i think irony plays a very big part in the game of love and life. or at least, the mind tends to see the irony when it wants to see it. in the case of Mr Raffles-Berkeley, i think my mind used irony as a defense mechanism of sorts. which is quite something given that Mr R-B was the first person to ever introduce to me what having a good boyfriend with bright prospects could really do to your life. i mean, i was never brought up in an environment where money came and went as freely as one could possibly hope. in fact, the father tends to stinge a lot when it comes to financing. so the sudden culture shock into the lives of the rich and (perhaps) famous was what i pretty much dealing with. a bit like Ryan suddenly being thrown into the world of the Cohens of The Orange County. except that i was caught off-guard and my speech was terribly peppered with singlish. that kinda marred the whole 'California' opening, didn't it?

in case you are interested in the whole Raffles-Berkeley saga, here's the story in three parts:

part one: i'm this week's special guest on THE OC

part two: the raffles finale

part three: the one who got sloshed during sex

still, things didn't work out and for a while i thought that life was over because i couldn't snag a rich guy for something else other than sex. during that entire phase of :(, i started listening to a lot of Deathcab For Cutie. after all, he basically played the entire Deathcab album during our second session of sex. the first being a random encounter at a local spa. still, you have my signature of approval for Title And Registration being one hell of a good song to get a blowjob with.

still, like an evidential product of a Gloria Gaynor song, i indeed survived a heartbreak. i think i came out out this whole ordeal a much stronger and heartless person. it sucks to break someone's heart. but it sucks even more to get yours broken. moral of the story? don't put all your eggs in one basket. in fact, don't even put any eggs in a basket unless you have guarantee that the basket has passed ISO standards and is widely accepted as a genuine product.

still, it's ironic that i could nearly have entered into his family of doctors. Mr R-B has parents who are consultants are a local private hospital. and consultants are the kind of people you would associate with 'fellowships' as per my church mate, Norman's thinking. i have no idea whether that's true. but i for one can assure you that consultants make big bucks. and that the only 'fellows' that i can put my name to are bedfellows.



oh well, enough of all that heartbreak shit. here's my second favorite Deathcab song.

---