath! 

Let's face it ladies, nowadays the likelihood of me getting struck by lightning (1:500 000) has sadly surpassed the likelihood of me getting overcome by burning lust for my husband (try 1: never).  You know that famous King of Leon's song, "Sex on Fire?"  My version would be more like "Sex on Hold... until further notice."  Gone were the days where we would give up our beauty sleep in the middle of the night for a quick romp under the sheets.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband.  But over the years, the all-consuming lust has turned into something that is more akin to affection.  You know, the warm comfy feeling you have for your teddy bear back when you were a little girl?  The one you used to snuggle to and helped you sleep better?  (Well yeah, the same one you used to bang on the floor while you threw a tantrum fit, causing it to lose one eye, but hey, that's besides the point).

While one could argue that this is probably why my sex life is just as exciting as having tea with a paddington bear, at least I don't have to wear my make-up and those itchy lingerie to bed anymore.  It's all about comfort now, mate!  I guess the same must have happened for my husband.   Judging from the ease with which he performs the acts of releasing gas and removing unwanted stuff from his nose and ears in front of me, now I wonder just how comfortable things have gotten between us.  Well, comfortable for him.  Not so much for me.

After two days of pretending we were invisible to each other, hubby raised a white flag, thereby putting a short end to our silent war on day #2.  He agreed to try to improve his manners pertaining to grooming and releasing gas, and I acquiesced to turn a blind eye to some possible "faux-pas" in the future (provided they are isolated cases that are neither avoidable nor controllable, like diarrhea for example).

Since then, it was all calm and peaceful on both fronts.  I started to rebuild my faith in the good of mankind, and was just starting to hope that perhaps sans all the farting, the nose-picking, the ear cleaning, and the toe clipping I would finally be able to relate to that "Sex on Fire" song, when a familiar "toot" sound came from not too far a place.  Across from me, to be exact.  Where my husband is sitting in front of the computer.

Lawyers

Earlier today, my husband and I were just relaxing on the sofa while watching the news on TV, when suddenly there’s this bit about Charlie Sheen and his antics.  Soon after, a famous “entertainment lawyer” went onscreen to voice his comments on the whole thing.  The title “entertainment lawyer” sorta picked my interest, cos you hear about other sorts of lawyers like criminal lawyers, divorce lawyers all the time…. but an entertainment lawyer?  Hmmm… sounded glamorous and scandalous… well, it sounded like a dream job to me!

“Gosh, an entertainment lawyer?  Must be rich, huh?” I told my husband.

“Yeah, I’m sure…” he replied.

…”Ge’ez, all these lawyers… They’re… Lawyers are… such… crooks!”  I absent-mindedly said, my vision still glued on the image of the said entertainment lawyer onscreen.

“Didn’t you tell me just the other day, that I would make an excellent lawyer?” my husband asked.

<O Shit>

Now, that doesn’t really say anything about what I think about my husband, does it?  Just thought I’d share that with you.

Another marriage bites the dust...

It wasn't too long ago a friend of mine told me, over a few shots of tequila and B52s, that she was getting a divorce.  Ah, the D word.  I personally think that there are four main reasons couples get a divorce (especially where I live): Infidelity, Money, Abuse (physical/emotional), In laws.
All around me, fellow couples are getting divorced.  Back in the days when I was a small kid, divorce were rarely heard of, my parents' being one of the rare cases.  Oh, infidelity happens too, it's just that it didn't seem to be considered a ground strong enough for a divorce.  My society didn't condone it, but we've definitely tolerated male infidelities more often than not, judging from the low number of divorce back then.

Today, however, is a different story.  Young couples with 3-5 years of marriage divorce as easily as breaking up a date.  Not to mention the 2 or 3 young 'uns trapped in between.  Products of love turns sour.  Reason #1?  Hubby having affair(s).
Now, given those facts, I naturally assumed that the reason for my said friend for divorce was because her husband's having an affair (or two) with another woman.  I'm pretty sure the problem didn't lie on money issues, cos her husband's known to be quite well-to-do and obliging on her spending.  Definitely not because of physical abuse, cos I'm sure we would've seen it if it were.  As far as her in-laws are concerned, the coast is clear.  Must be another woman, I thought.  And so did everybody else think also, once she told her story to a couple more eager ears.

Turns out there's more to the story than I originally thought.  The latest rumor has it that the husband is gay.  Rumor being rumors, it could just be that.  But it did wake me up to that possibility, one that until now I never consider as a cause for divorce.  Call me glib, but hey, they got married, right?  Bride and groom?  Know what I mean?  So don't blame me if I didn't see any ex or future boyfriend for the groom in the picture, alright??

So, the million-dollar question: what do you do (when your husband turns out gay)?  Throw in two or three kids into the picture to the mix also please; then what do you get?  How does it all fit into a picture?  Will a divorce settle the problem the same way as when the problem was another woman?  Could we even argue that one seems to be better than the other?  There, let's call it our daily sweat for today, shall we?