|i could go on for 40 days and 40 nights about my blog title and bore you to bits and pieces with 10,000 different ideas i actually had for the name of this blog but because of the 500 characters limit that is imposed upon this mechanism which, by the way, is supposed to promote free speech, i shall shorten it to just two words basically describing what the hell this is all about and who this hell belongs to.|
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Singapore is quite possibly the most boring place on Earth. it makes me wonder why tourists bother coming here in the first place. but hey, we're generating plenty of revenue and sex with foreign men, so i'll keep my mouth shut. or maybe open, in relation to the latter point. point is, our country has very little news that really makes or breaks the world. our geographical location makes us pretty well-protected against natural disasters of most sorts, so no New Orleans-like situations around here. our economy is pretty buoyant these days unlike the economic recession of 1997. our arts scene is possibly as controversial and inspirational as the 9 o'clock news. it's always the profitable and popular stuff like musicals, musicals and oh, did i mention musicals?
our crime rates are quite meh and humorous actually, sometimes even bordering on pure bastardry. murders normally involve rudimentary weapons best described as 'i reached for the first weapon i saw, which was a spatula' rather than drive-by shootings. our local thugs rob old people (there's the bastardry bit). local fights are mostly bar room brawls and street gang clashes, a lot of it revolving around a night out to the club and opening ten bottles of Chivas Regals at one go. Chivas seems to be the #1 choice of the street gangs that get into a lot of fights. indeed, this is the Chivas Life.
given the boring context here in Singapore, it's quite possible that our locals have therefore found an obsession to build up their lives with. food, to be precise. we have A LOT of food in Singapore. there are four primary races in Singapore to begin with (in no order of merit or preference for those racially-sensitive folks) - Malays, Indians, Chinese and the last very fondly labelled as 'Others'. given the Singaporean culture to profit on obsessions, there have been many methods that have helped build the culinary industry. we have reality programmes designed to spot the best of the best of specific foods. we have guidebooks collaborated that offer the top 10 of (insert random local cuisine). i even know of a specific couple in my church that keeps one of these guidebooks in their car (a Beemer). they make it a point to visit a food outlet mentioned in the guidebook and cross it out. when i last talked to them, they were already 75% through the very much dog-earred book that sat beside the equally dog-earred street directory.
none the less, it's with much thanks to the buoyant economy in the recent years that we've been seeing a lot of foreign fine dining popping up all over the place. French, Middle Eastern, Vietnamese, Burmese, Thai, Korean, Japanese, etc. you name the country, it's with a quick google that you can find it on our sunny shores. it's also with thanks to our Singaporean obsession with food and our knack for business, consumer versions of these fine dining places have been popping up for those who can't afford it and those who are ignorant of the sequence of culinary utensils on the dining table. we even have niche restaurants like Curry Udon places and Tapas bars. and yet, people are still complaining about the lack of proper food in this good country. a comment moan i often here from friends and colleagues goes something like 'But there's nothing here to eat!!' behind them would be an entire row of food court outlets offering local delights and western meals.
like i always tell people, 'Food is a blessing. Variety is therefore, Godsent and perhaps prudent Economics.' i know it doesn't make much sense. but then again, neither does the fact that we are whining about the lack of food in a country that has an abundance of it.
working in a Singaporean hospital, you'll begin to realize that this abundance of food is not an applied reality. my colleagues are constantly whining about this lack of food in the hospital during the night shifts. well, the only source that's open at night unfortunately is the convenience store. true, it's air-conditioned and it offered hot foods and drinks. but you know what convenient stores are like., always stocking what's mainly convenient for THEMSELVES. it's the usual spiel of chocolate bars, potato chips, fruit juices, biscuits, instant noodles and factory foods. cheap, empty calories. whenever i head down to the convenience store, i end up buying the Kellogg's funpaks and a tetrapacket of milk. simply because there's variety in them. it's this lack of variety that we're complaining about, not the quality of food actually.
this is why we're supremely grateful for the fact that food delivery services are in existence in Singapore. and please don't mistake it for those that you see on American drama serials where the lead says 'What're we having for dinner tonight?' and the supporting character takes out a Chinese menu and replies 'Let's order Wong's! I'm craving for dumplings!' no, the reality is far from your average American drama series.
our typical drama scenes during our night shifts go something like that:
Me: What're we eating tonight eh?
Pangkeng: Anything lor
Me: (asks another colleague) What're we eating tonight eh?
Another colleague: Anything lor
Me: (asks another colleague) What're we eating tonight eh?
Another colleague: Anything lor
Me: (asks another colleague) What're we eating tonight eh?
Another colleague: Anything lor
Me: (asks another colleague) What're we eating tonight eh?
Another colleague: Anything lor
Me: (asks another colleague) What're we eating tonight eh?
Another colleague: Anything lor
i could go on, but you get the drift. it's because of this indecisiveness within my bunch of colleagues, that the onus of deciding on what to eat at night boils down to me and my cravings. unfortunately, the food delivery variety in Singapore is rather limited. despite having worked for six months on permanent night shifts, i have only managed to discover three places that make deliveries - McDonald's, an Indian-Muslim restaurant named Spize (i have a lot of Muslim colleagues), and a ching-chong Chinese restaurant just across the road from the hospital. no pizza deliveries as our local pizza parlours only deliver till 11pm. by the time we settle down from passing the nursing reports and clearing up the mess that the previous shift has left behind, it's already 11.30pm. i could order earlier, but once again that indecisiveness simply just prolongs the whole process of ordering.
not making things any easier is that my ward has this under-running policy that if you're ordering food for the night, it's courtesy that you have to ask the rest of your colleagues in the department. all would be fine if any of my other colleagues bothered to take up the initiative of ordering food. but initiative just like food delivery at night, is very much lacking in my ward. therefore, i have become the only unofficial person who orders at night. and believe you me, taking orders is not an easy process. it's an extremely time-consuming process that involves plenty of persuasion, money and walking around. in fact, i've managed to come up with a systematic approach to ordering food. it comes in five steps actually whereby i take on five different roles at each point in the various steps.
Step 1: The Propagandist
this usually occurs at 10.30pm when everyone is busy but i'm hungry. i decide on what i want to eat and start calling up the various sections of the ward to inform them that i'm ordering. i could walk down the ward corridor, but walking two hundred metres is not fun. walking back two hundred metres from the end of the ward corridor back to my section is even more 'not fun'. what is the most 'not fun' bit is having to entertain certain colleagues who will break into their usual spiel about the lack of variety. 'What? Spize again! Very boring!' having to maintain apt PR with the other colleagues, i refrain from reaching for the nearest item that can cause bodily harm.
Step 2: The Advisor
the ward routine is that we're usually busy between 10:30 to 11:00pm. therefore it's by 11:00pm that i start taking orders from people. this is the tedious bit where i have no choice but to do the two hundred metre routine of walking and socializing with the colleagues. it'd have been all fine and dandy if the colleagues could make up their minds on what they want to eat based on the delivery menus. but they can even decide when i pose them the question of 'What're we eating tonight eh?' so i don't expect much out of them really. thus to help make up their minds i probe them for their cravings. Chicken or beef? Rice or noodles? Cheap or expensive? Any drinks? Condiments? Upsize? Would you like to change your drink to something else? it's costs another fifty cents if you upsize! Why don't you order so that we can hit the quota for the delivery service's reduced delivery charge? i normally complete this part of the process at 11:30pm when everyone else has completed their work and i haven't even touched a single bit of it. and does anyone help me to complete mine? other than Pangkeng, NO. ungrateful wretches.
Step 3: The Orderer
this is when i make the phone call to the restaurant in question. i read out my orders. they read back my orders. i can't really fathom why they would read back my orders other than to clarify that i've ordered one big mac meal upsized, one double cheeseburger a la carte, one McSpicy meal upsized, two Chicken foldovers, two happy meals both with fries and nuggets and the toys for girls, two McFlurrys, and the drinks will be three cokes, one sprite, two iced milos, one iced latte, one coffee and one more large coke a la carte, and chilli sauce and curry sauce and barbeque sauce and a lot of mayonnaise. do i sound like i can remember all my orders in some random sequence? 'It's easy what!' the guy who takes my orders over the phone would be thinking while staring at his computer screen with the orders in possibly Arial font.
Step 4: The Debt Collector
this is the part that i hate the most. because most people are simply not initiated to pay up. it's a bit like being a politician, having to tease and prod the most out of the colleagues for the delivery charge. on good days, people actually pass me the money automatically. on even better days, they tell me to keep the change. on really screwed up days, nobody pays up and i am forty-dollars poorer. not that i'm a stingy sort of fellow, but this has happened at least six or seven times out of the thirty times i've ordered takeaways. i truly deserve a tip. falling short of hanging a severed horse head at each of the ward's section, i can only ask nicely for payment. oh my god, it's already 11:30pm. and i haven't started on a single bit of work yet!
Step 5: The Distributor
sometimes when i can't be bothered with collecting money yet, i'll just wait for the delivery guy to arrive with the food before i start collecting back cash. i'll have to separate the various orders into bags for the various sections of my department. if the delivery guy had quite the bumpy ride, i would have to wipe up the sauce. i have to ensure that they have straws. they have condiments and et cetera. and thus begins the two hundred metre walk down the corridor with food once again and back. i would have been ravenous by then and possibly poorer by a few dollars due to those colleagues who conveniently forget to pay.
it's usually by 1:00am that i'm able to settle down and have my food. by then, i would have been irritable and in dire need of nutrition. so the next time someone offers to take orders for food, do tip them. do something nice for them. give them a hug. give them a word of grateful thanks. because lurking beneath that cheerful exterior, there's someone waiting to reach out for the nearest object of bodily harm.
and it might not be a spatula.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
it's raining heavily. and not just any rain. it's the type that has monotone clouds, monotone lightning, monotone rain drops. if sound could be described as monotone as well, then it would be apt for the thunder. there's a faint smell of freshly-cut grass mixed in with the rain. and true enough, when the scene pans downwards, we see the horizon defining the sky and an endless field of green grass.
in the distance, we see two people. presumably lovers, presumably star-crossed. like a hundred-metre dash, they run fast. like a war film trailer about lover separated by politics, they run with no regrets. like two magnets separated by a science teacher teaching a class about north and south poles, they dash to each other like it was a scientific law that designated they do so.
the two lovers clash in a hug. they don't kiss. they don't make love on the field. they don't do anything else other than wrap each other in an embrace that possibly explains the context of the entire situation.
two people. a man and a woman. he closes his eyes and cradles her. she is crying tears of reunion. the tears have a special glint though. possibly because they've been diluted with the monotone rain droplets, spelling out a short-lived reunion. she has the face of an angel no less, despite the fact that she's crying.
the hug lasts for no more than a minute. two cars arrive.
and that's when the dream ends.
for most gay people, i'm sure that there's some point in their lives that they've asked themselves THE question. it's a question that maybe spells out self-doubt. maybe guilt. or regret. or whatever negative connotations that come about when i reveal the question in the next few sentences. well i'm not sure whether it's most gay people or it's just me. but it's only recently that i've begun to question myself. 'Could i turn straight again and live with it?' can i revert back to the lifestyle that i left behind oh-so-many years ago? can i drop an ideal that i built my life from, right here, right now, and not look back? can i go back to sex with the supposedly designated gender that society says i ought to be having with? could i possibly get married with a woman and settle down? can i actually deal with having children? when i ponder over such thoughts, the only question that i can truly answer is the one about children. and you know how i feel about children, preferring most of them to be under the care of a Miss Havisham sort of character.
it's definitely a daunting question, even for the most mature gay person. we've spent so many years working hard to get to the point where we are today. we built our lives around values that contravene most of the world's norms. and i can assure you that in the midst of meeting many gay people, most homosexuals have forgotten to add a few accommodating straight people in their list of friends. so you see, it's not like a change of underwear for a gay person to just turn the tables on the sexuality. or to put it in a crude metaphoric 'hur hur hur' sense, it's a bit like wearing a really kinky piece of women's undergarment. you have to take a while to figure out to put which limb into which hole of the undergarment in question.
it is with recent concern though that i've been pondering this question of turning back to the path of the straight and narrow. of course, these thoughts don't just pop by one fine day and rear their ugly head. it's perhaps destiny and fate and the circumstances that they've thrown in that give situations their context. in my case, it's mainly feelings and dreams. well, not dreams of death and dying like i mentioned before in my previous posts. i used to dream a lot about dying, with my playing the role as the person who dies. not a very fun thing to do when you experience the various methods of death with the feelings of pain that my mind conjures up when i'm sleeping. the good thing is that these days, i'm don't dream so much about death anymore. it's as if my mind has decided to move on from horror movies and psycho thrillers and perhaps start watching something else more substantial.
substantial in this case refers to the stuff that you often find in your local film festival. the type that has twenty second shots of water dripping, twenty seconds of silence and another twenty seconds of an upclose shot of a vagina. all for no apparent reason other than to dare the boundaries of film mores and perhaps artistic license. well okay, my dream are not that incomprehensible, but it does give me that feeling when i wake up after my post-night shift afternoon sleeps. the electric fan would be blowing in a corner of the room, the brother would be in another watching streaming movies and downloading porn at the same time, the window reveals grey clouds of impending rain, and i would be up in bed, hearing the sounds of the afternoon heartland soundtrack
i wake up from one indie film, only to be in an indie film of mine.
have i told you about my preceptee before? well, she has the face of an angel to begin with. she's as lanky as a supermodel. she wears braces. she has a great-fashion sense. she's porcelain white. her sinus gets aggravated when she's stressed. she's always giving gentle slap on the shoulders whenever i tell her something bad about a patient. and i like it when girls do that. she's the embodiment of innocence, so much so that you feel like you just want to protect her from the evils of this world. and believe me, i've protected her a lot. i've seen her cry before when an unreasonable renal patient went cranky and start blowing his top over small idiotic matters.
admittedly, i couldn't help but have feelings of attachment for her the first time i saw her. and this is primarily quite weird given that i'm gay in the first place. but you've got to admit once again, that some girls just have the effect on men. i may be gay, but i'm still a guy and men know how to appreciate beauty when they see some. it was with this thought that i realized that in an alternative reality, she would be my kind of girl. of course, in that alternate reality, she wouldn't be married. yeah, she's 19 this year and married to a policeman. i'm attending her wedding dinner in the later half of this year.
so it was with some fright that i woke up to that dream where i hugged her in the rain. she was crying. quite badly. and with that secret sense of longing. of course, this is just mainly what my mind conjures up. i'm sure she's deeply in love with her husband and not feeling this way. but i've always believed in the reality of an alternate universe and another time. somewhere else, we must be related in some sense. either as lovers or something along those lines. however, what matters most is that i'm in this reality and i know that i'm steadfastly gay.
like true colleagues, i told Pangkeng about my dream over a cigarette break. he was smoking a Marlboro light while i on my Consulates.
'i dream about the rest of our colleagues all the time what!' he replied after i told him about my dream. obviously, i omitted the fact that i was gay and that it was a very weird dream for me.
'what do you dream about when you dream of colleagues?' i asked.
he took a long drag of his lights before replying nonchalantly, 'mainly sex lor.'
and to think i'm already making a big deal out of a dream of hugging a married colleague in the rain.
Friday, April 11, 2008
how i ended up buying expensive underwear in Thailand
money is indeed, a really sensitive topic within gay relationships. for the typical straight couple, tradition, norms and a superego have perhaps more or less defined that the guy should mostly pay for dinner, movie tickets, coffee and the hotel room. if the girl is prudent and really nice, she'll even bring along condoms, lube and her best friend (insert random heterosexual chortle here: hur hur hur!!). for the two men in a homosexual relationship though, financial matters are more of a grey and rainbow-coloured area. after all, tradition, culture and superegos are not exactly familiar with gay society and its social mechanics. should it be defined by age as in 'i'm older so i'll be picking up the tab'? should it take into consideration professions (doctors and janitors in a relationship)? or even better, sexual position preference (top picks up the tab because he's more manly)! which is why i believe that to avoid all the money-related conflicts ('i paid for all your stupid sparkling water during your fine dining meals, you bitch!'), it's perhaps better if gay people just go dutch on most things.
in my short few years of being gay so far, i have seen my fair share of couples breaking up over money matters. a typical example would be a couple having joint accounts and one partner in the relationship being a spendthrift, fancying indulgence and constant extravagance. it's a problem that isn't prejudiced with age though. even young couples that earn barely enough to club on the weekends are plagued by it. you know how relationships are - expensive and as stable as a chemical reaction. and you thought that the young couldn't possibly break up over financial matters.
of course, for all the breakfast-coloured sunshine and silver linings in this world, i have also known of really giving and generous couples who make sure that money doesn't become an issue in any conflicts that may arise in the course of love. i know i sound like a marriage counsellor here, but openness is one factor that really helps. other options involve going steady with a simple man or pre-nups. but speaking from a more practical perspective, avoiding extravagance and the impracticalities of life is seriously the most useful solution. for some reason or other, the average gay person simply loves extravagance and the empowerment of luxuries. is it a by-product of the Dorothy Dollar? or just simply the media and its constant barrage of the ideal gay man in a pair Gucci slippers and designer threads? and since we're on the topic of Gucci slippers, i'm actually dying to see the day when someone slips and fall while wearing a pair (this deserves another straight man chortle: hur hur hur!).
i once saw a young gay chap of about twenty. to put it simply and without prejudice, he's the skinny and effeminate friend that you prolly know of or have one of. i like them because they are generally hilarious and vivacious people with plenty of attitude. this guy in question though, was decked from head to toe in black and brands. huge logo-ed ones, to be precise. he was what one could call as your definitive fashionista. from the top, there was a black Lacoste polo tee covering his skinny frame. a pair of black Abercrombie jeans hugged what was left of his anorexic butt. he carried a black Louis Vuitton carrier that prolly weighed more than him. what seemed like an original pair of Gucci slippers (i couldn't jolly well reach down and feel for the fabric can i?) announced his entrance with a really noisy 'piak-piak' sound. the crowning glory was a pair of Gucci sunglasses that screamed 'I am Nicole Richie, here me roar' (meow!). admittedly, i have nothing against style and luxury. in fact, i shouldn't have a say in style as i can't tell the difference between a birkin and a bag. the only issue that i have here is that i find it rather sad to see someone covering himself and what's left of his dignity in branded and logo-ed goods. everything on him has a logo the size of Zimbabwe. from the trade mark LV motif, to the gold-embossed Gucci frames.
and oh, did i mention that i happened to see this guy in the blue-collared worker's main mode of public transportation - the train.
yes, class meets crass.
--i've never been one to spend tonnes of money on the various impracticalities of life. not that i'm a prudent person when it comes to all things financial. after all, i am the guy who signed up for insurance with a three hundred dollar per month premium. not forgetting another three hundred for the household expenses and another two-fifty for my education. none the less, i know i'm treading on really sensitive ground here given that 'impracticalities' is a rather loosely-defined term. i need my cigarettes just as the same way you might need to get your daily dose of a protein shake (which i used to, but now don't). point is, i know what i ought and ought not to be spending on. take for example, i would jolly well love to stride into the nearest Lacoste boutique and say something chi chi like 'Can i have ten of this in ten different colours?' but obviously i don't because not only do i have to put my ass on the street market for ten month after the whole Lacoste hoo-hah, but also it's just purely impractical. and silly. and foolish. and retarded. but 'nuff said.
this trip to Thailand (yes, it's another Thailand post, sorry to bore you guys to death with my Sawadee stories) has really been one revolving a lot around money. to begin with, i have already burned a hole in my pockets just to get there and get bored to death with the family. i found the perfect solution for this though. whenever the parents went shopping, i quickly went my separate way and found myself a nice coffee join to start reading, smoking and people-watching. the brother of course, had no choice but to tag along with the parents because my mother believes that he will get kidnapped by tuk tuk drivers or Southern infidels. plus he didn't have a lot of money to begin with. i contributed a hundred bucks to the brother's expenditure in Thailand. and a few one cent coins just in case he needed the loo (you have to pay for entrance into the toilets in Mah Boon Krong).
everyone of course bought plenty of things. everyone that is, except the father whom i can't recall bought much. prolly still saving for that HDTV that he so wants. i went on a book-spending spree, buying more than ten novels to keep me pre-occupied in Thailand and public transport in Singapore for at least two months. i bought cheap tees, pants, shorts and stocked up on a barrage of cheap beauty products. i even had money left to buy souvenirs for colleagues. i actually went there with a list of things i had in mind to buy. so i was pretty much left with an excessive amount of money which i spent on really impractical things like Wireless Fidelity in the hotel room. in case you didn't know, Wireless Fidelity is more commonly known as WIFI, not to be mistaken for something along the lines of fidelity and promiscuity which in this case might be a male masseur in my hotel room. but as i said, WIFI in the hotel room is silly. and foolish. and retarded. and impractical given that i'm in Thailand, the land of a thousand smiles and many more internet cafes. but i don't do silly things without a reason.
the brother, being a young teenager and a real narcissist bought several cheap tees, a pair of sunglasses and one item of much decadence. the item in question here, being an Adidas sweater. it was white and had stitched-on red stripes at the side in the trademark triple stripes of Adidas. i would have been fine if it had been a simple Adidas jacket. but no, on the back of the jacket was the huge word 'JAPAN'. and thus, i spent a half of the trip in Bangkok watching the Chinese brother wandering around in Bangkok with the ching-chong face made up of won-tons and Chinese takeaways. i couldn't help but laugh internally when i see authentic Japanese tourists in their street-styled clothes walking past him. unsurprisingly, none of them wore apparel which stated their nationality. this also prolly explains why my mom is paranoid about the tuk tuk drivers and Southern Infidels kidnapping the brother.
my mother was more prudent with her purchases though. she bought accessories. she bought clothes. she even bought a Thai silk nightie that looks really nice. alas, she bought a fake Longchamp bag as well. being no style guru, i can't tell you the exact name of the bag in question. but it's the trademark one that comes in a variety of colours and the brown flap over the top. there's a logo emblazoned into the brown flap which my mind captures as 'the guy on th ehorse in mid-jump'. i was in the hotel room when my mother returned from shopping with the proud tote in hand. but the moment i got to touch the leather flap, i had problems convincing myself that it was a genuine item. plus, 'the guy on the horse in mid-jump' was slightly faded when i recalled seeing the original product. in fact, the guy looked better if he were on something more ancient like a tapestry or a brochure for medieval holidays in Europe.
but enough with what my family are buying in Thailand. the norm of the our short holidays in Thailand would go something like that: the first half of the day would be spent out on the streets of Thailand's coffee joins and shopping centres. the other half though, would be mainly in the hotel rooms. you see, just when i thought i had the legendary 'iron stomach' that could ingest and digest any food from all over the world, i developed a bout of indigestion on the second day of the trip. i didn't seek any medical attention as there are three nurses in my family, me included. the culprit here i suspect, would be the Chang Mai rice that i consumed in the latter-mentioned country.
now, Chang Mai rice is different from your typical Thai rice that we Singaporeans mainly consume. it actually comes in clumps (which sounds rather lewd - 'I come in clumps!'), it's sticky and it's hard (which sounds equally lewd). not to be mistaken for glutinous rice, Chang Mai rice is the type that suitable for extended storage due to its lack of moisture and 'clumpiness'. in fact, it's perfect for food fights over the dinner table. if you run out of Chang beer bottles to throw in Chang Mai, grab some local rice and hurl it over to the nearest drunken tourist for a grievous injury to the eye.
out of the seven days on the trip, six of them were tainted with fevers and the constant purging of solely liquid. everything else was just clumping along in my stomach and intestines and remaining undigested. use your imagination when i say that 'whatever went in, came out looking like it never went in'. i permanently felt like puking half the time. all i could do when i watched my parents and the brother pigging out on steamboat and pizzas was exude a greenish tinge on my face. it was with this that i decided to spend the second half of most of the days in Thailand under the cosy comforters in my hotel room. i watched plenty of Nat Geo, Discovery Channel and MTV, suffice to say. i learned a lot about Global Warming. i was humoured by Mythbusters. and i saw how Janet Jackson danced with four (or was it five?) glowing balls in 'Feedback'. by the fifth day however, i was bored stiff. mainly because cable TV is all about reruns. plus i had already completed three of the books i purchased in Thailand.
the cool part though was that i brought along my Fujitsu laptop with me to Thailand. the not-so-cool bit was that i had no internet connection. i had porn on my laptop though. and as many guys would attest too, porn is only fun till the point you come. you can have 9 hours worth of porn in your storage space, but if you come within 9 minutes, it's pretty much is useless, isn't it? not that i come in 9 minutes, mind you. or in clumps for that matter. it was with this ultimate boredom that i decided to purchase WIFI in my hotel room, a three day pass to the world wide web. i spent the last two days in my hotel room mainly playing World of Warcraft from the afternoon till the night. this is what i mean by 'impracticalities'.
despite spending on exorbitant internet access, i still had quite a large amount of money to contend with. close to three thousand baht, if i recall. falling short of a massage, i couldn't really think of anything else i wanted to spend on. besides, if anyone were to massage me at that point of indigestion, i would most definitely have hurled. and vomit-stained towels are really not that widely accepted at most massage parlours in this world. even the shady ones that offer extra 'services'. so the idea of something that i could spend on came to me at what i defined as 'The Gayest Moment' of this family-oriented trip to Thailand. as i might have already declared proudly, i didn't have any sex in Thailand.
what transpired was a random trip with the family to the huge shopping complex formerly known as the World Trade Centre in Bangkok. it was one of those places that were more attunede to the foreigners that go there for holidays. there were plenty of boutiques and various other chi chi places selling luxury goods. one of these upmarket places was of course, the Zen Department stall. 'The Gayest Moment' of course happened when i passed by the men's underwear section, no less. like your typical men's underwear section, there were really artistic mannequins of Herculean torsos clad in underwear. and you know what they say about art imitating/irritating life. as if one cue, there were several equally Herculean men wandering around the rows and rows of undergarments. some were obviously gay. some were obviously couples. for some curious reason, all of them were Asian. all of them were staring at the new-comer with that gay stare, as if daring me to purchase some expensive underwear.
from a gay person's point of view, it was one of the most fascinating underwear departments i've actually seen in my entire life. not like the typical ones in Singapore that stock funny-looking under that require instruction sheets and some creative thinking in order to put it on. not like the average ones in Singapore that have plenty of grey, whites and blacks. not like the horrid ones in Singapore that have really gaudy designs of yachts and stars (i'm not joking about this). i dunno what made me decided to purchase expensive underwear in the end actually. maybe it was the fact that there was a sale going on. maybe it was the pressurizing atmosphere of Herculean testosterone and pheromones wafting about. or maybe it was that i had money to clear before my departure from Thailand.
it was with some decision however, that i decided on two pairs of Aussiebums. i couldn't help but think about what the sales assistants were thinking when i made my purchase. prolly something along the lines of 'i could purchase more than fifty meals in Thailand with that amount he spends covering his manhood'. there was even a VAT refund for the underwear i bought. but that was too much hassle. i couldn't help but feel guilty over my purchase. a sort of guilty pleasure though. somehow or other, i always imagine most expensive items looking like money. like take for example, a birkin bag would prolly look like many stacks of hundred dollar notes shaped like a birkin bag. in the same line of thought, my Aussiebum covering my genitals would be nothing more than a few wads of cash sewn together to provide coverage.
it's not a pleasant sight, i must say. well at least not something that anyone could come in clumps to.
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Perlin thinks white men don't understand
Dom's Closeted Despondence
Random People I Don't Know (I don't even know their full names!)
s3xyethan's NTU experience
Stuff I Look At When I'm Not Surfing Porn
Graniph Design T-shirts
Nintendo DS Roms
The AV Club
Feast of Fools: the gay podcast
Why Do I Have To Put These Things Here?
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