Seven things to be grateful

1. Airconditioning – it’s been too fucking
hot. It’s migraine heat. Heat that smears itself all over my skin like sizzling
butter, and stays there. I scuttle between office and car airconditioning and
hope that my makeup doesn’t self-destruct in the transition.

2. Shu Uemura Depsea Water in Rose – A
refreshing rose-scented moisturizing facial spray in a see-through plastic
bottle. I could also buy an atomizer from Landmark and fill it with distilled
water, but hey, it feels good to treat myself to something inexplicably

3. Breaks in routine – Pat set me up
on a blind date (a very safe, noncommittal lunch) with a friend of hers. He
thought I was weird. I of course did not disabuse him of the notion. It was fun
to chatter – over delicious sea bass and baked Brie – of the days of Letraset
and Graphitype, and the amazing European train system, and why Heathrow airport
is hell on senior citizens.

4. Well-meaning
aunts – There is a huge balikbayan box in the living room filled with delightful
odds and ends: ex-bridesmaid satin pumps, wedges two sizes too small for my
feet, at least 3 kilos of pistachios, various broken-in tees and a dress fit for
a Missoni-whore cancan dancer. I adore everything in that box and intend to
rummage in it some more today.

5. Greenhills –
Cheap summer tank tops, beads for the bead addict in me (Teye reminded me to
bring my jewelry next week for her to show her aunt who works for Nordie’s),
quilted Indian cotton comforters (these feel so sinfully good on your skin),
bric-a-brac from the sidewalks of Bangkok, this one stall that sells crocheted
skirts ten sizes too big for me but which I want anyway, and sago coolers from

6. Quentin Turtletino (and Tina) – Our
sliding, basking turtles are getting too big for their bowl, and they scritch
and scratch the glass at the oddest hours. One day they will figure out the
exact amount of force it will take to topple the bowl over, and then they’ll be
sorry. 😉

7. Saturday – The great divide day,
the comic book gutter day, the don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you day, the day that
makes every other day worthwhile.