I went to a mulled wine and mince pies soirée hosted by LB and MF (fake initials will do—they claim to be low profile this week) at their new place in Yau Yat Chuen. I grew up in that quaint little Kowloon Tong neighborhood, so I felt rather Christmassy as the area reminded me of my oh-so carefree and miraculous youth. MF was obsessed with her vat of mulled wine. More sugar; another cinnamon stick; the sachet of spices from Mandarin Oriental I brought over; guava juice. “Uh, isn’t that a tropical fruit...?” I asked MF. “A bartender told me that you can use any kind of juice!” she replied excitedly. In the end, we had a mulled wine that was deliciously exotic, with hints of orange peel, cloves, summery GUAVA and bits of aloe vera floating in it. I think the wine was also heated up a bit too much because nobody got properly drunk. Me, I just got sluggish from the tannins but was entirely sober from the lack of alcohol. Well, the company, the mince pies and barbecue were scrumptious. Ah yes, company—scrumptiously ridic, or as we say in Cantonese: “gau2 m4 daap3 baat3” (nine not complement eight), i.e. absolutely BANANAS. Prime example: this Woman (addressed as such henceforth) arrived unfashionably early at the ungodly hour of seven for a house party that was to commence at eight, and she wasn’t even there to help. Mind you, she wasn’t even close to LB or MF who had graciously opened up their love nest for us to reduce to rubble. According to the post-party gossip, Woman just showed up when the couple were busily preparing, did not bother to help out, instead kept asking obtuse questions like: “Why do you keep budgerigars? Why did you choose this area?” Not knowing what to do with Woman, MF called us a little past seven and requested our presence ASAP. “Didn’t you say the soirée started at eight? We were thinking of coming at nineish...” While unfortunately within Woman’s vicinity, I said hello and asked her what her name was; she replied “____.” And then promptly turned and walked off. WTF? Social convention dictates that you’re supposed to ask me for my name, not run away. I swiftly put Woman on my to-disregard-for-rest-of-the-night list, and she was swiftly ignored throughout the evening. By EVERYONE. Because Public Enemy #1 made so many passive aggressive controlling comments, as well as emitting this “shy” vibe at a party. Bitch, please—there are no shy people at a house party, only stuck-up holier-than-thou anti-social bitches. Realizing that nobody was going to talk to her (her own doing), Woman just conveniently stated that she was tired and dozed off on the main couch in the middle of the room, the graceful and social creature that she is, so we all had to talk around her. When Sam called for a cab back to Central, Woman directorially asked, “Oh can you call a cab for me too?” Inquiring what her destination was, Woman answered, “Lok Fu.” Um hello? That’s one stop from Kowloon Tong station, or a $18 cab ride away. If you called a cab to pick you up from Yau Yat Chuen to Lok mumping Fu, the driver would just tell you to BPSTFU, or BP9MD8 [baat po, gau m daap baat]. That’s my new catch phrase for 2010. By the time you read this, I will have washed away the speck, no, log in my eye and all my wickedness and bitchery away at Deep Water Bay beach on New Year’s Eve with my ritual mantra-chanting. And probably the Hullett House Ball after that. Have a delightful New Year, my beauties.