jon's blog

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.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007

project 355: colour me beauty, fool!

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i have to admit that my secondary school years were very drab and damn blah. most of it is buried deep in the recesses of my mind, the way a serial killer would bury body parts of his victims. once in a while, a foul smell of memories will emanate from the ground, manifesting itself in my sudden outburst of immature teenage tendencies (eg. saying chee bong, which was the 'in' word at my secondary school back in the late 90s). that's 10 years at the same primary and secondary school for you. i remember telling people whom i thought were pretty chummy with me in school that i was gay, and eventually it spread like wildfire during class. news of myself having acquired a nipple ring also became sorta hot gossip amongst the guys (the first question: does it hurt? OF COURSE YOU MOTHERFUCKER, IT HURTS, but i like it). i hated my secondary school days, having brought only one very good friend out of there and plenty of bad memories.

but if there's one thing that i'm very grateful to my school for, it's got to be the ETIQUETTE COURSES. after the O levels, the school decided that we had a lot of free time and possibly a lot of remnant MOE money left to spend and thus, sent the graduating class of 2000 to these courses. i can't remember my class going for any excursions of any sort at during throughout the year. i think i vaguely recall a trip to the science center to study mold or bacteria or some shit. but that's nothing you cannot find in your typical MRT station toilet. other than that trip, there was no other school trips to anywhere.

i've always felt strongly about schools giving their students a taste of the high life and learning how to conduct oneself in public. in more condensed words, social etiquette. it's all great and brilliant that your students can devise the most ingenious formulaes and solve organic chemistry questions within seconds. but if they can't even differentiate between a soup spoon and a dessert spoon, how are they going to survive futures of Nobel Prize Luncheons and Charity Gala Dinners?

the course was organized by Jill Lowe International, a pretty well-establish image-consultancy firm situated around the Somerset MRT area. it's actually in the John Little building directly opposite Centerpoint. everytime i take bus no. 190 (which goes back to where i live), i never fail to pass it and it always leads to nostalgia. the course instructor that taught us this particular workshop was none other than Jill Lowe herself. just to describe her, she looks like a cross between Anita Sarawak and an air stewardess. she had the poise, the pouty lips, the natural look of someone who had undergone a Woffles' Lift and plenty of class. plus she had this really faux American accent which just complete the look. it's was very surreal, having a real high class tai-tai teaching us how to survive the social minefields of the rich.

the swatch (i bought it using my edusave account after the workshop; $25) you see in the picture above was something that really fascinated me when Jill Lower first introduced the concept of it. it really changed my life when she said to me the words 'You're an AW-DAHM'. it's not some cheem French or Tagalog word used to mean a private part or anything like that, no. Jill Lowe wanted to gauge our skin tones under direct daylight so that she could match them to the color palettes that flatter us best. her program, you see, endorsed this color scheme thing that says certain color flatter our skin tones best. if i'm not wrong, it was called COLOR ME BEAUTIFUL. during my turn, she gave me a mesmerizing 3-second look with her well-curled eye lashes. the seconds turned to minutes. and the minutes seemed like hours. everyone was anticipating her answer.

and like Harry having to take a turn at the Sorting Hat, she eventually shouted a gentle but firm 'You're an Autumn' in her psuedo-slang. everyone looked at me like that was a good thing. i guess it was because she basically classified nearly half of the crowd as an autumn and everyone felt like they prolly could share clothes with each other when they ever thought of doing so. apparently, the swatch is supposed to give you greater ease in choosing the colors that flatter you skin tone. but looking at my wardrobe, i have nearly nothing of my palette. i can imagine Jill Lowe wrinkling her flawless botoxed forehead now, sighing at her efforts gone down the drain.


Tuesday, January 30, 2007

project 355: cleaning out my closet


i hate to have too many off days in a row. they give me too much free time to do so many things. i mean, there's only so many sticks you can smoke in a day, so many minutes you can spend in the gym, so many calories you can take, so many episodes of Princess Hours you can watch and only so many times you can wank within 24 hours. by the time the sun sinks beyond the horizon and people starting asking you whether you want to go out for the evening, you feel so spent that you just turn down every offer. thus defeating the purpose (or at least my purpose) of an off day in the first place. this is why i think i'm a bloody boring person by nature.

so to kill time before my next working shift starts (which is like the day after), i've decided to do something more productive and therapeutic. ever since i came out of the closet, i haven't really had time to even clean up the sticky mess that i left in there. and i mean this in a literal way (the closet and cleaning up part, not the sticky bit). i knew i was gay from the young primary school years. but i really came out during the polytechnic years thanks to drama, a supportive group of friends and the ex-boyfriend. and i officially couldn't care less what people thought about my phallic tendencies when i was halfway through my stint in Brunei.

thus since October 2005 (21st birthday coincidentally), the wardrobe has deformed into this weird spectrum of the uber-gay to the uber-straight. it's like a combination of the best and the worst of the 90s. in there you can find baggy jeans (i shamefully own a pair of those Alien Workshop jeans that were so beng-hawt back then), polo tees (none from Giordano okay!), plus-sized Quiksilver tees (the relatives buy so many presents but always get the sizes wrong) and loads of XS and S Topman tees (in preperation for the future when i become damn hawt) and enough slogan tees to form a thesaurus. i think there are a few tops with rainbows as well.

as i was clearing out the really horrid pieces that i never even knew existed, i had so many of those 'what in the world was i thinking?' moments. i'm starting to believe that i go into these Emily Rose moments where some demonic (straight) spirit takes over my being and starts buying the whole Baleno and Hang Ten down. sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night wearing nothing but cheap crocodile briefs and an over-sized Giordano polo tee that has been washed one time too many. there are faded pasta stains and sweat patches under the armpits. it's things like that that freak the style out of me.

the next day i would burn the evidence and start cleaning out my closet. like today. and thus begins a new cycle of too many off days and cleaning out closets to reinforce one's gay self.


Monday, January 29, 2007

project 355: i hate all things corporate

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i'm very anti-organization by nature. anything that involves the words 'team', 'unit', 'cohesion', 'collaboration' or 'togetherness' turns me off faster than you can say 'but you are indeed stuck in an organization, jon'. so it was with some apprehension that i attended (or was forced to attend) the hospital's attempt at attaining the accreditation for the People Developer certification. they called it LIVING THE 5Cs. the 5Cs not involving any of the 4 that i live for. Compassion, Collaboration, (referring to the participant handout for the rest) Commitment, Communication and Consistency. the trainer actually came up with a memory story to help us remember the 5Cs. it involved Mother Theresa, contracts and gold liquid in test tubes. bizarre. and yet it didn't help me to remember them.

i hate the fact that everyone is shy to participate. i can't shut my yap, so i always contribute all these rubbishy ideas like 'you can always tell the angry client to sit back and relax first while you check up whether his mother has died'. and it's bloody fun to see the trainer go all awkward and politically-correct when she phrases her response: 'ok, sit back and relax and there's death-involved, good answer, but i'm sure you can try harder than that right, Jonathan?'

since nobody contributes, there are plenty of awkward moments during these corporate trainings. you can hear the air-conditioning. noses sniffling from the arctic air-conditioning winds. pens copying every single golden words that drops from the trainer's mouth. chairs shifting uncomfortably. gastric juices grumbling for tea-breaks. the click click click of instant messaging. inside your heart, you are willing someone to actually contribute a suggestion, be it lame or not. but everyone relies on one another like a crutch.

but the worst thing i hate about these corporate training things would be the group work aspects of it: discussions and skits. you're not even familiar with the age of your fellow course mate and now you want me to remove my inhibitions and stage fright and act like a disgruntled customer? it's not difficult actually. but for the typical wet market auntie who's happens to be a staff nurse, it's like asking for a miracle.

well at least there were fellow male nurses of suspect sexuality at the training. hot gym-going ones, might i add.


Sunday, January 28, 2007

project 355: my favorite patient

just like the Fashionista always has her favorite bag of the season, the nurse too, has her favorite patient of the moment. of course, comparing nurses to the Fashionista does no justice to the latter, given that nursing uniforms can look hot only to a certain extent (from certain angles, under carefully-coordinated light conditions and best with a dance pole) . probably in an European sex club or something. the worser comparison would be that of the 'IT' bag to the patient. but like accessories and how they always complete an outfit, the nurse equally needs a favorite patient to complete her job motivation. after all, what are nurses without patients? now if only someone could combine all the above comparisons together. imagine a Fashionista for a patient who would buy a nurse this season's 'IT' bag?

which is why i'm glad that i too, have a favorite patient of the moment. for privacy's sake, let's call him Mr. Subutack (derived from the medication that he was addicted to prior to being admitted into the hospital). like all other chinese heartlanders, Subutack pronounces Subutex as such. the same way aunties processing your forms at the IRAS would say 'Income Tack' and the ones working at NTUC would grab your sanitary pads and go 'Kor-tack'. or if they allowed maciks to work at Downtown East, 'wrist tack'.

Subutex (if you don't already know) is actually medication used to treat opiate-addiction. Opiates are medications such as sedatives and analgesics. Analgesics are medications used to relieve pain (especially in a certain body part). Pain in that certain body part is what you are if you still want me to elaborate on these medical jargons and shit. Enough already! All you need to know is that subutex is deemed as miracle-medicine in the health-care industry. Miracle in the sense that it really does help stop the side effects of kicking a drug habit. but of course, the miracle turned out to produce more problems than expected. druggies started abusing Subutex since it was an over-the-counter medication (you can just get some very easily and legally with the right prescription), by dicing them up and injecting the stuff into the veins for a quick fix.

Mr Subutack did exactly just that. he poked every available vein in his body till most of them were pretty clogged with the shit that he took. so much so that he was admitted into the hospital with a big lump at the groin. stuff clogged up the veins in his groin and basically there was blockage and one thing lead to another. now he's in the hospital to get the lump removed. when you have a lump at your groin (and not a happy lump at that) all you want to do is load everything you eat with painkillers and make it all go away. if i ran Jonathan's General Hospital, i would make sure the daily breakfast of oats/porridge/breakfast cereals are overloaded with panadol powder. that way none of the patients would be using the call bells to pester the nurses for more painkillers. and the nurses can focus on doing the more important aspects of hospital administration: paperwork. it's legal and it covers my ass like no other painkiller would.

but alas, it doesn't work that way. so i tried getting the team doctor to ink up a higher frequency and dosage of painkillers. thank goodness the doctor in-charge of him was a church friend (yes! church, hallelujah!) ordered pethidine for Mr Subutack. pethidine is a controller drug that contains sedatives and analgesics. it's very potent in that it blocks the pain receptors in the brain very well and makes you high like shit. which is why it's a controlled drug (it's double-locked in a medicine cabinet). i gave as many jabs as i legally and possibly could. and he was a really happy (and stoned) man. every nurse has a pain policy. mine's to make the patient as happy and pain-free (both for the patient and for me) as possible. from that day on, we hit it off pretty well. when he needs his painkillers, he knows who to look for. of course, i try to offer him oral painkillers instead. and upon much persuasion he will avoid taking the pethidine jabs (they are very addictive).

one fine day, i realized that i didn't bring my lighter to work. and knowing that Mr Subutack smokes, i tried borrowing his lighter. he straightaway jumped out of bed (he's pretty much bed-ridden what with so many tubes sticking out of him) and rummaged his cabinet for a lighter. when i returned his lighter about an hour later, he kindly offered me his three pack of cigarettes that he couldn't go down to smoke. one of them was open already. lucky for me, it was the green. i accepted the packet of green knowing that if nobody smokes them any sooner, the tobacco will start losing its flavor. plus it was Indonesian some more.

savoring the fruits of my labor after work, i could taste the Gamelan and Dangdut in those cigarettes.


Saturday, January 27, 2007

project 355: the perks to having an air steward boyfriend

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he's polite. he's customer-service oriented. he's hot. he's charming. he's gay. and he brings back small little gifts from his trips around the world. fuck the air stewardess (who cares about her anyways?) given the age of metrosexuals and the ever-increasing spending limits that the women and gay people have these days, it's time to bring in the AIR STEWARD. definitely a great way to fly. an even greater way to unzip my fly. that's the boyfriend, in a nutshell.

still, i'm a sucker for people who shower me with gifts. maybe it's the depraved Christmas presents that the relatives have been torturing me with for the past few years. they still don't understand that i wear size S, not XL anymore. 8 years ago, it would have been a great slap in the face to stop stuffing myself with a bubble-tea and McDonald's diet. now, it's just a tired excuse for purchasing the remnant pieces in a clothing sale.

the 2007 Dilbert planner really hits the mark though. i've always enjoyed gifts that enocurage writing. be it a simple notepad, a pen or a bottle of fountain pen ink. hell, you could even purchase some photocopier paper for my birthday and i would squeal with delight. dark chocolate. and a calendar. now i can throw away that miniature wallet-sized calendar that i received from the representative of some random ambulance company at work.

logically speaking, the boyfriend should go on more trips hor?


Friday, January 26, 2007

project 355: pik pik piak piak

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you wouldn't know this unless you are my sugar daddy or of similar age as the parents. or worse still, you are one of those young people of my age who actually have Gold 90.5FM (they play 'goldie oldies' as i like to call them) set as the default station on your radio. but still the question i had in mind was this: do you remember The Cascades? the ones who brought you the horrendous classic about the syncopated beats of water droplets descending from the sky? yes, i'm referring to that hit classic 'Listen To The Rhythm of The Falling Rain' that was recorded in 1962 and actually reached no. 3 in some foreign charts somewhere in '63. some people think that the 80's produced hideous music. some prime examples? Prince, The Police, Madonna during her 'virgin' phase (i'm going get handbag-whacked by every fag for stating this), Fleetwood Mac. if you don't know any of this, simply ask your father for more details. Pouring Rain is evidence that the 60's were equally bad too. in fact, here's the lyrics for our parent's sakes:


Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,
Telling me just what a fool I've been.
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain,
And let me be alone again.

Now the only girl I've ever loved has gone away.
Looking for a brand new start!
But little does she know that when she left that day.
Along with her she took my heart.

Rain, please tell me, now does that seem fair
For her to steal my heart away when she don't care
I can't love another, when my heart's somewhere far away.

Rain, won't you tell her that I love her so
Please ask the sun to set her heart aglow
Rain in her heart and let the love we know start to grow.



doesn't it make you feel like putting on a tie-dyed tee and a mini-skirt now? 'Listen To The Rhythm of The Falling Rain' is one of those songs that apparently got turned into a muzak classic. and if you're wondering what in the world muzak is, simply head to the nearest public toilet in any government institution (or the nearest NTUC supermarket) and listen for that irritating tinkling piano music that sounds like a has-been jazz band entertaining guests at an alumni prom of the 1965 batch. all that saccharine sweet 'kling kling kling' of the piano keys seems to have the same laxative/diuretic effect as your father whistling beside you to hurry up and pee during your kindergarten days. the medical profession should explore the link between this little bit of trivia.

to digress a bit, the father, being a piano teacher collects plenty of CDs which feature the instrument that he makes his living with. he owns everything piano-related from Maksim to the ABRSM (Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music) Practical Examination discs (he buys the new syllabus for every grade biannually) to Christian songs of praise to all these random pianists with names similar to those you find in those arty foreign films. if you ask me, most of them are pretty relaxing stuff that you would enjoy with something edible from Marks & Spencer's or Harrod's. or some organic food. or during the Lord's supper.

of course, he also has his fair share of bad buys. one of them being an entire box-set of 'romantic oldies' interpreted in the traditional muzak format. it's stuff that Richard Clayderman would play during his professional and free time. don't get me wrong, Clayderman is a really superb pianist, but something could be done about the image his music portrays. same goes to Kenny G and Kitaro.

the box-set CDs basically contain every single hit lovey-dovey song from the 60s up to the 80s. things that you prolly heard somewhere because you didn't have a choice to (line-dancing sessions, canto pubs, NTUC supermarket). i have no idea why, but they have a lot of Abba muzak hits in it too. Money Money Money, Dancing Queen, Waterloo. do they sound like love to you? ok lah. love in a gay way. but the really horrible thing about these songs is that they grow on you and not in a positive way. you hear these songs once and they are forever ingrained in your musical memory. it's much easier to memorize the general tune of these oldies compared to let's say, a Ludacris song. that's why rap songs need choruses and lots of foul language, otherwise no one would remember the lyrics to 'Lean Back'. how many of you secretly desire in your heart to tell the pregnant woman blocking the MRT doors to 'move bitch, get out of the way, get out of the way, get out of the way' instead of 'ex-kiu me'?

back to the father anyways. he loved his muzak so much that he always has to bring them along on church trips to Kuala Lumpur. and we're not talking about a discman and he and his muzak in his own NTUC-resemblant private world. i'm talking about a 4-6 hour road trip down the North-South highway with endless 'kling kling kling' on the car speakers. the father loved 'Pouring Rain' and 'Que Serra Serra' so much that he basically played both songs to death. not forgetting to mention, nearly to my death as well.

thank the apple for ipods and Sennheiser for them sound-canceling headphones.


Thursday, January 25, 2007

project 355: all smokers are friends

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there are 4 vices in my life, and all of them begin with the letter 'C'. Cash, Cock, Cigarettes and Calcohol. obviously, alcohol is spelt without the C. but just so that i can fit in with the 'C' theme, alcohol shall be spelt as Calcohol in this post. and anyways, doesn't Calcohol remind you of industrial fluids and petrol station and windscreen wiper water? all of them very intoxicating, which is the point of drinking Calcohol in the first place.

Cock, who cares? everybody likes cock, be it the one who has one, the one who craves one or even the one who has one and CRAVES for one.
Cash, one can never have enough of it.
Calcohol, expensive but worth every cent.
but Cigarettes, ah.... there's the winning ticket. it's not exactly very expensive, but still gives you 1/10th of the high that Calcohol gives you. and given that Cigarettes are 1/10 of the price of Calcohol anyways, it pretty much makes sense. the basic cigarette is the perfect accessory for any occassion. you can whip out a cigarette in the middle of town and it instantly ups your street cred by about ten points. black SKL cherry cigarettes do it for thirty and a cigar, fifty. but whipping out the other 'C' in public drops it by a thousand.

but the most important function of the cigarette (besides helping one to relax and upping your x-factor) would be that it's the perfect lubricant at any social setting. smokers and other smoking strangers tend to get along pretty well. there's no scientific study done to prove this, but i think it all boils down to the fact that smokers are all going to die of oral/lung cancers sooner or later. so like all the smokers are prolly thinking, 'hey let's be friends since we're all gonna suffer from yellowed teeth and halitosis and deformed babies.' at least that's what i hope they are thinking.

and smoking in the heartlands is one fine example of how two smoking strangers can actually strike up a conversation about everything and nothing at all. just a week ago, i chatted up with the upstairs neighbour whom i've always thought was mentally-challenged or something. apparently, the people who live above me own a son. there was an entire week where all i could ever hear the son scream were the words 'ZHU BAH JIE'. ZHU BAH JIE is actually one of the dudes from the ancient chinese literature called: JOURNEY TO THE WEST. apparently, a monk and a bunch of misfits all travelled from china (presumably, because the story orginated from China) all the way to the west (once again, presumably not America but prolly like Tibet or Nepal or Timbarktoo or somewhere with temples and Buddha relics) to retrieve some scriptures. ZHU BAH JIE was a human who looked like a pig (complete with 50% body fat and a snout).

the boy kept shouting 'ZHU BAH JIE' from his balcony window in his extremely nasal voice. and for one entire week, i presumed he was either stark raving mad or simply just ushering in the lunar new year (this year, being the year of the pig). it wasn't until i listened in to one of his phone coversations (while smoking, coincidentally) when i realized that he wasn't mentally-challenged, but rather morally-challenged. he was boasting to his (presumably) school mate about his sexual experience with his girlfriend. and complaining about how small her intimate parts were ('chee bye hen siao leh!') do note that he didn't at all sound like 18. more like the voice of a kid still attempting to complete his Science (Phy/Chem) homework.

a few weeks later, this teenager (who looked like a secondary school kid) saw me smoking along the corridor. he instantly offered me a stick of NEXT red. once he opened his mouth, i immediately recognized him as the bastard with the nasal voice. god knows why he gave me a free stick. but instantly we connected. not that we talked about anything at all. and it's not like i enjoyed the stick of red anyways. but still, i've kinda loosened up on him and promised myself that i would offer him a green if i ever bumped into him again. and of course, to ask him to elaborate on the 'chee bye hen siao leh!' comment.

about 4 days later, i was practicing my normal routine of having a cigarette before my 30 minute run. normally this would involve a cigarette, short shorts, a t-shirt without sleeves and my ipod. any passerby would have definitely noticed the gay guy with blonde streaks puffing away at 8am in the morning. so along came this ah bang with a mop of extremely unruly hair, tapered (and extremely torn) jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it had survived 20 Led Zepplin concerts. he was indeed your typical mat rocker, except that for some unknown reason, he was carrying an extremely large branch (as in tree branch).

and when a disheveled mat rocker holding a large tree branch (instead of an electric guitar or some drum sticks) approaches you, your fight or flight instinct would normally kick in. apparently, i'm a bit on the non-observant side. i thought he was just part of the passing heartland's screen saver. when i did actually notice him, flight must have convinced fight to run away as well. anyways, mat rocker didn't whack me with his wooden stick. instead he needed a light for his other stick, a Marlboro Red.

and thus began our 20 minutes conversation about his bird, literally. apparently the reason why he was holding a tree branch was so that he could catch birds with it. i have no idea how he was going to do that given that birds seem to only have a 'flight' system ingrained into them whenever it comes to humans. but he wanted to catch a prize bird so that he could bring them to holland village and compete against other retired ah peks and mat rockers for the cash prize of about a thousand. and you can actually sell away your prized birds for about a thousand plus bucks if it actually garners prizes. he even pointed to his HDB apartment to indicate to me the 6 cages hanging from his corridor. 20 minutes just flew by.

and thus a new friend is made! now if only smoking could get me the rest of the 'C's.


Wednesday, January 24, 2007

project 355: up-lifting questions


being the curious little prick that i am, i know that many of my questions of life will remained unanswered until i arrive at the gates of heaven (higher chances to be at the gates of hell, though). you could wiki the entire 'pedia, go through the latest edition of Microsoft Encarta (the last time i used it was 1998), ask Singapore's Brainiest Taxi Driver, or perhaps even pray very hard to God, but the answers you want will occur as often as a pay increment in the local nurses' payroll. and how often do you read about upping the salary of the people who take care of your sick loved ones? the payroll is relative to the quality of health care in the country. so grab your word editors and start writing those letters to the ST Forum.

but like i said, i have questions and i need some answers. and some of the really hard ones are those like 'is penis size almost always related to the size of your nose?' or 'is penis size almost always related to people with big feet?' or my personal demon that has been haunting me for ages to come: 'penis size relative to bladder volume'. this question is derived from years of palpating the bladders of my patients. the bladder is just slightly above the penis (duh?) and below the abs. it seems like the bigger the bladder, the bigger the 'adder'. of course you could go below the abs, further below the bladder and right down to the drawers and just find out the answers for yourself.

that's the hardcore and dirty questions that i don't tell anyone else other than blog readers. but the ones that i DO tell to the general public, would be the boring ones like 'where do babies come from?' and 'where is Ontario?' and 'what is Ontario in the first place?'. once again, everybody wants local context, and the perfect example being the Urine Detecting Device signs you always see at the old 1-6-11-14 elevators in HDB apartments.

for all of you atas people who haven't lived in a HDB apartment before or had the bad fortune of walking into a HDB estate by accident and start thinking you're in the slums of chua chu kang, 1-6-11-14 is derived from the only lift-landings that the elevator stops at. so if you stay at the 3rd storey, you could climb two flights of stairs or take the lift and then descend three instead. either way, it kinda sucks.

and speaking of all things that suck, my estate's elevators apparently hold very special memories for me. i had an ex-boyfriend who used to send me home after drama practice during the polytechnic days (he was the sounds and lighting guy). the arts apparently made us very horny by nature. so the elevator was THE place for quickies. getting from 1 to 14 takes nearly a minute. let's just say that we went from 1 to 14 to 1 about 3-4 times for each quickie. and it doesn't help that the ex-boyfriend's dong-dong was quite a stretch, which basically translates into more distance to achieve and thus resulting in more 1 to 14 to 1's.

which brings me to my burning unanswered question: whether the Urine Detecting Device is really a functioning thing or not? or maybe just there for deterrent purposes. can you imagine if there really was a security camera inside recording down my every orgasmic moment in the elevator? and the security guards are having a laugh somewhere within the Cisco headquarters ('wah, today he slower than usual ah, must be the dry run!!!'). if you ask me, the UDD setup isn't really working. you find plenty of bodily fluids (i'm a big contributor) in the lifts all the time. so much so that i'm used to it. and sometimes, you even hear people singing in the lift. you can hear stomping noises in the lifts. i think i once hear someone moan in the lift even. is all this recorded down? if it is, then wah... pai seh leh!

but still, one ought to count their blessings. at least the people at my block are still considerate enough to leave some standing and coming space that isn't contaminated with spit, pee or semen. it's always enough for me to do the 1-14-1s and contribute to the mess.


Tuesday, January 23, 2007

project 355: my prison break habit

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prison break is over-rated. prison break is cheesy. prison break is cliche. prison break has plenty of 'callefares' from HOUSE. and worse of all, prison break has a lot of loopholes. we get it that you need to secretly tattoo the prison map onto your body (as if the prison guards can't tell). but do you need to tattoo a reminder to make an allen wrench out of a bolt? that's why they have mind maps, Wentworth!

a simple drama about a brother getting in to get his sibling out of jail and you need 22 episodes to do that? plus season 2 start already (into 14 episodes already). if you need that many episodes just to get out of jail hor, you might as well stay in there already lah! in nursing and the hospital setting, it's pretty much the same. all of these nurses study so hard to get into the health-care industry. and for what? so that they can get their patients out of there... ALIVE. of course, the catch being that it's legal and all. though it's not as exciting as doing it illegally, i would still take at most ONE episode to do something like that.

there's plenty of planning to be considered when tackling the daily tasks of being a registered nurse. coordinating with the physio- and occupational therapists, scheduling the patients for the various procedures, arranging follow-up appointments, constantly reminding the relatives that their father's not dead yet and to 'please please please come and bring him home'. this basically makes us slaves to the phone. and the shitty thing about the phone is that it's two-way communication. meaning that there are other people in the hospital, dying to finish their tasks and get (the patients or even themselves) out of there as well. the phone at the nurses' counter is always ringing non-stop. if i get a dollar for each time the phone rings in the hospital, i would have enough to pay someone else to answer the bloody phone for me.

Michael Scofield (AKA Wentworth Miller) had his okay-hot body of tattoos to indicate the quickest route to the fire escape. the nurse has to recall a million and one different extension and mobile phone numbers every day. normally there will be a folder filled with these numbers lying around, but it's practically missing half the time. and you have plenty of time to boil tonic soup for your loved ones before you ever get to find it again. which is why, i do a Wentworth Miller. i write down all these extension numbers on the back of my hand. and these things just accumulate throughout the day. and sooner or later the whole hand is just filled with numbers and medical terms. i kinda think it looks damn macho. plus it takes a whole new literal meaning with the phrase 'i know these numbers like the back of my hand'.

of course, 'i have these numbers on my fingertips' would not be that practical, even though it's neater. bad eyesight, see what shit? ok lah, i see the shit stuck underneath the nails.


Monday, January 22, 2007

project 355: how to link ji pa with the A*MY

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if i don't die of lung cancer or AIDS or liver failure first, i will most prolly die of heart disease. and i owe this to a certain deep fried and oily (like those over-oiled psuedo-muscular people you see on Men's Health covers) food. the culprit in question? JI PA! i consider myself merely the victim because it's not my fault that ji pa has to be deep fried and oily. far from being the culprit, okay!

but first, let me just describe to you what ji pa is, in case you are one of those homo-health freaks who freak out at any food product that doesn't have the words low/diet/reduced/non (salt/sugar/fat/shit) in it. whatever good shit you are missing out in this wonderful world of ours. ji pa is basically chicken cutlet that's bathed in heaps of seasoning and chill powder. they definitely don't stinge on the poweders. and it's deep fried, no less (i don't think the powdered seasonings will stick on if it's boiled or steamed right?)! ji pa is actually considered as a popular street side snack in Taiwan. though it's hard to consider a chicken cutlet the size of two African-American palms as a 'snack'. how in the world do those Taiwanese stay so slim then? must be all the break-dancing and singing of those emo chinese songs.

but really. it's a blessing that someone decided to bring about the goodness of Taiwanese street snacks to Singapore. at least to me, i'm really grateful that they did. it brings back plenty of memories of my A*MY days. i'm not going to say the 'A' word in it's entirety for fear of being googled and discovered (happened to me before). being subjected to interrogation. getting probed (as in verbal interrogation probing). all that worrying about whether your reputation as a joker in the A will get you out of the deep shit you found yourself. if it was anything like you see in those porn videos, i would be more than happy to submit. but alas, the khaki and green people are not very keen on their own people de-faming the organization.

but anyways, i had the good fortune (thanks to the 'A') to visit Taiwan as a medic attached to one of the many units in the A. it was a hell of a good time eating so much of all that oily Taiwanese street trash. all the support personnel were stuck in the forest most of the time. but one could place orders with the local take-away shop and they would deliver to the actual part of the forest itself. as long as it was beside a road, they will deliver, albeit a little soggy. but who cares? when your camo-pants are caked with mud and the A-issued food tastes no better than recycled scraps from the Singapore garbage pile, even recycled scraps of the Singapore garbage pile (caked with mud) tastes good.

and here's the moment you've been waiting for: THE GAY ENCOUNTER! i was attached to a driver for three days and three nights. and when i say attached, i mean both physically and detail-wise. spending fours days and three nights cooped up in a vehicle really bonds two guys together. sorta like a mini Jack and Ennis scenario. except substitute tents and campfires for A-vehicles and gas cookers. not that we had sex in the vehicle or anything like that. but from day two, i had the inkling the driver was gay. during night two, i tried to test the water. it was freaking cold, so we slept in the front seat with the sleeping bag as our blanket. as our legs were in awkward positions, i stretched out my legs and tried doing some footwork. basically foot landed near partner's groin and foot was moving.

and you know, your mind tends to think ahead of you in these cases, always imagining more than it should be. up till today, i'm still not sure whether i will 'footing' the gearstick or footing 'the gearstick', if you catch my drift. to cut the story short, i fell asleep and next morning when i woke up, he was outside peeing and scratching his ass. the rest of the trip, we acted like nothing happened. and perhaps nothing really happened. 2 months after the trip, i found his profile on sgboy (or now better known as trevvy). we exchanged messages over the internet for about a week or so. i never asked him about that night. eventually we lost contact. oh well, moral of the story, i should just learn to trust my gaydar more.

alright, i realized that i have digressed from ji pa to a faux Brokeback experience. amazing how i do it everytime. hopefully the A doesn't end up finding this, otherwise i'm so screwed. but hey, why should i be worried? afterall, i'm out of the organization already.

oh well, the A can jolly well go kiss my A.


Sunday, January 21, 2007

project 355: white white bible, black black heart



I NEED A NEW BIBLE.

it never ever crossed my mind that i would say these words. at least not during the days when i'm still pretty out, loud and proud. but it's true actually. there comes a time when every church-going person needs to get a new bible. be it the King James, New International or even New Revised Standard Version (they make the gay-bashing bits sound more rainbow-friendly; eg: effeminate was swapped for male prostitutes). the church that i have attended since young (and am still attending apparently) only supports the King James Version, which they claim is the most direct and 'truest' translation from god. whatever that means.

the bible is apparently the single best-selling book in the history of mankind. i actually thought that bragging right would have belonged to J.K Rowling and the Potter series. i just googled up this fact and they actually have the audacity to say that the bible would top the Internation Best-seller lists if not for the fact that they REMOVED it from those lists. tsk tsk. all that pride. comes before a fall, i hope.

people buy new bibles for many reasons. maybe their bibles got soaked in blood and human bits during a missionary trip to the cannibalistic tribes of Timbarktoo. maybe they want to get someone a bible as a gift (the parents did that for my 21st birthday when all i wanted was an ipod video). or maybe they are simply just feeling guilty and want a fresh start. i've always believed that when somebody buys a new bible, it's extremely telling of one's faith. it can only mean three things actually:

- their faith in the lord is still going damn bloody strong
- their faith in the lord is waning
- their faith in the lord has already reached the depths of hell

i belong to the third category. if one could combine chinese beliefs and christianity together, my faith in the lord has descended to the 17th level of hell since the day i fell in love with all things phallic. i'm carnal, but not bad enough still to be put into the 18th level which is reserved for people who have committed heinous crimes. sodomy is not that heinous lah.

getting a new bible is about the same as shopping for anything else in Singapore. it's always about size. either you upsize, you maintain or you downsize. for me, it's really a downsize. i used to have a pocket bible that could really fit in my cargo pants. of course, you would have another bulge on top of the one you already have. this is the one the parents got for me during the 21st birthday. it was a sweet gesture on their part lah. inside the bible, the father wrote something like 'Only Jesus, Always Jesus. Love Mom and Dad'. there was always more than one man in my heart, that's all i can say.

i went on to brunei for 13 months with the bible collecting bacteria and mould in some random shelf in the house. i have never heard of a church in brunei where the state religion is Islam. the parents being the staunch christians that they were insisted that i bring the bible along. they always sent those daily bible supplements (eg. Daily Bread) in the hope that i would actually bother to read them. they had the same fate as the bible that i left back in Singapore. when i returned home, the brother found a better use for the bible. he actually reads it on a 5 times a week basis! so i decided to just let him have it for himself. it was for a noble cause, i guess.

thus having to attend church weekly (once again), i had no choice but to resume using my previous bible which was actually a children's version. the irony was that it was so freaking heavy (i think about 5 kilos) that i can't imagine which crazy kid would want to carry it to church every sunday. this children's bible was bought during 1997. i think back then the kids were already carrying those heavy schoolbags filled with enough textbooks, exercise books and stationary to open their own Popular book store. no wonder the kids these days look so hypertrophied and muscular. yum. i'm definitely not looking forward to the future where kids will just be carrying PDAs and styluses to school.

the children's bible was awfully embarrassing. it had little bits and sections scattered all over the various chapters describing life during the bible times, wholesome activities that kids could do with their parents and various other lame stuff. it prolly made a good read during the uber-boring sermons and messages of early 1997. but i have been reading those bloody sections for 9 years coming. enough is enough. i deserve a new bible! and thus i went bible-shopping at the christian bookstore they have in my church.

come to think of it, i've always wanted a white bible. it looks so zen and so holy at the same time. it would prolly even emanate it's own aura if it could. i mean, just look at the picture. doesn't it just gives you visuals of holy matrimonies, choruses of angels, white musk, vanilla, clean white briefs, ang mohs and marshmallows? apparently, i didn't expect bibles to be so expensive. most of them in the bookshop were in the price ranges of 25-55. i'm not going to spend so much on something that i'm prolly going to be reading or even touching once a week only! thank goodness they had this entire series of 'gift & award bibles' which were selling at only $7.20. meaning that it was meant for the giving, not the keeping. but who cares, it's cheap and it's pretty easy of the forearms. and look at the features: words of Jesus in red print, an aesthetically-pleasing cover, and a really calming font.

i entered the church today with a heart that's blacker than sin. i left the church feeling a really good afterglow radiating all round me. i think it's the white $7.20 bible.


Friday, January 19, 2007

project 355: i wanna be a hand-drawn macho mary


i've always wanted to be one of those superbly goateed macho marys with brains. packed with 101% muscle and perhaps 5% intellect. i'm currently at 30% muscle and 5% intellect. the good thing is that i've already attained half of that requisite. now if only i could combine binary fission and simple diffusion together and sort of reproduce and then spread out the percentages....

as for the goateed part, it's a bit more of a hassle. being chinese, i seem to have this inability to grow facial hair on the cheek and jaw area. come to think of it, i have more pubic hair than facial hair on last count. and this is inclusive of the fact that i do trim occasionally. but then again, it's nothing that cosmetic surgery can't solve, what with hair transplants being all the rage these days.

thus it was with great pleasure that i found some art done by a gay japanese artist named Kei Chang. found while surfing for homo hentai, no less. it's silly enough to drool over pixelated pictures of naked men. so what's it then, to be creaming your pants over manga style pictures of hunky japanese gay men (and they're not even nude)? Keichang even managed to come up with a picture of a Starbucks barista looking really hunky and hot (and we're not talking about coffee here). apparently, i do have the steams and the hots for them people in green and black. maybe it has something to do with waking up in the morning (after sex), to a cup of grande latte. or maybe it's just the staff discounts.

still, the art is so damn good that for some reason, it makes me feel like munching on those single yet elaborately-wrapped japanese snacks (which is what i'm doing now). and thus with snacks and plenty of carbs in tow, i began my google-quest for more of such artworks. i was pretty sure that some good homo hentai could be found. i figured that if there were things like the Gay Plumbers/Milkmen/Firemen/Dancers/Chippendales Alliances in the U.S. and A, a Gay Artists Alliance would be a no-less. afterall, there are quite a considerable number of gay artists all over the world (the boyfriend being one of them).

sure enough, i found another brilliant artist who's artwork was worthy of orgasms. to top it off this one's british some more. to digress a bit, it's almost every singaporean's (irregardless of sexuality) dream to attain a foreign accent. the maitre d' at posh restaurants give you the better wine list, you get better service at the atas boutiques, even the hawker centre auntie downstairs gives you extra gravy/fishballs/soup/chilli/clams/eggs/etc. (which basically translates into extra calories) out of a good heart and aural pleasure from your accent.



britdoodz (warning! contains male nudity, not that i'm complaining) has really excellent hand-drawn artwork. so witty some more. it's really great when you find something gay-related and humorous on the internet that isn't gay-bashing at all. not that there are a lot of crystal meth users in singapore, so it's a tad bit difficult to relate to the gay community and drugs. but we have poppers, and for that we should be extremely grateful (*sniiiiiiiiiiff*).

still, 101% muscle and being a muscle mary/mariah/may/marianne (i personally prefer to be a Muscle Magdalene) is a global thing. everybody understands muscle when they see some. and apparently, after all the stress and the munching of japanese snacks while typing this post, 30% of muscle has prolly dropped to like 25%. enough to warrant an immediate gym session. now nobody understands what the shit i'm talking about.


Thursday, January 18, 2007

project 355: you mean there's a Q in MOS?

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everybody has a favourite alphabet. mine's G (for GAY, GROIN, GENTLEMEN, GODDESS and perhaps GOOBLEDEGOOK). of course, a favourite alphabet must also lead to a much detested one. one needs to balance out both sides of the spectrum, you see. and i have to say, Q has to be the most redundant alphabet of all (which is the reason which fuels my hate). don't get me wrong, not that i totally hate Q. i mean, afterall, Q brought us the words QUADRICEPS (yum yum if you've got nice ones!) QUEER, QUEEN and QUIDDITCH. but she gave us equally distubing words like QUILL (who on earth even though of writing with a feather?), QUALITY (the 'IT' word nowadays for ISO certification and often associated with audits and auditors; not that they give any work associated with quality anyways), and QUEUE. QUEUE being the topic that i shall be talking about today.

i hate having to queue for anything. i get very impatient with old folks transferring money at ATMs. i get pissed off when teenagers insert last minute orders of McSpicy set meals at McDonald's. i start using swear words when people are 15 minutes late for their appointments (not that i'm any better at sticking to punctuality).

and that was the case at MOS when my clubbing mates, April and Gina, had to queue for 2 hours just to get into a free party. obviously it was a free party (sponsored by whosgoing.sg) and everyone wanted to be early so that they could get 1-for-1 offers on house pours and shit. given that MOS housepour jugs are 41 bloody dollars, it really did make financial sense.

at 8.30, the queue was scarce. only 30 plus teeny-hip-hoppy-boppers trying very hard to act like a posse of cool people. AND ALL OF THEM WERE UGLY JEANS AND RANDOM T-SHIRT WEARING CHINESE PEOPLE. like can somebody give me an eeeeeeyurrrrrr. at 9.25pm when the three of us finally joined the queue it was already about 200 plus people. and thus began our long wait for admission. it's free lah, we can't complain. but the irritating thing that drove me nuts was the fact that people were still arriving out of nowhere to join the queue. it's like the queue decided to indulge in some binary fission and simply split and grew more people out of random places. friends of friend of friends of friends joining the queue halfway. that's really screwed up.

when we finally did get into MOS (that was already 11.15pm), the three of us were (to quote an army term) happy like fuck. given that we had braved the humidity and cigarette smoke in our clubbing attire, it was worth it. but alas, another queue awaited us: The Bag Counter. apparently the bag counter was full. i have never come across a bag counter that was full before. the counter staff told us to come back in a half hour's time to check again. so we had a round of $41 drinks. 30 minutes later, we checked again, the staff told us very nicely to bugger off and come back in another 30 minutes. like what the hell right?

so we did the incredulous, we partied with our bags. and thank goodness that i didn't carry a humongous bowling bag to club that day. i think the public who have watched public service announcements one too many times at the MRT stations might have thought that it was 'a suspicious-looking baggage' (reason for being suspicious: the colours were too clashing) and immediately reported me to the MOS staff.

anyways, it wasn't until dear Gina had the brilliant idea of dumping our bags in the toilet that our spirits were lifted. and by dumping, i don't mean like we flush our bags down the toilet bowl in the hope that they will resurface sooner or later in the rivers of Clarke Quay (the same way you sometimes see blood-stained sanitary napkins floating down the rivers of Singapore too).

and this is evidence that sometimes in life, if you want something, all you gotta do is ask nicely. april and gina asked the nice cleaner auntie whether she could put her stuff in the janitor's closet. auntie (bless her soul) was really sweet enough to allow it. and thus bag-free and (given the waiting time at the bag counter) alcohol-free, we had the time of our lives with another three more jugs of expensive house pours. it did cross my mind that someone would sneak into the closet and steal our bags. but 3 hours later when we decided to leave MOS, our bags were still safe in the (somewhat dehydrated and clorox-smelling) arms of our dear cleaner auntie.

thank the heavens that we didn't have to queue for a taxi post-clubbing. if i had to, i would definitely start using my 2nd favorite letter of the alphabet: F.


Wednesday, January 17, 2007

project 355: the zhang bloodline shall carry on!

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i was rummaging through the cabinet-laden home yesterday for magic markers to colour in the rainbow for project 355: bak kua. and by chance, i found hard evidence of the brother's sexuality in his drawers (that didn't really come out right, did it?). as much as i think he could have done better with his choice of porn, i'm still very relieved that the family line will carry on without me having to attempt to pro-create life. really, i can't imagine myself plugging my USB into the port. but who am i to judge? most cases, it's just plug-and-play.

there's no need for IVF or petri-dishes or sexually-suggestive scenes of me in the hospital trying to wank my load into sterile plastic containers. thank goodness. no need for me to adopt from Africa, Mongolia or Timbarktoo. thank the heavens. just several Jeremy Jrs. running around at the playground with whichever church-going girlfriend that the brother picks for his wife.

i hate kids anyways. but i like men. i'm saving my fluids for the men.


Tuesday, January 16, 2007

project 355: the sun should kiss my ass (so that it will turn brown)

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i seem to have very bad luck at my attempts to turn golden brown. apparently, everytime i plan to go to the public pool to get a tan, the sun is shining like a Stephen King novel. however, by the time i actually get to the pool, that stupid ball of fire runs and hides behind some clouds. thus, hindering all forms of sunlight and my chances of becoming an instant mat.

today was no exception. the sun kept peeking in and out of the clouds like Indian dancers behind a cypress. i waited for 45 minutes before becoming fed-up with the sun's game of hide-and-seek. 12 laps in the pool later, i was gone to the toilet and setting off for home.

walking out of the swimming complex, the sun suddenly shone like there was no tomorrow. chee bye. i hate Murphy's Law.


Monday, January 15, 2007

project 355: bak kua

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the maternal grandmother offered to buy bak kua for us today. every lunar new year, the grandmother is the only person i know, who offers to queue at this particular bak kua store in chinatown, FOR FREE. apparently this really good store requires the typical customer to spend at least 1.5 hours in a queue. this sweet, barbequed, high fat, high sugar and high cholesterol meat is always a welcome treat during the festive season. now, if all the men in this world were as sweet and hunky and beefy and gay like bak kua, i would be first in line.

come to think of it, i have had my turn already. and look what i've got: A BOYFRIEND! (*sparkles*)


Sunday, January 14, 2007

project 355: just carry on

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thanks to Topshop and punk rock, we now have an overflow of skull motifs in our local fashion scene (and i'm a victim of it too). from paul frank to I.D.Zone, there are more skulls than the dead buried in Chua Chu Kang. everything wild, bad, naughty, rebellious and non-mainstream is represented by the skull (and crossbones/scimitars). but this interpretation of the bones is really pushing at the seams of fashion. a relatively well-dressed man in striped shirt and pants, carrying a bag in the shape of a full-body skeleton... in public transport some more. and before i could even say 'humerus', he left my camera and the picture in a blur.

this just reinforces the fact that some skeletons really, should remain in the closet.


Saturday, January 13, 2007

project 355: ali baba

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i spent the afternoon and most of the evening at the boyfriend's today. and while being the kaypoh that i am, i started looking around the various shelves and bric-a-brac lying around his cosy (because we had sex there before) room. and lo and behold, i found something that belonged to my childhood:

A STACK OF ALI BABA CARDS.

something that i bet most kids of the next generation would never get to see very soon. and this is very true given our era of Xboxes, Nintendo DS-es, Playstations and Wiis. even simple ol' skool games like Boggle and Yahtzee have to be churned out into gaming console games before any of these kids would play it again. in fact, whatever happened to board games? Battleship? Guess Who? Connect 4? all not considered a game unless it comes complete with sound effects, a console controller, vibrating function, cheatcodes and hidden levels.

in fact, Ali Baba is one of the simplest games that i've ever known. you need a basic knowledge of numbers and plenty of luck to win. players draw random cards from their decks and proceed to lay them face down. once ready, the concealed cards are revealed and basically, the smaller number beats the bigger one. star cards trump everything else. there's another version of this game that comes in aquatic and marine life with mines and i think the submarine being the trump cards.

i remember spending hours on end playing Ali Baba with the brother during our younger and much closer days. now i can't imagine playing a game without a game console controller. anything that doesn't involve magic spells, weapons, professions, power levelling and HP makes me awfully bored.

but of course, i make exceptions for Full Body Contact Twister.


Friday, January 12, 2007

project 355: superstitious passerby auntie

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ok so there's no auntie in this picture at all who looks like a superstitious passerby. in fact, you'll need a really vivid imagination completed with a MILF fetish to see this picture as something that looks like a woman in her mature years.

i took this yesterday during the 15 minutes interval break of Chestnuts!: Portrait of a Forbidden Geisha. it was showing at the Drama Centre located at the National Library. and if you ask me, the architecture and design of the National Library doesn't exactly wow my ass away. i mean, it's breezy at the foyer. great. plenty of glass for transparence. hoorah. clean lines to denote a safe haven to bring your kids for saturday afternoon reading sessions. ole. but then again, don't we have plenty of buildings just like that in Singapore? ok lah, maybe i haven't been to the rooftop gardens and the mid-level gardens and all that green-inspired architecture, but still, that's what the botanical gardens are for right (which i have never ever stepped into my entire life, i swear; you can blame my school and their excursions to the science centre for that)?

so there i was finally getting some form of inspiration for project 355 at the National Library. i took the first shot with the flash on my camera phone. and do note that i pointed my camera phone UPWARDS, so as not to include people in the photo. it didn't come out pretty well, all black and dark because of the terrible lighting. it actually looks like a close-up of Enrique's Iglesias ex-mole when you come to think of it.

and along comes this 40 plus year-old woman dressed in the most horrendous pink dress i've ever seen. it was prolly some cheap fabric from THAT FASHION. it's like so grotesque that you don't even want to be caught anywhere near it, so you use your finger and point to it from like 10 metres away and say 'Wah, i bet the dress is from THAT FASHION!'

anyways, she came up to me looking really irritated and sallow (the dress was really not for her skin tone). and our conversation went something like that (translated from my very broken B4 chinese):


Auntie: Boy ah! Can you please delete that photo from your camera hor?

Me: (irritated, infringement-of-my-privacy kinda look) And why should i do that?

Auntie: Just delete the photo can? i cannot be in a photo.

Me: Auntie, it's my camera and anyways, i wasn't taking a photo of you. i pointed my camera upwards at the ceiling. you are not in the photo.

Me: just delete the photo ah boy. i cannot be in a photograph. (walks away hurriedly)



she walked to a side after the conversation. i'm thinking she's lingering around to see whether i had the photo deleted from the camera or not. maybe she was hoping that all 21 grams of her soul would fly out from my camera phone once i deleted the picture. i did lah. because it didn't have her inside and besides it came out looking really bad (maybe it was her handy work).

but whatever it is, i felt pretty surprised that there were still such superstitious people in this day and age that felt so strongly about such beliefs. i told my friends who were waiting in the theatre, they all said the same thing: SIAO!


Thursday, January 11, 2007

project 355: the roof

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just as the german sadomasochists have safewords (eg. MARCHE, BRUSCHETTA, SCHWARZENEGGER) to indicate an end to their bondage experiences, i too, as a smoker working in a hospital setting, have mine. my colleagues directly translate 'i'm going for a 13-minute break' into 'oh, he's going to smoke again'.

so off i run to my favourite smoking spot which basically overlooks a majority of the city and a certain popular tourist destination. there's plenty of privacy, a good view, a certain amount of silence, and plenty of cool air coming from an air-conditioning ventilator. and believe me, it's not easy to look for a spot to smoke in the hospital. since day one of employment, i have scoured the hospital for smoking spots. this is the best so far. because no one else smokes here, judging from the lack of cigarette butts.

but i really like smoking on the roof. it's takes the mind away from the hustle and bustle of nursing. plus there's artificial grass planted on the roof. on really cooling nights, i just lie on the grass and puff away while watching the purple and lavender thing we call a nightsky. and the best thing? it takes 4 minutes to walk there, 5 minutes to puff, and another 4 to walk back to my ward. before you know it, i'm back in the ward. my colleagues use their own safeword here: 'hey jon, what fragrance are you using today ah?'

it's green and it begins with the letter M.


Wednesday, January 10, 2007

project 355

inspired by fellow blogger, cynic, (who is handsome, catholic, witty, intelligent and on top of it, very much SINGLE and very much STRAIGHT), i have decided to start my very own project 365 as well. check out cynic's project 365 and you'll know what i mean. apparently, after an entire day of bullshit from the hospital, i really am too mentally tired to think of anything witty to entertain you guys. one paragraph can, but 'O'-level styled written compositions.... you come and write for me lah!

cut me some slack though, because it's 10 days into 2007 and project 365 just dropped to project 355. took me a while to decide whether i wanted to commit to something like that. but since i workout and take 40 minute runs almost everyday, i think the mind equally deserves some exercise too. and given that i only manage to read the papers on every other day, i think i ought to at least force myself to go online to blog and read some news as well.

so what will i be posting? random pictures of hospital life, my route home, places where you can wow the pants off your date on the first meeting, artistically-inclined photos, places where i smoke in the hospital, things i put in my mouth for sustenance (food, drinks, men's genitals, etc), and perhaps if you pay me, Steven-Lim-esque pictures of myself. starting tomorrow.

and ladies, please ask cynic for his number. it's the least i can do for plagarizing his project 365.


Saturday, January 06, 2007

everybody has resolutions

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doodling while waiting for work to end.


Friday, January 05, 2007

two-oh-oh-sheven


(NB: i realize i talk a lot of nonsense, but i assure you, it's all about being caught up in the revelry of the new year)

i never knew Singapore had so many people living in it until i went down to the Fullerton during the new year's eve. i mean, 4 million plus people seems so insignificant when you compare it to America and their (insert unknown statistic that trumps our little red dot's anytime). plus you've gotta factor in the fact that there are many other who would rather stay indoors than stick around with the crowd. families, couples in hotel rooms, couples watching fireworks from the hotel rooms (doggy style, no less), people working shifts, people working at the bars and clubs, etc. you would have thought that 2 million people would be either at home or work. which leaves behind another 2 million roaming the streets of Singapore, all dying to be caught up in the rapture of 2006.

but perhaps, and just perhaps, on new year's eve only, nobody want to spend a depressing night alone on such a festive occasion. i've been through years of adolescence thinking about beach parties and counting down and kissing under mistletoe during every festive countdown. and apparently, as an adult now with added responsibilities, the cool thing is that you get that freedom to take part in as much of the festivities as you would like. i dunno how to make this sound un-desperate, but the thing is i never want to spend a new year's eve alone, ever again.

i remember during the end of 1999, i spent new year's eve in church with the family. the church my family attended was somehow hinting through the sermons that the return of Jesus and his hollaback crew of angels would be at the turnover of the millennium. and you know how religion works around mystical numbers and ominous signs of the end times. apparently 2000 really did it for religious fanatics all over the world. if Nostradamus were still alive, he would orgasm once he knew about the millennium.

well, conspiracy theories predicted that computers would crash, planes would tumble and the stock market would collapse. as for me, you didn't need a prediction to know that i would spend my millennial new year stuck in church for a countdown service. ironically, we sang 'Count Your Blessings' as the first hymn of the century. i went home to cry in bed that night. swearing that when i became an adult, i would never spend new year's alone again.

and true enough, money equates to freedom. or well, financial freedom at least. i paid 25 bucks just to enter FLO at the Fullerton. i could have gotten in free because an acquaintance was organizing the new year's event for Budweiser and some Nikka vodka thingamajig (it tasted really horrid, either that or i've got bad taste, prolly the latter). but i had to do the afternoon shift. arriving at Fullerton, you are swamped with countless Singaporeans all looking forward to firework and shouting '321Happy New Year!'. for me, i was looking forward to getting into some air-condition and alcohol.

have you heard of the chinese idiom: people mountain people sea? meaning that a particular place is so packed with people that it looks like mountains and seas of humans. i was at the top of the stairs leading into One Fullerton and there were so many different coloured people, banglahs, china chinese, malay, ang moh, etc. i think i spotted an albino too. it was more like people, people and just more people in a very muddy sea of latte. there were uncouth china chinese screaming into their handphones. banglahs were making human chains, trying very hard to squeeze through the crowds. the albino looked awfully lost.

but all in all, the night was really beautiful albeit the noisy and sweaty crowds. it was drizzling, but that didn't hamper the fireworks performance. i have never really been wow-ed by fireworks before, because i've always thought that they were no more than a waste of money. everytime i see firework, i only see 500 hundred dollar bills being lit up and blasted into the sky. i could use that amount of money and buy myself a lifetime gym membership. which would result in a much hotter me. wouldn't that be nicer to ooooh and aaaah (or perhaps ooh la la) over rather than silly and overrated sparkles?

so anyways, here are my resolutions (which chances are, will prolly never be fulfilled) for the year 2007:

1) Lose 5kg
it's mandatory, it seems, to have a resolution involving weight loss, dieting or cutting down on food intake. some people resolve to hit the gyms more. other resolve to give the Atkins one more try and make everyone live with the plague of halitosis all over again. whatever it takes to lose weight eh? but really, it never hurt anyone to lose some weight. and i think i'm a big supporter for weight-loss resolutions. in fact, just yesterday i saw this uber-fat kid on the MRT with his mother and sister. he took up 2 seats. the reed-thin mother and sister only took up 1. and the whole time i was thinking how thick his legs were in terms of Subway sandwiches (thanks to you, Aiman). his legs alone were as thick as 4 foot-long Subway sandwiches put together side-by-side. except that there's way more than 6 grams of fat packed into that thunder thigh alone. and the crowning fact? he's only a teenager, 16 at the most. morbidly obese people are the number one cause of short-sightedness in Singapore. they are really not easy on the eyes, i must say.

2) Driving License
the number one rule of clubbing always involves a set of wheels. and a set of wheels is what me and my clubbing girlfriends do not have. a set of legs in the form of boyfriends, yah, maybe. but still, not enough. which is why i wanna be a bike-riding mat by the end of 2007. i may not have as much protection as someone in a car, but at least i look cool doing it. and i could have the bragging rights of being in a bike accident. i know it sounds so lame, but it's a childhood dream. i wanna ride a bike. cars to me, are just meant for having sex in multi-storey carparks and of course, claustrophobic suicide attempts with carbon monoxide.

i bet you're asking like 'wah, only got two resolutions ah'. and i'm going to tell you 'yah! only got two resolutions'. because i feel that my life now is pretty much complicated enough as it is already. working and studying and clubbing and a boyfriend. so i'll just take it as it comes (that didn't sound very right, didn't it?).

and thus the very eventful and memorable 2006 just came and went, like a very talented male escort who left as a thief in the night. despite the fact that you wallet seems to be a 100 dollars lighter and a few copies of Men's Vogue have disappeared from the coffee table, you can't help thinking how good the sex was with 2006. the aftersex, it seems, lingers on in your oral cavity. a mix between clorox, egg white and a protein shake. you make a mental note to rinse your mouth with more Listerine than normal during your daily ablutions.

bitter ex-boyfriends. good army times. picking up smoking. renewed friendships. an increased alcohol intake. MOS and dblO. bruneian sex. raffles-berkeley.
yeah, 2006 was bitter-sweet.



About Me


Name: the nurse
Home: Singapore
About Me: i'm a nurse, i'm gay, i smoke, i play the piano, i patronize the theatre, i flip through glossy magazines for no apparent reason, i love sex, i am a left-handed libran, i watch art-house films mostly, i love house music, and did i say i love sex?
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