|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.|
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
hawker centre meals with the family are quite a daily affair these days. the mother works. the father works. i work. the brother's at school. normally, it's the mother that does the cooking. but she's working at some urology department at some random hospital currently. and i'm sure that after looking and smelling like piss the whole day, the last thing you wanna do is fry food in piss-coloured olive oil. i don't blame her for wanting to hang up the apron.
but i must say that i'm actually quite a big fan of hawker food. no matter which hawker centre you head for, you can bet that you'll find the same mediocre standard of food. not only that, there will always be the availability of the standards like chicken rice or duck rice or mee pok. ban mian always tastes delicious because of the MSG. mee pok is heavenly with the pig oil. and sugar cane is as fabulous as sugar cane can only get. so you see, i seldom get disappointed with eating in the heartlands. i've come to expect the same 'sap sap soi' standards that i've lowered my demands for good food. i can only be satisfied or impressed. no disappointments. and ok lah, it's cheap.
of ocurse, the hawker centre is not to be confused with the food court which is the bane of the Singaporena culinary experience. things in the food courts are expensive. throw in the often unavailability of seats, it all just makes me wanna steer clear of food courts whenever possible. you ever realize that it's so fucking cold in food courts that your ice kachang never melts, you don't need ice cubes for your diet coke and your beef noodles get cold before you can even find a seat? and you have to do all this with frozen tits and wooden chopsticks. so let's go back to the warm and cosy hawker centres.
now, the hawker centre is of course one place where you can pick up on the idiosyncracies of the singapore heartland. in fact, one thing that always blows me away is the typical beverage-stall auntie who doesn't memorize orders, but preferring to shout them out like a Burger King waitress would say 'ONE WHOPPER MEAL WITH EXTRA EVERYTHING' into the sound system. notice the BK waitress says and the drinks-stall auntie SHOUTS. take for example a simple lunch at a hawker centre near Braddell last saturday:
Auntie: Harlow! Ni men yao he she mo? (hello! what would you like to drink?)
The Father: Ji Puay Kopi-O (a cup of kopi-o)
Auntie: AH SOON! JI PUAY KOPI-O!!! (AH SOON! ONE CUP OF KOPI-O!!!)
The Mother: ke yi gei wo yi guan lu cha ma? (can i have a can of green tea?)
Auntie: JI GONG GLEEN TEA! (ONE CAN OF GREEN TEA!)
Me: (in my B4 standard chinese) auntie, wo yao milo shao de! (auntie, can i have a hot milo?)
Auntie: JI GE TAT KIU, AH SOON! (ONE KICK BALL, AH SOON!)
i don't often talk to the family during meals for fear of saying something stupid. which is why, i don't even talk to them at all. most of the time, dinner conversation revolves around God, my smoking habits, my gay lifestyle and when it's a pretty good day, my general work life. beside i was a bit dazed and deaf from the auntie and her need to shout her orders despite the fact that we were sitting less than a metre away from the drinks stall. but it was so bizarre as to why the auntie called my hot milo a 'tat kiu' (kick ball in Hokkien) that i had to ask the father (who's pretty attuned to the heartlander's mindset).
of course, he went on to explain in his holier-than-thou tone of voice about how the milo mascot was always the guy kicking the football or the hot swimmer with the broad shoulders doing a breast stroke (of course i'm explaining this in my own gay terminology). so it was a choice between 'tat kiu' (kick ball) or 'siu jui' (swimming). and obviously 'tat kiu' had more of an oomph to it. it's forceful and very catchy. and thus it was settle with perhaps the hawker's clan association that 'tat kiu' would be officially accepted into the kopitiam lingo.
very quaint hor! the last time i was as surprised and delighted as this was when i discovered that you could substitute chee bye for labia and still sound very intelligent. of course, imagine all the other drinks that the various kopitiam lingo they would use? reminds me of my my favourite drink while i was in brunei. just imagine me ordering a cup of 3-in-1:
Me: Auntie, wo yao yi bei Nescafe san-he-yi! (Auntie i would like a cup of nescafe 3-in-1!)
Auntie: AH SOON!!!! JI BUAY AH KUA!!!!!!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
it's the phrasing lah!
it seems that my mind is always on the prowl for bad grammer.
it could be the arrangement, it could be the incorrect usage of the word. sometimes it's the spelling. or worse still, the wrong word at the wrong place at the wrong time plus wrong spelling some more!
and throw in an early morning fag to wake the brain and my extra keen grammer-analysis senses, and you have the perfect incident of grammer misuse:
whenever i'm on the morning shift (7-3pm), i always start my day with an early morning fag. my cigarette will somehow last through the entire 13 minute walk from home to the train station. an average cigarette for me lasts only 6.53 minutes (not including the time taken to light up the cig; i'm terrible with lighters). but given the really temperemental weather for the past few days, i've decided to only smoke in sheltered areas. and this morning was no exception.
this was found outside Lot One, the local shopping centre stuck in the middle of the heartlands. there was a giant advertisement for a local watch retailer. this watch retailer catered specially to the heartland population of Singapore. andy lau was the main man in all the pictures. it's actually a series of advertisements lah, of him in gentlemanly poses with a so-called intelligent quote at the side.
fuck the chinese characters because they make more sense than the english translation. apparently, this one is pretty suggestive:
i'm more of a 'coming from the front' kinda person, by the way.
Friday, December 15, 2006
my workplace (at a certain ward in a certain gah-men hospital) is like one big pot of steaming hot porridge/burbur/zouk/zhou/flocons d'avoine/okayu/*tongue click*porridge. cooked in one big third-world looking metal pot that looked like it survived several STOMP performances and the 2nd world war.
ok lah, so there are no afrikans or japanese or frenchmen at my workplace. but you get the idea right?
the point is, i have a lot of chinese colleagues. and we're not talking about the singapore 'han-lor' type of chinese people. i'm referring to the china chinese. the ones who come from Hubei. the ones who migrate from Beijing (it's BEI-ZHING hor, not bei-jeeng). the ones uprooted from Gunagzhou. so many different accents you hear everyday. it's really titillating cos my brain somehow draws a connection between chinese accents and the chinese new year. i feel like February everytime i arrive for work.
all these, of course, lead to a very bad habit that i have: spotting bad grammer spouted by my china colleagues. in fact, let me just give you one prime example that happened last week:
(every morning the night shift staff will pass a summarized report of each patient over to the morning shift staff, the night shift staff was passing over a patient's report to me, the morning shift staff, in english; excuse the medical jargon)
Night-Shift: 26/3 is Mr Tan Tan Tan. He's a nuerology over-flow case clerked by Dr Tan Tin Tin. Patient is quite 'shiao' (the china nurses can never ever pronounce it as SIAO). because he got head injury.
Me: (reading the case-notes) he has DEMENTIA is it?
Night-Shift: yah correct. patient is quite DEMENTED also.
at that point of time, having just watched the horror movie SAW 3 about two days before, i had really vivid visuals in my mind. i imagined my nightstaff being hung on a big cross (ALA Madonna-style minus the disco-esque reflective surfaces), and having her limbs and arms twisted inside out. and the patient (a 60 plus year old ah pek) is sitting on a wheel-chair watching with an evil and menacing look.
when i last checked, my 60 year-old ah pek was lying there on the bed with saliva drooling from the side of his mouth, haven't had one too many doses of his psychotropic drugs.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
the one who got sloshed during sex
just like drinking and driving, coloured and white undergarments or perhaps green tea and Chivas, sex and alcohol should never mix. they never make good bedfellows. of course, this rule is absolutely negligible if you can still maintain your dignity in public despite the fact that you are already 75% wasted. i can. i just smoke two extra cigarettes in a row to bring up the nausea levels a notch and puke my way to liberation. of course that requires walking all the way to the toilet and looking for a cubical in the first place. which is quite a feat when all you wanna do is lie on the floor and sleep.
but obviously, some others cannot control themselves when they are high (NB: high only, not drunk yet!). and Mr Raffles-Berkeley is one of them.
i just had the most disappointing sex last night.
it was a really nice gesture that he SMSed me 10 hours after he touched down from the States. he claimed that he wasn't that jet-lagged. plus, he was feeling very 'frisky' (that's what he MSNed me). so i agreed to meet him in town at 11.30pm. and we would overnight at a hotel 81. yah, it's so damn sleazy i know.
Mr Raffles-Berkeley (just to do a recapitulation) is some random guy i met at the spa in April this year. i had a major crush on him because he was every bit my kinda guy. educated, rich, relatively hunky, tattooed and a Rafflesian. of course, for every talent in a guy, comes an equal number of drawbacks. he has a really bad fashion sense (despite the fact that he lives just on the outskirts of town). he likes wine (i don't fancy wine). he's an uber-lazy creep. he's not much of a talker (curiously, he talks a lot during sex). but still, he's bloody good at sex and prolly one of the few guys i will let poke my butt. and yes, i still do have that crush on him.
and i have no idea why, but Mr Raffles-Berkeley seems to need alcohol to kick-start his sex. the sex at the spa was the best. i'm thinking it was because there wasn't any alcohol involved. the next sex at his house was shortlived. and yesterday's sex... don't get me started. before i can even finish this sentence, he would have orgasmed already. we polished off a bottle of wine in like 10 mins. i brought along my bottle of 42 below and we had another 3 shots. from the bottom of my taste buds, i hate wine. it tastes like cardboard that has been preserved for years. whenever i drink wine, i can't help thinking of ancient women in Jesus' time, stomping on grapes and squeezing the juice out. blame it on Sunday school. but it achieves the desired effect. he claimed that it was a bottle of $96 wine. i didn't get to see the label on the bottle. and i'm no oenophile.
the sex was good. and very short-lived. it was more like a quickie actually. within like 40 minutes, we were done with the foreplay (i did most of it), the licking (i did most of the work), the blowing (i did 95% of it) and the butt-pokes (that's the only thing he did). and normally, post-sex interaction would be the fun bit for me. you can insert witty sexual innuendos while inserting your thing into someone else's thing. apparently, yesterday's conversation which was supposed to be an emotional one went something like that:
(lazing around in bed)
Me: that was really great sex.
Mr. R-B: yeah, it was great.
Me: you know, i'm wondering why you would ask me out for sex right after a 21 hour flight back to Singapore.
Mr. R-B: well yeah, i was kinda frisky.
Me: hmmm... makes me wonder too. you're one of the few guys that have access to my butthole.
Mr. R-B: hmmm....
Me: that kinda means you're special. don't you think so?
Mr. R-B: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
this is so damn irritating. killer of the night. he was basically snoring just as i was about to get around to things. i was pretty pissed. cos it's not the first time that something like that happened. and during sex, you're supposed to reciprocate. i haven't even came yet. and he went to wash up already. what a bummer right? i spent the rest of the night sleeping in his arms, underneath the uncomfortable Hotel 81 bed sheets.
the next morning i just wanked while he did some semi-arousing thing that i couldn't even remember.
breakfast was a bland meal of duck rice at the kopitiam opposite the hotel. the alcohol was still in my system. there wasn't much conversation. just bland words that passed off as interaction. he took the train home. i took the bus. it was a rather depressing bus ride home.
why do the guys you put your hopes in almost alway fail you?
Monday, December 11, 2006
previously on The O.C.
Mr Raffles-Berkeley is back from the US. he just sms-ed me. i dunno how you hyperlink the related posts (NB: Diploma in Nursing, not IT), but just check out the 14th and 16th of April.
Friday, December 08, 2006
bad fashion in bad pictures
'What is your secret to such a chic and fashionable wardrobe, Jonathan?' somebody once asked me.
with a smirk and a flit of a very limp wrist, 'It's in the genes...' i replied, 'and the jeans, of course.'
ok, so i lied, nobody asks me that. and even if someone asked me a question like that, i would never give a cheesy answer as such. but sometimes, you've just gotta fan the ego and ask yourself a question like that, just for reaffirmation's sake.
i haven't posted anything in a pretty long time. and this is due to 101% laziness and perhaps a 12% brain block. obviously the percentages are not proportionate or anything like that, i admit, i'm terrible at numbers. which like i explained before, is the perfect reason why one joins nursing. it's not terribly difficult to count the number of arms and legs a patient has left at the end of the day. as long as the come in pairs, i'm satisfied. not applicable to nether regions though, some things should just come in the singular.
thus with no particular topic to blog about, it's time again for PICTURES! pictures of bad fashion (which explains the uber-cheesy opening). i'm really terrible at purchasing clothes for myself. it's always a size too small or a few sizes too big. and this i owe it to a big round butt that could rival Jenny From the Block (or maybe it's Jenny and her Blocks). it's so protruding that it needs a parking space of it's own, complete with parking coupons and a curb. most of my shirts end up being pulled dress-like and looking like blouses. which ain't good. because it just eccentuates one's love handles. but what can i do? bind my butt? carve off some flesh? trim the fat with liposuction? or simply blog about it in the hope that the public will be more forgiving on a gay guy and his love handles? the latter works for me.
all these are reasons why i keep the price tag on clothes and avoid throwing away receipts too soon. 50% of my clothes end up getting exchanged for a different colour, a different size, a different product. thank god for CASE because most retailers are now so terrified of appearing in the newspapers over nitty-gritty exchanges. so they entertain all the 'i-want-my-bra-in-a-different-colour-because-it-doesn't-go-with-my-skin-tone' kinda exchanges. so here's presenting 4 items from my wardrobe. 4 things that i would love to exchange but apparently, am too lazy to go down and explain to or ask the sales staff nicely. and believe me, being a veteran of exchanges, a lot of sales staff are still unsure whether their shop has an exchange policy that last 7 days from the date of purchase. Greet, Smile, Thank, i'm glad that we have attained that. but what's the point of GST-ing when you don't even know what the shit you are doing?
My Top 4 Terrible Fashion Buys
1) I Love Stripes
i bought this on the behest of a friend. which means that this is the result of peer pressure! this is actually why you should never succumb to peer pressure when it comes to fashion. cigarettes? can. alcohol? can. sex? can. but FASHION? please get your own sense hor. i am proud to say that i don't own anything cheena-targeted from Hang Ten, Giordano or Samuel and Kelvin. but Bossini however, is the only exception i am willing to make. once in a while they will produce something really exceptional like a striped top or something sleeveless that fits me to a T.
i actually like wearing this polo tee because it's flattering on my build. it somehow flattens my butt (don't ask me how it does that) and ups my market rate by about 4% (which is not a lot given that i am only worth 14% on the gay hypermarket). but of course, like all other great things, they are almost always too good to be true.
just yesterday, i saw a 40 year old guy wearing it. he's fat, he's ugly and if you put two and two together: fugly. no amount of vertical stripes can save his beer belly. and after about 4 minutes or so, another guy walks round the corner wearing THE EXACT SAME POLO TEE THAT THE FAT GUY AND I OWN. what are the chances that within 5 minutes, one can find two unrelated people wearing the same piece of apparel (that i own some more!). it doesn't make it any better that the other guy wearing the polo tee was some lame-assed teenager in need of a fashion fairy.
which is why this stripey polo tee has to be shelved away to the salvation army or something. let some other poor unfortunate soul have their fun with it.
2) Skinny Jeans That Are Too Skinny
like Giordano, Baleno and Hang Ten, I.P. Zone (i'm guessing it's IT-related) is one of those cheena-targeted brands that scream three-lettered words like F.I.R., S.H.E. or even Jay. apparently, i succumbed to the temptation of cheap apparel and bought a pair of skinny jeans from I.P. Zone two days ago. yes, i admit i was stupid and very desperate. throw in the fact that i'm terribly terrible at finding the perfect jeans and you have the ultimate fashion disaster.
height, if you ask me, plays a great part in a good jeans fit. longer legs allow you more fashion choices. and longer legs are what i do not have. what i DO have is this pair of short stubby legs which look like an exact replica of pork trotters on a Ma Ling can. Ma Ling is an excellent brand of canned pork products that you can find at any good supermarket, it's yellow and really flashy (and fleshy too). God prolly got his inspiration to create me after a trip to Cold Storage.
the skinny jeans that i bought were really fitting. so fitting that my nether regions didn't have any space to move about. it's like fitting an elephant into a terrapin cage, if you get my drift. maybe it would help if it's about fitting a chihuahua into a terrapin cage. but alas, short legs have a price (quite a bargain though, i must say).
now you're wondering why i didn't check before i bought the jeans? i did try them on okay! but you know how it's like trying things on in public. the mirror in the changing room is always placed at an extremely flattering angle. outside the changing room, it's always crowded with people who like to stare. and somehow, new clothes always seem to look better before you buy them. yah lah, my senses fooled me. but can you imagine those people who go and buy clothes via the internet? how can you buy clothes without trying?
3) A Medium In Ang Moh Terms
speaking of people who buy clothes without trying, i'm apparently one of them. i'm a sucker for tees with puns, you see. and Singapore being the really small and unfunny country that it is, it's difficult to find a wide variety of punny t-shirts without thinking of another three letters (N.U.M., apparently, only the homosexuals have a sense of humour in singapore). i bought the above two tees online. if you study behavioural science, you would prolly understand what the tees are saying. if you don't, then you are obviously a victim of the behavioural sciences. ask me, i'll explain.
like i mentioned, you can't really see the product when you shop online. thus, you never know what you are really purchasing until you finally receive the air-flown goods. good online retailers will provide you with rough measurements of the various sizes. terrible ones will just give you XS/S/M/L/XL. and to complicate matters, you gotta think in ang moh terms. everything in ang moh land, just like their McDonald's, is supersized. broader shoulders, longer arms, bigger chests, larger (insert random body part).
which is basically what i didn't consider when i made the purchases for these two tees. i placed an order for a medium. when i received them about a week later, i thought i had placed orders for the 'hip-hop' version of the tees i saw online. they were so long and big that i looked like an extra straight out of a 50 Cent video. the aim was to pass off for Geek Chic. but alas, it was more like Geek Freak.
4) Too Gay For Even The Gay Guys
have you ever bought clothes, only to think to yourself a year later 'What was i thinking back then?' during my polytechnic days, my fashion senses were pretty much dulled. baggy was my theme all year round. i looked like a drug mule, carrying truck loads of heroine and marijuana underneath those clothes. which explains all those unnecessary strip searches whenever i cross over to Malaysia for a holiday.
i bought this awfully gay top when i was in poly year one. i dunno what else to call it actually. because it's neither a tee shirt, nor a shirt. but at least you can tell that you wear it below your neck and above your waist, thus earning the title of a 'top'. actually, just look at the picture and it explains everything lah!
once again, it's oversized. you can't tell now. but you should see me wear it, i look like i'm wearing a night gown. a plus-sized one at thtat. which is what i was pretty much back then. and it's tragic but plus-sized gays lead really sad lives. given that it's such a shallow society in the gay community, nobody really sees them for what they really are. which is what this top signifies to me actually. it's overly-glammed given the translucent stripey fabric. and the bold red lines around the sleeves are just grostesque. think protruding nipples, pointed love handles, rounded faces, and a huge sack of flamboyance. no other words describe it better other than my top and eeeyurrr.
so now you ask, 'what's the moral of the story behind this badly-taken photos series of bad fashion complimented with bad lighting and bad backgrounds?' it's very simple actually. always make sure you TRY BEFORE YOU BUY. a lot of guys don't bother trying. the girlfriend must force them to try. have you seen straight guys buying clothes at Topman before? they just take the top, ask their friend to place it on their back to check whether the shoulder lengths fits. if it does, they head straight to the counter and make the purchase. that is the definition of 'buying' for the straight guy.
thank god, i'm gay. at least i come pre-programmed with the street smarts of making purchases.
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