Saturday, April 4, 2009

Subliminal neurotics

I dreamt last night that I had visited Den and his beautiful wife in their spanking new apartment. It's rather weird coz despite being in contact for yonks thanks to the technological advances and the internet, we've never really carried a conversation other than virtually. I've even never heard his voice before. As far as we've been socially connected, I used to be in the school band where his older brother was once a drum major for and we all share the same alma mater, SGS and eventually TP despite going to different disciplines.

Ok back to the weird dream, his wife asked to stay for lunch and being the guest, I offered to help in the kitchen while wife is in the living room entertaining one more person. Strangely, it's something that I would naturally offer to do. I can offer to cook for you but don't ever ask me to clean up, I will shoot you a look as if you were turning green and little horns were sprouting out from the top of your head. 

So we were in the kitchen, a nicely stocked up one I might add and he was preparing fried rice, I helped chopping and stuff and somehow he ended up frying 4 eggs. You got it, frying in oil. Half way through cooking, he started to stir the whites of the eggs around, as if to make a scramble. 

Me being highly intolerable to stupidity kind goes, "What the fuck do you think you're doing." (In its entirely, profanity-driven honest to goodness query) 
And Den says that he's making poached eggs because his wife loves them. Which can either sound really sweet or really daft depending on the amount of romantic crap you're into. 

Honestly, if you don't know how to poach an egg, I have a link here. Despite being compared to seagull poop, the vortex method has worked for me. But the bottom line is, you never poach an egg in oil. 

On a random note one of my sexiest conversations, (with the yardstick no less) went down talking about the secret to poaching eggs. Ok I'm being biased here but any cute guy who can talk to me about the correct preparation of food is sexy in my books. 

So, Den and I, we get into an argument, I remember saying something like whatever lah and I wake up feeling like I needed to hit someone in frustration.

It is, in a self diagnosis that I am compelled to believe that I am a neurotic, a control freak (which explains why people tend to believe me when I tell them I'm Hitler's incarnate) and have a disability to clean which spans even up till my subconscious.  

Tonight, I was feeling awfully down until XS provided me with a gem of a solution - delete facebook, explore the world and have a life. I couldn't have said it better myself. 
"I wish I knew how to quit you (facebook)."