Survivor of giggliest

I survived the operazione. Grazie Dio. I thought I'd never make it. But as Ming put it in perspective, 'aiya, it's just a lump of fats you're removing - nothing compared to open heart surgery.' Ok still, you know what a dramatica mamma I can be. On the treno this morning, I nearly teared after talking to my nonna and mamma, and receiving a timely sms from Luigi in Napoli - all telling me to be a brava cat. Last night I had a nightmare again and this time, I dreamt that I had woken up at 3pm for the 11am appointment and had a laugh with the doc on the phone.

When I got to the Day Surgery, the nurse was surprised I came alone becos everyone was accompanied by a relative and instructed me to get into a really glamourous patient gown complete with matching white hair net and disposable granny panties. At least the gown was my colour - a pinkish viola. I waited a good 2 hours and went through an agonising mind-f%ck session, swinging from its-not-too-late-to-back-out-now to oh-shut-up-you-wanker state of mind. When I get extremely nervous, I get the bowels (done that at 9am), as well as feel ticklish and giggle like mad. I pretended to be amused at something and giggled to myself, me and Lipoma. I was losing it.

Finally at 1.15pm, the operating theatre nurse apologised for the delay and rolled my bed in for the motherly anaesthetist to do her job. A few nurses came by - their smiling eyes peeping from their masks - to reassure me it's gonna be fine when I told them it's my first time. They probably asked me 5 times for my name, age, IC no, any drug allergies/ medication prescribed, metal implants or dentures, where is my lump -- short of asking why I'm not married with kids yet.

She injected my left hand with some local anesthesia before poking in the drip needle. One down. Next up, they rolled me into the brightly-lit theatre where I slided onto the narrow bed. I spotted Dr Teo and was going to ask him about his holiday when the anaesthetist announced she was going to inject the painkiller now, followed by the anesthesia drugs. I still remembered her kind words 'ok now, take 3 deep breaths for me' as another smiling nurse held the oxygen mask over my nose. She whispered 'you smell so nice' and had this kind knowing smile. Forse lei e' l'angelo custode. I felt a cushy groggy slumber kicking in. And then I passed out. It was the best short-lived high ever.

The next moment I was rousing from my sleep in the recovery ward and I touched my left shoulder to find a bandage instead of Lipoma. The chubby girl's gone. Dr Teo came by to say it went well blah brraah baah but I couldn't register, drifting in and out slightly. Fortunatamente non c'e nausea. Within an hour or so, I could sip on some yummy Milo and nibble on wholemeal crackers, while waiting for my brother to pick me up. It felt good to be alive *kiss the ground* - and I thank everyone for their prayers. Cristian, xie xie per le belissime tulips!

Addios my bebe

I had an anxiety nightmare about my surgery. I dreamt I took some water and food before my surgery (which was restricted) and was wondering if I should inform the nurse. I jolted awake thinking it was so real and touched my left shoulder. Lipoma was still there, snugly under my skin. Tomorrow she'd be gone. Mmm, I'm having second thoughts and cold feet. Gulp. Banished all negativity!

Today I made another painful decision - I bid farewell to my bebe bolster, it was not as difficile as I imagined. She had served me well for 17 years and I needed to move on. My parents helped me to pick out her replacement last night at the megamall. I introduced the new bebe to the old and there were no hard feelings. At least not on my part. Old bebe looked terribly haggard - much like someone who had snorted too much coke and went crazy after gotten beaten up in a fight. After taking her mugshots, she was disposed of - as charged for unhygiene, misbehaviour and unorderly form. La vita continua. Addios, bebe! Ti amo tanto!

Vomitare girl

I puked my guts out last night. And it wasn't even my birthday. We were out celebrating A and P's belated ones at this ristorante S at Robertson. The food was so-so (disappointing appetisers) but we lapped up the rose' and pinot noir on the rather limited wine list - followed by my choice of Italian sparkling vino and moscato d'Asti at a nearby wine bar. We were having such a great time untill someone mentioned The word Tequila. Out came shots for everyone to toast the birthday boy - for old times' sake.

Then evil b-boy insisted on another shot for me and him. I swallowed. Then spat it out into the shot glass. Then swallowed it again at their insistent boo-ing. My head was spinning and I remembered saying I want to vomitare before passing out. The surge of puke crept up slowly but surely. I jumped up and rushed to the toilet. It had been a long time since my face was so upclose to a public bowl. Molto disgusto. I love you guys so much. Thanks for the memories.

To make things worse, I got a morning wake-up call from the Ikea delivery man on sabato with a mother of a hangover. He was early; I wasn't expecting him till late afternoon. Mastering all my sober strength to deal with my mom's relentless demands to do 1 million at a time, I gutted my room to make space for the new bed and furniture. Gone with the junk to welcome a new beginning in 2008. No more excess baggage.

Sari princess

Finalmente I could wear my expensive hot pink-green sari again at the hindu wedding ceremony of P. The first time was at F's wedding and it was a hoot. I feel so girly like a princess everytime I wear it. And si, I'd much rather don it than a tight-fitting cheongsam for the simple reason I'd not be able to pig out. On Sunday, I had to stifle a giggle as I stepped out of the lift and an auntie stared at me as if I had 4 legs. I smiled at the taxi driver who didn't smile back - bo, no sense of humour or curiosity.

At the temple, there were a million pairs of shoes but luckily we didn't have to remove ours for the ceremonial hall upstairs. P and his italian wife Ila looked like a royal couple resting on the dais while guests went up to congrat them. A few Indian guests came up and complimented me on my choice of sari, yipeee. Again it was a worthy investment - I figured I'd break even at the 10th Indian wedding or Bollywood themed party. Dammit, I should have come earlier to impress President N and the other VIPs. We then proceeded downstairs to lunch on vegetarian food with lime juice (si, there's no alcohol, rather bizarre considering we were surrounded by a horde with a penchant for birra and whisky).

I hurried home to change and went to Ikea and bought a new bed frame and mattress. I figured I needed a new prop to kickstart my love/sex life - it's a fengshui thing lah. And I'm trying to persuade myself to rid of my most treasured 17-year-old smelly bolster. It's really disgusting (trust me, you should see the saliva marks lol) and I was really surprised at how some exs had not commented on it. Although having said that, an ex was jealous of it and asked me to keep it in the wardrobe everytime he slept over - I reluctantly relented and felt so bad. I was so devoted to it and it was to me. To prove my point, the ex is gone but it remains a bolster of strength and affection for me. I think I'd keep it longer at least untill after next week when I'm done with my lipoma surgery. I'd need its comforting hold.

When there's a will

My gran had a minor stroke last week and it scared the shit out of us. No doubt it was a mini one, it was still a stroke. She was so weak when we rushed her to the A&E room at TTS and the damned doc wanted to discharge her despite her high blood pressure (218!) and signs of numbness. Luckily we insisted on admitting her and they found out after doing scans. She's fortunate to recover so fast but I think it was a 'warning' to her and us to pay attention to her health. We all love her so much that it was heartening to see the family rally around her. We couldn't imagine losing her - this bright spark of a ballbreaker - in our life.

La vita e' molto preziosa. You gotta treaure every fleeting moment. Sometimes I lie in bed and wonder about death, living and legacy. Just last month, I got this mother-of-a-claustrophobic momento when I thought about 'me' being trapped in my body. Who is 'me'? What am I doing in 'me'? Where am I going? Who are 'you'? Why are you in you if you know what I'm talking about? What is your mission in life? Truly bizarre. With that, I decided to add another resolution -- to make a will. It's about bloody time; I had been procastinating it for too long. Everything will naturally go to my parents if I expire before them. I even told my amiche Ferne and Fiona that I'm setting aside S$10,000 for each of them (and my sis too) to make a trip to Sicily to scatter my ashes at the volcanic Eolie islands.

Those 2 bitches complained I should give them more money to rent a villa and italian giggolos. I think I'd ask Luigi to go and make sure they don't have too much fun. He'd smack their arses. Speaking of the devil, he'd be coming to visit me in February - yay, finalmente - another overseas amico (after Cristian)! We can't wait for his first trip to his dreamland - Asia - where he'd be spending CNY with my famiglia and amici. Poi we're heading to Koh Samui for 5 days as lazy sunbathers with a Singha in hand. Make that many Singhas. L owes me una fabbrica. Anyway I'm so happy he finally took the leap. Bravissimo!

Chinese New Year is creeping up soon and I have 1) springcleaned room 2) gotten a new red top 3) cut and coloured my hair at my mom's salon. I usually don't share the same stylist with my mamma - I never forgave the last one who schemed with her and permed my hair into a Ronald Macdonald hair-do when I was just an innocent 10 year-old. Si, era bruttissima. Anyway the pretty salon-owner today offered me 10% discount saying 'Oh we only give to university students'. I stifled a giggle and declined the kind offer, confessing I'm 33 this year (dammit!). She said 'Oh I thought you're in early 20s. You have a baby face.' Woo-peeee!