I was having dinner with a girl friend just a couple of nights ago when the conversation led to the regrets people have about their lives. I confided in her how my biggest regret so far is not breaking up with my ex early enough.

The thought of breaking up, for good, struck me in the third year of our relationship. While I knew he loved me, and I could see how he was the dependable sort, he wasn’t what I wanted. This became even more obvious when, because of a small argument with my best friend, he refused to attend my sister’s wedding. The pain and the stress it caused left an indelible mark in the relationship. I was all ready to break it off in the November of 2005. Despite me starting a huge fight, telling him how I believed my life could be better without him in it, we didn’t manage to end the relationship. Instead, it dragged for another two years.

During this final two years, things were OK. But what others saw as “stable” was actually “stagnation”. By the time our fifth year came around, I knew it was a make-it-or-break-it situation. I was tired of trying to break up. I was spending as much time and as much energy as I could at work just so I didn’t have to spend time with him. I thought he would break up with me because I was proving to be The World’s Worst Girlfriend. Kudos to him for hanging in there! Since I couldn’t break up, I suggested we get married.

He was excited. My family was ecstatic. I wasn’t. I had thought settling down and making some form of commitment was what I needed to revive my love for this guy. In reality, I was close to going crazy from the sheer fear of marrying him. I’m not allergic to the idea of marriage. I just didn’t see myself with him.

After much drama, the break-up finally happened in March 2007. I was branded a cruel person by my parents and his family. Some friends wondered if I should have given it another shot.

Even after being single for more than a year, I am convinced I’ve made the right decision. If anything, I stand by my belief that I need to give myself a fair shot at finding the love I want. Ending the relationship was the correct start.

But I regret not insisting on a break-up when I had first set my mind to do it. I wasted two years of my life – time I could have invested into finding the happiness I’ve always envisioned for myself. I’m not blaming my ex. I just wish I had done it earlier.

There are times when I get lonely and wonder why it has been so hard starting another relationship. But I see the person I’ve become today and I know the “loneliness” is worth it. I’ve become less afraid of asking for what I want because I know Time is something that we cannot waste. Life is now an adventure because there is a possibility true love might be waiting for me at the next corner I turn. Most importantly, I’ve learnt to love myself even more and because of this, I know I won’t be able to just settle for second-best. It’s the best or nothing at all.

Here’s how it all happened. We (including husband who was driving the car at the time and my two daughters) were on the home, travelling on the CTE on a Monday night – just past 10pm. We just passed the first ERP gantry and were commenting on the extension of the hours yet again when we a huge truck hit us. My husband heard him braking first and the driver must have lost control and side-swiped us on the left. As we were on the extreme right lane, we then hit the right ramp on the expressway. The irresponsible driver didn’t even stop! It was a hit and run case.

Amazingly, we weren’t hit by any other cars and everyone was safe and didn’t suffer any injuries except me. The impact was so great that when I hit the door next to me (I think), one tooth fell out and another was intruded into the gums. I had to undergo surgery the next day and am currently under dental observation. I will need an implant for the missing tooth. Although it wasn’t exactly a near-death experience, this entire experience proves the fragility of life. The accident was totally random and freaky.

The beauty of today’s technology is that anything can be fixed (except for the emotional trauma bit). Life is back to normal one week later – deadlines, attending product launches, meetings, etc. Nobody can tell that anything is amiss behind my smile, as long as I keep my mouth covered when I yawn or laugh. The status of my tooth that’s also suffered trauma is still pending on its survival. If it's okay, then I just need to do a root canal and crown. If it doesn’t, I’ll need two dental implants instead of one. I just wasn’t prepared to lose my tooth so prematurely, but they say it looks better than the real thing.

I'm definitely looking forward to smiling with teeth again.

In the July issue of CLEO, I wrote about break-up inheritance – important lessons you get from the end of a relationship. Well, recently I received a SMS from my ex. And it got me thinking - after all the tears and angst, I did receive my break-up inheritance in the end (There is such a thing as “He’s just not that into you.”) But I think being single for the past two years has had an even greater payout. Here’s part of my single inheritance so far … 

Love lesson #1: Casting your net wide means you have to sift through a million ikan billis before you find a good catch.

When things ended, I was, to say the least, bitter, jaded and angry. So in an attempt to convince myself that love was still possible, I launched a dating rampage. I convinced myself that the main obstacle to finding the right one was that people tend to be too picky. So I basically started dating anyone who, well… was remotely interested in dating me. After way too many dates with sleazy/awkward/bland/immature people, I soon realised that in the same way wiping out your freezer of all the ice-cream after a breakup isn’t good for your waist, it’s just as unhealthy to attempt to date every possible single person you could lay your hands on. Learning that having a bit of QC when it comes to deciding who you want to date saved me a lot of money, time and more importantly, misery.

Love lesson #2: When you have to think about why you like him, he’s probably not the right one for you.  

All my ex boyfriends had very strong personalities, which on one hand made for great entertainment and excitement, on the other meant massive arguments and brash and uncompromising antics. So when I met C., I was convinced he was the answer I had been waiting for.  If I had to grade how our dates went, it would be hard for me to find fault with him cos he did all the right things. He pulled my chair, he was sincerely interested in my work and my life, he didn’t leave me in stitches with his sense of humour but he was funny and entertaining enough for me to go back home thinking the date went well. He was basically what most girls wanted – a sweet, caring and sincere person.

But for some reason, I just wasn’t feeling him. I didn’t feel giddy with giggles when I was around him and I didn’t have a goofy grin when he SMSed. But still I couldn’t find anything substantial to justify my gut feeling about him, so I told myself I was just being silly for wanting all these childish and fleeting cheap thrills. When my friends asked me what how things were going, I never gushed, I basically evaluated the date. “I guess it was great. He brought me to this really nice restaurant and he bought me flowers. The place was really nice and the food was exquisite … (leads to another topic)” And after about a month of trying to understand why I didn’t like like him, I realised just because he had all the qualities of a great boyfriend, it didn’t necessarily mean he was great for me. And the more I tried to think of why I should like him, it became more apparent that I didn’t. And that’s when I found out, for me, being merely nice doesn’t cut it.

I don’t know how you girls are when it comes to dating. But my girlfriends and I all agree, there’s a lot of trial and error involved and there are the occasional disappointments which make you sit in your lonely corner and stare enviously at happy couples walking hand-in-hand. But, let’s get a bit of perspective here. Being single is great! Cos around every corner, even in the most mundane of situations, there’s always the possibility that you might meet the person whose going to be the one you’re snuggling up to some months along the way. And for every person you meet and date, no matter how horrible or spectacular it goes, it continuously reveals new things about yourself and brings you closer to what you really want. And that, is infinitely exciting and fabulous. So as you can tell, I’ve got heaps more to learn when it comes to dating and more importantly, about what I want. But hey, if Carrie got her happy ending, then a girl can always dream that after all this fumbling through her single-life, there will be a Mr Big waiting with a pair of Manolos, right?

If there is one thing I’ve acquired a taste for ever since working in CLEO, it’s reading men’s magazines. I’m not talking about the almost-naked-women-on-the-cover variety; I’m actually referring to the ones with well-groomed men on the cover, filled with insightful stories on politics, culture and society enclosed within. In other words, the sort of magazines that we hope that guys that we date would read.

I know it’s a little strange – I’m not exactly the core demographic that they are targeting, but I do appreciate the self-deprecating nature humour of these magazines, the serious stories on profiles of soldiers who’ve died in a war, soldiers who otherwise wouldn’t have a face or a name … but most of all, I love the fashion spreads in these magazines.

To me, there are few things more pleasing to the eye than a man in well-tailored suit, but I also like how these magazines also show how a man can dress down and still look awesome and put-together.

I’m sure you know what’s coming … my bemoaning the fashion sense of Singaporean men. To be fair, I notice that Singaporean men these days have become snappier dressers - at least fewer of them are slouching around in baggy berms, flipflops and a shirt which looks like their mothers bought for them when they were 14. And I also admit that the sartorial options of local men are limited because of constraints like our hot and humid climes. I don’t expect them to wear a semi-formal sports jacket to work everyday. But so many of them are still guilty of unforgiveable fashion faux pas that I can’t help cringe and die a little inside whenever I take to the train to work everyday.

First, there is the ill-fitting pants. A pair of ill-fitting pants say he is careless and sloppy – either because he can’t be bothered to look around until he’s found the perfect pair, or he thinks that it will just pass unnoticed because so many other of his peers are doing it. The same goes for a too-baggy shirt.

The worst faux pas to that worse than all the rest of them put together? Wearing track shoes with a shirt and pants. What. Are. They. Thinking?? I’m all for comfort, but most of all, I’m all for stylish comfort. Stylish being the operative word here. And track shoes worn in any other place than where it belongs – on the track – just does not fly.

I’m not demanding that all men in the world take a leaf out of their sartorially-enlightened metrosexual brethren. I don’t insist that my boyfriend does a cleanse-tone-moisturise routine (but trust me, I’ve tried convincing him that there are a host of skincare products out there that will do wonders for the rhinoceros hide that is male skin … but he insists that soap hasn’t failed him yet). But at least he knows, and sticks to, the basic rules of men’s fashion. He matches his belt with his shoes. He buys shirts that fit and flatter him, even though this is no walk in the park because he’s more than 1.9m tall.  

Guys, there is no excuse for a man to dress sloppily. We’re not asking you to be at the cutting edge of fashion, or watch runway trends like we do. But it’s within every man’s ability to really work the classics. And trust me, women everywhere will notice, appreciate and thank you for it.

There’s only one more day left before the Great CLEO Swimsuit Shoot (have you signed up for it on askCLEO.com yet?) and for the past week, the only talk in the office has been about what swimsuits everyone is going to be wearing and exactly what kind of vibe we’re planning to channel – sporty beach babe or relaxed resort chic? But whatever look you’re going for, it’s definitely going to be one that’s perfect for summer …

And speaking of summer (yes, I just had to find a way to talk about this!), the latest news that’s got any girl above the age of 10 in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s all excited is the release of The New Kids on the Blocks’ “Summertime”. Yes, you read right – the boys from NKOTB are back. Fans waited in the pouring rain for TWO AND A HALF HOURS for their first performance since reuniting at the Much Music Awards, which is Canada's biggest award show and attracted more than 7.8 million viewers. Apparently, the crowd of screaming girls didn’t stop screaming from the time they started performing right to the end.

Which is great for the band, of course, but what has me really puzzled is: Just who are these screaming girls that are making up their fan base? And not just for NKOTB, either. The past few years has seen the resurrection of bands that were a force to be reckoned with in their glory days: The Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys, Boyzone, Take That … The fans of these bands were no doubt hardcore fans back in the day (including yours truly), screaming when they were performed or even appeared on TV, and crying when they broke up, but in the years that the band was absent, the fans grew up as well … so is it them who are still screaming every time their beloved band’s members appear on Perez Hilton? Or are there a whole new legion of fans who happened to listen to their songs over the years and decided to support them in their bid for a comeback?

I for one cannot decide if I’d actually go for Boyzone’s comeback tour if they ever do decide to bring it here (despite claims that all the members are now super-buff) – I’m torn between wanting to reminisce about the good old days and the almost absurdity of watching the boys singing about loving them for a reason – about 10 years after they released the track.

But wait …who am I kidding? If Ronan and gang swung by our sunny isle, I’m sure I’d be clamouring for front row seats, singing along cheesily with the best of them. Looks like I spoke too soon – and by the looks of it, it means “Summertime” is set to be a hit – now we just need to wait for Hanson to announce their reunion tour.

I was part of my JC’s production of Grease and one of the songs that’s really stuck in my head, after so many years, is Beauty School Dropout.

If you saw the movie starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton John, you’ll remember it as the scene in which one of Sandy’s pals gets serenaded by some “male angel” about her not having the potential to make it as a hairstylist and makeup artist.

The song also struck in chord in me because one of my many ambitions as a kid was to become a makeup artist. Thinking about it, it was totally weird cos my other ambitions included lawyer, police, assassin and pilot – typical “boy” jobs.

But you know what’s even more strange? Today, I’m in a job that is the closest thing to a makeup artist. Well, not really, but close enough. I’m running a magazine that’s filled with beauty products from start to finish and I deal with hairstylists and makeup artists as part of my job. In fact, there was a point in my career where I thought, “Hey, actually, I might want to be a beauty writer for the rest of my life!”

The beauty industry is a living, breathing organism on its own cos there’s a whole population of people working in it. Starting from the folks whose work involve discovering the next big beauty ingredient (seriously, who would have thought that bacteria from rotting meat would be a great anti-ager?) to the therapists massaging top-grade essential oils into your overworked body, the beauty industry is all about helping everyone look good and feel good.

Personally, I believe that a person who doesn’t have a giving nature cannot be a good therapist, hairstylist or a makeup artist – basically jobs that involve touching others. When I go for a massage, I can tell if the therapist genuinely embraces the fact that she is helping someone with her touch or she’s really doing it because of the money. The same with a hairstylist. You know what people say about having a special relationship with your hairstylist? It’s true! Ever since I found THE hairstylist for my tresses, I haven’t allowed anyone else to touch my hair – not even when an invitation arrived for me to get my hair done by one of Singapore’s top celebrity hair-gurus. The thought of “cheating” on my hairstylist was simply unthinkable!

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is … yes, women have very special relationships with their therapist/hairstylist/facialist/dermatologist and I believe, with an increasing emphasis on quality of life, people will become even more discerning about the beauty service providers they use. I’m writing this entry because a reader has written to CLEO asking for career advice. After reading Kamei’s “Tell me, what don’t you like about yourself?” (May 2008), she wondered if she should actually pursue a career as a makeup artist.

My answer to Carina is an absolute yes! If you are passionate about the beauty industry, love being with people and basically want to help them feel better about themselves through your makeup skills, then you should definitely train up to become a beauty professional. And the best part of it all is that CLEO is offering Urban Beauty Academy scholarships for those interested in mastering the right techniques and skills from true professionals. It’s still not too late to submit your entry – closing date is May 30, 2008. So good luck, Carina!

Ohhh that awful weighing scale. I've never been one to really rule my life by it, but there was a period of time when I didn't want to step on a scale because I was afraid of the number it might show me. It all started after I'd gone to Melbourne to study. The combination of being away from home (freedom!), plus a sudden lack of PE, lots of partying and lots of eating made me put on a lot of weight. More than I'd even like to admit, but I guess I'm lucky in the sense that most people can't tell I've put on weight, unless they hadn't seen me for a while.

You see, my body's the type that puts on weight everywhere. It's like a slowly creeping vine that makes its way up a pole over several years until one day you realise there's no more pole left, just a lot of vines! The weight gain did the same thing to me – it started to creep on, and I noticed my clothes got a little tighter, but I figured it was only two or three kilos that I might have put on. Imagine my horror when I came home for a holiday one year and was flabbergasted to realise it wasn't just two or three, it was more like ten! If most of you out there think that 45kg is the ideal weight to be at, then I was way off the mark. In fact, I was almost one and a half times that weight, and I could feel every single gram of it weighing on me.

Eventually I had to admit to myself – I am not skinny, and I never will be.

It's something that I've come to accept only in the past few years and although I never went through huge yo-yos in my weight (aside from that huge pile-on I did in Melbourne), it's something I've always been acutely aware of – especially when you're a size 14 girl with a size 6 sister. In every other way, my sister and I are alike: We're about the same height, and look fairly similar. Although now I've grown out my hair and she's chopped hers off. But other than that, the biggest and most glaring difference between us is the size difference. She's slim and slender, while I have more curves than a mountain road.

I used to get teased a lot when we were younger and our relatives would say that I was probably stealing her food. The reality is, my sister eats way more than I do! Sometimes it would get to me, and I'd feel a little hurt or offended. Just because I'm bigger than her doesn't mean I'm eating all her food. Like, seriously, is it really necessary to tell an awkward teenager going through those hormonal years that she's big-sized? There's enough to deal with without pesky relatives trying to put you down. Of course they'll just tell you they're teasing, but that's teasing I could have done without!

Then I came to realise that my friends loved my curves. Embraced it, and accepted it as who I am, even if I hadn't come to accept it myself. They envied me for being able to have that 'womanly' figure, and didn't have to deal with padded bras and maximisers, while I always wistfully thought how great it must be to be able to wear pretty much anything from the stores, because they'd always have their size in stock. I think it's always a case of envying what you don't have.

But now I tell myself: I am curvy, I am an hourglass and I'm proud of it. And that my curves are my best accessory when it comes to making my LBD look absolutely sexy. 

I won't be tossing out that weighing scale just yet though. But I know that my life doesn't have to be ruled by just those numbers alone. 

A week ago, Kamei and I were hanging out at Wine Bar after a particularly stressful workday.

Halfway through our beers, Kamei asked me this question, “Do you feel the need to make a move on the guy you like now that you’ve survived the accident?”

A bit of update here. Earlier on in April, I was hit by a car. It happened while Pam and I were making our way to meet Kamei and Bernice. While walking along the pavement, I suddenly found myself swept off my feet. Before I knew what had happened, I heard Pam screaming at the top of her lungs. I had been hit by a car. The driver was drunk and she hit me because she swerved to avoid a taxi that was, apparently, coming too close to her. Anyway, the driver cried and begged us not to call the police but a group of helpful skater-dudes had already alerted the police. The police came, took our statements, gave the driver a breathalyser test and took her away. I had to be sent to A&E.

Luckily for me, I escaped with just bruises on my back and legs. No bones were broken and, although I landed on my head, I am well and good.

This incident had led to many people asking me this question, “Who was the first person that came to your mind when you got hit?”

And my answer? Well, the thing was, everything happened so quickly, I didn’t even have the time to figure out who this person was.

The romantics among my friends said that if the first person I had thought about was Some Guy, it meant that he must be my true love. The girls in the office encouraged me to take the initiative to ask Some Guy out cos “you very nearly left this world without telling him how you really feel about him”. Nice try, people.

But as with all my blog entries, this – finding the courage to confess my feelings for Some Guy – isn’t the point I’m making today.

In response to Kamei’s question at the beginning of this entry, I said, “Not really. I still don’t think I need to make any first moves on anyone. If anything, Some Guy should realise how close he was to losing me and bloody ask me out already!” Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for seizing the day and women baring their hearts to the men they love. BUT, the way I play this game of love is I’d give him just enough indication of my interest and wait for him to make his move. I told Kamei, “I refuse to believe that God made such an excellent specimen of a woman only to have her woo a man. If he likes me enough, he will tell me.” Egotistic, yes. Delusional, no.

So I may not look like Jessica Alba. So I could do with losing a couple of pounds. But if I were a man, I would honestly date me. I mean, why not? I’ve got a great career, I can hold a decent conversation with just about anyone, I’m witty, I’d like to think I dress well enough, I’m not thin but I’m fit, sporty and proportionate ... and if you put these qualities into a guy, any girl would date him in a heartbeat! Which is why despite the dating drought I’m currently facing, I refuse to play the role of a pursuer.  

I don’t think it is due to a lack of confidence that I’m not taking the initiative to ask Some Guy out. Call me a sado-masochist, call me a perfectionist – I just want to find out what’s keeping men away and I want to know if attaining that “missing trait” (be it gentleness, sweetness or the ability to cook dinner) would make me more desirable, and … whether I’d want to have that trait as part of my character DNA. But of course, I don’t think I’m ever to going to ask Some Guy point-blank, “What is it about me that’s still not good enough for you?” It’s not that I can’t handle the truth. It’s because deep down, I don’t think I really gave a damn about Some Guy. I’m comfortable in my own skin, I madly in love with myself … but would I really change a part of me (like learn to speak in a cutesy voice) just so he’d do an about-turn and try to win my heart? On hindsight, not really. And this means I’ve decided to move on from Some Guy and will now look for Some Other Guy, someone who knows how to hang on to a good thing when he sees one.    

Every time a CLEO girl’s birthday is nearing, everyone else’s email inbox is suddenly a riot of activity, with frantic messages ping ponging back and forth about what diabolical plan we should come up with to surprise the unwitting victim. Of course, after being privy to many a birthday planning experience ourselves, we’ve all come to expect a birthday surprise mid-way through the day – which means our antics now have to be upped a notch.

While we used to get Debs to lure the poor birthday girl into her office with a “XXX, can you come into my office please?” in an ominous tone, followed by a reprimand about how she screwed up one way or another, then a “Surprise!” and everyone popping in with a cake and singing Happy Birthday, in the past two weeks, I’m proud to say that we’ve outdone ourselves. We labelled every item in Cynthia’s cubicle with Pink Post-Its as an April Fool’s joke/birthday surprise (she’s smart enough to go on leave whenever it’s her birthday) and even faked Debs fainting at the reception so Denise would come running out - to the rest of us waiting with a birthday cake. Of course, the fact that she came strolling out instead of running didn’t do much to impress Debs haha!

And speaking of birthdays, no one I know goes more out of their way to celebrate their special day (besides CLEO, of course) than everyone’s most beloved nightspot, Zouk. Whenever April rolls around, I can’t wait to find out the theme for their rocking birthday party. Last year’s sweet sixteenth was based on a school theme and the runway show featuring the jocks, geeks, cheerleaders and punks was one of the most fun fashion shows I’ve ever seen. Not to mention the drinks that were served in giant punch bowls and the amazing cupcakes in every colour of the rainbow! And this year’s Great Zouk Tee-Dance looks set to top that, what with the debut of three original designs from the new Z.O.U.K merchandise line and even a LookBook featuring the night’s best moments to be published after!

While we’re talking about Zouk, can I just say that I can’t wait for May to come?! My favourite party event, Ready Set Glo, is celebrating its first anniversary on 17^th May with none other than Steve Aoki (yes, brother of Devon and founder of Dim Mak records, ie father to bands like Bloc Party) helming the decks and … get this: Mark the Cobrasnake documenting the night! For the uninitiated, the Cobrasnake is famous for his photos of clubbers taken at the most happening parties in New York and the man has become so hot that he now even shoots for magazines like Nylon. That’s not all: The next day, the duo will even be selling wares at the Zouk Yardsale, which is basically like the famed Zouk Flea & Easy but I don’t know … with a different name haha! I’m beyond excited but am sure that both events are going to be way more insanely packed than usual – so don’t say I didn’t warn you! :D

“Hi, I’m Denise from CLEO, I’m here to attend the event.”

“Er, Denise?” A look of confusion and surprise registers on the hapless PR girl’s face before she quickly recovers and flashes her toothy whites at me. “Sure! I have you on the list right here. The event will start soon, but please help yourself to the munchies first.”

The reason for the PR girl’s surprise would be clear to any bystander observing this scene: Decked out in my Interpol t-shirt, black skinny jeans and my favourite weathered pair of Chucks, I probably look like I belong more at an indie festival than working at Singapore’s top-selling young women’s magazine.

I'm overjoyed that my first job does not involve me wearing stuffy office attire like so many of peers have to wear, so I take full advantage of the fact that I can still dress in a way that was wholly “me” and not just any working woman in the CBD.

Thankfully, my colleagues understand and Deborah has been quite tolerant of the way that I dress. I’ve always valued my individuality and I believe that the way you dress is an important assertion of that uniqueness. Here at CLEO, every single one of us has a way of dressing that’s become a trademark of how we are and what we believe in as individuals. Kamei is all about flowy dresses, you’ll never catch Annabelle without her huge glasses, and every one of Deborah’s 24 black dresses make appearances with military regularity.

Unfortunately, in this industry, appearances count and they count for a lot. After going through the above scenario numerous times, coupled with a snide comment by someone from another magazine that I look more like I work for a daily tabloid than a women’s magazine, I have had enough.

As much as I hate to admit it, I started to feel just slightly self-conscious of the way I dressed among the perfectly coiffed and oh-so-chic beauty editors I attended events with. I still stand my ground on some sartorial decisions. For example, I refuse to wear high heels because I don’t believe in suffering for fashion (I’ve lost count of the number of times I had to duck inside a massage shop for a quick foot rubdown after tottering around in them for a whole afternoon), but I’ve since made minor tweaks to my dressing so that I didn’t look so out of it in this fickle industry by wearing cute ballet flats once in awhile instead of sneakers, and have come to accept that “going nude” doesn’t mean having absolutely no makeup on my face at all.

I don’t feel like I’ve completely sold out though. It’s just that I’ve come to accept that I have to back down just a little from being so stubborn in order to be taken seriously – it’s not enough that I show that I can do a decent job, I also have to look it. More importantly, I’ve come to realise that if the fate of my ego rests in a pair of shoes, and that a part of me will be gone just because I’m not donning my sneakers, then I probably wasn’t very assured and confident of myself to begin with.

At the very least, this whole thing has made me think harder and more creatively about my dressing – how to wear sneakers with the right dress so I don’t look sloppy, and how to pull off “slouchy cool” looking more cool than slouchy.

I consider this a good compromise for now – being able to flaunt my own brand of quirky (or so I like to think, at least), and still be taken seriously by industry peers.

Some people have said astrology is utter crap. Some people won’t leave the house without first consulting their daily horoscope reading. I like to think I lie somewhere in between.

Whenever my friend, Marianne, and I get together for dinner, our conversation would invariably lead to my schizophrenic, mildly psychotic and truly tempestuous personality. Yes, I’m crazy that way. *flashes my signature, shameless smile*

I like to point out to her how while my Sun sign is Taurus, my Moon sign, together with the planets Mars, Venus, and Mercury, lies in Aries. In plain English, I’m telling my friend that not only am I persistent, bull-headed and stubborn (“It’s the bull, dammit!”), I’m also fiery, outspoken and have an attention span shorter than the seven dwarves (“Typical Aries traits,”). And, whenever we get to this, she would remind me how my Rising sign, Gemini, is also responsible for making me a horrible person to argue with – a typical Gemini never walks away from a quarrel a loser, just think what a hot-headed one would do.  

An ex-boyfriend once told me, “Debs, you are a great girlfriend … when you’re not crazy.” My friends have observed how whenever I set my mind on something, I pursue it with a fanatical passion that’d scare the shit out of a cult leader. Kamei told me last Thursday that in my doctor’s book, I’m probably listed as a potential for stroke. Only Marianne thinks being described as “psychotic” is a compliment. But then, this is a girl who studied theatre back in university! How I like to see it is that being emotional and passionate is just my way of showing that I give a damn about things.

But the point of my entry isn’t about horoscopes. It’s my temper I want to talk about today.  

An argument happened last week between me and a couple of colleagues. Right now, a part of me recognises that it was possible to have dealt with the issue in a cool-headed and calm manner. But, at that point in time, the Aries side of me had a field day defending my stand. I was convinced people just wanted me to back down and give in to whatever they wanted so their lives could be made easier. The Taurus in me kept saying, “You know what you have to do. Just stick to it!”. Needless to say, the twins went on and on about how I should try all ways and means to win the argument and convince people about the correctness of my ways.

Yep, my feisty personality didn’t help matters and I’m now faced with the prospect of a potential showdown that could get ugly. At last, some drama worthy of an episode in Dirt. I’m kidding … I am really quite concerned.   

But you know, unless you work alone, problems between colleagues are bound to happen. On a good day, I do try my best to be accommodating, to be understanding, to basically be helpful. On a bad day, I can’t help but feel misunderstood and that’s when I lose my temper.

However, I don’t start out by biting people’s heads off. In most situations, I start off by trying to be as reasonable as possible. Sometimes, I’d wonder if I’m overcompensating for all the “You’re too emotional” remarks thrown at me by teachers, by bosses, by friends etc. Because people always say I let my temper affect my judgement, my first instinct, when faced with a challenge, is always to back down and “absorb” the punches … until I can take no more and I bite back.

My immediate reaction to unhappy incidents has often caused people to think I’m a doormat. Most people know when to stop. Some continue pushing their luck. Honestly, I play along whenever I can cos I know some battles are not worth fighting, some allies, not worth losing. Unlike what Kamei likes to say about me, I’m really not a gangster.  

So after a weekend of thinking things through, I think I will try to make my peace with these dear colleagues of mine. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy but, according to my birth chart, a person with Gemini rising is also able to not take life and themselves too seriously. This will be one time when I hope my jokes and sense of humour don’t fail me.

Wish me luck, people.

I’m pretty sure everyone has already picked up their copy of the March issue by now, and if you haven’t checked out the 50 gorgeous hunks who are the talk-of-the-town, you might still be able to grab a copy if you run to the newsstands. Ok, correction, maybe you might need to sprint. 

Well, after months of hard work (we started our photoshoots in November); it’s finally time to see the fruits of our labour. It’s really difficult to choose a fave amongst all the hotties having had the honour to hang out with all of them, interviewing them during the shoots and basically checking them out in the flesh. (Don’t shoot me girls, I’m just doing my job).

Some are true-blue jocks with matching rock hard abs while others are goofy and funny with charming personalities to match. Some are of exotic parentage while some are perfect-looking representations of their race. Some are slightly more mature and manly whereas some are boyish and full of youthful vigour. Some are lawyers, some are chefs while others are professional athletes. There's something for everyone and that's what we strive for every single year. One man’s meat is another man’s poison, and while it’s tough maintaining this diversity (almost to the point where we hunt down guys standing outside Zouk), we choose to go through it year after year, just cos we know what you girls want.

I’m sure you'll know who your faves are, and while I can’t give out their mobile numbers, I’m gonna let you in on some top-secret backstage goss on some of the hunks to whet your appetites … cos that’s what girls do, we share “information”!

- Spotted: random shirt lying on the table at the end of the shoot. Hmmm, wonder how bachelor A went home without it…

- When it comes to rock-hard abs, no one can compare with a certain bachelor B … the moment he whipped off his top, almost everyone at the shoot gave a collective gasp.

- Bachelor C should just walk away with the title of Mr Photogenic (if we actually have that) cos it only took a grand total of 10 minutes to get the perfect shot.

-His friends love him so much that they set up a Facebook group to support Bachelor D.

- Bachelor E bears a striking resemblance to Pierre Png and had our hearts racing when he first came to the office for a briefing.

- Guess what our bachelors’ fave underwear brand is? Almost 75 percent of the boys wear Calvin Klein!

Oh no I’m on a roll and I’m totally giving away stuff that shouldn’t be said, so I better go before Debs fires me. But to get to know the boys better, you'll just have to get up-close and personal with them at the Bachelors Carnival and Bachelors Finals Party-School’s Out held on the 8^th of March and 14^th of March respectively at possibly the hippest club in town, Zouk.

And of course, don’t forget to send in your votes for your faves via sms or snail mail!

Xoxo

What’s the fixation with women and mirrors?

I was going to talk about all the traditions and customs that we have for Chinese New Year, about how it brings us all together as a family, or even with our friends so we remember the people that are important to us, and who are important in making us who we are today.

Then I got distracted by the arrival of my nephew!! He wasn't expected till next week, but decided to make a grand entrance on 8th Feb, 2008 (and what a great birthdate he chose too!). So here I am, gushing over this little bundle of joy, whom I suspect will be spoilt rotten by his aunty. 

I've declared that I will be the 'cool' aunty. The one who lets him talk about girls and all the taboo subjects. The one who will bring him to get his first tattoo, and then hope that his parents don't kill me. I'll be the one to give him his first beer and introduce him to the world that is Zouk.

Of course, I say that all now but when it comes down to it, I may just be the aunty who dotes on him and tells him not to do anything naughty. For now though, I haven't even had the chance to say hi to him properly because he hasn't opened his eyes yet ... at least not when I'm around. 

It was a terrific way to celebrate the Chinese New Year, and I just want to wish everyone a Gong Xi Fa Cai! May you have all the wonderful wealth, health and happiness this Ratty year!

Where do I even begin? OK, let’s start with my latest credit card bill.

I received my bill on Saturday night, totally believing it would be below $1000 cos I didn’t think I had spent that much money in the last month. I opened the envelope, unfolded the bill and got a heart attack. I had, somehow, managed to chalk up a grand total of $2000 within four weeks – and, you know what, at this point I haven’t even gotten the bills of the other credit cards I have.

I have a spending problem, I know. But it was made worse by the lack of coffee.

When I last wrote about quitting coffee, I was convinced it signalled the start of a more frugal 2008. I was convinced I’d save a considerable sum of money simply because I’m no longer spending $60 a week buying branded lattes.

But instead, in the first two weeks of January alone, I spent a grand total of $1500 – with 70 percent of that going to Aldo, Topshop and Zara. I don’t even remember how I came to spend that much money. Somehow that feverish (yes, I actually fell sick too!), caffeine-deprived brain of mine developed amnesia and caused me to forget that I had already done a ridiculous amount of shopping!

Anyway, I didn’t last very long. By the third week of January, I was dealing out death threats to all those unfortunate enough to miss my deadlines. I tried getting my kicks from the kopi from the coffeeshop opposite our office building but the cloying consistency of the heartland brew made it difficult for me to finish even half a cup! Soon, I faltered and when our office manager sent out the daily email for Starbucks, I put in my order for a grande latte. And, because I was so afraid no one else would put in an order, I made a very loud, public cry for everyone in ACP to order Starbucks. I must have sounded pretty desperate cos shortly after, our managing director Julie sent me an email with only TWO words, “Just ordered.” I think she was trying to shut me up.

So now I’ve not only failed my quit-coffee challenge, I also have some serious budgeting issues to resolve. I think it’s time to get back into my dad’s good books. Perhaps I can use my ang pow money to cover part of my credit card bills. That is if I can stay away from shopping this whole February.    

The CLEO girls have recently been very traumatised by my wedding plans. I’ve decided that my dress is going to have one of those giant skirts big enough to hide five kids under (not that I want kids to hide under but you get the idea of how big my skirt will be) and I want a tiara with a long veil, so I can have that poignant moment when my husband pulls my veil back to kiss me. I want an entire row of military men in uniform holding swords along the aisle … that was until the CLEO girls told me that unless I marry a man who actually is in the military, I’m not actually allowed to arrange for that. I want cheesy music by KC&Jojo, Jon Secada and that horrible song, “I’ll be the man who will fight for your loveeee ...” for kicks and to top it, I will have a powerpoint slide of pictures of my husband and myself. I’ve even promised Deborah that she can be my host for the night and I’ve even given her permission to sing a song.

The thing is, I’m not getting married anytime soon.

I’ve never been one who’s desperate to get married either, but for some reason I love entertaining thoughts of how my wedding is going to be like. As much as I might not want to be married (at least not right now), I like the idea of getting married