Banana and peanut lady in Central

I wanted to blog about this old lady in Central over a YEAR ago when I first started working in that area, and thankfully, she is still around for me to blog about today. No offense to her at all but she is probably near 100 years old if not older, and I really hope that she has a lot more years to live!

Located on the corner of Gage Street and Lyndhurst Terrace, the Banana and Peanut Lady is a withering old Chinese woman with sunken-in cheeks and a thin black ponytail. She sells bananas and peanuts next to the fruit stand across 7-11 and is usually there for most of the day. I don't know why she's still working as she's so fragile and petite, but my guess is that she's been there all her life and likes it(?) or has to do it to sustain herself (in which case we should all give her a little extra for her bananas and peanuts).

She's usually wearing a traditional two-piece Chinese outfit in all black, and now that the weather's cooler she has an extra coat on. I also noticed that her thumbnails are super long, as opposed to her pinky fingernails. Maybe I'll work up the courage to ask her what she's doing there the next time I pass by... (I know, I'm shy)!

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Cockroach CSI: Death by Tobacco

No matter what time of year it is in Hong Kong, you're likely to see one of the city's most infamous tenants crawling around: the cockroach. In the summer, they are out in full force, scurrying along sidewalks, climbing up the walls, and sometimes (if you're unlucky) flying right into your line of sight.

Now that it's winter though, cockroach sightings are much more rare, but that doesn't mean they're gone. In fact, most of the times I see cockroaches these days is when they're dead. Squished, flattened, stomped on, or worse, have you ever wondered what actually happened right before the cockroach was killed?

Introducing ... Cockroach CSI: an investigation into the lives (and death) of our city's rampant roaches. First up is a cockroach I saw in Wanchai last year, an image that I will never forget as it was such a vivid one.

I was on Jaffe Road right across Joe Bananas when I looked down before crossing the street. And, there, right next to my foot was a dead cockroach on its back, clutching onto a cigarette butt. I kid you not, his six legs were literally wrapped around the cigarette butt!

It's clear how this cockroach died: death by tobacco. After a long night of partying with the call girls in Wanchai, this roach thought of winding down with a still-lit cigarette butt that landed just a few inches from him. After taking one long puff, he choked to death on all the nicotine, smoke and tar that filled his little lungs. So, the lesson here is, hanging out in Wanchai will kill ya!

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Have fingers, will make FIMO

Dance when you still have legs, eat crab whilst you still have teeth ... make FIMO while you still have fingers! Yes, these are the types of thoughts that swirl around in my head at 2am in the morning, especially when my palm continues to throb after today's traumatic experience at work.

You see, after one year on the job, I've learned to be quite careful when it comes to opening press releases in the mail. Since I don't have a letter opener, I usually rip the envelope open with my thumb, take the folder out and flip through carefully to not get cut by the crisp sheets of paper.

Today was no different, and I thought I'd done a pretty good job being all delicate with the papers. That is, until I decided to re-seal the envelope before throwing it into my makeshift recycling bin. As I slid my fingers across the top of the envelope, my palm was sliced open by a protruding staple, which nearly severed my thumb off and left a big, 2-inch bleeding gash.

After staring at it and screaming silently for a few minutes (we work in a quiet office), the pain set in and the not-so-silent whining began (which, as you can tell by this post, has yet to end). In any case, I'm very thankful to still have my thumb attached, and while it's still here, I have decided to reactivate my Etsy page and resurrect my hobby of crafting tiny things out of FIMO.

Billy the Bolobao, Jacky the Jaa Leung and Harry the Har Gow

If you've never heard of FIMO, it's this awesome coloured clay from Germany that you can shape things into and bake in the oven to set permanently. For those who DO know what it is, I realize I'm not eight anymore but hey, didn't anyone tell you the '90s are back? And I'm bringing FIMO back with it! Keep an eye out for new additions to my Etsy store once my thumb is healed, oh and feel free to place an order if you see anything you like! :)

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The funniest Donnie Yen video ever

In honour of my latest sighting of Donnie Yen last Friday in Central (wearing a puffy neon orange jacket and gold rimmed sunglasses), I just had to dig up this video of him on YouTube for anyone who's never seen our beloved "Ip Man" as a b-boy back in the '80s!

I'd also just like to make clear that I am not at all sexually attracted to Donnie Yen (like my cousin and sister are...) The latter of whom has just made it my mission to track down Mr. Yen and serve him to her on a silver platter for her enjoyment... eww!!!!!!! Watch out Donnie -- if an older version of Miss Fong jumps you on the street, it wasn't me!

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Gentlemen, start your cameras...

Despite NOT being a speed freak, I found myself peeling my eyelids apart at 6am this morning to catch the puke-mobile over to Macau for the Grand Prix today, and I think I finally understand what all the fuss is about.

Besides the actual races, drivers, crews, booze and the "it's-so-loud-I-can-feel-my-stomach-jiggling" roar off the tracks, let's face it -- it's all about the hoochie mamas!

Check out this crowd of pervographers surrounding these leggy ladies:

You can clearly see that some photographers are already falling in love...

And, you can practically hear the jolly laughter coming out of this chubster as he sandwiches himself between these two leng-mos:

(Note the built-in thong design of her skirt -- such a considerate design for anyone seeking a skanky look that doesn't compromise on comfort!)

So, although the 58th Macau Grand Prix has wrapped up for this year, I'm sure these men will have plenty of material to stroke their telephoto lenses at until the next race rolls around.

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Venture Studios in Hong Kong: Where a picture is (not) worth a thousand bucks

I recently saw Venture Studios on a Groupon Hong Kong deal and as a (fellow?) Groupon addict, I must warn anyone who's thinking of buying it to STOP RIGHT THERE! The deal is HK$999 for a 1-hour photography session and a 1-hour design consultation, plus your favourite image framed in an 8x10" size.

Although this offer might sound pretty sweet, you can actually get the exact same deal for HK$500 on any regular day, plus a few more freebies (read: cash vouchers) thrown in whenever there's a special occasion like Christmas, Chinese New Year, Mother's Day or Father's Day, etc.

I tried Venture earlier this year and I must say first and foremost that they are actually pretty damn awesome at what they do. Take a look at their portraits and you'll see that they're really good at capturing people's unique personalities in a really natural way.

For our photo session, we were told to bring a bunch of objects that represented us, so for me, that was a box of chocolate chip cookies, orange Queen's Day hats from Holland, our cats Dusky & Cheese Puff, while C brought some books and a cigar... In that hour, we had a blast as the photographer got down in all sorts of positions to snap away as we tickled each other, fought for cookies and basically just goofed around.

I thought it'd be easy to pick just one picture to be printed out on the 8x10" frame, but when it came time to come back to view the pictures (aka. the "design consultation"), the Venture guys knew exactly how to wrangle our weak spot.

First, they seat you in their little private theatre where they've prepared a moving slideshow of your touched up images. The light dims, music starts, and the pictures start to roll... Of course, after 10-15 minutes of seeing yourselves in all your Photoshopped glory, which ends with the tagline, "The most important story ever told...yours", you'll definitely want to have more than just ONE measly 8x10" print-out. But here's the thing:

• Suddenly, every item you want printed is costing in the HK$1,000's
• Many of the images are best sold in sets, as that's how the photographer got you to pose in 'em (cookie-themed photos, orange themed photos, etc), which means more $$$
• They tell you you can't hang your free 8x10" frame on the wall, and all the pictures are sealed in the Venture frames so you can't even reuse the frame in the future
• Even if you just want the digital copy of your photos, you'll only get a maximum of 20 pics for about HK$15,000, which are locked at a low resolution and cannot be printed out, and only viewable as desktop screen savers
• Oh -- and you have to decide on your purchase within your 1-hour consultation otherwise your pictures will be deleted the next day and the discounted promotional offers are no longer valid

Talk about intense pressure! All the while, the sales person is going, "Aren't your memories worth it?" while you're thinking, maybe, but then again, we could go out and buy a pretty decent camera and rent a studio for less money than what you're asking for...or just find another photographer :P

In the end, we caved and did end up buying more photos, starting out with the original (insane) plan to buy a set of three mounted wall images for about HK$15,000 but eventually "coming to our senses" and buying just three more 8x10" images for a total of HK$5,200.

Stupid, huh? Especially when those photos are still lying in their boxes by our front door. So is Venture worth it? YES if you are really strong and will only take your free 8x10" pic, NO if you are any bit emotional about memories and willing to pay big money for them. Don't say you weren't warned!

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Say NO to Butt Munching Pants

I'm no fashionista, but I think I have a pretty good sense of what looks bad on me, and therefore, on other people. And what usually looks bad horrific are BUTT MUNCHING PANTS.

I encountered an extremely active butt munching pant the other day as I was walking behind this woman in the MTR, and I just couldn't stop myself from staring at her butt. Granted, I'm usually staring at people's butts (hey, it started in high school) not out of perviness but just because it's the most interesting and dynamic part of a person's backside (it's big, it moves, it usually has a face, etc.), wouldn't you agree?

So this particular woman's butt was wearing a pair of what were once baggy, bright blue short shorts -- culottes, really, but I doubt anyone really uses that word anymore -- and the butt had eaten up most of the excess fabric, chewing it rigorously with each step the woman took. It was really as if it had its own face, mind and identity, and as I stared at it, it stared back at me, munching quicker and quicker whilst jiggling its cheeks.

When I finally snapped out of my trance and managed to look away, I promised myself to never, ever wear butt munching pants. EVER! And so should you.

FYI: Butt munching pants occur when someone's pants are so far up their ass that it appears that their butt is actually munching on them. Things that can cause this to happen include tight ass pants, extremely thin, silky pants, or sometimes just a big ass booty that hasn't been fed in a while! (from UrbanDictionary.com) 

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Beggar on a buggy

The other day, I was walking along the bridge to Central Pier when I came across a Hong Kong beggar lying face down near the entrance to IFC on the Apple Store side. He seemed "normal" enough: missing both legs, dressed in dark clothing, with disheveled short black hair. As usual, no one took notice, and since I was in a rush to get to The Watermark, I sped walked my way past too.

On my way back though about an hour later, I found myself walking behind a guy in a mini-buggy, which was essentially a motorized red tin box on three wheels, and guess who was driving? The same legless beggar as before!!

Usually, I try not to stare long or do double takes with beggars since it might make them self conscious, but I couldn't help it when I walked past this beggar on a buggy. Not only was he in possession of a pretty awesome ride, he was also checking text messages on his phone, which despite being a Nokia had a pretty pimpin' gold keypad.

I walked next to his buggy for a while to see if I could read his text messages (I couldn't), and to verify if it was in fact the same guy, which I'm pretty sure of since he was missing legs at the same spot as the other guy.

Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad for him anymore. Could it be, that he is perfectly okay with the way he is? Texting his wife to tell her he'll be home tonight earlier than usual? Or is he plotting with his pimp where he'll lie face down to pull at our heart strings next? And ... where does he usually hide his buggy? Oh mysteries...

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No need for speed

Last week, I found myself sitting in a boxy race car simulator at Sideways in Hong Kong with a pair of big headphones over my ears and someone else's black socks on my feet. "Vroom-vroom" was all I could hear as I sped through the circuit, mixed in with the sound of tires screeching as I skidded around, followed by extremely jerky left-right-left-right swerving of the wheel each time I tried to get back on track. When the screen finally told me I could stop, or more accurately, that I had lost, I breathed a big sigh of relief that it was over.

"Great job, guys," said the venue owner as I took off my headphones. "Now, are you ready for the REAL race?" 

"What...?!" I asked. "I thought we just did that!"

"Haha, that was just the warm up!"

Arrrghhh..... -____-" So, off we went again, this time "for reals" and of course, I ended up with a slower and worse time than ever before. This time, my eyes were straining out of my sockets as I tried to stay on course, gripping the wheel with white knuckles and tensing up my thighs and calves as I stepped on the pedal clumsily. It felt like an eternity that the race went on, and by the time I hit my fifth wall, I pretty much gave up. Finally, someone crossed the finish line and put me out of my misery.

Walking out of this experience, I thought, "How could that possibly be fun?" To me, the racing simulation made me more stressed, agitated and annoyed rather than thrilled and entertained. I could only imagine how it'd be in real life if I had to drive a race car -- yep, I'd crash and burn in under five seconds.

Now if only they had a few simulators at the venue that catered to people like me, where I could choose my favourite car to drive in -- the pink Toyota Echo circa 2000, of course -- and get points for driving within the speed limit, stopping for seniors and/or a family of ducks crossing the road, slowing down at school zones, performing a perfect parallel park and maybe even score a few extra points for pimping up my car with cute seatbelt covers and a few gerberas on the dash. Yep, that would SO be my kinda game. Now where are you developers at?!

I <3 this pink Toyota Echo!

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Crankie cabbie

Today, I managed to piss off a Hong Kong cabbie quite royally, and it all started when I got into his cab at Hollywood Road and told him to drive me to 'Central Plaza'.

"Cen-tral Pla-zaa," I said to him in my best Honger accent.

He stared at me through the rear-view mirror with an annoyed expression in his eye and eyebrow (that's all I could see of him).

"Um... Zhong-Wan Pla-zaa?" I tried again.

"What are you saying?" he said in Cantonese, obviously annoyed.

"You know, Zhong-Wan Dai-Ha in Wanchai?" (where 'dai-ha' meant 'building', or so I thought)

"You mean Zhong-Wan Gong-Cheung!" he gruffed back. "Pla-zaa! Get your buildings straight, you don't know what you're talking about!"

"Uhh...I'm not from around here," I said. "What's 'dai-ha' then?"

"Dai-ha is HOUSE, gong-cheung is PLAZA!" he nearly shouted at me.

"Okay, okay, now I know," I muttered back, thinking 'Same-diff, yeesh!'.

Five minutes later, as I ruffled through my bag, I came to a sudden heart-dropping realization that I had forgotten my wallet at the office, and was therefore riding in his cab without a single cent of money (OH SH!T.) Annnnd, of course, my phone was at 5% battery and ready to die.

I decided to play it cool and not let the cabbie know, while in my head I started wondering what I could give him in exchange for the ride over (nothing sexual -___-). Inside my bag was a nasty old orange umbrella, an eel-skin business cardholder, and a red and white Canada lanyard I'd bought in a dollar store back home (so, basically nothing). 

I couldn't even ask him to go to an ATM since I didn't have my debit or Octopus card on me. In the end, I made a desperate call to the people organizing the event at Cen-tral Pla-zaa and managed to explain my situation, and they agreed to come down to the taxi stand and pay my cab fare (phew).

Of course, when I finally told the cabbie the news as he was pulling up to Cen-tral Pla-zaa, he was anything but happy.

"What?! You know I can't stop here," he complained. "Once someone comes I'm going to have to move!" 

"I know, sorry," I said, and then sat silently waiting for my rescue. 

He continued, "What is this, some kind of joke? I've never had this happen to me before, geezus..." 

We sat in silence again as the meter beeped every few minutes.

"Oh great, now there's someone behind me. See, now I have to move my car!" he whined.

A few minutes later, he added, "I can't believe this is happening. I'm about to get off work and you pull this kind of shit on me--" and that was when I had just about enough.

"What, you think I wanted this?!" I yelled at him. "You think I forgot my wallet on purpose!?"

That shut him up for a few awkward minutes before he got heckled again by the building staff to clear the area. As they bantered back and forth about whether anyone was coming at all, the receiver of my collect-cab finally arrived, paid my cab fare and released me from my cabbie hostage situation. 

FREEDOM NEVER FELT SO GOOD!! 

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Things that make me cringe

Even though I've lived in Hong Kong for the last three years, there are still so many things that make me cringe, curse or want to punch someone out. You'd think that I'd have gotten used to it by now, but nope. Here they are in no particular order:

• Gross, yellow, plaque-stained teeth that could so easily be prevented by daily brushing
• Chewing and talking with clumps of food sloshing around inside of your mouth for everyone to see (please stop)
• Talk of funky dancing and whether "it really works" (first of all, stay away from funky dancing aka. aerobics on crack and secondly, stop obsessing about losing weight!)
• People talking on the phone next to you in the MTR that have such bad breath you literally want to tell them about it
• People not yielding at all when you're walking past them so you end up sliding and rubbing your bodies up against each other (especially when it's a fat dude!)
• Whenever someone proudly says, "My husband works in China from Monday to Friday so we only see each other on weekends."
• The sight of the short troll woman in my building with a square-shaped head, pimply skin and the an idiotic smile on her face all the time (super yeung seui!)

Funny enough all of the above happened today in the vicinity of just a few hours... *CRINGEx100*!!

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Me 1 - Gnats 50

This weekend, I scored my first ever goal for my soccer team (yay!)... OK so it was just a friendly game against a bunch of Hong Kong men in their 50s, but it was still a pretty awesome goal.

How it went down was -- I happened to be in front of the goal when a shot was fired by my teammate Carrie from the right side, which hit the top goal post and came bouncing towards me. Out of reflex (or skill, but highly unlikely), I bounced the ball off my chest and then kicked it over the goalie’s right shoulder straight into the goal (crowd roars while announcer shouts ‘GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!’).

Suhweet, eh!? While the high-5s from my teammates and shocked expressions from the old men were pretty damn satisfying, I knew I was only in the right place at the right time, which obviously counts for something in soccer. At that point, I was so exhausted from running around for 40 minutes straight in 29C weather on a bumpy pitch that I decided to take a break on the sidelines. Little did I know that there was an army of gnats (read: pin-sized blood-sucking mini-mosquitoes) waiting to start their all-you-can-eat Miss Fong buffet.

Within two minutes, all of my limbs were itching like crazy and the creepiest thing was I couldn’t see any bugs at all. I thought it might have been my imagination at first, but the 15-20 red bite marks I found on just one leg alone the next day proved otherwise. Not to mention how insanely itchy all of the bites are!! Gaaah... I think I have about 35-50 bites in total just on my legs, some of which are so close together it looks like I’ve got the chicken pox all over again! Damn you, invisible gnats!

So the lesson here is: bring bug spray to soccer games and... what you can’t see CAN bite you (deep, I know).

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A crotch cabaret at BISOUS

I can't say I've ever seen a burlesque show before, but I definitely had something else in mind than last night's performance(s) at BISOUS. 

Let's first clarify that I wasn't there to see the BISOUS girls at all, but a man called Russell Simmons, aka. the 'godfather of hip hop' and founder of Def Jam, who happened to be in town for Diamonds In The Sky, Hong Kong.

The event started out pretty cool with DJ Bravo spinning old skool hip hop tracks with videos projected onto the big screen, but before long, the curtains were drawn and out came the BISOUS gals.

Don't get me wrong, the girls had great bodies, which is probably good enough for most, but something about the perfectly balanced girl group (1 brunette, 1 blonde, 1 black, 1 asian) just bothered me...

It started with some cheesy lip-synching, followed by an insane amount of crotch-flashing. What made it even more creepy was the overly ecstatic, plastered smiles on the girls' heavily made up faces. And instead of being subtly seductive like I expected from burlesque dancers, the BISOUS gals strutted around the stage like horny peacocks, making shrill 'YEOW!' and 'WOOPEE!' sounds as they kicked their legs up behind their ears, did the cartwheels off one another and jumped up and landed in the splits (with a big THUD sound and collective "OUCH!!" from the audience).

During the totally cliche yet obligatory can-can dance, the girls lifted up and waved their frilly skirts around so much that I got tired of seeing all of them crotches, no matter which direction they kicked their legs out to make it look different each time. 

If you happened to miss out on the show, here are a few scenes from it that will forever be etched into my head (and now yours too, unfortunately):

Hope you enjoyed "the show"!!

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Canadian vs. Hong Kong beggars

During my trip home recently, I was heckled by a few Canadian beggars and I couldn't help but notice the differences between them and the ones here in Hong Kong.

While Hong Kong beggars get loads of pity points for missing limbs, charred skin or self-mutilation tactics, I hardly ever see anyone stopping to give them money, let alone a second glance. 

On the other hand, Canadian beggars seem to be quite good at getting us to notice them and emptying our pockets. Wondering why this was the case, I came up with three things that Hong Kong beggars could learn from the Canadians to up their daily income: 

1) Be friendly

So I was walking by a liquor store in downtown one night, and a beggar standing outside saw me shivering and asked, "Aww, are you cold?!" I didn't dare answer him nor make eye contact since a) he was a stranger and b) it was late at night, but as I quickened my pace to get away from him, he shouted after me, "Oh well, Happy Monday!!" 

Of course, I felt horrible for running away from such a "nice guy" and it's not only him -- it's exactly the same when you come across squeegee boys at a stoplight and tell them that you don't want your freakin' windshields washed (by a dirty bum like you), only to be told, "Alright, no worries, have a nice day!" So even if you don't end up giving them any money right then, you're more likely to do so the next time you encounter a bum thanks to the cumulative guilt trip you've built up. 

2) Be apologetic

While typical beggars hold up selfish signs like "Please Give" or "Help Me I'm Broke," the ones I saw in Canada amused me with their honest and apologetic messages. Case in point -- one beggar held up the following sign:

Genius, isn't it?! By adding the "I am sorry," the person passing by goes from thinking, 'Go get a job, you selfish bum' to 'Oh well, since you're sorry, I guess it's not your fault, here's some change, ya poor thing'.

3) Be honest, kind of, not really

Lastly, I came across another beggar in downtown who was just sitting on his a wad of newspaper outside of a 7-11. Next to him was a suitcase with a cane sticking out of it, and he was busy doing Soduku or crosswords (or whatever it was, he was completely enthralled with it.)

In front of him, a little tent card read, "Facing eviction. If you CHOOSE to give ... thank you. NOT for drugs or alcohol." That was enough to get me to give him a toonie ($2), since it's the least I could do to help keep a fellow Canadian off the streets.

OK, so whether he was telling the truth or not isn't really the point. The point is that his sign worked, so maybe the real lesson here is -- Hong Kong beggars should use signs...and instead of begging for money using the shock factor, they should just write down what they want from us, like:

• "1 Big Mac, Not for pimp"
• "Need bowl of ramen, I am sorry"
• "I want BBQ pork, Have a nice day"

With signs like these, how could anyone (with a heart) say no?

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Meeting Donnie Yen

It's been a while now, but when I heard that Donnie Yen was going to be making a special appearance at IFC for a fashion event, I couldn't help it -- I was excited.

There was no real reason to be, really. The guy is awesome no doubt, but was there any reason for me to have to see him in person? It's not like I wanted to challenge him to a fight, seduce him (yuck!) or even have a conversation with him. I just wanted to ... see him!

My fascination with Donnie Ip Man (like most people) started after seeing the movie (the first one, NOT the crappy sequel), and the funny thing is, we weren't even planning to see it at first. If I recall correctly, tickets to Jim Carrey's Yes Man were sold out, so we just figured it'd be the next best thing (Yes Man, Ip man, what's the diff?). So there we were, nearly three years ago, expecting nothing and getting a whole lot more than we had bargained for.

We emerged from the theatre pumped, excited and hating the Japanese, feeling victorious and Chinese even though we were hardly Chinese ourselves, rooting for Ip Man, Bruce Lee and all the martial artists to come out of China. We ran home to look up our new hero Ip Man in wikipedia, and were shocked to find out that most of the movie (besides the existence of Ip Man himself) was actually fiction...bummer.

In any case, you can't deny Donnie's got skills and I've been a fan ever since. So back to IFC... squishing in between all the socialites and important VIPs, there I was, dawdling around hoping to get a look at Mr. Yen himself, when suddenly, there he was shuffling towards me to get to his very tall wife of his (I say very tall because a) she was in heels, b) she is really tall and c) Donnie is no giant).

Of course, I grabbed my chance to snap a pic with Donnie and I'm not proud to say I was a bumbling starstruck fool while doing so. But whatevs, I got my pic! Teehee ... and yes he does look quite plastic-fantastic in person ;)

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Central Bulging Eye Flute Playing Beggar

Our latest beggar is talented in more ways than one. Located in Central on Queen's Road near exit D1 or D2, you can usually hear him from a block away since he plays traditional Chinese tunes on an old wooden flute.

As if that wasn't difficult enough, he tends to be squatting the whole time, so I have no idea how his blood flows back up to his brain at all. Or maybe it doesn't flow all that well, since one of his eyes is significantly bigger than the other and bulges out to the side.

I've never stopped for long enough to listen to an entire song of his, as I'm usually shuffling by with the lunch-hour or after-work stampede of office workers, but I'm thinking of giving him a little more attention the next time I'm nearby. 

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Tips for secretaries: When to order water

I always thought being a secretary was pretty damn easy. All you have to do is answer the phone, order birthday cakes occasionally and watch YouTube (or YouKu) for the rest of the day.

I guess our secretary's got it extra hard though because she also has to make sure we have enough drinking water in the office, which isn't always the case. In fact, there's already been two incidents when the water's ran out, and wouldn't be delivered for another few days.

Every time this happens, I'm quite annoyed since we already don't have a pantry, fridge or tea lady to clean our mugs, but we should, at the very least, have a steady supply of water, right? Sure, I could go out and buy myself a bottle but that's a) environmental UNfriendly and b) a waste of my hard earned money!

Since I understand that not everyone in this world has a working brain, I've created a series of what I hope are easy to understand pictures to help our dear secretary know when to order water:

If there are two full bottles of water in addition to the one in the machine, there is NO NEED to order water yet.

If there is one full bottle of water and still some water left in the machine, make a mental note that you MAY need to order water soon whilst keeping one eye on the water level in the existing bottle.

If you have two empty bottles and a full bottle in the machine, it's TIME to place an order for water. Yes, it may seem that there's a lot of water left, but it's 35+ freakin' degrees outside and you've got a lot of sweaty, thirsty and parched workers in the office. So place the order NOW already!!

If every water bottle including the one in the machine is empty, you're TOO F@#KING LATE! Once again, you have amazed us with your stupidity and lack of brain cells!!

I hope this is clear and helps all the secretaries out there. For more information, check out my book "7 Habits of Highly Brainless Secretaries" coming out this fall.

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I'm a coral mutant

So, I've spoken to a few other divers about my "ocean revelation" and I seem to be the only one who's become this affected by all the fish and underwater creatures I saw. While everyone raves about how awesome diving is, not too many emerge from the water with a new life mission: to save the ocean...and the world!! (OK, one thing at a time.)

I'm not exactly sure why I'm this moved either, since I was the one going, "What's wrong with the ocean?" just a few weeks ago. It was only when my knees started itching that I realised what might be going on.

When I was diving, I couldn't quite control my buoyancy, which meant that I was either hovering near the surface like a hot-air balloon or dragging my knees along the corals or ocean bottom as a disapproving turtle watched on.

When I came back on land, I found a bunch of small scrapes on my knees and legs that started to itch like mad when I returned to Hong Kong. Not knowing what to do, I self-diagnosed myself with Google and found out I had a coral rash, which meant that bits of coral had actually embedded themselves into my legs, spreading into my bloodstream, my brain, and slowly transforming me into a half-coral-half-woman!!

OK, fine, maybe it's just my imagination but it definitely explains what's going on, doesn't it? (For the record, my legs are back to normal now and look nothing like coral -- PHEW! -- but I've still got coral on the mind.) I've even booked my next diving trip already, yippy! :)

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Turtle Love and How to Save the Ocean

It's true... I have seen the light TURTLE! :D

Make that turtleS to be exact, as there was definitely no shortage of them during my diving adventures in Malaysia. Other than the majestic whale shark, seeing a turtle was on the top of my wishlist for the trip, and that was already fulfilled on the first day of my trip while snorkeling just a metre or two off the shore of my resort (and s/he was the biggest one yet at 1.5m wide)!!

From that point, it could only get better, and boy did it ever. Learning to dive is one of the most amazing things I've ever done, and I can't recommend enough to anyone who hasn't yet tried it. It's not just an incredible feeling to be breathing underwater, being 'neutrally buoyant' or the thrill of going into the deep. For me, it was about discovering a whole new world that I had completely taken for granted before seeing it for myself.

If you ever get a chance to see all the extraordinary wildlife that exists underwater, you'll see that living on land just doesn't cut it anymore. Underwater, I came face-to-face with all sorts of creatures that I never even knew existed, like all the different coloured nudibranch, boxfish, bumphead parrotfish, wonder octopus (rarely seen, but never forgotten), and the list goes on and on. Think about it - is there anywhere on land where you can come thisclose to wild animals (without getting eaten up for lunch)? OK, maybe at the cockroach or butterfly farm, but that's just gross :p.

A brilliant nudibranch!

Cute lil' boxfish

After swimming with the upside down razorfish, having staring competitions with the disapproving green turtles, and playing hide-and-seek with the oddly cute polka-dot boxfish, I'll never call a fish boring or stupid again (and I'll be thinking twice before I order fish!) And while it was extremely fun to be in their world, it also broke my heart to see how innocent they were and how hugely affected they are by the way we humans live. Not only was there plastic garbage littered around their beautiful coral reefs, but I also learned that sea gypsies were using dynamite to kill everything in sight and sell the corpses to evil fishermen.

Funny how a few weeks ago, I was telling people how I just didn't get why ocean recovery was important; now, I can't stop talking about how we need to do something about it. If you are also wondering why, here's the reason in a nutshell:

On the surface, the ocean may look calm and serene. But, beneath the surface is a different story. All around the world, our oceans are in crisis. Overfishing and fish slaughter continues to put endangered species at risk and pollution from land-based sources is turning the oceans into a dumping ground. 

What this means is that in just a few years, there will be no more (clean) oceans for us to dive in, no more wildlife to admire, not much food left for humans and even worse global warming since we won't have the oceans anymore to regulate the planet's temperature and weather.

I know it's a bleak picture that no one wants to talk about, but I just wanted to share a few simple things we, here in Hong Kong, can do right away to help slow down the demise of the oceans:

• Stop buying plastic water bottles (Watsons, Bonaqua, etc.) and install a filter on your tap instead
• Don't go on cruise ships (they dump huge amounts of waste and sewage into the oceans, not to mention all the fat people and tacky shows on board)
• Use less aluminum foil, plastic wrap and switch to re-useable tupperware
• Even better, bring your own re-useable container if you're buying any kind of takeaway
• Take shorter showers
• Please, please STOP eating shark fin, even if you didn't order it (not only is it cruel, it's toxic too) 

Of course, there's a lot more that can be done and I'm still trying to come up with something more substantial, so if anyone out there is reading this and has any ideas, just shout!

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Scuba-doobi-doo

The first time I tried diving, I nearly choked. Okay, so I was only in a shallow swimming pool and it was from the sight of a dead fruit fly, but to be fair, it was magnified at least 10x underwater, as was the rest of my body (and to be honest, I don't know what was scarier).

Since then, I never really thought of taking it up again, but for whatever reason, I'm booked to do my PADI OW course this weekend in a remote island called Pom Pom in Sabah, Malaysia. Forget fruit flies, bring on the giant turtles, poisonous lionfish and swarms of steel-eyed barracudas and (if I'm lucky) the almighty whale shark! :O 

In preparation of going into the deep, we checked out some YouTube clips of what people usually saw diving around Pom Pom and what can I say, it truly is "another world" (THEIRS, to be exact, and HORRIFYING, might I add). It's like you're in a tropical aquarium, only you're that weird plastic guy in a space suit without a face, the oddity in the sea that totally doesn't belong but is there anyway to gawk, stare, touch and feel (or be eaten, if you're really unlucky). 

In one of the diving manuals provided by a resort, they stated that anyone caught taunting, teasing or riding a turtle would have to sit out on the next dive. I chuckled when I saw this but it's quite serious since doing so could potentially kill a turtle (they get scared, can't breathe and then drown underwater), so no turtle rides for me.

I'm not sure what to expect, but I'm just hoping to see more than what I saw last time in Moalboal, the Phillippines (another famed dive spot), where there was little wildlife to be found other than the micro-organisms breeding on the used diapers, medicine bottles, random scraps of garbage drifting around.

Deep sea creatures, here I come!

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A Giant Foot Massage

If you work in Central, you've probably come across the Giant Foot Man at some point. A life-sized foot mascot, he can usually be seen at the corner of Lyndhurst Terrace and Gage Street outside of Pizza Express handing out flyers for the foot massage place called 'Refresh', which is located just down the street.

You can't deny it's a great marketing tactic, and if being encased in a giant foot costume in 30+ degrees and 95% humidity wasn't torturous and/or humiliating enough, their latest gimmick is a smaller version of a foot, this time to be worn on the person's head only with a circular hole cutout for the face, so the poor person can't even hide their identity! 

Anyway as I've always been a big fan of the Giant Foot Man (or whoever's the poor person stuck inside), I decided to give it a try last Friday to see if it was any good. The place was pretty clean with a good selection of Eng/Chi magazines (+) and a never-ending soundtrack of wild bird shrieks (-), but when it came to the massage, it was pretty damn bad.

I got Lilian, a stone-faced, hefty Chinese woman in her 50s with thick fish lips, ruler-cut bangs and a constant deadpan expression on her face. During the first 10 mins of the massage which was on the neck and shoulders, she pinched, poked and tugged at my skin without any rhythm at all, then plucked at the tendons in my neck as if she had mistaken it for some kind of stringed instrument (a banjo, I think). 

When it came to the foot massage, she was rough as hell, claiming that I had a bad stomach, eyeballs, earlobes, whatever, which justified the intense pressure that she was delivering the massage with. Despite my 'Yeowws!!!' she continued to press harder, so I tried my best to focus on reading my magazine instead. The creepy thing was, whenever I glanced up from my magazine at her, I found her staring back at me with glassy eyes, and in the dim lighting of the room, she looked extremely zombie like…

Traditional thinking is that the more painful the massage, the more benefits you're supposed to get, but the next day, all I got were a bunch of small, finger-sized bruises all over my shins. Let's just say, I won't be going back!

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Our new secretary

We recently got a new secretary at work, and all-in-all she seems to be a nice girl. I don't know much about her, but what I do know is that I always seem to get caught in her Dutch oven (or should that be Canto-Oven?)…

Although there are no bedsheets involved, the concept is the same. Every time I get up to go to the loo, she's JUST made her exit from the one and only tiny claustrophobic toilet on our floor, where odors get steamed and ripened by the humidity and linger around for much longer than they should. From the noxious smell and race car tracks at the bottom of the toilet, I can tell she has some pretty severe digestive tract issues…TMI, anyone!?!!

Every time I'm caught in her trap, I find myself cursing her silently while I try to hold my breath for as long as I can. When I return to the office, she flashes me a purpley gummy smile as if nothing's the matter, when in fact, my oxygen-deprived face must be the same shade as her gums…

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I'm a cavity; come and get me

There are some things you're just supposed to know, like: never touch a hot stove, date a guy who lives at home and wear high heels to go hiking. Another thing to add to this list, which I'm guessing most other people know already, is: never move into an apartment that's under construction.

I have no idea why this never occurred to me before, but as I sit here in my godforsaken apartment listening to the sound of 3-4 industrial drills hammering away at all four walls around me, I finally understand now what it feels like to be a cavity.

The entire building is going through a renovation right now starting with the exterior, followed by the entire lobby, and of course, the landlord and agent conveniently showed us the place in the evenings when the dirty and dusty construction workers were nowhere to be seen. 

After moving in, we discovered that the drilling is daily and usually starts at 8/9am on weekends, the lifts are often crammed with smelly garbage bags and various other crap, and the sky literally rains concrete clumps that hits our windows on the way down. Because of that, all our windows have been covered by a thick and opaque piece of white plastic, which means we can't even look out to check the weather for the next couple of months.

The expected completion date of the renovation is supposed to be July 23rd, but that's just for the exterior. After that, they'll get cracking on renovating the entire lobby downstairs, fml. AND, if that wasn't enough, the cherry on top of all this is: there is now a band of miniature flying cockroaches mating outside of our apartment door as we speak (which turns out to be quite a good story in itself...stay tuned!).

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Why I Love Queen's Day

It's been 2.5 years (whoa!) since I moved from Amsterdam to Hong Kong, but I've managed to go back 3x already, twice during Queen's Day if we count this current trip. What can I say, I miss the Netherlands big time and will jump at any opportunity to revisit my second home, ESPECIALLY when it coincides with what is arguably one of the world's biggest and best parties - QUEEN'S DAY, aka Koninginnedag (forget Will & Kate)!

For those unfamiliar with Queen's Day, it's basically the Dutch's national holiday every year on 30-April where everyone dresses in orange and floods into Amsterdam for an all-out street party. Before you dismiss it as JASP or 'just another street party,' here's what makes Q-Day so freakin' awesome:

DJs
Fans of house, electronica and trance music like me always have trouble deciding where to party on Queen's Night & Day, because the all of the world's top DJs including Armin van Buuren, Tiesto, Chuckie, Sander van Doorn and more will be spinning in various squares and open areas around Amsterdam, all for FREE!

Crazy Boat Parties
On Queen's Day, the canals are flooded with party boats that are blasting dance music and full of happy, drunk and dancing people. The boats are privately hired and cruise around Amsterdam all day long, allowing the party animals to hop on and off as they please (usually for pee breaks)!

Flea Markets Everywhere
Queen's Day is the only day of the year when the Dutch don't need a license to sell stuff on the streets, so anyone can set up shop as long as you mark your territory in tape at least a full week ahead. That means the streets are literally lined with everything from kids to seniors putting on dance shows, carnival games and selling home-baked goods, drinks, old clothing, books, and I've even been tried selling my crap on Q-Day twice! Hardly made any money, but it was fun while it lasted...

Turning Orange
As mentioned earlier, the colour to wear is orange and that means anything and everything orange you can get your hands on, including hats, scarves, shirts, pants, socks, wigs, etc. Of course, the more unique your item is, the more nods, attention and RESPECT you'll get compared to everyone else, so definitely try to stand out with your orange picks!

Oops, this is starting to sound like PR copy, so I'd better stop!! If you ever get a chance to visit Amsterdam during Queen's Day, be sure to do so. But now...it's time for me to go and get out there in all my oranginess!

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Blogstipation

Wow...so this is what happens when you don’t blog for a long time. You get a million ideas piled up in your wrinkly brain, only to have them hardened into a rock hard turd that’s near impossible to squeeze out when you finally have time to sit down.

I guess that’s the ‘shitty’ part about being a full-time writer. During the day, we write so much that it becomes a chore to write even more at night (especially when most nights are used for writing whatever we couldn’t finish during the day), so we end up losing any motivation to sit in front of a computer screen at all.

Even so, I won’t and don’t wanna give up. Hopefully, there’s some kind of ex-lax remedy for my case of blogstipation, or at some point, I’ll just painfully explode with a gazillion ideas spilling out of me. Until then, stay tuned for more uninspired bits of writing...

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A face only a mother could love

Sometimes, you come across people so beautiful you can't help yourself from staring. Other times, you come across people so ugly...you just wanna punch them out.

WHAT? Yea, I said it. Some people are so ugly, they just trigger the whack-a-mole reaction in me, whereby I gasp in horror every time they pop up and all I wanna do is clobber it back into its sad little hole with my giant stuffed hammer.

I believe there's a term for this in Cantonese called 'yeung seui', which literally means 'ugly in appearance'. I've tried to translate it into English before but never quite managed, since 'fugly', 'repulsive' or 'disgusting' just doesn't warrant a physical beating like 'yeung seui' does. Or is it just me who defines 'yeung seui' as 'so damn ugly you just wanna punch him/her out'?

As an example, I came across a very 'yeung seui' guy in the MTR the other day. He was sitting across me looking like a zombie with his lower jaw jutted out and mouth hanging open to catch any flies passing by, I presume. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head, yet he still managed to stare at everyone around him for uncomfortably long periods of time, all the while giving a 'I want to eat your brains' look to us all.

Like a train wreck, I tried to look away but found my eyes drifting back to him magnetically against my will, getting more and more annoyed with the way he looked, and why did he have to keep staring at me?! Even though it was days ago, the image of him was emblazoned into my head, so I just had to draw him out:

...now isn't that a face you just wanna punch out!? 

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Tazed and confused

So…the votes are in and it seems that most people actually dig armpit hair…! However, I decided to go through with my laser hair removal appointment anyway and boy do I have a story to tell…

First of all, let me explain the reason why I even signed up for laser hair removal in the first place. The thought of doing it had never really occurred to me until an email landed in my inbox from the increasingly random group buying giant Groupon, this time advertising for 'permanent hair removal at just HK$388 (instead of HK$6,000)'. Since it was for an unlimited number of treatments, I thought, "Meh, what the hell. It's cheap. Why not?" Smart consumers would of course do a background check of where the laser hair removal would be done, but silly me figured it'd be fine, wherever it was. But little did I know…

The company I had bought the deal from is called Brand New Skin and located in Tsim Sha Tsui East on the basement floor of a browned and aging mall. To my surprise, the address led me to what looked like a makeshift office, where the interior was partitioned into various rooms by typical cubicle walls. To be honest, the place looked more like a pop-up blood donation booth than an actual beauty salon where laser hair removal would take place.

Thy advertisement sucks!

After registering my name, the 'technician' (read: random middle-aged woman) asked me to get ready in the 'operation room' (pictured below), which basically meant take my shirt off, lie down and get ready to get zapped. So I did. When she walked in, everything happened so quickly. She tucked paper napkins into my bra to cover my stomach and neck, gave me some orange sunglasses to wear, slapped a bit of clear jelly on my underarm, and then started zapping.

The bare-bones 'operation room' with a toy-like laser machine!

This is where I have to say - I have NEVER experienced anything more PAINFUL in my ENTIRE LIFE! And this is coming from someone who's got a pretty high tolerance for pain (really!). Pinch me, drill my teeth, punch me in the face - I can handle all that. But the feeling of the intense lasers piercing deep into my armpits (like giant 4" needles), pulse by pulse, row by row, was completely unbearable and had me writhing in pain, shouting, "Stop!! Stop!! STOP!!!" Unimpressed, the woman did stop for a few seconds, telling me in a flat voice to just bear the pain, but before I could catch my breath, she started again, piercing into my underarms and heating them up so much that I was convinced that they were burnt to a crisp like a roasted suckling pig.

"Ahhh!! Am I burnt??" I squealed as she kept on pulsing, row by row. "I'm almost done, hold on," she said, emotionless as ever, and then asked me to switch arms, which I reluctantly did. More zapping and screaming ensued, and by the time she was finally finished, she left the room hastily, leaving me lying on the bed with my arms hanging over my head and a frozen expression of shock on my face. 

I think I was lying like that for a good five minutes before slowly coming back to my senses, wondering what the hell had just happened to me. I mean, the feeling must be similar to the way people feel after being tortured, tazed or abducted by aliens. Dazed, confused and with very sore underarms, I got dressed carefully and left the office building wondering if I'd ever return.

Curious about how all the other women do it, I did a bit of research online and found out that in professional salons, the laser should only feel like a rubber band snapping against the skin, and that if it hurts too much, they should give you a cream to numb the pain! If I go back, which I think I probably will (yes, we women are nuts), I will probably find my own to apply beforehand. I mean, I can't waste my HK$388 now can I?? :p

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Ghostly Guards

"Hi Elaine, can you please get someone to remove the 'ghost' that is in the pot outside of our apartment door before we move in?"

A few minutes later, my housing agent replied: "In Chinese, the ghost must remove by the landlord. I discuss call you later."

Who (or what) is this ghost, you ask? To be honest, I haven't really got a clue either. I only noticed the little red pot of soil outside of my new front door last weekend when a few of my friends pointed it out, saying that I shouldn't touch it and that I'd better get rid of it before moving in this Saturday.

According to local sources, the ghost was hired by my past landlord through a spiritual specialist to guard the apartment, and can only be properly removed by such a specialist (or should I call this person an exorcist!?). Until then, he or she is probably floating around in my empty apartment waiting for me to arrive...aiya!!

I've searched online for hours trying to find out who these ghosts might be, but I just can't seem to get any information on them. Instead, I might just be better off putting up a poster of the door gods Qin and Yuchi on my front door to keep all the evil spirits out in the meantime. Take THAT, you ghost!!

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Central Handless Burnt Eyes Beggar

After another long day at work, I came across another beggar on my to the Central MTR. Seated on the right side of Theatre Lane near exit D2 of Central, the Central Handless Burnt Eyes Beggar has severe burn marks on his head, especially around his eye sockets.

He looks up at passerbys with a forlorn expression on his face, and shows off his (missing) hands which have apparently been cut off. His head is also quite bare from having been burnt, and as I recall, he's only got a tuft of hair on the top of his head.

Although he is in a high-traffic location where many OL (office ladies) and OM (office men?) pass by, I've never seen anyone stop to give him anything. So if you're reading this, please stop by Maxim's, McDonalds' or Marks & Spencer nearby to get him something nice!

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How to Win at Mah Jong

Like most Chinese kids, I learned to play mah jong at a young age, mostly from watching my grandma play on the weekends with her floral sweater clad gang of senior sistas from around the block.

But even with this 'intense' training, my mah jong skills never really progressed over the years, since I usually played with fellow 'fake Chinese' or non-Chinese friends (which automatically made me the expert, oh yeaah). In Hong Kong, I've definitely had to up my game when playing against locals or anyone more Chinese than me, but my preference is still to win with the easiest and most hated hand, the worthless chicken, or let fate run its course (read: no strategy whatsoever).

Of course, some people are more competitive than others, as evidenced by a notice in my apartment block about an internal mah jong competition coming up. I forget how much the prize was, but I'm pretty sure the participants are more interested in winning the title of Mah Jong Master of our apartment block than anything else.

Not that I was thinking of entering or anything, but my curiosity got me googling for any guaranteed strategies at winning at mah jong, and turns out there are a ton! Like:

When you first get your tiles, make an immediate evaluation of how many tiles you are away from victory.

• If it's under 4, play to WIN.
• If it's 5, it really depends on whether you draw good tiles.
• And if you need 6 or more to win, just give up and play defensively (or to sabotage the others, if you prefer).

If you're playing to win, take lots of chances and discard anything you don't need. If you're playing for a draw, never discard a dragon (white board, green veggie or red centre) or wind (North, South, East, West) except your own, never show your tiles by calling 'seung' or 'pong', and discard tiles in the following order: isolated winds, numerals, dragons and special winds.

Another good thing to know is what to say when you actually win. Although it doesn't happen often, I thought I could just shout "HAHA! I WIN!" (哈哈, 我赢!) but apparently that doesn't quite work in Cantonese. What you're supposed to say is "SIK-WU! 食糊!" (lit. "EAT CONGEE!"), which can also be replaced by "JI-MOH!" (lit. "SELF TOUCH!") if you drew the winning tile yourself. Pretty kinky stuff, huh?

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Do we need armpit hair?

Lately, I listed a few things online on various buy/sell websites in HK trying to get rid of some junk in my apartment. Most of the items are gadget-related, like an electronic ENG/CHI dictionary, compact prosumer camera, iPhone4 case and a bluetooth headset (*hint hint* contact me if interested ;). I thought, since I never (and I mean never) use them, why not sell them to someone who might make better use of them, right?

The problem is, once people start calling me and making offers for my items, I immediately get all wishy-washy about whether I really want to sell it, since their sudden interest proves that what I've got is pretty damn hot and in demand! Naturally, I set the price high so it's above what they wanna pay, so then I feel pretty good that I get to keep something that other people want. Stupid, huh?

I guess it's also a matter of wondering whether you are getting rid of something that might actually come into use later (a typical thought for any packrat, I suppose). But then, this thought came up again when I was about to book an appointment for my first laser hair removal treatment, specifically for the underarms.

Suddenly, I found myself thinking, 'Sh*t, this is permanent man...NO more underarm hair in the future...so be 100% sure that this is what you want. Now, do you foresee any situation in the future where you might wish you still had underarm hair?'

After thinking long and hard, I couldn't think of any reason not to get rid of it, so I went ahead and booked my appointment. I can still cancel though, so if you know of any compelling reasons for having armpit hair, please let me know and I'll reconsider. :)

Zap or Keep?

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So-So Social

In the spirit of Social Media Week HK, I thought it's about time I 'socialized' my blog as well, or risk becoming a dinosaur in the digital world. Not that it'd be a bad thing, since dinosaurs rock, but you know, anything that simplifies the sharing process for people is probably a good idea.

So...what's new, you ask? Well, there's now a nifty Facebook Like Box integrated onto the right hand side of the page, as well as a lil tab on the left side that makes it easy to 'Like' or 'Tweet' the page you're currently on. Feel free to use, misuse and/or abuse them as much as you want!

A peek at the FB page

And, while we're on the topic of being social, let me introduce you to a few new friends of mine: Sherman, Jacky, Harry, Billy and Charlie... Find out who they are on my Facebook Page and let me know what you think!


(Note: Not all my friends are made of Fimo...or maybe they are... ;)

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MISSING!! Favourite concierges gone by...

It's that time of year again - Chinese New Year - and you know what that means… It's time to put on that tacky Chinese outfit you would never be seen in public with every other day of the year, time to drop our jaws for 20 minutes straight going 'wahhhh' for the same ol' fireworks in Victoria Harbour and of course, time to shirk around all those building reception and security guards that we don't really know or like enough to give them a red pocket (lai see).

I know it's proper etiquette to give all of them a lil somethin' somethin' for the hard work they've been doing for the past year, but I just don't believe in obligatory giving, especially when it's to the masses and to pseudo-strangers at that. In fact, I'm proud to say that I am a strong supporter of special treatment, both giving and getting (aren't we all?).

Anyway, now that the red pockets have been sneakily distributed to (only) those we've deemed 'favorites', I can't help but reminisce at some of our favorite building concierges gone by...*sniff sniff*

Eggie

Eggie aka. Elgar/Egwart/Egwar (?) was the first reception guy in our building when we first moved to Hong Kong. A skinny, soft-spoken and dare I say nerdy guy, he could often be seen chatting on the phone with his 'girlfriend' (unconfirmed) during his regular graveyard shifts, unless he was asked for help, that is. No matter whether we asked him where we could order takeout, how to stream Premier League games or how to change our locks, he would always conduct intensive research before answering us, in the form of a 3 page handwritten note slipped discreetly into our mailbox the next morning. Sigh…he was so sweet!

Mickey

Mickey was a beautiful and sweet Hong Kong girl who always made me wonder what the hell she was doing as a reception girl in our building. To me, she could definitely enter and win any beauty pageant with her big (contact lens-enhanced) black eyes, porcelain skin and sweet as sugar giggles. One day, she even referred to our neighborhood as a 'garbage land' (translation: dump), so I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised when she silently disappeared one day…

Mongkok Guy

My personal favorite, Mongkok Guy was aptly named for his partly-shaved emo haircut and rough-looking features. A man in his mid-30s, one of his eyes was a little bit smaller than the other, which I assumed was a battle scar from a fight he'd survived versus other triad members in his past (or current?) life. Always friendly and helpful, we felt particularly hurt when he disappeared without telling us, especially when we had gone out on a limb by outwardly telling him he was "our favorite" guy! ::burn::

Unfortunately, all three of them disappeared without any notice at all, so I have no idea where they are now. I hope Eggie found a better job where he can actually spend the evenings with his said-girlfriend, and I have a feeling that Mickey and Mongkok Guy may have run off together (they seemed quite close and always worked the same shifts for some reason) but who knows?

If anyone out there has seen them, please let them know that they are sorely missed... and that their red pockets are here waiting for them! :'(

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