In between work, I blog.

It’s a sad day in June (November, whatever) when your boss summons you and tells you “Spend more time working and less time blogging”. Sigh. There’s no use pretending. They’re everywhere. They know everything. Where’s Mulder?

Nonsense aside (hah!) my life is really moving too fast for me to blog. Last week was a “every night is a party night” week. Am happy to report, age notwithstanding, am still upto working 13 hour days (do not double-check this with ze boss, you unbeliever, you) and partying through the night.

Managed to go to a new restaurant called ‘Barbeque Factory’. And yes, thought exactly what you’re thinking right now - didn’t I already go there, like a few days ago? Well, no. That was Barbeque Nation. See, one’s Nation and the other’s Factory yes, intense.

Unfortunately, the name’s where the disparity ends. The all-you-can-eat buffet costs the same. The starters are much the same. The main course is much the same. The dessert may have included an extra chocolate (merci beaucoup!) but la-di-dah. Am so not a fan of eating at the same place twice in a row and this is what it felt like. Will not review because you can check out the review of other place to find out what this one’s like.

Will be kind to your eyes and post some pics though

Decor of Main areas of restaurant

High Platforms for side seating. Very chic indeed.

And me, going, awww, Who, Me Pose?

Also was privy to be invited to a great ‘Salsa Night’ private party (thank you, thank you). Racked my brains on what would be an appropriate Salsa-ish thingie to wear and finally ended up wearing a little black fully sequinned number. Was not too sure whether I looked hot or hooker-fied, but went with it anyway.

The party was very different from most (as one can well imagine). In the spotlight was male Salsa instructor, in gangi, showing off his extremely toned body. Reminded me of someone at someone else’s bachelorette party, but that’s another story.

Anyway, male instructor lined us all up and taught us several “basic” Salsa steps (all the while making us count loudly like a bunch of kindy kids, 1-2-3, 5-6-7).

After ‘graduating’ from kindy class, we were allowed to get with the partners (see above pic, the female salsa instructor, who was also there in black strappy thingie. No, t’isn’t me). Following which all hell broke loose! I had my foot stepped upon twice. And the first time it was no gentle giant that did the stepping. OUCH. Few piccys:

Here’s one pretty lady who took the opportunity to strangle her hubby.

Here’s me with the instructor. Because possibly, *ahem* I needed more, er, instructions?

And towards the end of the night, with pretty Jee. A night to remember, indeed.

Finally before I resume my, er, work, let me tell you about Sunday Night’s Wedding. The night it rained. The night a bride sat in church and cried. The night I saw tables heaped one on top of the other. Table cloths soaked and crumpled in a heap. Table pieces, in another heap in a lonely corner. Confusion. Sadness. Pity. Pain. And of course, all because of the cold november rain.

That incidentally, was a song I loved, until I saw a cross hanging upside down in the video. So I don’t sing it anymore. But I will admit, it was one kickass dress.