i've never liked birthday parties. mainly because they always make me jealous about the fact that i COULD have one, but am prolly too lazy to actually go and plan one. that and the many other factors that i tend to over-worry about. will the caterers arrive on time? will my friends who have a tendency to be fashionably late be fashionably late? will the birthday cake get smashed on the way here? will i make a 'profit' from the gifts that i receive? should i invite my parents? so many nitty-gritty details that i can panic over, though i've already got one question answered: NO, i'm not inviting the parents or any single relative for my birthday party. partly because there's bound to be booze involved (what's a gay party without hard liquor?). the other part due to the fact that the mother might start asking 'is there a dress code? because all the men are wearing tight tank tops!'

so it was with some sian-sation that i came back home yesterday afternoon, post-morning shift at the hospital, having spent the whole of last night out with the boyfriend. Sunday afternoons and evenings are always spent at the paternal grandmother's for dinner. it's all very simple actually, i just go there, sit around, have some dinner, make idle chit-chat and updates about my work, and finally when nobody bothers me, sit down and have an hour long nap. at least, that was what i was anticipating yesterday. so imagine how low my spirits sank when the father told me that we were going over to the 3rd aunt's condominium for 'John's Birthday Party'. John in case you haven't read in my previous posts, is the suspiciously effeminate 7 year old cousin that was named after me. he studies in a Christian-mission school and is doing primary one this year. up till today, i still thought that naming their son after me was a mistake. but i've never told them.

and my spirits which had already sunk to the depth of my gut, now descended further into the bowels (or is it the bladder) of depression. the first thing i saw when i entered the function hall of the condominium was this:



it basically screams one thing:
'WE'RE PLAYING GAMES, AND NOT ONLY THAT, WE'RE PLAYING GAMES AS A FAMILY UNIT!'
except that you've got to imagine it without the scores allocated into the charts yet. still, once the entire family saw our group name 'The Teo Family' listed under the score chart, we had that look of dread spreading upon our faces. you know... that feeling of omens and bad things happening in threes. because this meant that we would have to communicate. and that is one thing that this family really lacks. and it's not exactly helpful that we've had prior experience trying to play family games at one church camp about 8 years back. the father, a great piano teacher and a horrible artist, had a go at one round of 'Win, Lose or Draw'. The item to be guessed was 'The Cat In The Hat'. Many of the other participants guessed along the lines of 'The Lion In The Toilet Bowl'.

at least, we didn't play any creatively-inclined games. the proactive cousin was the one who planned these games. the proactive cousin, being the first in the family to bring a girlfriend back to prove his manhood (they wore matching Adidas tees at the party), still goes back to the Boy's Brigade HQ as a volunteer, is taking a polytechnic diploma in Electronics and Engineering now, is an active leader in church, (insert next random achievement), etc. he's the Golden Boy of the paternal family. i'm just the other 'G' boy of the paternal family.

anyways, we played 'Blow, Wind, Blow' and 'Zong Ji Mi Ma' (translated as secret code). 'Secret Code' as many of the cheena-piangs would know, is that game they play on them Taiwanese variety shows with the pop stars and singers. it basically involves guessing a designated number and slowly eliminating the range till you hit the jackpot. i've never liked the game though. it brings back unpleasant nauseous memories of one too many Chivas-Green Tea sessions at Pasir Ris chalets. the parents tried to be fair and fun by letting the sons take turns at guessing the numbers. i couldn't stand the social tension within our family unit and went out for a stick of menthol. thank goodness the last game was over by the time i finished.



i still can't get it though. why must there always be a cake at a birthday party?

okay, so i hear you screaming and grumbling the obvious words: BIRTHDAY CAKE WHAT!
but even then, it doesn't always have to be a cake right? and besides, how often do people get the cakes right in terms of taste and decor? in John's case, his own mother got it wrong. i never knew John liked soccer. i mean, he's quite the wimpy kid who is always armed with a hardcover copy of The Hardy Boys and still throws hissy fits when things don't go his way. to imagine him playing soccer is the mental equivalent of getting me to wear Giordano polo tees (and when it comes to polo tees, i only let anything from Topman and above to caress my pointy nipples).

from all the hushed whispering and chit-chat that i heard though, John actually wanted a chocolate cake. a big brown one that obviously looked like a chocolate cake. and you know how kids are: they can't see beneath most things, tending to take everything at face value instead. little did he know that underneath the gaudy football field was a moist chocolate cake of the most exquisite taste. he was crying by the time we finished the birthday song (another customary thing that i can't understand). and when the family was packing up to leave, i last saw him playing a very bad game of soccer, mostly kicking the ball out way past the designated goal posts. tsk... the self-destructive acts that little gay boys do when they throw tantrums.

all in all, i'm kinda glad that it was over within 3 hours. plus i got one hour of sleep and one stick of Super Menthol Light. more reasons why i shouldn't invite family members to any party that i plan for myself in the future. all this sleeping around and smoking.

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