I like to move it

Absence doth make the heart grow fonder. NOT.

In all honesty, burrowing under the covers makes for a better weekend than writing about the week that was, particularly when the week that was, was to say the least, weak.

'Tis treacherous times at the office currently. The political undercurrents run as swiftly and as silently as anything you can attribute to the Brotherhood of the Knights Templar. Blood drips at the flick of a paperclip. One colleague has left to pursue a lawsuit against another. I was offered her cubicle and I am like choy! Bad Feng Shui. Unless you bring in a priest complete with burning frankincense or douse the place with air bunga - no chance man. Super ugly affair. Sorry, no sordid details in case I get subpoenaed or worse - be named in a defamation suit. See my legal training did come in useful after all.

But work is not all gloom and drudgery.

My team had the task of turning a poor volunteer into a Marilyn Monroe. To celebrate our Director's birthday, we are getting said volunteer to sing him a happy birthday song during our company's monthly forum.

So what if our volunteer is a chunky guy with hairy legs. We went to this costume place in Desa Hartamas and we managed to squeeze him into a frock, complete with fake latex boobs that even has with nipples attached too. It took two men to dress him in the tiny changing room.

For something that is so common for us women, things like wearing a skirt take on a bizarre twist when it comes to drag dressing. Especially when one hears loud masculine voices going, “Man, your bra is showing la, dude!”