OUR FAVORITE DOCTOR

Now that Paul and I are nearing the end of his contract and are faced with the possibility that we may leave Singapore, my brain has gone into, “what do I still need to post about?” mode. I have a couple touristy things left on my “eventually” list, so I will have to get to those in the next few weeks. 

One of my biggest concerns about potentially moving and potentially living in Papua New Guinea (yeah, we’ll talk about that later) is definitely health care. In a place ranked in the bottom 5 percent of the worst places to live, I wonder what the health care will be like in the capital city where we may reside. (For the record, the capital city is not as awful as some may think, according to the expats who actually live there.)

I see my Singapore doctor all the time. We could be friends. At least that’s what Nicola and I both think. Our doctor is part of the Pacific Healthcare medical group. The offices are located in the Paragon building at Orchard, just across the street from their affiliated hospital, Mount Elizabeth. There are a million things that I like about Pacific Healthcare but what I like most is that ability to call any doctor in the system – they have general practitioners, specialists, dentists, labs, everything – and get an appointment, usually on the same day and definitely within 24 hours – without a referral. Amazing. And unheard of in America.

Our favorite doctor (code for Dr. Tan See Lin, our general practitioner) is Singaporean from Penang, Malaysia. She has taught me more about health care and my own body than any science, biology or anatomy class I ever took – even in college. She has her own sense of style, typically wearing fancy dresses, sparkly jewelry, maybe a headband and always a dressed up pair of shoes. She is hilarious, sarcastic and informative at the same time. She teaches. We learn.

So for anyone out there who thinks they need to see a white doctor who graduated from a familiar university is their own country, forget that theory. Singaporean doctors are amazing.

Paul and I had to see the doctor today because we have just been approved for Singapore permanent residency (yay!). In order to exchange our green card for a blue one, we needed to get HIV and tuberculosis tests. Paul hates needles and people taking his blood, so he decided that if he was coming in to get these tests done, he may as well get his whole self checked.

Since we just needed chest X-rays and blood taken, I was surprised when the receptionist asked me to head back to the doctor’s office. When Paul sat down, it made sense.

”Your wife I know, so I don’t need to know anything for this paperwork. But you, you I do not know.”

”Yeah, he only goes to the doctor every five years,” I said.

”I’m fine!” he pleaded. “I’m healthy!”

”You are the worst kind of patient,” the doctor told him. “Because when you get sick, it will stress you out because you are never sick. And then, it will take forever for you to feel better.”

He went through the family history, asked all the questions he had and we were on our way. Two chest X-rays, two HIV test and a full blood panel ran $511 that will later be reimbursed by our insurance provider. The health screening was more than half the cost, so I perceive health care to be relatively cheap. Who gets an X-ray and a blood test for $85 in America?

There were a couple things that I had to get used to but now I don’t want anything to change. I remember the first time I called to make an appointment. I needed to see the doctor and the woman on the phone asked when I wanted to come in. Typically, I was told the first available appointment, so this was new to me. “Want to come now?” she asked? Uh….really? Same. Day. Appointments.

When I am sick or have an issue that requires medication, do I need to find a pharmacy? No. Do I need to go to the grocery? No. Where do I go? The front desk. Say what? That’s right, the same woman who answers the phone, schedules my appointments, greets me when I arrive, escorts me into the doctor’s office, takes my blood, height and weight and settles my bill is the same woman who dispenses my drugs – in a plastic bag.

Now, the one issue I had with the plastic bag was the elimination of the FDA paperwork telling me all about my drug, possible side effects, drug warnings, whether I should eat or not, etc. This time I was handed a tiny, clear zip-lock with a label stating my name and the drug name. That was it.

”Do I need to take this on an empty stomach,” I asked.

”No, no need,” she replied.

”The last time I was on something similar, I wasn’t allowed to eat for a three-hour period.”

”No, no problem.”

O.K. Did I trust her right away? No. I went home and did my research on the interweb. Do I trust her now? Yes. I have been in that office once every month or two for the last two years. They know me (though the ladies at the front do refer to me by my last name instead of my first), we joke around. They now know my husband. We should have his results tomorrow.

THE WALK OF SHAME

T-minus six weeks until we are homeless. How am I spending my days? Worried? Freaked out? Trying to find a job? I’m actually doing my best to stay away from all that. In fact, I am keeping mighty busy co-chairing a charity’s largest annual fundraiser and doing my best to not think about all that other stuff.

Managing a major fundraiser with a five-figure budget and six-figure anticipated profit is a major challenge that makes me feel right at home. I was explaining to the head of the committee yesterday that this stuff – hunting down vendors, seeking proposals, developing time lines, writing progress reports, negotiating like crazy – is work I used to get paid to do and I love it.

In this role I get to experience a few perks. I get to see fabulous venues, I get to have people submit papers that document my every desire and fight against their competitors to woo me into signing on the dotted line. I get to participate in fabulous food tastings and hit some pretty fabulous clubs to hear some…interesting bands.

This past weekend was definitely deemed band weekend. Not typically a night owl, I spent Saturday night and Sunday night out on the town in places in which I have never been and, frankly, didn’t even know existed.

Saturday my committee chair and her husband joined me as we listened to one band recommended by fellow volunteers. I was up for a late dinner, so they picked me up at 8:30 and our fancy-car driver took us to Little India where an Australian hostel and pub was hosting the first of our three weekend bands.

The last time I was in Little India after dark, it was Deepavali and my husband was ready to kill me for:

1. Dragging him out of the house.
2. Dragging him out of the house after dark.
3. Dragging him out of the house after dark when we should have been in bed.
4. Dragging him out of the house after dark when we should have been in bed and making him go to Little India for the Festival of Lights where it was so busy that we literally could not move through a tent or through the streets because there were a million and a half Indian men and a quarter of a million women and children and smelly foods and incense and a concert blaring loud music, all so I could experience some culture and maybe see some fireworks.

He was not happy.

This version of Little India at night excited me. According to my friends who have actually been to India, our mini India is a pretty good comparison. It was near 9 p.m. so the sky was dark but the streets were bright. Lighted signs and neon colors filled the air around the streets. People were in the streets and filled the shops along the streets. There was a vibe but it wasn’t overwhelming – this was normal.

We ate at a restaurant called the Banana Leaf, quite popular among my friends. I have only eaten Indian food one other time, more than a year ago. The conversation with the waiter went something like this:

”Good to order?”

”Yes, what is the least spicy thing on the menu?”

”Least spicy?”

”Yes, I cannot have spicy.”

”Butter chicken.”

”O.K. I’ll have that. And some saffron rice.”

Doo doo doo…time rolls on…food comes down… A silver bowl is set in front of me and the sauce was a bold, bright color I had never seen before – a deep, red, though somewhat orange with a cream swirl on top. Somewhere in that soupy sauce was some chicken.

I remember eating a tiny bite and knowing that it tasted good but that it was still really spicy, which, for anyone who has actually had butter chicken, means I am the biggest spice wimp in the world. And, yes, I am.

This time, however, the butter chicken was not spicy like I remembered. The chicken was grilled and tough on the outside and then made soft by the sauce. The saffron rice at the Banana Leaf was surprisingly not as flavorful as the prior rice I had but this rice did come with more additives like chickpeas and cilantro. I had some butter naan as well, which I love. I am an American who should have been born Italian – I love my bread.

The banana leaves placed in front of this at the table added to the experience. I thought they made great placemats. Then the food was brought out and, while I waited for the plates to be presented, Peter said, “I think these are our plates.” It was only awkward for a few seconds and then I just piled everything on the leaf.

Once our bellies were full we headed to the hostel pub where the band was doing a sound check. We heard the first set and then moved on to another club downtown to hear one of Peter’s favorite bands.

There is a club called Brix in the basement of the Hyatt on Orchard Road. I had been warned about what happens at this bar but I figured I would have been fine. I was with Avril and Peter. What could happen?

For the first time entering a club, no one was checking IDs. I found this odd. Yes, I am 30 and my friends are older but I still found it odd. For $28 a head, we got an ultraviolet stamp and a drink ticket. The club, I stated, sounded like a frat party when we walked in. It was after 11, the lights were dim, the heavy-beating music was blaring and I did all I could to stay with my friends, at least until I found the bathroom.

”I’ll be right back,” I yelled to Avril and pointed in the direction of the restrooms. When I walked in, I was greeted by stares from girls in the tightest dresses, the biggest hair and the most makeup seen anywhere outside of a Texas beauty pageant. I looked in the mirror and noticed that my skinny jeans, layered tank tops and flat hair weren’t exactly in style for this venue.

I did my best in front of the mirror to make myself feel a little more presentable. The entire time, the women were staring. All I could think was, “I’m married. I’m not here to meet anyone and I am sure no one here is here to meet me. What do I care?”

Then I walked around the corner and headed out as more pretty ladies walked in and gawked. This was one of those moments when I felt insecure – it can happen a lot in Singapore – I was not nearly pretty enough to be there.

”Did you do the walk of shame?” Avril asked when I returned. “Yes!” I said. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”

We waited about 10 minutes for the band to start and I did some of my best observing, though I also did quite a bit of staring.

At the table next to us was a group of three men who looked to be in their late 50s. They had the tallest bottle of Grey Goose I had ever seen, lit up with lighted ice balls inside the container. There were carafes of juices and the vodka on the table and empty glasses that were continuously filled by the approaching wait staff. The men were adorned with young Asian women on their laps, around their shoulders and in their faces.

I wanted so badly to tell the one man that his lady friend wasn’t actually a lady but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “Does that guy know that his date is a man?” I asked Avril and Peter. “I think he knows,” Peter said. “Some guys are into that thing.”

I looked around and more young Asian people in dresses were either hanging on men or hanging around men in order to gain their attention and hang on them at some point in the evening. I was disgusted but it was clear to me that no one would actually be looking at me that night so I was quite fine being invisible.

We went back on Sunday night to hear the third band, this time without Peter. “I am trying to figure out,” I told Avril, “if the club will be dead because it’s 10 p.m. on a Sunday or if it will be booming because it is Maids’ Day Off.”

Because it was Sunday, we were able to enter without paying a cover charge. The place was pretty empty, which meant we were able to choose a table and sit without ordering a bottle of something (we stood the whole time the night before). Only a few gentlemen and only a few ladies in tight dresses were present when we arrived but the place filled after a couple hours.

I didn’t feel quite as dirty the second night. I dressed up slightly more than the night before, this time wearing heels and leggings with a sparkly top so that I wouldn’t feel completely under dressed.

To prove that I am way too old to be doing this kind of stuff, I have spent the last two days catching up on my sleep. After a major nap fail yesterday, I went to bed near midnight and didn’t arise until 9:45 this morning. Two more bands to see this week.

THAT’S IT! I AM HAVING A KID!

Before we go any further, I have to say outright that I am not pregnant. Now that that is clear, we can begin.

We all know that Paul is 4 and finds entertainment in driving me insane. It’s his thing. I get it. I married it. I have told him many times that he should celebrate the fact that I am his wife because I am the only person on the planet who will put up with him. Two nights ago he took the annoyance to a whole new level.

We were enjoying some quiet time in the living room before bed. I was doing some work – building a website for his parents’ restaurant. He had previously been bugging me by sticking his fingers all over my computer screen, pushing the touch screen, making the mouse jump all over, folding the laptop so that the computer would close. I reminded him that I was doing all of this for his family but he didn’t seem to care.

He backed off, I went back to work on the website and then he launched into a full sock attack. He took the socks off his feet, put one in each hand, ran over to me screaming and proceeded to shove his dirty socks in my face. Now, the socks weren’t all that dirty and they weren’t at all smelly but the thought of having socks that had been on his feet most of the day in my eyes, in my ears, up my nose (yes, yes he did) and in my mouth drove me to a new level. I started to fight back.

I tried. I really did. I shoved the computer to the far side of the couch, yelled loudly that I was doing this for his family and tried to fight him off. I moved over, threw my arms in face protection mode and stood up.

“That’s it!” I yelled. “I’m going to have a kid so that you can take all of this energy and put it into someone else! You can pick on the kid instead of me!”

And then, I ran over to the phone, hit the call button and dialed Paul’s mom.

”Who are you calling?” Paul asked laughing. “My mom?”

”Yes. I’m going to tell her that she’s going to be a grandma.”

She answered like she just woke up, “Helloo?” she replied in a scratchy morning voice.

“I have good news! You’re going to be a grandmother!”

Pause….. She didn’t say anything for about six seconds so I decided to chime in.

”Paul is torturing me so I told him that this was it. I’m going to have a kid so he can torture the kid and not me.”

She laughed and laughed.

”Sorry,” I said. “Did you actually think I was pregnant?”

”Well, I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be something funny, which is why I didn’t say anything. I know you two.” And then she laughed again.

I thought it was funny, so I posted something on Facebook. It read something like this:

“I just called Paul’s mom to tell her that she’s going to be a grandma. Leanna Dugan, before you get upset, let me explain. After having Paul’s socks shoved into my eyeballs, ears, nose and mouth, I just decided that I have had enough. If I have a kid, maybe Paul will leave me alone.”

Within two minutes, a relative on my mom’s side was congratulating me. Nuts. I had to post a correction that I was not actually pregnant and then I deleted the post before anyone else could see it.

So, no, I am not pregnant. And, yes, I still get tortured and annoyed. But the same guy who drives me absolutely nuts went to the grocery store today so that I did not have to. He bought food for dinner and even cooked. And, he ate some chocolate.

STUPID MURPHY!

Murphy’s Law states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. While I have had some days when things haven’t exactly gone my way, I have not experienced a day quite like last Friday. Last Friday was definitely a day when absolutely EVERYTHING went completely opposite from what should have actually happened. Don’t believe me. Let’s take a walk down memory lane….

Friday was a day that Nicola and I had been planning for two weeks. Since today is the beginning of the Chinese New Year celebrations, Nic was fortunate enough to have half a day off work Friday. She has been working a lot since her role in December began and, as a result, we have not had nearly enough time together. As an example, it is now February 10 and this is the first day since we returned from our U.S. holiday that the Browns have joined us at home for dinner. Saturday night dinners used to be a weekly occurrence and we have now gone an entire month without one.

Nic was truly excited about her day off. She began thinking of all of the things she wanted to do. “We should do something really relaxing like get massages,” she said two weeks ago. Then, a few days later she said, “We should have a pool day and then chill out in the apartment and watch movies.” O.K. A few days later I heard, “Let’s go to the cinema and watch Silver Linings Playbook.” I was good with that, too, but now I was having a dilemma. Was I to dress for poolside sun or the arctic temperatures we would experience in the cinema?

Then last week she decided we should go into Chinatown for shopping and so she could take pictures to send her mother, who is apparently keen to know more about Chinese New Year practices. I gave up trying to guess and just assumed we would figure it out on the day.

The morning started out well. I was able to get some work done at the house, though it meant that I skipped an AWA coffee and the chance to see a good friend who is back in town for the summer. I had a meeting at the RDA that also went quite well, with a couple little hiccups.

Then, Murphy showed up. Stupid Murphy. I didn’t call him and I certainly didn’t invite him to come ruin my afternoon with Nicola Brown.

Nic and I actually made real plans to go to lunch in Holland Village. Actually, we made plans to buy cupcakes at our favorite bakery, Plain Vanilla, which is located in Holland Village. We frequent this bakery, which takes an hour to get to from our houses – which shows our love, commitment and addiction to these amazing mini cakes.

Since we would be in Holland Village, we thought we would get some dim sum at Nic’s favorite corner restaurant. It was going to be great. Nic left work a little later than anticipated, which was fine because my meeting started late, which meant it also went later than expected. Nic and I decided to meet at the train station at the Botanic Gardens and I would quickly run this errand with her before we headed to HV. Great.

Just as I left the RDA, the skies grew dark and the rain began to come down. It wasn’t pouring but it was definitely steadily raining and I had recently discovered that my umbrella was broken – functional but broken. I made it to the train station and found Nicola, dressed uber professionally in a black skirt, hose, a sheer cream-colored top and massive heals. When we came up from the underworld and made our way to the street, we were greeted by an unpleasant realization: monsoon season was not over. It. Was. POURING!

Now, I have told Nic no less than 2,349 times that Singapore is a tropical island that has an actual, documented rainy season. The climate is such that weather forecasters cannot often predict storms, they just pop up suddenly, dump inches of rain upon us and disappear as quickly as they came. Has she purchased an umbrella yet? No. How long has she lived here? A year. Did you catch that she was wearing a sheer, cream-colored top without carrying an umbrella? Murphy.

So Nic and I studied the area and wondered if we should take cover or make a run for it. We considered grabbing a cab but did not truly see that as a possibility. We only needed to go about five blocks. So we went for it. We huddled under my broken umbrella, Nic with her hand around my waste, towering over me by at least a foot in her mega heals, and we made our way across traffic and under the cover of a small plaza. “Should we just stop into one of these cafés for lunch and wait out the rain for a bit?” I asked. “Yeah, let’s do that,” Nic agreed.

We found a small café with only one or two people inside so we ducked in and thanked God for the shelter. We confirmed that the café had food and then we ordered. I was disappointed because it was about 1:30 in the afternoon and this place only served breakfast items but I ordered my French toast and juice and sat down. Nic and I were both starving but did that make our food come within the first 20 minutes? No. Murphy.

There was no kitchen. I watched the woman who took our orders reuse two pans and hot plates to make our meals. Our drinks arrived at our table 10 to 15 minutes after we ordered. Ten minutes after that, Nic received her plate. And then, nothing. I watched as the woman stood around in the back, fiddled with a couple things, made her way over to another table and chatted for a bit. The entire time I wanted to give the evil “Wtf do you think you are doing? I am starving. Please go make my food” stare, but I didn’t. I waited. And then my food finally came and we ate and we left.

While we were inside the storm continued blazing. The lightning was so strong that even with my back to the windows and door, I could see the bright flashes on the walls I was facing. It was still raining when we left.

The biggest intersection we had to cross involves navigating through two intersections and two crosswalks in a divided highway sort of setup. To make things fun, the power  had gone out in this section and neither the stop lights nor the crosswalk indicators were working. Thanks. Murphy.

Again huddled under my broken umbrella, Nic had her arm around my waist and was literally driving me around puddles and across roads. We saw an opportunity to cross the out-of-power intersection as a bus pulled beside us so we made a shimmy for it, throwing our hands out to the oncoming cars to indicate that we decided we had the right of way.

We made it into the office completely soaked but unharmed. Nic completed her errand and we headed out, excited that it appeared the rain had finally stopped. On the way out of the office, one of my flip flops decided to slip and skip the last step, nearly causing me to break my leg and fall on the wet ground. Luckily, though, Nic had my arm and saved me. I stayed standing.

We found our way back to the main road and happened upon a bus stop. The bus from my neighborhood was next to arrive so we jumped on and rode a few stops to Plain Vanilla Bakery.

When we arrived, we noticed the Cold Storage grocery and decided to pop in for a few items. I needed two key ingredients for Rice Krispie treats: Rice Krispies and marshmallows, neither of which I could find at the time. Nic stocked up on cat food and treats for her kitties, who were at that moment at the SPCA where they had been spayed. We were to pick them up later in the day and Nic wanted to be sure they had plenty of goodies ready for them when they were back to normal.

She decided that we also needed to watch a movie so we stocked up on movie treats like chips and chocolate. Then we found that giant Ribena bottles were on sale at a reduced price when two were purchased so we got those…and some cokes…and a couple other drinks like grape soda and ginger ale. Before we knew it we were carrying four pretty sizable grocery bags into the Holland Village streets.

Because it was our friend Katie’s birthday, we thought we would get a pair of cupcakes for her and her husband to share. Unfortunately, the two-cupcake boxes were out of stock. We were presented with two options: one, the clerk would give us two cupcakes in two paper lunch bags or two, we had to order four cupcakes so that they could be placed in a four-cupcake box. Could we have two cupcakes in a four-cupcake box because this was to be a gift for someone and a bag would just not do? No. No, we had to have four cupcakes. What if we wanted three, would that be O.K.? No. No, this is Singapore and everyone has to follow the rules. So I bought four cupcakes. Murphy.

We made our way outside in search of a cab and I texted our Katie friend to see if it would be alright to pop by and giver her a little gift…when it had been raining….on a Friday afternoon…in Holland Village…on the night beginning a holiday weekend. The designated cab line was way too long so we walked up the street carrying one work briefcase, one work bag with a laptop and notebooks, four bags of groceries and two four-cupcake bakery boxes to hail a cab up the hill at a bus stop. We tried for a while but got refused by several green cab drivers so we walked to another drop-off area across the street hoping for a better result. We got nothing. Murphy.

At that point I was tired of waiting for a cab, and it started to rain again, so I made the executive decision to grab all of our things and make our way to the MRT. Unknowingly, I passed the entrance but I thought I would give this cab flagging thing one more try. It worked. We got a cab 25 minutes after we started this whole ordeal.

“ECP to Siglap, please,” I told the cab driver and advised Katie we were actually on our way. Then we checked the time. It was 4:35 and Nicola was told that the SPCA clinic would close its doors at 5. Instead of going to Katie’s first, which, by the way is next to my house on the other side of the island, and then popping over to pick up the cats, we were about to hit traffic and realized we needed to change our course. Murphy.

“Sorry, can we please go to the Bartley area instead? Take the KPE to Paya Lebar?” Our cab driver advised that he was on his probationary period (a.k.a. new cab driver) and was unfamiliar with the way so he needed to call for directions and plug the address into his GPS. He told me that he would take two other highways, the CTE to the PIE and exit somewhere near Serangoon. “No, KPE, not CTE,” I tried to barter but it was clear that this guy did not know his way. So I agreed to have him drive the way he knew and then we were faced with exactly what I knew would happen on the CTE – we hit traffic. Awesome, rainy, Friday evening traffic. The KPE doesn’t get traffic like the CTE and PIE do, which is why I requested to go via the KPE but Murphy won and I lost because obviously Nic and I were not going to get what we wanted that day.

So we sat in traffic on the CTE and we caught some traffic on the PIE. Meanwhile, Nic was feeling just as she did that day we decided to go whale watching in Sydney. She was ready to puke in the backseat of the car. She had me tell her funny stories to divert her attention from her awfully nauseated tummy so that she didn’t have to think about sticking her head out the window. For anyone who does not know, Singaporean drivers must be citizens; no foreigners are allowed to be bus or cab drivers, so I am fine acknowledging that Singaporean drivers are not taught that constant pressure on the gas pedal results in a smooth ride. Instead, Singaporean drivers push in the gas, bring their foot off, push in the gas, bring their foot off and continue like that for the whole ride. Some drivers put more force than others and it is not uncommon to feel whiplash after a cab ride. Cab rides can be compared to roller coaster rides. Murphy.

We made it to the SPCA just after closing time and we were able to pick up Nicola’s cats, Fairy Flower Brown and Princess Flower Brown, two Siamese sisters. They were still drowsy; one cat continued to sleep in the carrier. Had I known this task would have only taken a few minutes, we may have been able to persuade our cab driver, who was on a shift change, to wait just a few minutes. Instead, we let him go, went inside and, when I realized Nic was nearly finished, I made my way to the reception area to arrange for a cab.

“Hi, can you arrange for a cab?” I asked a woman at the desk. “No, sorry, we don’t do that.” Murphy.

“You can’t call me a cab?”

”No.”

“O.K…can you give me the address so I can arrange for a cab on my phone?”

”Sure,” and she gave me the address.

Forty-five minutes later, Nic and I were still sitting in the SPCA lobby, watching as workers continued to go off shift and leave us sitting there with our briefcase, work bag with the laptop and notebooks, four grocery bags and two four-cupcake bakery boxes and now a cat carrier with two cats inside just waiting for someone to take us home…or to Katie’s like we promised.

We considered public transportation since a train station was around the corner but we were not certain that pets were allowed on the train. We also considered taking a bus but wondered the same thing. It was nearly 6 p.m. on a Friday evening, rush hour and a holiday weekend, so the thought of taking all of our things and two cats coming out of anesthesia on a packed bus or packed train wasn’t exactly the best idea. So we thought of other alternatives.

”Who do we know with a car?” Nicola pondered.

”HELEN!” I exclaimed. “She will rescue us!” And I started dialing. Voicemail. Murphy.

”I hate this Murphy,” Nic said the first of seven times that evening.

A few minutes later, Helen called back. “Hi, hon, what’s up?”

”Helen! Nic and I are in a bit of an emergency. We have been waiting at the SPCA for 45 minutes and have not yet been able to secure a cab to get these two uneasy cats home. Can you come pick us up?”

”Oh,” she said sadly. “Tom has the car. He took Evie to her riding lesson! I’m so sorry.” Murphy. “I can walk around the corner and sympathize with you if you want.” “Nooo,” I assured her, said thanks anyway and hung up.

Fifty-five minutes and 14 failed attempt messages from the time we started, one of the staff members came over to tell us that a cab had been confirmed. Ha!

We finally made our way to Katie’s with all of our work stuff, groceries and two drowsy cats, which is, of course, exactly what we planned to do. Murphy.

Katie was thrilled to see us, and we were so happy to see Katie, Jeremy and their new baby. We learned the next morning that they loved the cupcakes even more than we thought they would so we were glad we were able to make just a little bit of Katie’s day.

Phew. We had finally completed everything we needed to do. All we needed was dinner and a chillaxing movie. And maybe a hard drink. We arranged for Duncan to stop by the dim sum place on his way home so that we could have the closest thing to takeout Chinese that there is here in Singapore. When I called to place the order, however, Murphy answered the phone. Murphy.

“Hi, I’d like to place an order for take away.”

“Wrong number. Different number for take away. Call….” Fine.

”Hi, I’d like to place an order for take away.”

“O.K. What your order?”

“One wonton noodle soup….one order of shrimp dumplings…”

”Shrimp. Dumplings?”

“Yes, shrimp dumplings,” and I quietly confirmed with Nicola that the things we wanted were actually called shrimp dumplings.

“Don’t have. Sold out.” Murphy.

“O.K.,” I continued. “Two orders char siew bao.”

“Don’t have. Sold out.” Murphy.

”Siew mai?”

”Sold out.” Stupid Murphy.

I gave up. “O.K. Never mind. Thank you.”

Murphy.

Did I mention it had started raining again?

Murphy.

We went back to Nic’s and told Duncan we would just figure out some kind of dinner plan once everyone was home. When we got there, Nic decided to help the kitties out of their carrier. One of the cats, Princess, was practically back to normal and immediately played around before dashing across the floor, hiding herself behind a living room chair.

Fairy, on the other hand, was still a bit out of sorts. She tried to move but, with her back legs still slightly paralyzed and the lack of friction on the marble floor, she didn’t do so well. Frustrated at her inability to move forward, she suddenly moaned and started pushing herself backward until she ran into the other living room chair. She couldn’t walk but she thought she could jump so she launched the front half of her body onto the chair’s arm and dangled because she couldn’t move her back end.

While I was laughing, Nic was disturbed and ran over to help Fairy. Nic touched the cat’s back end, which made the cat freak out and it all went downhill from there. Nic put the cat on the floor, the cat stood still, moaned and then fell over on one side. Nic, convinced that the cat was dying, started crying as if it were her mother dying in front of her. I did my best to reassure her that the cat was just still coming out of the anesthesia, likely uncomfortable and frustrated that she could not move. I also reminded Nic that she had had to pee for the last six hours but refused to go in public. I tried over and over again to calm her, get her to change out of her work clothes, take off her patent leather shoes that were squeaking against the newly-cleaned marble floor, driving my ears absolutely insane and go do what she needs to do while I sat with the cat. Murphy.

Then Duncan called asking what we were doing about dinner. “Ummm, I think you need to just come home. One of the cats is not well and Nic is really upset.” So Duncan came home. He helped with the cats. Nic changed clothes. All was better.

It was after 7 and we still had no idea what to do about dinner. “Delivery McDonald’s,” we all decided. Duncan called. “Uh, it’s going to be two and a half hours for delivery.” “NOOO!” I shouted. “Hang up the phone!”

Murphy.

At that point we opened up the vodka and Duncan advised he would take a taxi through the drive-thru. His taxi driver wasn’t too happy about it but the man had to get paid. We did make it into our jimmies. Duncan did bring us cold French fries, amazing burgers, a cup of ice that the staff members really did not want to give him and the hottest chicken nuggets I have ever eaten. We did not watch our movie but we did have some vodka drinks while watching Michael McIntyre so it ended up O.K.

When I was ready to leave, I headed out to find a green cab. I thought Murphy was done for the day, having already had way too much of him to begin with, but he gave me one last kick in the pants. I had one very circular conversation with the cab driver about where exactly I lived. I won’t go into it since I have gone on way too long already but let’s just say I told him where to go, he asked a bunch of questions and five minutes later he confirmed that I needed to go where I initially told him he needed to take me. So there. That was my day with Murphy, may he never come around again.

THE END OF THE WORLD AS I KNOW IT

The end of the world has been predicted practically since the beginning of time. According to Wikipedia, the world’s best and most credible source of information, the Romans predicted the end of their world in 634 B.C. Famous people and not-so-famous-at-the-time people have predicted everything from the apocalypse to Armageddon; even a pope predicted the world would end on January 1, 1000.

Well, now it’s my turn. The end of the world is coming and it will be here April 5. The vision came to me over the weekend when Paul and I were talking about our future. As of yesterday, Paul’s employment contract will end March 31. Unless our permanent residency application is approved, our resident passes will be cancelled as early as April 1, the day we arrived two years prior. An e-mail Paul sent to our landlord’s agent advised that we have put in our notice and April 5 will be our last day in our home. And then….nothing. I have nothing.

I sat briefly in our living room this morning and had a thought. Are we really about to go through another round of sell everything so that we don’t have to ship it and then buy new stuff once we get wherever we are going?

The only thing that can describe our actions is a step of faith – one like Peter took when he stepped onto the sea to walk on water with Jesus. Just over a week ago, a woman at church told me that’s what we should do. “Take a step of faith and know that God will never let you go.”

So we did. Paul turned down his boss’s counter offer and, as of this morning, Paul’s position was up on the Internet for all on ProPilotWorld to see. Life is about to get interesting.

THE DAY OF THE GROUNDHOG

Groundhog Day, a tradition dating back to the 1800s and a true holiday only to those in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, is Paul’s favorite holiday. It is a holiday that celebrates a stupid American tradition in a scheme that just doesn’t make sense. On February 2 every year, people pull a groundhog, most famously Punxsutawney Phil, out into the world. Folklore says that if the weather is sunny, the groundhog, in nature, of course, will turn around and head back into his hole in the ground, meaning Americans should expect six more weeks of winter. If the weather is cloudy, however, and no shadow can be seen, the groundhog will stay outside for a bit, indicating spring is near.

Is the groundhog’s prediction accurate? No. The record of correct predictions stands around 30 to 40 percent. Does that stop people from celebrating and parading and pulling a groundhog out of the ground in front of a million camera phones? No.

So why is it Paul’s favorite holiday? The answer is: nothing. Other than the brief news excitement in the morning, nothing else happens. There are no celebrations in homes across the country. There are no gifts to be bought, no people to see, no decorations or celebratory foods to be ingested (again, unless you are from Pennsylvania). It is a holiday about nothing…kind of like Seinfeld.

Though Paul loves the holiday, he never seems to remember when it happens. This is where I come in.

I had been planning a special date day for weeks, knowing that Paul would be home and completely clueless. My plan was to give Paul everything he would ever want in a day, beginning with a locked door. When he arrived home from a trip Friday night, I told him to lock the door and not open it ‘til Sunday. That didn’t happen exactly as planned, but here’s what did…

Too excited to sleep well, I was up and down most of the night, wishing I could sleep and waiting for Paul to also be as awake as I was. When he finally moved – and by moved I mean turned over and blinked his eyes a few times – I grabbed my phone to pull up a clip from the first alarm scene from the epic namesake Groundhog Day movie starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell.

“I Got You Babe” started playing and, within five seconds, Paul turned his head around, popped up from the pillow, a smile emerged across his face, excitement was present in his eyes and he exclaimed, “Oh yeah, it’s Groundhog Day!” And then he laughed.

I made pancakes and eggs for breakfast and then we chilled for a short while. The next thing I knew, Paul was telling me that we would be leaving the house in 20 minutes to run an errand for a friend. “Hello…we’re not supposed to be leaving the house today,” I yelled back. “I know but it’s one little thing and this guy has helped me out so many times before.” So, during the time that I had blocked to watch one of Paul’s top-five favorite movies, Master and Commander, we left.

We ran the errand and had a walk in the process, so it wasn’t a bad morning – just a hot one. By the time we got back, Paul was screaming for food. We had lunch, chilled for a bit and then took a nap. After the nap, I was forced into the kitchen because Paul has become the food nazi but that’s another story.

We did watch the epic Groundhog Day classic and Paul loved every minute of it. “I want to see more days,” he said. “Like all of the conversations he had with the people in the diner.”

In the end, we accomplished most of what I had planned: we ate pancakes and pizza, we watched the movie, I surprised him with the wake-up clip – it was a good day.