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I share all my sporadic and toilet thoughts in here, because I am random like that.
Laughter – what this trip is defined by
(This is a backdated entry written offline, and published when I – finally – had wireless access.)
The ongoing vacation in New Zealand has been full of amusing happenings (and merry mishaps) thus far. It’s been about;
1. A GPS named Nicolette, christened by my younger cousin J. Apparently, Nicolette was not very accurate. She led us to an abandoned shack once when we wanted to go to the Geothermal Park, and let us off-track to an unmaintained gravel road in the mountains when we wanted to drive to Wellington. Bottom line is, don’t expect 100% accuracy from a GPS. Needless to say, Nicolette received a fair amount of verbal abuse.
2. My uncle flirting with the lady behind the counter at Subway, Hutt Valley (Wellington) … right in front of his wife. And the lady flirted back. Even gave him a free foot-long piece of bread too.
3. Receiving our rental MPV cars on our first day at Auckland and realizing we had no idea how to operate it, right down to the most basic operation of opening the car doors. We’d punch a button (e.g. to open the door) and something else (e.g. the lights coming on) will happen instead. Imagine that happening ten times in a row. It took us half an hour to figure out the basics, and a further 5 days to get used to it.
4. Merry mishaps such as us causing the curtain rod at our Wellington motel to crash onto the floor when we overloaded it with our wet laundry.
5. Playing silly games such as “guess what Brenda will say when she returns to meet us”, “guess what Jillian will say when she comes out of Subway” and “guess which auntie is awake when we reach the motel”. And the loser has to drink some vile concoction.
6. Playing pranks on one another in the car. Such as putting the air conditioning at full blast when it was already dead cold outside, letting farts rip when everyone least expects it, and pretending to drive off when the last few people are still walking towards the car.
7. Putting the two top snorers in the same room and listening to them PK in the middle of the night. (It sounded like an orchestra in there.)
8. Conversations loaded with too much information.
In the car, on the way back to our motel in Wellington.
J – “Can I bathe first?”
Me – “Sure!”
J – “My backside’s itchy.”
Me – “Okay, too much information.”
J – “I think it’s growing fungus!”
Me – “…”
9. The drives around town with the cousins in the MPV with the windows down, with Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling” playing at full blast on the radio with us singing along at the top of our voices.
“I gotta feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night,
That tonight’s gonna be a good night,
That tonight’s gonna be a good good night.”
– The Black Eyed Peas
Among many others. Thanks for keeping the smile on my face.
Two words I hate to see most: “Gate Closed”
[Written at 7.49 P.M. (24th December) Singapore time, 12.49 A.M. (25th December) New Zealand time.]
The trip had a rather bumpy start, with the whole group of us nearly missing our flight.
We checked-in at the airport with time to spare. But what we didn’t realize that this time wasn’t enough for us to grab a quick bite before boarding. The group lounged around at Burger King, blissful oblivious to the time ticking by – until I glanced at my watch and yelped at how we were only a mere fifteen minutes away from our flight departure time … with our boarding gate over at the other end of the airport.
Strangely, no one else seemed to be in as much of a panic as I was. Some wanted to explore the butterfly park (one of Singapore Airport’s attractions), and a particular uncle wanted to spend some quality time in the toilet (Mother Nature was calling in a big way).
So, my two closest travel buddies (Grace and Jillian) and I made a mad dash to the boarding gate while the rest sauntered merrily behind (and the above-mentioned uncle still in the toilet). Upon reaching the gate, we were approached by a flustered-looking woman who questioned us whether we were boarding flight SQ281 to Auckland.
The answer to that one was quite obviously, yes. And there were fifteen people in the group. The lady nodded curtly before adding on that the entire plane was downed by us fifteen people and that all the other passengers were waiting for us. I believe that my face had flushed a deep shade of red at that moment.
The flight was at 8.45am and we showed up at the gate at 8.40am. Nice. Real nice.
We ran through the gangway as if our lives depended on it – with the LCD screen display above the entrance displaying a big red “Gate Closed” sign.
The flight was further delayed by another 45 minutes. Due to our late arrival, it was another 20 minutes before the crew managed to prepare the plane for takeoff which in turn, also resulted in our plane being caught in a ‘jam’ (or backlog) of planes waiting to take off.
Killing time on board.
I spent most of the flight reading this book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Practically devoured the entire book in one sitting. It speaks of a group of people – one white, and some black maids – banding together to fight the ongoing prejudice and mistreatment of the black people in their town. Barely managed any sleep because I was oh so captivated by the writing.
One more thing. This blond lady next to me had boobs that bounced around like jelly. The plane encountered some really bad turbulence near the beginning of the flight that caused us to be shaken around like a can of beans. And I am not kidding when I say that my seat partner’s boobs were flying all over the place. Didn’t help that she was wearing a low-cut spaghetti top which provided me with an eyeful of her ample cleavage each time I tried to look towards the window.
I’ve been in New Zealand for about eight days now, which means this entry is actually horribly late. There’s barely any wireless internet around – either they are chargeable, or the connection is nonexistent – so there is little I can do online. I’ve been tweeting on an ad hoc basis as and when I spy free wireless while on the go, and will continue to do so. (;
Seven more days to go.
And I still have plenty to talk about from the past eight days.
Oh dear.
Oops, and most importantly – wishing one and all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. It’s past midnight here in New Zealand, making us one of the few who reached Christmas first. (;
Possibly Gran’s most interesting birthday
My grandmother turned 88 today.
After a huge dinner with the rest of the extended family – including my 9 uncles and aunts with their spouses, children (my cousins) and their children’s children (err, quite a number of my cousins have their own families too) – we gathered around a row of tables for the mandatory (out of tune) birthday song and cake.
And that was when the drama began.
Little Luke – my older cousin’s three-year old son – bounced happily on my grandmother’s lap, clapping and waving his hands around wildly while the rest of the members of the new generation (more of my cousins’ kids – comprising another three-year old boy, two one-year old girls and one eight-year old dude) looked on.
Till now, I can’t get over how noisy little kids can be. They look so cute and innocent in small, bite-sized packages, until they open their mouths and … OH. MY. GOODNESS.
Oh yeah, I digressed.
Little Luke eventually couldn’t hold back the sight of the huge cream-filled cake in front of him, leaned forward and glomped down an entire mouthful of strawberry cream straight off the cake.
The response from the rest of the extended family looking on was a mixture of surprised yelps and some laughter. Little Luke, obviously pleased with the response he got, flashed a cream-smothered grin and proceeded to bend over the cake for a second mouthful.
My older cousin eventually responded (where was she the first time round?!) by running forward and grabbing the little fellow before he could attempt a third round. But alas, attempting to restrain Little Luke was a major struggle. Even with her firm grip on Luke, the latter had still managed to brush the tip of his tongue against the cake for his third helping of cream.
The extended family had eventually decide to ignore the little cream-obsessed monster and launched into an off-tune version of ‘Happy Birthday’, followed by a shower of saliva spray as members of the new generation (the little kids) blew out the candles.
Little Luke continued to bounce around on my grandmother’s lap, clapping his hands happily and flashing his (still cream-filled) grin at everyone around.
In the midst of the din around, my grandmother suddenly gave a yell. This was soon followed by another yell, and finally an extended call of distress.
Some of us dashed over, only to spot a huge wet patch of I-don’t-know-what on her right pant leg. Some of the sliminess was dripping off Little Luke’s right arm. Puke? We didn’t know. Little Luke was still happily bouncing around on my grandmother’s left leg while my grandmother continued to whine.
A few seconds later, Little Luke flashed another grin. This time, his grin was peppered with a mixture of strawberry cream and some remnants of puke. Plus, the stench was beginning to diffuse around the room like wildfire.
I could no longer see up-close what was going on at the scene because by then, I had already backed up at least twenty-feet away from the source of that offending stench (Little Luke and my grandmother’s soaked pant leg). Geez, I totally hated the stench of puke.
The birthday lady and the little puking machine were quickly escorted to the toilets for a quick clean-up while the waiters at the restaurant took the cake away for slicing.
Considering Little Luke’s close proximity to the cake, nobody actually knows whether he had puked on the cake or not. But from the looks of it, everyone is assuming he did because everyone was suddenly so reluctant to eat the cake after that.
Me? I didn’t touch a single slice.
Um, Happy Birthday to my Grandmother anyway.
And what’s an extended family gathering without some drama?
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