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Madame de Maintenon

It has been a maintenance month, this February.

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The relationship maintenance job was done on the 14th with a 24-hour getaway at the Radisson Slavyanskaya by the river. Nice! I finally could hear my voice coming out of my mouth in a quiet conversation with Rahul,  when he took his Anjali out for Valentine’s rrrrromantic dinner at Maharaja. Usually I just do lip sync for me Monchies. Well, we do do the monthly maintenance on every 19th. But nothing as maintaining as overnighting. Ehem!

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The last 2 weeks have been a dental maintenance session as well.  Cleaning,  whitening, filling, filling-replacement, crowning, root-canal. No dentures yet, thanks to Sensodyne. Speaking of filling-replacement, I think it’s also time to update my will. I should leave a specific instructions to whomever survive me of what to do with my teeth. No matter how much surviving me bites.

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By now I should have enough porcelain filled in my molars for my survivors to make a tea set with. And by the time I am 75, if long lives the queen, I shall have enough porcelain to make a dinnerware set for each child of mine. As it is, my dentist bill is already equivalent to a set of Silver Palace all inclusive for me Monchies and me Conchies (Monchies’ cousins).

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In case you have no experience having cavities and having your teeth filled: dentists these days use porcelain (and many other aesthetic materials) instead of amalgam alloy (mercury or silver).

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It has also been a month of maintaining my running activity which I had been running away real far and fast from. On good days (though not very many, due to February being the shortest month this year), I can run 10km in my 100m² bedroom in a breeze. On bad days I can run 100km non-stop in my size 9 Ushanka-capped head in 10 split seconds. And that 10 split seconds have to be split and spilled into 3m³ of diet juice called Axe-Cues Me.

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Now that I have maintained blogging, posting at least 3 entries per week… I should go spank my maintained round behind, put on my 3-year-old runners that still maintain their brand-new look, and do some maintenance job on my weight. Hey, wait a minute… I have an article to edit, don’t I? Yeah, that Super Lynx article for Berita Harian from Mr. Maintain Delicious Heli Pilot old friend of mine.

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I am gone running… away from running.

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What Makes It Okay

You know the pillars Kahlil Gibran was talking about? Those that stand apart from each other? Do you know what comes in between, the space that Kahlil Gibran did not talk about? I found it. That space, that nothingness between the pillars. Yes, I found it.

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And I found that emptiness… is not always a bad thing.

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The Departure of An Arrival

This time, it’s not words that fail me. It’s my sorrow. For everytime I say something, or write something about the loss that Bibik went through, I feel too much. I feel my own words as I don’t think I can come close to understanding how it feels to wait for someone who goes away before she arrives. It wasn’t the wait that was long enough. It was an arrival that wasn’t.

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I will call Bibik later today if words would say it and if thoughts would count.

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Less On

Lesson Number 1

Enida, please have a cup of coffee before taking the Monchies to school. The other day, you really made yourself sound like one of those who solo parlano poco Inglés when you spoke to the Dutch lady who introduced her son to Edrick as Dillan and on behalf of Edrick you said, “Hi Villain!” Bad move, Enida, bad move! On mornings when you have not had your caffeine, just let Edrick do the talking.

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Lesson Number 2

When you do have a cup of Vivalto Lungo before walking the Monchies to school, keep your eyes peeled when you walk by the Sled Slope on your way home. Your daughter might still be there playing with Tia at ten after the bell. Your Monchies are no angels. They’re kids. If they’re not naughty once in a while, they are no good. They would make parenting too easy. And easy is no fun.

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Lesson Number 3

Just because you brush your teeth twice a day and floss every other day, you are not guaranteed to be safe from cavities. When you are rotting, you’re rotting. Be thankful it’s just your teeth, or maybe later your bones. Not your morality. So two visits to the dentist can buy you that Lattissima Nespresso Machine, so what? If you can’t enjoy your coffee, what can you?

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Lesson Number 4

Stop pulling your gray hair out. You’d be bald in two weeks if you don’t stop today. Or tomorrow.

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Lesson Number 5

Make the bed as soon as you jump out of it. If you don’t, more often than not you’ll jump back in as soon as your kids are out of the house.

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Lesson Number 6

Enida, please remember not to leave the adaptor for the three square prongs on the washing machine. Your helper might think you forgot about it and she might take it home. When you call her to ask if she had removed it from where you put it last, she would say that she would come over to look for it and find it for you – she doesn’t understand what you mean by, “I’ve looked everywhere 12 times and a half!”. And she would come when you are not home and make it look like she had found it and could not explain where she found it 15 minutes after she found it.

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Lesson Number 7

Do not wait until tomorrow morning what you can do tonight. Pack those lunchboxes with what you can prepare the night before. Wake up! You are not a morning person. Stop denying that you are not in denial as well. How would you explain that you forgot to pack the kids’ lunchbox until just before you stepped out to walk them to school this morning, then? You were lucky there was Smoked Salmon Linguini leftover you made the other night, and mandarin oranges you grabbed at Tsum Gastronomia for the kids’ quick snack. You can’t grab luck every morning when you forget or when you don’t wake up early enough. Can you?

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Bebel Babe

Everything went really smoothly and well when Monchies were all showered, dressed and ready by 0800 on that Saturday morning. Saturday morning? We never wake up earlier than 0900 on any given Saturday mornings. So to be up at 0730 was record-breaking, I tell you! I also knew by 0820, all butts had to be out the door if we were going to make it to our 0900 dentist appointment on Bolshaya Dmitrovka, the second busiest one-way street near Kremlin.

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The appointments were only for Mommy and Kit that Saturday as Edrick’s and Kitreena’s teeth had had the cleaning done the previous Saturday. Kakak had two teeth with cavities and they needed to be fixed. While Mommy’s teeth were overdue for a cleaning and check-up. Foregone conclusion… breakfast could wait. At 0817hrs I went downstairs to get my boots on and…

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Whattt? What are you guys doinggg?!

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My jaw, my teeth, my tied tongue, my soft palate, my hard palate, my premolars, my molars, my whole dentition, my throat, my throat’s child and all my hope to get to the dentist on time dropped to the floor and they all went rolling bergolekdog out of the garage door faster than I could say, “Huh?”

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Here they were, my husband and my children, having gourmet breakfast like there was no tomorrow and like there was no dentist appointment due in approximately 37 minutes! I could not believe my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my throat and my brain when I saw that! Be and I had an agreement (I thought?) that breakfast could wait until after! (Did I just put an exclamation mark at the end of every sentence I just wrote? Well, for crying out loud, I was very exclaimed!)

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And here it was, breakfast on the table for father and two children… scrambled eggs, brown toast, breakfast meat, cheese and orange juice! I was just standing motionlessly and in disbelief at the kitchen counter trying to feel what shock would feel like if I had not known my significant other for twelve years, him and his punctuality.

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I finally decided not to feel anything, put my boots on and shut my emotion detector down. We finally left Bukit Pokrovsky at 0838 trying to make what could be an hour drive into a 22-minute flight. Oh I felt like my head actually rolled down to my feet and my feet were not on the ground. And all along Volokolomskaya, Leningradsky, Tverskaya and Bolshaya Dmitrovka, I was going…

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Dah tauuuuuuuuuuu nak pegi dentist, lagiiiiiiiiiii nak sarap macam lah lepas tu karang tak boleh makaaaaaan. Selalunya Sabtu sarap dah tinggi hari tak lah pulak laparrrrr, boleh lah pulak tahaaaaaan. Kalau setakat yogurt ke, cereals ke, or roti planta tu paham lah jugak mengalas perut, ehhhhhhh! Siap goreng telur buat scrambled eggs tuuuuu! Nasib baik takde segala hiasan plus a Swedish flag tercacak kat atas toast itu tadi, lady and gentlemen ni kang aku gentel belaka-laka buat sarapan besok pagi ni karaaaaaaaaangggg!

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And dah tauuuuuuuuuuu jalan pagi Sabtu ni sesak mengalahkan orang Melayu dan India nak balik kampung Raya Cina,  orang Cina dan India nak balik kampung Raya Melayu, orang Cina dan Melayu nak balik kampung Raya Hindu… parking susah nak cari macam kat Batu Caves on Thaipusam, and macam Tesco Selayang, naaaaaaaakkkkkk lah jugak melambatkan orangggg! Dah berapa tahun, taaaaaakkkkk reti-reti nak jaga masa. Ini bukan kali pertama, malah kali keTIGA kita akan lambat for appointment tempat yang sama. Malunya kalau orang panggil kita the Late Johnsons tauuuuu! Kita tunggu dentist tak apa, jangan dentist tunggu kitaaaaa! Kita nganga kita bayar, dia nganga kita jugak bayar! Eeeeeeeeessssyyyy sakitnya hatiku iniiiiiiiii!

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I must have had my eyes closed all along Volokolomskaya, Leningradsky, and Tverskaya entertaining my thoughts. For when I opened my eyes and opened my heart to accept that some people just would not change their priorities to suit mine, we were already on Bolshaya Dmitrovka parking right in front of US Dental Clinic’s door! Huh? And it was 0900hrs right on the dot, and right between my eyes if I were to be shot for my crime of having no faith. 🙂 I had a big smile on my face and Be didn’t even notice the ‘exclamation marks’ I just swallowed!

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Va bene, questa è Enida!

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I am glad that over the years… I have learned to not nag. And when I do, my bebel is always voiceless and motionless. Because I have been wrong many times. Including last Saturday. But after all that went well and positive, nobody knew the negativity of my thoughts until today. Here. Hehehehehe.

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Candy Date

It’s ten to 1800hrs Friday evening here in Pokrovsky and I have three seven-year-old screaming cancan girls in my house: one non-French-Klasik-Nasional-Bahasa-speaking Canadian, one American and one bilingual Russian. No French, thank goodness. Or I will be hard-pressed to practice my Exorcist halauhantu mantra and prayers in French right about now.

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Girls can be fatally competitive and nasty, I’ve been telling myself. But today I saw the statement right before my eyes. When these girls fight, they really fight, I tell you. They are not physical though. Thanks to my big eyes and fatal stare ala X-men mutant, as with just one thunderous “Excuse me!?” the girls would be halfway down the hallways to the washroom pantywetted!

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But then, considering that these cancan girls have been playing together since 1530hrs, and I only had to referee them once when they were on the PS3… shows me that they are pretty independent. I am now downright impressed as they are reminding each other about time. Natasha has to be home by 1800 and Tia by 1815hrs. And they all know they take at least 5 minutes to put all the winter gears on. It’s five to the ‘Oh Clock’ and the girls are urging Natasha to move it move it!

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Wow! Punctuality at its best.

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I am, however, fully aware that these cancan girls will sooner than soon change their name to The Cannot Girls. As it is, Kitreena makes more phone calls in 3 days than I do in 3 months. These little women are already asking about Sleepovers and Pyjama Parties. Where have all the diapers and milk bottles gone? And just I wait til there’s boys!

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Unless it’s Christopher.

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NGCBBQGSKNDKCDT

I made a mistake the other day. Hmmm… not just the other day. I actually probably make mistake every other day, if not everyday. The leftover Chinese BBQ-Style Ribs I made for the weekend supper was not something I should have converted into soup or curry. But that was the mistake.

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Well, actually I made two mistakes (plus plus ++). I turned the ribs into a soup. And then I turned the soup into a curry! Since it didn’t taste quite right as a soup – crushed cayenne pepper that would not break down even after boiling the ribs for many hours, the soy and teriyaki caremel flavor and the sweetness of Muscavado sugar – it was a recipe for disaster!

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So I cut up some vegetables (cauliflower, carrot, celery and babycorn), saute them with some shallots, garlic, ginger, curry paste as well as curry leaves. And then I poured in the ‘soup’, adding some coconut milk. Voila! Got me some Watered-down-double-boiled-Chinese-BBQ-Style-Ribs-soup-transformed-into-Vegetable-Curry kind of curry!

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I even served the WDDBCBBQSRSTIVC Curry with the Onion Paratha for supper one evening!

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The next day, I thought… ishhh, cannot lah. The curry tasted not too bad, hubby liked it, but it just didn’t sit right on my Chinmaladian tongue. You can marry a Chinese to an Indian, but you can’t force them to eat Malay food morning, noon and night. It is a recipe for disaster-er!

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So I further transformed the curry that was a soup before it became a curry, that was broiled ribs before they became a soup, into Curry Rice. That’s right! I poured the curry into my rice cooker and added three cups of Basmati rice to it! That was when things went from wrong to wronger!

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I have never been good, nor have I been lucky, with Basmati rice. I either undercook it or turn it into Basmati Porridge! And this time around, I was an underachiever who almost went under-the-table for undercooking the Basmati. What an underdog!

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I tried leaving the Curry Rice on the slow-cooking mode for 2 hours hoping that it would steam away and cook thoroughly in the process. Nope! I obviously underestimated the Basmati Rice’s capacity of turning my cooking from disastrous to dinosastrous!

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And so it was… just like I said it would have been. I was not going to throw out Chinese BBQ-Style Ribs Soup Curry Rice just because I am not a good cooker! I am a cooker with four burners, if you don’t mind me bragging! So the Chinese BBQ-Style Ribs Soup Curry Rice was then finally made into Chinese BBQ-Style Ribs Soup Curry Rice Fried Rice with Chinese cabbage and eggs.

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Or officially known as Nasi Goreng China BBQ-Gaya Sup Kari Nasi dengan Kobis Cina dan Telur (NGCBBQGSKNDKCDT). How’s that for a krazy lazy lady like me?

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Work Men Out

Choose one that describes you the best.

Assuming you are a woman, when your husband/boyfriend/fiance suddenly starts exercising, you:

  1. feel motivated and join him
  2. think he is having an affair
  3. are glad that he is taking care of his health
  4. laugh at him
  5. are convinced that it is a one-off activity
  6. tease him cruelly until he stops
  7. are depressed
  8. cook something really sinful to make him put back the calories
  9. know he is just being sarcastic
  10. take pictures and blog about him exercising like the whole world cares
  11. start dieting
  12. ignore him
  13. divorce/dump him
  14. force him to write a will, naming you as a sole executor and irreversible beneficiary
  15. call his doctor to investigate what is going on
  16. call his doctor to see if you can start an affair with the doctor
  17. start eating more than usual
  18. get two gym memberships so you can tag along
  19. start singing, “This little piggy went to gym, this little piggy went exercising, this little piggy went so thin oready.”
  20. die of shock.

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Man Exercise

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My choice is number 10.

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Tippytold

I am not an avid recycler. Nor am I an avid bicycler (I imagine bicycling in winter would very much be like a lari setempat kind of activity). But whenever the kids’ schools call for contribution in terms of recyclable materials, I get motivated and never miss the opportunity to dump donate. And oh I clean them til they shine, those containers. The last thing I want is my kids coming home from school smelling like sour milk or rotten eggs.

 

I do, however, re-utilize glass jars. Those tight-lidded peach jars that almost caused me neck and wrist injuries are great for non-returnable tapau containers for Emy (I savoy dinner for her every Tuesday and Friday). Back to recyclable containers; the very first thing I do is to get rid of the labels and price stickers. On glass, they are pretty easy to remove. A knife will do. But on plastic… oii! I have come close to some neck and wrist injuries menyental and menggentel, trying to get rid of them stickers, I tell you. I really have!

 

But I just learned that the solution is all in my kitchen. Instead of using alcohol/spirit to neutralize the adhesive, I discovered – actually 5 years ago – that cooking oil is the best. If it works on getah nangka, it works on any glue. Trust me! So for these rice milk plastic bottles, I tried using cooking oil last week. But it proved to be a new challenge as the glue was quite stubborn. So I thought maybe some finer agent would help. I spread some flour (in my case the potato starch was the easiest to reach). Guess what? It worked!

 

 

There might be others who have discovered this (I have not Googled), but I just did. Before I forget, this post might serve as a reminder for myself. Later.

 

“… Recycle, that’s what you do.
Recycle, tell your mother too.
Recycle, state your case.
Don’t let it go to waste…”

 

 

 

 

 

Glossary for Neil:

tapau [slang in Malaysia]= pack for takeaway

savoy [Russian] = pack for takeaway

getah nangka = jackfruit sap

menyental = scrubbing

menggentel = rolling (but very much irrelevant in this post)

 

 

A postnote to Cik Nan:

It has been a while since we talked about ‘Acara Bergentel’ kan Cik Nan?

 

 

 

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Follow The Moskva

…down to Gorky Park
listening to the wind of change.

 

A friend’s Facebook status about Malaysian drivers made me think of how much I have to ramble about driving and drivers now that I have driven in a few countries in this block and the block next to it. So much so that my thoughts on driving  have been driving me up the wall, down the drain, in Athens and now driving me out of my mind, yours and Miss Daisy’s!

 

Yes I drive here in Moskva, despite warnings and all cerita seram (horror stories) I heard from expats – white, brown, colored and color-blind alike. While I may not ever come to the Daily-Gallivanting State of Enjoyment during my stay in Russia, I would do anything to keep my freedom of driving around in my own time. Having a driver is a ‘limited freedom’. And to me, limited freedom is no freedom. (How do I know I can trust my driver to keep his mouth shut about Putin and I and that fishy affair broiling in the oven?)

 

I have no opinion on expats who do not drive, are too scared to drive or those who have two cars and five drivers (or five cars and two drivers, whichever or whoever tickle their fancy). It’s a mere matter of choice. I, myself, like driving myself with myself by myself when my other self is away or whenever I feel like driving myself. I don’t put myself in a class higher than anybody else just because I have the courage to drive in Russia. After all, like I once said to Katya Sprague, “You can only go as far as your courage.”

 

The consistently terrorizing stories I hear, nonetheless, are pretty much about how terrifying Russian drivers are. Them and their terrible driving attitudes. And my response to every story I hear would usually be, “Oh yeah? Come visit Malaysia and see how we can drive you.” At this rate, I should really be considered for the highest post at Tourism Malaysia here in Moscow. Not. But of course I never finished my sentence.

 

People are people, I believe. You don’t drive like Malaysians just because you’re Malaysian. Russians, Italians, Greeks and Kuwaitis don’t drive like Russians, Italians, Greeks and Kuwaitis because they are Russians, Italians, Greeks and Kuwaitis. I use the indicator when I turn, change lanes and when I intent to pull over, regardless of where I drive. One may call it pemanduan berhemah, defensive driving, or considerate driving. But one’s nationality does not determine the way one drives. It is another mere matter of choice.

 

Yet, regardless of the language barrier, Russians generally communicate better than many Malaysians I have seen. On the road, I don’t have to know Russian to understand when they are turning right or left. They use sign language with me. They signal.

 

But then, how do I know if the driver of the car in front of me is Russian? For all I know he could be Joe Penny driving along Tverskaya Ulitsa looking for a parking spot nearest to Mi Piace.
Ciao bebe!

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