the real inspector hound

last night was a breath of fresh air from all the staleness that has been accumulating, shrouded over my head for the past few weeks. a much needed one at that.

we went to support broc's play at the arts house "the real inspector hound". it was hilarious (partially, ok fine, mostly) because i made it so. every time one of the actors started shouting in what i can only assume is their personal rendition/intepretation of vocal projection, i giggled.

*raises hand* and yes, that was me creating all the ruckus, what with the constant flipping of the booklet to refer to the characters. in the silence of the miniscule theatre, the crackling sound of paper was embarrassingly obvious. heh. even broc knew it was me, with her back turned! i couldn't help it, i was so far lost in the plot, i sat and huh-ed? my way through the beginning.

broc was by far, the best. in terms of diction, clarity - everything, she was the most natural. probably the only one that didn't have her eyebrows raised all the way to her forehead each time she exclaimed. ooh. and there was a serious loss of bodily fluids from a certain actor. i can only admire his courage to get up on stage and proclaim his lines with such enthusiasm, but i feared his collapse at any moment, considering his saliva chunks flying everywhere.

CHUNKS okay, CHUNKS.

you could practically see the heads swerving left and right just to avoid being hit by them. we considered opening up an umbrella and singing along to an imaginary verse of "it's raining spit!" but nah. wishful thinking on my part. think i'm mean? i swear i wasn't the only who noticed, hard not to in fact. after the play, the rest all commented on it too. they even went as far as to call him 'the spitting guy'. heh.

broc looked right at home in that gawdy purple gown with purple roses and purple nails and that funky purple wig. a hard look to pull off, but she did it all in good taste. it was a glorious tribute to the sad era of the poofy wedding gowns that resembled multi tiered cakes, 'the wedding singer'-ish i'd say.

we then headed over to the mad flemming i think, and proceeded to dissect the play/and to eatanddrink of course. actor by actor, scene by scene, plot by plot, hidden innuendos and supposed storylines. too much for this ex-lit student to take. though sylvain seemed to get it better than the rest of us :)

and then there was that whole conversation about how hot my boyfriend is. hee. broc gushed so cutely and told me to my face how unfair life is now that i have him, *laughs* and apparently i've singlehandedly crippled the entire population of single women's hopes of ever securing such a gorgeous partner. and then sarah's eager reaction to meeting him was nipped in the bud by sylvain's gentle if not calm prodding, "i'm here!" he said, as if he were answering a question.

tsk tsk ladies.

they all seem to have built up such lovely notions of his superhuman powers of ant-busting. weaving up ridiculous tales of men dressed in giant ant costumes to lure him onto the 9th floor of gen's place (gentlemen's duel between him & salivaman), and getting him to touch me by the artificial planting of ants on myself.

"you don't touch me anymore!" "you don't kiss me anymore!" -- ha ha. inside joke.

damn, wish i'd been there.

cheers to a local production starring our very own broccoli!

p/s: i seem to have acquired this bad habit of ordering the wrong drinks, thus leaving me to suffer the consequences of my lousy choice all night long while others sip their drinks daintily, pure torture i tell you. there was the barely there butterscotch shot at sound bar, horrific hoegaaden at zouk, coffee-tasting cappuccino at the mad flemming. god knows what else. know what? i should just bring a waterbottle everywhere i go.

go back to old school, i tell you.

p/p/s: ooh, everyone looked absolutely GORGEOUS. it was THE parade of skirts, ahem except drea. from the shortest: sarah's denim mini to the longest: my/aunty ivy's long flowy skirt from india. everyone said it was lovely :) i took every possible precaution not to trip and fall or to flash my new pierre cardin underwear to the world. and i am proud to announce that i did neither *grin* though i willingly flashed my sexy purple undies to gen. hee.

i told myself: float. glide. skim the ground. do whatever you have to, just don't trip and fall!

coming from the fashion designer that is me, ladies, you looked wonderful last night.