|i could go on for 40 days and 40 nights about my blog title and bore you to bits and pieces with 10,000 different ideas i actually had for the name of this blog but because of the 500 characters limit that is imposed upon this mechanism which, by the way, is supposed to promote free speech, i shall shorten it to just two words basically describing what the hell this is all about and who this hell belongs to.|
Saturday, September 30, 2006
what would your vagina say if it had a monologue?
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
lessons from a meal
meals are not exactly my family's forte. my parents have lunch with each other all the time. but for my parents to have their two sons to sit down and have lunch together is indeed more challenging than the President's Star Challenge.
all this boils down to two reasons actually:
one, both sons are not very keen on having lunch with the parents because of the terrible table-top conversations the family have. they always ask the same general questions about their son's lives. and we end up giving the same general answers. and then we proceed to shut up for the rest of the entire lunch knowing that they run out of questions (even though they've only asked no more than 4 questions during the entire meal). what sort of questions, you're wondering? examples include: 'Have you paid your handphone bill?' or 'How's your studies?' or 'How's (name of limited number of friends that they know of)?'. it's sad enough that we don't open up to them already. sometimes, my brother and i would try a tag-team approach to keep them talking. and talking is something they love to do. it's really helps those awkward moments whittle by. but what's sad is that almost every answer that they have to our questions is seemingly formatted around God and christianity. in the end, the answer to almost every question would involve prayer and trust in the Lord. it's Christian to be practical. but it's not practical to always be Christian. or a rigid Christian, that is.
second reason being that nobody in my family has the guts to speak their mind. a simple question like 'where do you want to eat lunch?' illicits the very safe and consumer-friendly (a pun! a pun!) answer of 'anything lor'. for 20 years, both my brother and i have been giving the same answer and it never fails to decide where we end up eating most of the time. come to think of it, for the past 20 (18 in the case of my brother) year's worth of sundays, my parents have been eating at the SAME few places, seemingly rotating on a 5-6 week basis. they are apparently terrified of change. but then again, most Singaporeans are. that's why our gah-men is having an easy time gah-men-ing all of us.
however, the post-brunei me seems to have a mind of its own. i've been joining the parents for awkward sunday lunches ever since i've returned from brunei. most of the time, it's not a out-of-free-will kinda thing but more like monetary issues. sundays are usually days of poverty for me, having partied on friday and saturday. plus i don't really fancy sunday brunches anyways. it's a day of rest and respect to the Guy up there who made sundays like that. my brother, who apparently had to spend 13 months of miserable sundays alone with the parents, had already given up on meals with them. too awkward. and it doesn't help that the brother is not much of a conversationalist. so for the past 5 weeks coming, i've been lunching alone with the parents. it's not that bad lah actually. i just try and look busy, stuffing noodles in my mouth and taking extra chews for each mouthful.
so for the sake of variety, i suggested something out of the ordinary the previous week: Let's go to Holland Village for Lunch. They have good nasi lemak (coconut rice) and western food over there! You should have seen the look on the mother's face. it was as uncomfortable as an MRT seat which someone just sat on. like i told you, the parents dislike change and anything out of the norm was not well-received. Holland Village for nasi lemak is definitely going against the grain (a foodie pun!).
thus as i added pepper to my laksa, the parents were trying to strike up some form of conversation. and as usual it was all very awkward and peppered (can this be considered as a food pun?) with questions that the parents already knew the answer to. we talked about church people and updated ourselves on what happened to these church people 13 months post-brunei. plus the fact that my chruch is currently embroiled in a legal battle against a rich tycoon, it was all exciting and absolutely scintillating to the ears. but the highlight of the lunch wasn't the spicy hot (i seriously need to stop these food puns) gossip.
it was when we were looking for tables at the laksa stall. there was an outdoor table that somebody had just vacated. and of course, all the dishes were waiting to be cleared. a very nice and elderly uncle came by and cleared the dishes. i offered to help him stack the bowls up nicely. and for some reason or other, he started to get what i initially thought was protective. he told me to leave the crockery alone. i told him THANK ANYWAYS and he said in this scalding tone of voice 'No need to say thank you, i'm just doing my job' (he spoke really eloquent english). and my dad, wanting to avoid another of life's many awkward moments, kept saying thank you to the uncle. which i think irritated him more cos he started stacking the crockery with a tad bit of violence.
looking back, i don't know whether to feel offended or to feel sad for the elderly guy. he seemed so bitter about life. bitter enough to reject an offer of help to make his job easier. maybe he felt that everyone scorned him for being someone who cleared plates and wiped tables for a living. or perhaps he hated me for sorta pitying him and deciding to help him. i wouldn't know. though i think my dad really pissed him off. i felt awfully embarassed. librans hate conflict.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
blogs that get you in a spot
my heart goes out to every person who has been fined/charged/humiliated/arrested/molested/attacked/beaten up/tar and feathered/raped/slapped/pushed/discriminated for his/her blog. especially those who got into trouble with the law when all they did was just to post something that shouldn't have been there. perhaps they did it on purpose, perhaps they did it with well-meant intentions, or perhaps they are prime examples of man's stupidity. yet they still face a certain censorship for wanting to say what's on their mind. that alone is something worth burning your bra over.
it's because of this increasing number of people who get caught with regards to their blog that my workplace has to come up with a set of rules specifically tailored around these blogging issues. this is the typically efficient, impressive yet fucking anal characteristic of my workplace. i suffered the same fate of having to close down my previous blog and a $100 fine. because i blogged about racially insensitive and restricted materials about my workplace. it was silly. the $100 fine and the closure of my blog was like a slap on the wrist. but for the days while the authorities were deciding what sorta punishment to mete out, i didn't have the mood to eat, sleep or do naughty things to myself.
so it was pure sympathy i had for my friend whose blog was brought up yesterday at work. apparently, his blog had insults and wierd innuendos all directed at my workplace, the people, the work culture and etc. etc. there were direct mentions of superiors. there were direct mentions of his workplace. and they were offensive. his blog can raise a military coup. mine? i guess a coop of chicken or something. there were e-mails were shooting all over the place, trying to figure out who the culprit was. the division that found the blog was calling everyone up trying to look for names. and while all this was happening, my superior sat my two other colleagues and me down and talked to us about what happened. after all that news. i guess i just want my friend to enjoy his weekend before the shit starts next week. unless he reads this post lah.
oh i didn't tell you? all this happened while my friend was on leave.
Friday, September 15, 2006
the loneliness + a gaping hole
there are moments in life where you seem to be having the time of your life, doing things that you've always wanted to do, doing things that you've enjoyed doing all along, and perhaps knowing that you'll be doing more things of the above-mentioned in the coming days. but then, lodged right at the back of your brain, you know that there's an empty feeling of sorts, like a cancerous tumour waiting to metastasize. slowly, it's eating out a wierd shape in the mind and heart. and before you even refer to a Bible verse, there's a Jesus-shaped void left gaping in your heart.
and that's quite a moment to take in mind.
i've just finished clubbing and watching a drag show. and it's 3am, i think. and as i sit here comtemplating about the mundaneness of the saturday morning that's inevitably going to arrive in about 4 more hours, i just can't help thinking that life is kinda empty. i just wished that life isn't just about going to random parties, going out with friends, working my ass off, and getting laid and perhaps if one is lucky, finding the love of one's life.
i'm kinda hoping that the Jesus-shaped void can be replaced by something more solid that perhaps satan has to offer. but there's no way i'm turning back to religion unless i can sit down with God and ask if he accepts gay people into heaven. and having gone to church for 90% of my sundays for the past 21 years of my life, i know that God and Gay are two Gs that will never get along. i can't turn to christianity without compromising my beliefs. i can't turn to the super staunch family of mine for any form of gay-related support.
it's a pretty cold world out there with Damien Rice singing in the background.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
i am outraged!
ok, so maybe i'm exaggerating the whole situation a tad bit. but i have always wanted to use the word 'outraged'. it makes me feel like a virgin all over again, like i still have some form of modesty left to be 'outraged' about. well, let's just say that i lost something in a shopping centre toilet when i was in in my teens, and up till today the security guards at the lost and found still have no idea who that piece of modesty belongs to. in fact, the lost and found departments keep forwarding it to the lost and found at the NEXT available shopping mall, all in the hopes of restoring the modesty of the outraged. 8 years down the road, my virginity is like pluto: still in orbit/circulation and pretty wet for a mistake.
so you might be wondering, since the person typing this post has not much value left on the virginity market, then what the fuck is he outraged about? it all began one fine sunday night/monday morning after clubbing at clarke quay. i shared a cab home with two gay people, one an acquaintance while the other a total stranger whom we picked up outside the club by shouting our own addresses to the general public. and this is actually one of the great perks of being gay. sharing a cab with a total stranger without fearing petty things like sexual harrassment or assault or unwanted advances from the opposite sex. and if you're lucky, you could end up sleeping in somebody else's bed that night. but i digress.
making conversation in the cab was pretty easy because the alcohol really greased all the topics. the acquaintance was someone whom i had sex with about 6 years ago. it was a real surprise to see him actually because back then, he was as straight and boring as a 15cm wooden ruler. now, he's had a massive overhaul and turned into this flamboyantly pink ruler complete with sequins, feather boas, a rainbow flag and very glamorous entrance music. it was really drastic, but i liked his company, so i'm not complaining. the other stranger whom we shared a cab with, was a fashion design student. he showed us a few of his pieces, and being drunk, his pretty ordinary evening gown looked like a Prada masterpiece. thinking back, it actually looked more like something looted from a natural disaster site.
we ended our cab ride with an exchange of contact numbers and MSN addresses, which i kinda think is the best way to end a conversation with someone you're not familiar with. exchanging mobile phone numbers with one another is basically trying to say that 'we ought to keep this conversation open even though the next time i'll prolly see you is when your passport-sized photo appears in the orbituary pages'. my gut feeling told me that we would prolly only meet each other when we went clubbing on another sunday again. but for protocol's sake, we promised to have dinner with each other the following week since all of us live in the same vincinity.
2 weeks later, i realized my gut was pretty much clairvoyant by nature. we haven't had that dinner and to make things worse, i rejected going clubbing with them for 2 weeks in a row. i kept in contact with the fashion designer because he seemed to be online most of the time (when compared to the acquaintance). so we chatted about life in general and he's seriously a really nice guy, albeit very cheena-piang. however, things took a really awkward turn last friday. apparently, Mr. Fashion Designer was in a very horny mood. and for 30 whole minutes, he was trying to get me to send him a picture of my dick over MSN.
and i'm not joking about this. he seriously wanted me to send him a photographed .jpg file of my penis. i have this theory about gay men seeing other people's schlongs. the typical gay guy can remember nothing else about your face the next time he sees you. in fact, he replaces it with visuals of your dick.
so you may look like a cross between Brad and Tom, have the most defined abs in the world and be the next hier to the Holiday Inn empire. but if you have a dick that's comparable to the largest ant that ever lived, then i suggest you get an extension.
the whole way i was just rejecting the fashion designer and basically the MSN conversation went something like this:
FD: show mi lah
Me: i am not going to show you my penis
FD: y? scared ah?
Me: why would i be afraid of anything? i just don't want to show you.
Me: because it's my penis and i don't go around showing my penis to everyone.
FD: show lah....
for 30 whole minutes he had only two awfully irritating words to tell me, which were SHOW and LAH. it's not so much about the fact that he was so persistent about visuals of my penis. and neither is it about him being gay. i simply didn't feel like showing my penis to him because when we go clubbing again, he would no longer remember me as Jonathan, but rather, as "Jonathan, the guy with the very big wanker". and as true as that is, i want people to know me for me (i sound like a Singapore Idol contestant). and not because of whatever material or physical attributes that i have.
and you want to know the icing on the cake which really irked me the most? he had the nerve to ask me not to tell anyone that he had asked for a picture of my penis. he was like 'sorry leh, don't tell anyone ok?'. i didn't give him an answer for that, in the hope that he would feel horrid about himself.
and actually, that is what i'm actually trying to do now. telling you. in the hope that he will never ask for a dick pic from me again. but of course, if you want to send me yours, i would never say no.
Monday, September 04, 2006
ever since my return from brunei, i seem to be experiencing a writer's block. it's like no matter how i think it through, i just can't seem to inject any form of humour into my blog posts. i keep hitting the same blocks over and over again. in fact, i was going to come up with a corny joke about a few blocks of HDB apartments and how i could give you an address for that. you see! it's that bad.
it's tragic because everyday (without fail), i spend about a half hour or so just staring at the blogger page. i sit down, draw mind maps, brainstorm for a million and one humourous ideas and even googled for some hatha yoga techniques to 'cleanse the mind and release all inner inhibitions'. all in the hope that just a teensy-weensy bit of humour just secretes from the brain.
but those freakin creative juices don't seem to be flowing at all (though the same can't be said of the reproductive juices, hur hur hur). like i always tell myself, when there's no more shit, there's no point forcing the shit out. it's not just a metaphor, but also a really handy philosophy during days of poor fibre intake. so when them words are not working too well, you ask the pictures to speak for you.
Chocolats aux spiritueux d'origine
i love my chocolates. i love my alcohol. and i love the Frrrrench.
and if polygamy was widely practiced amongst the French, i would have forced a marraige on all three of them eons ago already. so it was to my joy and delight when my affluent paternal auntie (she named her son after me; yah! she named her son after a gay guy! which is why i think she's affluent) brought along some chocolates for a house party at my home. these bottle-shaped chocolates had hollow centres filled with original liquor. so whatever brand the wrapping reflected, that particular type of alcohol could be found inside it. kinda hard to get drunk on that shit, but who cares, those chocolates were deeee-leeee-shous. it's actually a little bit like eating one of those Crystal Jade Xiao Long Bao (small dragon dumplings) thingees. only difference? it's a battle between two vices and alcohol trumps pork broth anytime.
now, my paternal family are like the holiest people i've ever seen. they pray and they commit everything to the good Lord and everybody reads their bibles and their Daily Bread faithfully everyday. actually, when you compare an average paternal family member to me, i'm like the anti-christ complete with hell-bent ambition to end the world in fire and brimstone. alcohol is one of those things that my extended family don't really loosen up to. the irony is that, if they were to start drinking some form of alcohol, i bet they would straightaway loosen up and not be so anal about everything in life. ok, let's give them credit. they've tried red wine lah. but they didn't really like it. so i ended up polishing off the entire bottle of Merlot. and let's just say that particular evening ended off on a really high note. that's the good thing about being the devil's advocate in a family of saints.
as i expected, nobody dared to touch the chocolates. which resulted in me eating most of them. i think i consumed about 5 of them while watching the mandarin 6.30 news on that sunday evening. the dark chocolates were shitty of course, but once you bit into the chocolates, liquor just flowed smoothly into your mouth. it's as if your senses were like a t-shirt and the laundromat just took it for a good washing in alcohol. there were sixteen, i polished off 8 in one night. so there's another 7 left. 7 green bottles, standing on the wall, 7 green bottles, standing on the wall and if 1 green bottle were to accidentally fall then.... yum yum *hic*
there are only two reasons why Singaporeans would bother to visit ikea. and not surprisingly, both of them are F-words. FOOD and FURNITURE. ikea always brings about memories of their $1.20 swedish hotdogs with their ingenious cow-udder inspired sauce dispenser. unfortunately, everytime i use the dispenser, i cannot help but notice that the base is flooded with dribbles of chilli and mustard. all pointing to evidence of inaccurate aiming. on the really busy peak periods, it's messier and grosser than your average hawker centre toilet. i'm sure somwhere along those lines, there's a co-relation between men peeing and inaccurately squeezing sauces out of an udder. i just had two helpings of ikea sausages the other day. it was bliss.
the broom machine
i have been doing some major re-organizing during the past few days. apparently, there's an unstated rule that when a member of the family has left the country for more than a year, his/her cupboards can be used to keep other things like bedsheets and blankets and old clothes and textbooks. coincidentally those cupboards were the same place where i had stashed my DVD porn collection. and so out went the VERY EXPENSIVE Falcon DVDs (thanks to the father) and in went the stuffy old comforters.
thus began a major upheaval of all the old stuff and to tell the truth, i'm quite a bit of the hoarder. if the firemen were to come and inspect my home, they would declare my cabinets a fire hazard. if the psychiatrist were to pay me a visit, she would declare me an obsessive-compulsive schizophrenic. and so it was amongst all the evidence of my shameful past that i discovered something from the folly of my youth.
and this will be a bit of a sidetrack: remember the days when NEOPRINTS were all the rage amongst the teens of the late 90s? i used to be an obsessive-compulsive freak over neoprints. i collected so many that i started sticking them onto a transparent folder that i used to keep worksheets from school in. i had one entire A4-sized folder with neoprints of friends and people. apparently, you'll be hardpressed to find a picture of me amongst those neoprints. i was good at getting neoprints, but taking a picture of me in them was never gonna happen. as i have mentioned a million and one time before, i look really horrid in front of a camera. and the same goes for being in a neo-print machine. i kept hoarding neoprints but never wanted to take one for myself.
so it was with trepedition and much apprehension that i was finally convinced to try out a sticker printer machine during my 10 days of leave. the screwed up thing was that it was entirely in japanese and i had absolutely no idea where the camera was pointed at. so half the pictures were taken in clueless poses, not knowing where to look. i thought that we looked pretty cock-eyed, looking at everywhere else except the camera. and to crown of the entire experience, we had to go to the Broom to get our photos edited and touched up. it was actually the B-Room (as in A, B, C and B-room). but they fucked up the grammer.
you know what's the most amazing thing about this post?
i spent 8 bloody long days trying to type this out. and if you've read this line, i've just spent another 2 editing and trying to add in wit and pun in every corner of this post. which is why i need a break from typing blog posts. blogging is supposed to be fun. not a social responsibility or anything like that. not that i have been very productive with my blog anyways. you see, i don't even care how i end this blog post already. normally there would be something witty or even remotely punny here. but i can't seem to think of any now. never mind lor, just insert another picture.
(NB: i bought this in Suntec City. it's two wrestlers indulging in some form of fetish tantric sex. and it's hanging from my handphone as a keychain now)
Friday, September 01, 2006
my secret fantasy of a skit (episode 1)
i have always always always wanted to act out a lame skit like the one below. only problem? give me a camera and an entire bunch of extras willing to work for me for free. and of course, a producer, script-writer, editor, publicist, caterer, etc, etc. am i asking for too much?
(it's the Teacher's Day speech at the National Institute of Education)
Announcer: And now we shall invite the minister to give us the closing address.
(the minister take a genteel walk towards the stage and proceeds to adjust the microphone at the pedestal)
Minister: Fellow teachers and Singaporeans, Ministers, Honourable Guests, Ladies and Gentlemen......
Minister: ..... Blk 288 Chua Chu Kang Ave 3 #14-288 Singapore 680288. Thank You.
(walks off the stage)
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