The Jennifer Blogs

I had lunch with my friend Alicia the other day. She's American, and has lived in Singapore for a few years now, so she pretty much knows the ropes. I think she's secretly giving me about three more weeks before I have a maid living in my bomb closet.



Before we moved to Singapore, we knew there was a good chance we may end up hiring some domestic help. We weren't sure if we wanted a live-in or not, but we did talk quite a bit about having someone come in at least part-time to help keep things together. However, the kids also wanted a way to make money and have asked us a few times to please not get a maid. They don't want anyone coming in and taking away their opportunity to make money. However, there has been more than one occasion where we've had to remind them that we could pay just a bit more and have twice the work done. The number of times I've had to re-do a job ... well, I just stopped counting.



Are you still stuck on the line, maid living in my bomb closet? You read it correctly. Under law, Singapore builders had to include bomb shelters/closets in each unit. Every condo we looked at included a bomb closet, however nobody really calls them that. Instead they are referred to as the "maid's quarters."



The bomb closet has no windows. There is no AC. There is only a small square of space. However, right next to the bomb closet/maid's quarters, there's a small bathroom with a toilet, sink and makeshift shower. It's plenty for a maid. I mean, not in America. But in Asia, they tell me it's plenty for a maid.



Tonight I was on the verge of answering an ad. D'Ette had tried to iron her daddy's shirts, but she just didn't use enough starch and I had to re-do them. Ironing is not one of my favorite things to do. On top of that, you are looking at a woman who, when she was a girl, was not allowed to buy anything with cotton in it.



Jen: "Mom, just look at this beautiful shirt!"

Mom (reading the label): "Oh yeah, cute. Too bad it's 100% cotton! This thing will wrinkle!!! We don't even own an iron!"



So you can guess my limit of experience with ironing. I didn't even own anything with cotton in it until I moved into my own place. You know, when you live under your parents' roof, it's their rules. Some girls couldn't wear short skirts. I couldn't wear cotton.



Did I mention we are on our second iron? I ruined the first one. It ran out of water, so I had to refill it. I turned it off, put it flat on the ironing and board and proceeded to pour in the water. When I picked it up, it was very colorful and there was a huge spot missing from my ironing board cover. I haven't replaced the ironing board yet, but had to buy a new iron the next day.



I was reading some ads from expats who are getting ready to leave the country to go back to their homes either for the summer or for good. They are selling a lot of their home items very cheap. I saw a lot of irons for sale, for like $10 and $15 bucks. I'm seriously thinking about stocking up.

I met a new girl in my building yesterday. Her name is Mary. She's from Singapore, but lived in the US for a while too.



Mary and I walked beside one another almost the whole way from the MRT to the gate where we both live. Of course, neither of us knew where the other was going and we walked in silence the entire way.



Once we got inside the gate and realized we were neighbors, we began chatting like old friends. She's been living here for six months now. She moved from near Cleveland. We talked about the gym. She admitted she had never been and wanted to know what it was like. Then she began to turn toward her tower, which just so happened to be *my* tower too. So we talked as we rode the elevator. She got off on the 10th floor. I had another six floors to go before reaching my condo. The whole way I couldn't help but be excited I finally made a friend in my building.



You know how the girl in the stall next to you becomes your new best friend when she's got toilet paper and you don't? "Could you please hand me some toilet paper?" Your hands touch beneath the stall. It's magic. Okay, maybe not quite like that. But admit it. You have so much gratitude for this girl that you want to get her MySpace username, add her to your friends and put her in your Top 8. Then you want to invite her out for drinks and introduce her to your other friends (who you met exactly the same way, only at a different Wal-Mart). Well, that's how I feel about Mary. She didn't hand me toilet paper, but she's my first friend in my condos. That's H U G E. And I know we only talked for just a few minutes, but there was a connection.



Oh crap. I really need to get out more. I just re-read that. Boy do I sound like a stalker. Or maybe like an expat who really needs some friends!



TGFA. Thank God for Alicia. I have gotten out of the house at least once this week. And next week she's taking me shopping. And, next week I'm teaching some other expat women how to build a website, so that'll get me out of the house. See? Mary has nothing to worry about. Until Alicia goes back to the US, anyway.

As anyone who knows me can confirm, I am a huge advocate for animals. I take in all the strays, especially those nobody else wants. In Florida, I had a blind, diabetic poodle to which I had to administer insulin shots twice a day. I also had an epileptic poodle who was prone to having seizures and freaking me out. The third poodle had a problem too, but his wasn't medical. It was just gross. He ate his own poop. (At least he never left a mess!)

I also donate to animal causes - money, time, talents. Whatever they can use, I try to give. In fact, I'm thinking of going into the dog-walking business here, but I'll save those details for a later blog.



Anyway, suffice it to say I love animals. But I also like eating meat. Sorry. I actually envy those people who can give up meat and dairy products. I really love fruits and vegetables, but I can't get myself to eat soy, tofu, a veggie burger or any of those other foods. I'd have to live off salads for breakfast, lunch and dinner if I gave up meat. I just can't stomach the substitutes.



Until this morning.


I've been working out almost every day, so I'm trying to eat healthier too. That includes egg white omelets about three mornings a week. This morning I just barely tapped my second egg. The light above the stove caught it just right and I noticed a feather sticking out of the crack of the egg. For a moment I stood there trying to determine what to do.



If I crack the egg completely open, is there a baby chick inside? Dead, of course, but still traumatic for an animal lover to witness.



I pondered that for a bit, and I'm not sure if it was gross curiosity, extreme bravery or sheer stupidity, but I cracked it wide open. No chick. Just a furry yolk I guess. Actually, it was just a small feather and I guess it must have just not been washed clean before it was sent to the grocery store. Still, it was enough to make me wonder if the vegetarians have it right.



I don't think I'll ever be a "good" vegetarian, but fortunately it's not a religion. I can pick and choose a little more carefully and maybe cut back on my animal products. I won't stop drinking milk (how else would I drink my coffees if not with milk?). I probably won't stop eating eggs, though I may switch to egg whites like Egg Beaters or something similar. I doubt I'll stop eating ham or turkey, but there are a few things I could probably cut out of my diet that would make my vegetarian friends a little proud, and make me healthier in the process.

I just finished reading the book "The Next Thing on My List" by Jill Smolinski. It's about this girl, Jane, who has a "List of Things to Complete By My 25th Birthday." Thing is, it's not her list. She's completing it for a girl who recently died. In the process, she learns a lot about herself. I won't spoil it in case you decide to read the book. (It's fiction - completely made up - chick lit.)

Anyway, I'm sure I'm not the first to start my own list after reading this book. I did feel compelled to start writing my List of Things to Complete By My 25th Birthday. *sigh* Wishful thinking. By my 40th birthday. Granted, that's still a few years away, but I'm going with more than 20 items since List of Things To Complete By My 37th Birthday not only doesn't give me a whole lotta time, and it doesn't sound nearly as glamorous.



So far, I've got things like: sing karaoke (God only knows why cuz I have a horrible voice and I'm petrified, so I guess maybe this is one of those face your fears of humiliation things), learn to play one song on the guitar, learn CPR, give up a bad habit, pick up a good habit, write a book, take a Girl's Trip, walk in a fashion show, go back to San Diego.



I'm just like the character in this book. In fact, from near the beginning of the book I began to identify with her. I'm a world-class procrastinator. I don't know when it all started. All I know is I'm very, very good at it. That's why I'll be counting on friends and family to help me complete my list. I can say I'm very glad that my karaoke-singing friends in Florida are too far away to force me into karaoke night with them and my friend Alicia here in Singapore doesn't read my blogs (I don't think). So I may not be forced into doing that one til I've been able to practice a bit.



If you've got a list - or if you feel compelled to write one - I'd love to know what kind of stuff is on it. Maybe I can steal a few of yours for my list too.

I'm not talking about my daughter this time. I'm talking about my mom. The one who accidentally ordered a "crappuccino" from Starbucks.



Sometimes my mom is just too cute!



To set the story, you need to know my mom works at Wal-Mart as a cashier. Today is her 71st birthday. She doesn't look 71 by any means, but that's what her birth certificate tells us.



Anyway, about a month ago they had a contest at Wal-Mart to see which cashier could sign up the most credit card applicants. My mom was telling me the winner would get a $50 store gift card. With gas prices where they are and her and my dad being on a limited income, she wanted that gift card and she was out for blood, boy. This little sweet lady would ask every customer that came through the line, "Would you like to apply for a Wal-Mart credit card? It only takes a moment." Don't you know this sweet little old lady not only won, but she blew the other cashiers out of the water!



So Mom tells me that after they announce the winner, she is given more hours than all the other cashiers. Some of these women have families to support. But my mom, the credit queen, has earned these hours. She's a valuable employee. She can help Sam Walton's family make more money with high interest credit cards.



The contest is over, but another one begins. The cashiers are told they need to sign up another 10 applicants in a week. There's another prize on the line. Mom wins hands-down. So the next week they do it again. Mom wins again. The manager tells her if she can do it again, she'll treat my mom to dinner. Piece of cake. Mom signs up 10 more. I ask her where she's going to lunch. She says, "Wherever they serve frogs legs and creme brulee."



So now they're doing another contest. She's way ahead.



I told her tonight that there are probably no real contests going on. There's probably some people in suits who can't believe the old lady is doing so well signing up credit card applicants and they're back there making bets.


Suit 1: I'll bet you a hundred bucks the old lady can't sign up another one.

Suit 2: I'll take your bet. Here's $100 bucks.

Suit 3: I'm in. Here's my $100.

Suit 4: Here's mine.

Suit 5: Count me in.

Suit 6: Might as well make it an even $600. Count me in.

Suit 1: What do we give her if she wins?

Suit 2: How about a $25 gift card to the store?

Suit 1: She only has to sign up 10 applicants!

Suit 2: Okay, a $10 gift card.


They all laugh maniacally as she signs up her 10th credit app.



Still, I'm proud of my little 71-year-old mother out there doing her thing. I told her she got into the wrong business. She ought to be selling cars!