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Funny or So I think

Taken – The Ultimate Parenting Guide

April 29, 2009

Had a hot date with the husband to watch Taken a few days back and I must say, it was surprisingly good. Taken is your typical, no nonsense, action movie where Liam Neeson went around beating the living daylights out of everything that moves. The intro was a little slow, but once the fun started, the action sequences were tight and somewhat realistic, so all in all, it was thoroughly enjoyable. (I have a weakness for these swashbuckling, one-man-show CIA super agents)

Thanks to Luc Besson, Neeson’s character is like James Bond, Jason Bourne and Jack Bauer all rolled into one incredible fighting machine. I particularly loved the sequence where he stabbed 2 metal sticks into the Albanian mafia dude’s thigh (who abducted his daughter) and proceeded to electrocute him senseless.

But underneath the carnage and destruction, the movie actually has many important messages that parents should drill into their kids. It’s like the ultimate parenting guide (or propaganda). When Kirsten turns 16, I’m gonna make her watch this with my own running commentary in the background.

Lesson 1: Going on a road trip across Europe with friends will result in abduction.

I’m pretty sure at some point she’s going to want to travel with her friends to whatever is the next big travel destination in 2018. I’m going to instill a rule where there will be no traveling alone until she turns 24 or gets married (which should not happen before she’s 24 anyway).

It’s a catch 22. If she goes with a bunch of girlfriends, there’s no way any of them will be able to put up a fight in the face of imminent abduction. (Don’t believe the Alias female Kungfu fighter nonsense) A bunch of adolescent girls on a holiday is like spreading honey on your chest. You can’t be surprised if a swarm of killer bees sting the crap out of you.

But if she goes on a trip with some adolescent male friends (we all know what teenage guys have on their minds 24/7), I can bet my life that there will be some hanky panky going on when she’s halfway around the world. Not an appealing prospect as far as I’m concerned.

Lesson 2: Don’t talk to strangers, especially if they are handsome and French.

Handsome guys are usually up to no good, so avoid them like the plague. If you must talk to boys, choose those ugly-ass ones with pock-marks, buck-teeth and giant, geeky specs. Better still if they are with their mothers and speak only Mandarin.

: handsome french guy = BAD

: geeky guy = GOOD

Lesson 3: Don’t make the sexytime unless you want to get sold off to prostitution and die.

I couldn’t help but notice that the two girls ended up with very different fates. Amanda, the promiscuous one, ended up DEAD after OD-ing on drugs. Kim, on the other hand, who showed some restraint in having her cherry popped too early, was rescued by her super spy of a father who went on a rampage across the whole of France.

amanda-kim2

Kim was saved thanks to the fact that she was certified 100% pure (exact words from the movie), so if you’re reading this eventually, Kirsten, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MAKE THE SEXYTIME until you get married. Your father will hunt down the unfortunate chap who is responsible for the deed and after he’s done, the poor fella will wish he was the Albanian dude who got electrocuted.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, Videos I dig

My kids are better than your kids

April 13, 2009

All mothers love to compare stuff. It’s just in their DNA. It could be something the pregnancy does to your brain during the nine months that makes you go all competitive and crazy, even before the baby is out.

When it comes to finding new stuff to compare, mothers are very creative. It can range from the size of the stomach, the heartbeat of the baby, the weight of the baby and the pregnancy symptoms they get, as if having it worse means you’re somehow a better mother because of the immense sacrifice you’re making.

Some do it subtly.

Mother 1: So which school will you be sending your child to? It’s such a dilemma. I’m considering between Julia Gabriel and Montessori.”

Me (with an obliging smile): I haven’t decided yet, but the public playschool down the road don’t seem so bad.

Mother 1 (affected laughter): Oh, public education! It’s just that some of the kids are a little rowdy, if you know what I mean.

Me: I suppose so.

Methinks: Yes, I know exactly what you mean. And I hope your little brat grows up to be every bit as shallow, self-obsessed and arrogant as you are.

It’s exasperating. I bring my boy for a walk at the mall and I can see mothers eyeing the kind of stroller I have, the clothes Tru’s wearing, the diaper bag I’ve got. And it’s the worst when a whole bunch of competitive mothers gather for a chat. It gets increasingly ludicrous as they go along. Kinda like these mothers on Goodness Gracious Me!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3N7F-5zNVFI

I get that it’s a mother’s instinct to be unabashedly proud of their child, and I can’t help glowing when other people fuss over my kid. But there’s a line to be drawn as far as competition goes and it drives me insane when mothers go on and on about how brilliant their little geniuses are. (You know my 3-year-old boy just learnt to operate on his pet dog).

Get a life, woman! I’m sure there’s some kind of medication to curb those illusions you’re having. Or might I suggest a lobotomy.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, Videos I dig

Time for bed, sleepyhead

April 7, 2009

I’m not usually into youtube videos, but this one I just couldn’t resist.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Hhdr1IPOGs

Seriously, it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, props to the parents for getting it down on tape. They probably waited for hours with the video cam on standby. Sure, the poor kid’s disproportionately-capacious noggin helps to propel it in all directions, but for this masterpiece to take place, all the stars have to align.

But the real stroke of genius has to be the brother/sister’s (see, androgynous is all the rage) complete nonchalance. Then again, if it was my kid, I’d have given him a good and proper smack to the head, before making a quick getaway to the bathroom to roll on the floor laughing.

I’ve been trying to get Tru to reenact the scene for my own viewing pleasure. Which involves tiring him out past the point of exhaustion but I’ve got a fighter on my hands. If I don’t restrain him in a straightjacket and pin him down in his cot, he’d play all the time and never sleep.

And he obviously didn’t get that from me. As far as I’m concerned, sleep is a luxury. The more, the better. I haven’t had decent sleep for 10 months now, and sometimes, I just want to shoot him with a tranquilizer dart so I can catch my forty winks.

More than once, I’ve dozed off in the living room only to wake up with a start and find him systematically ingesting all the stuff in the house. I’m willing to wager that a goat would do less damage than him.

One day, I’m just gonna go all Clockwork Orange on him and make him watch the clip on loop till it sinks in.

Go to sleep… Go to sleep… Go to sleep…

by Daphne

Funny or So I think

The Name Game

April 6, 2009

I’m having a massive dilemma, so much so that I’m grabbing my head while meditating on the floor (lotus position, say ohm…) as I type. I was so sure that Kirsten was THE CHOSEN NAME for my little munchkin. But something has been troubling me of late, and I will have no rest till I come to terms with it.

Well, so it’s like this. I’ve been infatuated many times in my life, and fallen so head-over-heels in love that my head spins and I can barely catch my breath. But I’ve never felt like this before. I am completely besotted with the deep-badass goddess of fug that is TILDA SWINTON (trust me, you WANT to click on the link). She brings me unspeakable joy and makes my life complete. May she live forever.

And to pay homage to her genius, I’m willing to offer one of my offspring to be named after her greatness, in hope that a sliver of her brilliance will be somehow passed on to my baby girl.

Therein lies my dilemma. Much as I love how Kirsten Kao sounds, TILDA KAO would kick its pretty little ass out of this galaxy. Think of all the goodness that lies in the name.

First, I’ve got the cheesy sibling alliteration name thing going. They will all have names beginning with ‘T’. Truett, Tilda, Travis, Trent, Tristan. I’ll have my own little terrific tribe of tiny tots. Everyone will be so envious.

I’ve also googled the meaning for Tilda, and it totally rocks. It means “Mighty in Battle”. What could be better than having my own warrior princess? Her battle cries alone will give Tru a run for his money.

Best of all, it’s not your usual Jane or Mary. (disclaimer so I don’t get hate mail: those are very pretty names) Nobody in her school (no, make it life) will be called Tilda, so she’ll grow up with a unique personality. She’ll never have to deal with just being another face in the crowd.

So I’m really torn. Should I stick with the safe and go with Kirsten, or jump off the deep end and follow my heart to go with Tilda? I’m leaning towards the latter.

Oh, but there’s just one teensy, weensy pickle. “Tilda Kao(s) come home” would be mildly amusing.

**********************************************************

POLL RESULTS: KIRSTEN (61%) TILDA (39%)

Drats, it wasn’t even as close as I hoped. All you people with your predispositions! Tilda day comes, I will wait patiently..

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, not feeling so supermom, pregnancy

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird

March 30, 2009

I thought that after the flu virus made its rounds on the family, I’d be done with it. But a mutated strain has come back to bite me in the ass, so on top of all my other problems, I’ve also completely lost my voice.

See, I can totally appreciate the irony of it all. Serves me right for going on and on about not having anyone to talk to. Now I don’t even have a voice to whine about it. I feel like the universe is mocking me. But it’s not gonna stop me from blogging about it. Hah, take that!

Last evening, I decided to go get some new meds from the clinic near my place, since my immune system has decided to go on strike. It was a rather reputable clinic, the kind that opens till 9.30pm on a Sunday night. Which makes it all the more uncanny that they had a quack on shift just when I needed a consult. (like I said, the universe was mocking me) First up, he looked like an Asian version of a Hillbilly, except with a stethoscope around his neck.

He eyed me with suspicion the moment I walked into his office. After describing my various ailments in my barely audible croak, his first question was “Are you working?” (Translation: That was the most pathetic fake loss-of-voice I’ve ever heard and I bet your lazy ass just needs to be excused from work tomorrow.)

“No,” I mumbled. Another suspicious look. (Translation: Tsk tsk, not another knocked-up teenager bumming around at the expense of us taxpayers). He proceeded take my temperature and do an obligatory check on my throat.

At this point, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. This is the first time I’ve had to endure a silent castigation at a clinic, and by a doctor I’m not sure even made it out of med school. This was an absolute outrage. I mean, even when I was faking it to be excused from school during my errant years, the doctors still (although unwillingly) had the courtesy to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I thought of making a snide remark along the lines of “I hope your Hillbilly quackery won’t get me killed from a misdiagnosis”, but I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t prescribe me laxatives just for kicks, so I decided to refrain. I didn’t think it was possible, but I left feeling worse that before I went in.

I get it. Some days are just meant to be a test of character. My ego just took the beating of its life, my son thinks I’m Lord Vader, and even the blackbirds are having a field day outside my kitchen window taking pot shots at my plight. Talk about learning endurance the hard way.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, pregnancy, sexytime

Pregnancy and Sexercise

March 25, 2009

pregnancysex

I was asked to do an interview for an article in a women’s magazine today. At first, I was all like “Why, let me check my very important schedule and see if I have time to sit down for a chat.” But before I even got a chance to savor my sense of self-importance, I took a glance at the topic – Sex and Pregnancy, and my chocolate milk almost squirted out of my nostrils.

Now, I’m not a prude or anything, but when it comes to MAKING THE SEXYTIME, I kinda prefer to keep it all to myself, and maybe at most, a very, very close friend.

However, considering that it is for the good of all mankind, (well, my experience is prodigious) I decided to go ahead and do the interview.

Q1. Being a given that sex is very important to men, was sex or the potential lack thereof a concern for your spouse when you first discovered you were pregnant?

What I should have said: First of all, sex is also very important to women. We are after all the masters of multiple orgasms. Second of all, there will be no lack of sex regardless of whether I’m pregnant or not. We are after all the masters of multiple orgasms.

What I did say: We had to sit down and talk about the adjustments we had to make with regards to our sex life during pregnancy, so that we both know what to expect and how to manage it best. Open communication is really important, rather than avoid the topic and try to second-guess each other.

Q2. What physical changes did you encounter that hindered or encouraged intimacy during your pregnancy?

What I should have said: You get bigger boobs, an increased libido and better orgasms. There’s no way I’m losing my mojo, baby.

What I did say: The belly was a real problem in the later months. It was really uncomfortable to lie on my back or side. Actually, it was just uncomfortable all the time.

Q3. What problems did you encounter when being intimate with your spouse during your pregnancy?

What I should have said: What problems? Did you not hear what I said about the bigger boobs?

What I did say: We had to think of creative ways when the stomach got too big and uncomfortable.

Q4. How did you overcome these problems (e.g. change of position, sexual alternatives, substitute with other forms of emotional or physical fulfillment like cuddling etc.)

What I should have said: There is a plethora of alternatives. Blow job, hand job, nose job (oh wait, that’s something else), woman on top, side-by-side, spooning, the list goes on.

What I did say: There was a lot of cuddling and hugging, which is good. We were also quite experimental with different positions.

Q5. Can you provide a few tips to our readers on how they can best maintain or improve intimacy with their spouses during pregnancy?

What I should have said: Pregnant women are hot. Just lay off the chips and I think you’ll do just fine.

What I did say: Have very frank and open communication with your spouse because things are going to be different, and they won’t understand what you are going through unless you talk about it. Also, have realistic expectations of each other so tension can be minimized.

Evidently, my responses were very safe and appropriate. But don’t you just hate reading sterile answers in those women’s mags where it’s all watered-down and boring. Come on, even my grandmother would have been more explicit.

That being said, I totally chickened out. I do have an image to maintain after all.

by Daphne

Funny or So I think, kids inc

A Hair-Raising Affair

March 13, 2009

It’s that time of the month again. The dreaded haircut. For me, a haircut is like a head spa. I’ve got a people fussing over my hair, giving me a head massage while I sip my earl grey and catch up on Cosmo, plus I walk away with a nice do.

Not quite the same story for my son. He hates having itsy hair bits stuck to his face and neck and he’ll squirm like an eel out of water.

The last time he had a haircut, it didn’t go very well. Peruse specimen A.

Despite telling the stylist (I’m being generous with the term here) not to take off too much from the fringe and the sides, she completely butchered his hair with her evil shaver. And I still had to pay $16 for it.

For almost a month, he had to go around LOOKING LIKE MR. SPOCK. Peruse specimen B.

This time, I wasn’t taking any chances, and I decided to cut his hair myself. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m talented in so many ways. Anyway, how difficult can a haircut be? I’ve seen them do it a hundred times, just grab a bunch between my fingers and snip away.

Before you decide to work on your own hair, you might want to start with your dog, cos it’s kinda tougher than it looks. The squirming was uncontrollable, and half the time I was close to dislodging his eye. And once you start, you can’t just abandon ship halfway, or it’ll look like he got attacked by a rabid dog.

After about an hour, we stood back and surveyed the final product. It was really not bad at all, for a virgin attempt.

*Excuse me while I go show off my chef d’oeuvre.

by Daphne

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