Confetti In The Wind

Hairy Tales, Part One

2011-07-22T08:20:00.001+08:00

"I haven't seen you in a while!" my hairstylist said to me. This was the normal greeting. "Oh my, you've gotten fatter, haven't you?"

Now that was completely uncalled for.

"Uh- really? Haha I hadn't noticed," I laughed nervously. I was stunned for a while, as you can imagine, and reread the same Men's Health paragraph for the next ten minutes as my brain tried to recover from WTF Mode. As far as I knew I was there for a haircut, not to audition for America's Next Top Model. And even Tyra Banks wouldn't say that out loud. In public, for cameras to see and hear anyway.

This guy came highly recommended by some of my closest friends, too. "He's got such soft hands!" gushed one. "When he's rubbing my head it felt orgasmic," said another, a bit too enthusiastically. At this point I made sure we were talking about a hairstylist and not a high-class hooker. "Try it, you'll love him!" they said, almost in unison like in a canned radio advert.

Ohhh-kayyy.

Still, try him, I did and like how all hairstylists treat first-time clients, he was all smiles and flattery. And he was good at his job, without a doubt. Even The BF liked his work. Yes, we tag-teamed him! We tend to do that. Only hairstylists, mind.

It was only on the second visit that all the passive-aggressiveness started to flow. In addition to that gem up there.

"You have white hair!" Captain Obvious said.

"Oh yes I know. Haha."

"But it's so weird. It's all growing only on one side of your head. See!" he fetched a mirror and showed me. I have this patch of white hair that grows only on the right side, just above the ear. Like half a Reed Richards. It was kinda unusual but thanks for reinforcing my self-esteem! Dumbass.

Okay that white hair thing may have been part of his work, all the better to sell me a dye job. Yeah, nice try, with that fat remark? Unforgivable!

The moment he was busy with other clients I leaned over to The BF, who'd arrived separately from work. "Hey when Eddie greeted you just now did he uhm, say anything to you?"

"Er, no. Why?"

"He called me fat!" I hissed, totally pissed off now. Although it was far too late to do anything about it. Besides, it's not wise to piss off someone who's wielding a pair of very sharp scissors and who has your looks (locks?) literally in his hands. So I decided to brush it off.

"Hi! Welcome back!" he said to me a month later. "You've gotten fatter!" he said cheerily. At this point I just stared at him.

"Really," I said in a dead voice.

"Really!" he said, either too stupid or brainless to ignore the danger signs. "Never mind, fat means prosperous right?" he laughed. "I'll get someone to shampoo your hair."

And I wanted to get someone to tie him up and force-feed him like a foie gras goose until his liver bursts. I checked though, it's illegal-- even if he's the one who started it.

So that was he last time I ever patronised Eddie's sterling services. He moved salons a couple of times, and even tried setting up his own place but I couldn't care less. The BF and several friends continued going, although I don't know how they can put up with such abuse. The BF tells me Eddie sometimes asks why I never go back to him anymore.

"Darling, tell him if I want to pay to get insulted, it would probably be a very expensive therapist to get through this trauma," I said. A very hot and hunky therapist, but of course I didn't say that out loud.

I've since moved on to a very nice, friendly hairstylist near my place, who doesn't judge my bodily appearance every time I see him. It's taken me almost ten years to find one I'm really comfortable with, incredibly enough. Eddie was bad, but at least he didn't show me gay porn on his phone, which was what my first hairstylist did.

But that's another story!

I'm Not Dead

2011-07-19T01:59:00.002+08:00

Obviously. I'm a lot older, though. In gay years, about seventy? Or so?

I have white hair.

And girl, I'm heavy. Shut it, bitches, I was born this way. Or not. Still, shut it.

And I'm still with The BF. The same one.

I'm still hanging out with the same friends. Ironically, the same ones I've made from this blog. And I've really only lost one (you know who you are!). I'm reading through some of the comments and omg I have known you guys for so long already? It feels like last year, sometimes, when I've met Sluttila in his bedroom (Don't! Even! Think!), Kitty at Duffy's Ceramic World, and so many others who have enriched me.

I suppose life is like that. It gets all sneaky and sunny and sexy and smelly and sweaty and sweet and before you know it you've lived another year, another ten years.

So lots of things are the same, and lots more are way different. For example, Facebook wasn't that big a deal when i first started this blog and now omg I can't stop refreshing every ten seconds. I have a whole host of Apple products which I keep buying like crack, because it IS crack, only more flashy and expensive and you can actually use it in front of your mother. In fact, Mummy Dearest is using my first-gen iPhone, actually.

There's been loss as well. My Dad, at age 71, due to cancer. It's strange, writing this because it's the first time I've actually put my grief down into words. I think about him almost every day, and there's things that remind me of him every day too. And it stabs you in the heart to think that you won't have anymore new memories of him, just old ones which fade like polaroids. But in fading, they also become more dreamlike, just like how pictures look better once Instagrammed. So those memories feel better too.

But I'm okay, as a whole, and so is Mummy Dearest, which is important.

And I've finally gotten over World of Warcraft, the other crack. It only took me like, five years but hey, progress! It's a slippery slope though, and it's still installed on my MacBook. I think Apple should buy over Activision-Blizzard and then it's really time to bow to our new overlord Steve Jobs. Yes, even you, Kitty.

Am I going to blog more? I hope so. I've always felt like I should write, and since it seems to be the only thing I'm marginally good at. And as I grow older, and see younger fuckers doing the things I used to do at the speed and precision I used to be able to do, I'm determined to not let this one thing pass me by.

So I'm not as funny as I used to be. And my vocabulary is shot, no thanks to autocomplete and Twitter. But I'll be damned if I don't at least try.

Also, don't pester me if you don't see an update after this. Shut it, bitches. It just means you'll get another update in another two years. Okay?

Snow Sucks!

2009-01-13T23:06:00.003+08:00

Before I left for my Stockholm- New York trip, I was actually quite excited. I like going to the US, and god knows it likes me, since every time I go there I practically prop up its economy with all my shopping.

I'd never been on the route, and despite it being the dead of winter, I thought, Hey! I've never seen snow in my life (dirty ice on the ground in Shanghai does not count), it could be kinda fun.

Except it's not. Snow sucks. I mean it's nice to see it falling, preferably on the TV, a bit more so when you're nicely warm indoors watching it fall, and not at all when you're actually outside freezing and wondering why the fucking snowflakes aren't showing up on your iPhone camera.

I finally realised that snow is nature's way of telling you to Stay the Fuck Indoors and Don't Go Out You Moron. It's gotta be below zero to have snow. And that's not counting the Wind Chill Factor. So even if you're all nicely wrapped up the moment you go outdoors you realise you haven't wrapped some important bits. Like your ears.

We went to an outlet mall in New Jersey. I mean I was told it was an outlet mall which means mega shopping but also means indoors shopping but boy was I mistaken. It was laid out in a faux-village scenario, I don't know why the Americans (and the British) like to indulge in this type of fakery. I mean you could have all the brands in one big warehouse and all I'd care was IS IT HEATED?

As it were, this is what I did before we got out of the car:

Put on scarf
Put on gloves
Put on jacket

Then this is what i did when I got out of car:

Complain cold
Can't feel ears
Toes going numb
Need to buy thick woolen socks
Balls shrinking beyond limits
Need to buy whatchamacallit ugly no brand thermal underwear

This is what I did when I entered a shop:

Take off scarf
Take off gloves
Take everything off if I had to try on clothes. So there goes the painfully thin shirt, and the cashmere sweater the shoesies etc.

And this is what I did when I left

Repeat first para.

Needless to say, I didn't feel like trying on very many clothes. It's barbaric, really, how can people live like this? And yet they do. Triumph of the human spirit or some such thing.

Me, I'll stick to sunshine and rain. Malaysia is best! I don't want to wake up and have to plow 6 inches of snow from my sidewalk just to reach my car, and then wipe off another 6 inches from the windows just to get it started.

And I can't wait ti get back and see my baby and have KFC. The fried chicken withdrawal symptoms is making me damn irritable.

Ad-d-d-d-dicted?

2008-12-31T10:40:00.002+08:00

Well, it's comforting to know some people still remember me.

I've been tagged to do a meme by Janvier, and since it's wayyy too early in the morning, and since there's a queue on the World of Warcraft server that's 180 people long (more on this bit of geekery later) I thought, why not?

And then, I stared at my browser, trying to recall how to post on my blog. Seriously. Like, for a minute.

My poor blog isn't even on my bookmarks anymore. I mean, it's a relatively new MacBook Pro (not new new, you know?) and the only things I have bookmarked on it are, in no particular order, porn torrent sites, comic torrent sites, and music/tv/movie torrent sites.

Okay so I'm a big pirate whore, I'll admit.

Anyway on to the addictions!

The Internet Is For Porn: No surprises here. I will actually get withdrawal symptoms if I'm not connected for more than, oh, a day. Actually, the addiction goes way deeper than that-- I don't actually NEED to be on the net, but I absolutely need to know that I CAN be connected to the net. I've actually refused flights to places where I know internet connection can be shitty (I'm looking at you, Tashkent). God knows how much I've spent on hotel in-room internet connections, but seeing all that ~~porn~~ ~~comic~~ ~~music~~ information, shall we say, on my hard drive makes me feel all warm and glowy inside.
World of Warcraft: Sometimes, I rue the day when my friends roped me into this evil game from Planet Evil. Then they tell me to stop qqing and heal, dammit, the tank's dying! And I do it. And I love it. And a small part of me that's yet pure, and untainted by the corruption of WoW screams in the depths of my soul. And then the real me squashes it with his thumb and laughs. Evilly, of course.
Buying books: Not reading, mind, buying. I have more books than I have space to put them in. I read about half of them, and then they're consigned forever to the purgatory that's in-between-the-bed-and-the-wall-where-the-Bf-can't-see-how-much-I've-wasted-on-books-I-promised-to-read-but-never-do-and-see-how-much-you've-wasted-how-are-we-ever-going-to-go-on-holiday-if-you-keep-it-up-omg-I-can't-even-walk-here-anymore
KFC: Why oh why can't Malaysian KFC be bland like the British? Or just so-so tasting like the American ones? Or less oily like the Taiwanese? Or downright unrecognisable like the one in Singapore? But noooo Malaysian KFC has to be the best in the world. Hot and Spicy is like....ZOMG better than sex I've had with certain guys I've dated. And they weren't necessarily bad. And now I'm fat, thanks to Evil KFC, also from Planet Evil.
Mario Maurer: See below.

Filling In The Blanks

2008-09-19T13:20:00.005+08:00

I must warn you, this post is entirely Mario-free. Well, not entirely since I just mentioned his name. But--yeah. If I mention it anymore I might as well rename this blog Confessions of a Mario Junkie and be done with it. Dammit I mentioned him again!

Aaanyway...

I can't believe it's been ten months since I stopped blogging. And I can't believe that people still do take the time to read crap about my life and thoughts. After blogging religiously for almost 2 years, I guess, perhaps it was time to do something else.

Enter World of Warcraft, another "thing" I've been doing religiously for about two years, too. To give you an idea of how much of my life I've devoted to this obscenely, insanely, addictive game, here's a sample character:

"Boo!"

She is a Warlock, and that blueberry thingy behind her is her demonic minion. That's right, she commands demons even though she looks like a dumb, er, redhead. Just one of 3 characters which I've brought up to the maximum level allowed in the game. And there's even a little game mechanic to tell you exactly how much time you've spent logged on to each character, down to the last second.

I have spent a total of 70 days and 11 hours on just these three toons. This doesn't include a few other toons I have spent even more hours, if not days, with. These are days as in, 24-hour-period-kind-of-days we're talking about. It is as if I've spent more than TWO whole months doing nothing but playing WoW continuously at my computer, not eating, not sleeping, not even shitting. And most certainly not having sex. Essentially, I've been throwing away more than a month every year I've been involved in this game.

70 fucking days, oh my god. I can't say it's been all bad, of course. In fact, I've made some friends online in places I never dreamed of because of this game, and it's given me something to do online during those long lonely nights when I'm away from my baby.

Well, something else to do online anyway.

To say that it's addictive would be kind of an understatement, I guess. There's always new places to explore, new bosses to fight, new achievements to unlock. And because you're playing with friends, it becomes a very social thing as well. If course, since I've started, it's actually become sort of the only thing we talk about, even when we meet up in real life.

You can tell when i started playing WoW. That's when my posts became gradually less frequent, and the quality more sloppy. Just like this one.

What about The BF, you may ask. Well, in the beginning before we moved in, he must have suspected I was rushing back home to see my other boyfriend (it's actually girlfriends, darling, demon-summoning girlfriends)-- that was before I got him his own account and now he's the one asking me to hurry up and finish my dinner so we can go home and log on.

We now have to work our sex life around raids. Yes, the reality's just as sad as it sounds.

The new expansion for WoW is only 2 months away. And-- wonder of wonders-- I've grown somewhat bored with the game. Yesterday was the first day in god knows how long that I did not log on to WoW and spend time with my (virtual) girlfriends. It's inevitable that I'll be sucked back into the game when it's here. But for now, maybe it's time to give a little love to something which has made me a lot more friends, also from places I never imagined-- my dear Confetti In the Wind.

Oh what the fuck here's another pic of Mario. Last one I promise!

"First, kiss me here, then feel free to work your way down..."

The Obsession Continues

2008-09-17T12:19:00.009+08:00

The BF finally did read my blog post (thanks to all you loudmouth bitches, you know who you are), and I must say, it went rather well. I mean, lots of people go through life with just one eye, and the doctor says I may be able to have bowel movements anyday now, only that I may need a nurse for the rest of my life.

A Nurse Mario. Oh yeah.

I couldn't find a nurse's uniform, but really Mario in anything (or better still, nothing) will do

I know, I'm such a sucker for punishment.

Things you may not have known about Love of Siam:

Mario was 17 and Pitch 16 when the movie was made in December 2006 to capture the authentic Christmas mood in Siam Square. I know this for a fact because Mario does not have any hair on his legs in the movie. Ref: recent pic in last post.

The soundtrack for the movie is sold out across Thailand. Even online sites don't carry it anymore. And don't ask me how I know it's not on eBay either, because I did not bid on a LOS soundtrack that wasn't up for bidding (dammit). I don't understand how cds can be "sold out". Isn't it like, easier than printing money when there's a ready market of lusty gay boys waiting to sing along to Gan Lae Gan? Even if the market seems to be just me?

He has a hiphop album which he stars with his elder brother, Marco. It's called PsyCho and Li'l Mario: Dem Crazy Boyz. Love the inclusion of "z" in Dem Crazy boyz. Lovez it. It features stellar track titles like "Say Ganja", "Stinchy (sic) Pimp" and probably my favourite, "Get the F*** Off My Way" because that's what i say to dem carz blocking my roadz everydayz?

This cd, u can be assured, is very much in stock. Stockz.

I wouldn't say the album's bad, from what little I've heard of it. It's just totally not my style. Marco seems to be actually quite talented, but perhaps he should lay off the muthaf***ers and the ho's and the bitches and the pussies and the entire part about being born in the ghetto. A ghetto. Really, you Maurers would know a ghetto if it peed on your shoes, would you?

Poor Mario doesn't seem to fare too well in the rapping department, but boy is he earnest. Just watch this interview he did with a morning talk show called, er...Happy Morning. The action begins about 2 minutes in, and the host must have been heavily sedated or coked up to her eyeballs because that was frankly the worst rap I've ever been subjected to in my life and she listened to the whole thing unflinchingly. Even I, the self-styled Biggest Mario Maurer Fan In The World (TM), had to watch it at least 5 times because I kept pausing it while giggling like mad. I have no idea what she said but perhaps it was the sheer proximity of Mario the God that doubtlessly persuaded her to praise him so effusively. And then give him a plant at the end, which poor Mario quite rightly looks at bewilderedly. Perhaps she was saying "Your rap sucks, have you considered gardening as your day job?" *pushes plant over*

And finally, a sobering note: Poor Mario's dad passed away in June...at the age of seventy *Raises eyebrows*. Nevertheless we have much to thank dear departed Maurer Snr, and not just for his superb DNA. Apparently, it was his dad who convinced Mario to take the role of Tong despite the controversial kissing scene. "It's just a job," dear old daddy said.

By the way, Mario if you read this boy do I have a job for you!

P/S Okay darling if you're reading this you're still my best baby ever don't lock me up no more please I swear to be good put that knife down

The Love of Siam (And Their Schoolboys)

2008-09-17T01:58:00.007+08:00

No, I'm not dead yet. I offer no excuses because there isn't any. But the urge to blog has never been so strong, and I may possibly lose my life after this post (more on that later), so let's make it count.

I've just watched The Love of Siam which I don't suppose needs any further introduction since it's been circulating amongst the gay community for almost a year now. I can't believe it took me so long to get to know this guy, but thanks to Ed and another Thai movie marathon with the girls, I'm finally brought up to speed.

Yes, and then just go ahead and lift them, right above your head...

For the uninitiated, his name's Mario Maurer, and he's simply the most beautiful thing on the planet. You understand The BF will kill me after stating this in public no less so you appreciate the gravity of the statement, no?

It's probably the perfect storm combination of watching his role in this movie as the perennially bewildered Tong. He appears in school uniform 99% of the time (bless you Thai high schools and bless those shorts you make them wear), his hair close-cropped with a hint of brown, belying his German-Thai heritage and making his very ordinary movie parents very implausible indeed.

The movie is essentially a pretty well-done coming-of-age story about Mew, a sensitive singer-songwriter in a high school boy band, and Tong who has, to put it mildly, family issues and their journey to overcome grief, overprotective mothers and grabby girlfriends. There are other subplots in there, but they're all about girls and/or alcoholic fathers so they shall not be mentioned henceforth.

The scene which touched me the most was when young Tong's family decides to move away after having lost his sister in a jungle in Chiang Mai (note: never go hiking in Chiang Mai-- your family may decide to move away in case you actually do make it back). At first Mew is strangely unmoved by this announcement, even unemotional but as Tong's car pulls away there's a shot of him wiping his eyes on his sleeve. That actually spoke much louder than any words could have. Somewhat simultaneously, the young boys are introduced to their first losses in life.

Through a stroke of fate that only happens in movies, their paths cross five years later when Tong has suddenly become very, very hot, (and very, very half-German) and Mew is a budding recording artiste. They meet in Siam Square when Tong wants to buy his band's EP which was sold out. Cheeky Mew offers to make a bootleg copy of it as an excuse to get Tong's number--which I don't blame him. Anything that hot that walks on two legs should immediately be contactable. Physically contactable, if you know what I mean.

To be fair, Mew, played by Witwisit Hiranyawongkul (whose nickname by the way, is Pitch. Don't ask me how Thais give their kids nicknames that have nothing to do with their real ones) is no chopped liver himself. In fact, his portrayal of a sad, lonely boy who loses almost everyone he's ever loved is spot-on. Unfortunately, next to Mario The God, the phrase pales in comparison has never been more apt.

Mew: Why isn't this shot centered on both of us? Tong: Because I'M the hot one in this relationship, darling.

And so it begins, the sweetest and most pure love story I have seen. It goes to show that gay cinema does not need to have much angst, much tears, much shouting (although inevitably there's some in the movie) and most importantly, only one kissing scene to touch my heart (and other places...) in ways I never thought possible.

The movie seems to have a lot of messages, and in fact manages to carry it off very well. The underlying theme is, of course, love. Not just romantic love, but between a son and a mother, a grandmother and her grandson and also between friends. In fact if they threw in a pet dog it'd have been just overkill.

Unfortunately, love can also be the knife that twists relentlessly, endlessly, as demonstrated by Tong's mom after she witnesses her son playing swap the saliva with the next-door-kid (rookie mistake guys, but next time try not to kiss on your mom's front lawn, yeah?). She then meets with Mew and pressures him to end the relationship.

"Do it for Tong," she says. "It doesn't matter what kind of love you have for him, you should want to ensure he is happy and that he has a good life."

And then of course, he starts avoiding Tong, thinking he's such a martyr and all. Fool!!! We all shrieked as one in my living room. She's just being a selfish bitch who thinks mummy knows best! Ignore her!!! Cue Tong calling for Mew outside the latter's house in the middle of the night in his school shorts. I mean if it was me, I don't care what your momma said, I'd be chewing them shorts off with my teeth.

There are so many touching (ahem) scenes, it would be hard to describe them all. The first time Mew confesses his loneliness to Tong, which is a cue for Tong to gather him in his arms, of course. Then there's the part where Tong and his mom are decorating the Christmas tree, and Tong is torn between a Santa and Santarina ornament, telling his mom that if she dislikes his choice, she would be upset again. What a fucking clever way to discuss sexuality with your mom. Ed immediately declared he'd be showing his mom a Ken and Barbie doll the next time he went back to his hometown.

Then there's the controversial last scene between Mew and Tong. Mew's face is full of hope and expectation when he asks Tong what he thinks of the song he has just sung (and in fact, wrote) for him. The last time he asked this, he got a tongueful of Tong, so of course he's hoping he'll get lucky again.

Inexplicably, Tong says "I can't be your boyfriend, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Even more inexplicably, Mew seems to accept this statement with utter equanimity, even going so far as to thank Tong, whereupon he receives a Christmas gift from Tong of-- a bright red wooden butt plug/lollypop thingy.

I guess Tong just wants to remain fuckbuddies, then?

No, it's the last piece of a toy puzzle that Tong gave him so many years ago when they were just boys. Aww! How sweet! And how fucking unsatisfying!

Of course all of us were rooting for more Mew-on-Tong (or vice-versa) action but I guess just one kiss and no nudies was written in their contract. Oh well, here's hoping for a sequel.

By the way, it wasn't just one kiss, of course...

Wingedman: The Return

2007-11-07T02:14:00.000+08:00

There's a message every In-flight Supervisor has to say whenever an aircraft lands in Kuala Lumpur from anywhere outside the country.

No matter if you've been somewhere as near as Singapore or as far away as Buenos Aires, it never fails to warm the cockles of my bitchy, cynical heart.

And verily, it doth warmeth this morning when I landed the aircraft (Yes! Me! I do the landings! Sometimes! And good ones too!) after 14 days of being away from home and family and love.

"...dan kepada para warganegara Malaysia, selamat pulang ke tanahair"

Welcome home indeed, my darling iMac. Back to normal, without having to pay a single cent. Not even a raised eyebrow from the technicians. I <3 Apple 4Eva.
"...and to our fellow Malaysians, welcome home."

Altogether now...."awwwwww"

My Phone's A Bitch (But It Takes Okay Pictures)

2007-11-02T05:02:00.000+08:00

I just want to say that my handphone is being a bit of a bitch. Well, actually being a lot of a bitch, considering that it refuses to inform me whenever I have a new message. No beep, no ringtone (that I painstakingly edited from my favourite Jay Chou song), not even a message on the main screen. Only when i'm checking my message inbox do I discover that I've had 8 unread messages, 3 of them from my bf asking why the hell am I not answering him.

So yeah, it's being a bitch, and I'm never ever going to buy any Nokia N-Series as long as they insist on using the nightmare of a UI that is Symbian. It's slow. It's interface is as boring as lesbian sex (sorry, lesbians). To paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson in 1408-- It's just an evil fucking system. Not to mention it's as sexy as a lump of coal (It's black. That's it.) and weighs as much as one.

So why did I buy it? Well it seemed a good idea at the time. It had 3G (which I could never get the video call working) It was one of the first phones to have built-in wi-fi. And of course, the only saving grace: it's 3-megapixel camera.

I managed to dig up some pics I took with the camera over the 20-odd months I've had it. Only fitting to give it sort of a send-off before it's permanently retired.
I think this was taken in Sg. Wang. I don't remember the watch, but it obviously appeals to a very niche market.

This one is just plain wrong. What do cuddly bears who shoot magic out of their tummies have to do with Chinese New Year? Oh well, don't complain, it's still money. The circumstances surrounding my getting this angpow makes for quite a story in itself. Suffice to say I was given this highly incongruous red packet while shopping in the Louis Vuitton store in Starhill. Now if that isn't surreal or what?

No, your eyes aren't deceiving you. No, I don't know what it is. It's fascinating though, in a kinda disturbing way. Found it at the Sex Museum in Amsterdam.

Isn't this the perfect compliment to the above picture? I'll leave you guys to guess as to what it actually is-- if you want hints go ask weeshiong.

Au revoir, Nokia N80. Thou shalt not be missed.

Don't Cry For Me...

2007-10-30T07:17:00.000+08:00

Ok I've been trying to blog about my trip for the past one week and I've always come up against a wall. So I'm going to use the Blogger's Last Resort To Blogging-- the ever-dependable point form.

Getting to Buenos Aires is a PITA, and I don't mean the bread. To get here from KL, one must first fly to Johannesburg (11 hours), then Capetown (1.5 hours) and then to Buenos Aires (8.5 hours). This is the fate that shall befall Mummy Dearest as I ship her back from BA all the way to KL as I stay back in Johannesburg for the return leg. 1 1/2 weeks without even thinking of touching myself is quite enough, methinks.
It's official: Duff was right-- Latinos are the hottest race on the planet. It helps that Argentina is the only Latin American country to legalise same-sex marriage despite being staunchly Roman Catholic. Hot men do roam the streets in mesh clothing, showing off their perfectly formed abs with skin the color of dulce de leche. Rawwrr.
Unfortunately, man-hunting tends to be limited with Mummy Dearest tagging along. Eyes Forward Always is my motto.
The hotel is one of the nicest I've ever stayed. Free wifi already lets it get my vote, but what really made me drop my pants and bend over was the jacuzzi in the bathroom.
A cow's revenge was nearly the end of me. I've been hearing nothing but raves about the quality of meat here, especially Argentinian beef, cooked Asada style-- fancy way of grilling as you can see from the unfortunately spreadeagled pigs in the picture. In my Supreme Brilliance I ordered a 600g steak medium rare, despite never even touching the things when I'm in KL. But it was cheap, about RM65 only, so I decided, Why not? Cheap Means Must Buy is the unofficial Malaysian Chinese motto isn't it? Or is that just the whore in me?

Scotty wondered if the transporter was working properly...

Boy was I in for a shock when the monster of a steak landed on my plate. It was as big as the plate itself, and about 3 inches thick. I don't know what scales they used but it sure as hell wasn't 600g. I'm only exaggerating slightly I swear. Despite skipping lunch that day, I just couldn't put away so much dead cow. I had to abandon a huge part of it, which sat on my plate, bleeding maliciously at me. I died for you, and you don't even have the decency to finish me off?
Well I was never really good at deep-throating thick pieces of meat anyway. But at least I can say I tried.
Ice creams here are made of milk so full-bodied they practically dive down your throat. No such nonsense as low-fat or vegetable oil here--which is the way I like it. I've never eaten creamier, fattier goo in my life-- and I've eaten a lot of white (and assorted coloured) goo along the way.
Spending time with Mummy Dearest is precious, seeing as she's pushing 70 now and who knows what may happen in the future-- but I've not slept on the same bed with her since I was SEVEN. I do want to foster close relations but this is quite ridiculous. What does one do when MD starts snoring? You can't poke her like you can your bf.
I'm missing a certain someone's goo, that's for sure. Only one more week till the cow comes home, honey!

Ah! Gay Paree!

2007-10-25T01:10:00.000+08:00

Warning: Not very safe for work. Safe for cursory glances but nothing more.

I'm hearing a lot about Paris lately. How the LV there is cheaper. How romantic it is when the Eiffel Tower lights up at night (although in summer, it may be 10.pm. before it actually get dark enough for it to be lit).

And now, rugby lads doing unimaginable things with each other. Look where their hands are going, my god!

For a strange reason, Referee Guillaume wondered if he was in the right stadium after all

If this is how they play rugby, where do I sign up for lessons?

Rant, Rant, Rave

2007-10-23T01:38:00.000+08:00

Tonight's my last night in KL before leaving on a long, two week working trip--with my mom. Yeah, she'll be following me around, enjoying the sights and sounds of the Southern hemisphere.

I don't know why I don't feel like sleeping even when I have trouble keeping my eyes open. It's not like I'm going somewhere for months. It's not like I haven't been away from him before.

Still, two weeks is a long time to be away from my baby. I think it's going to be the longest we're going to be apart. When he reminded me that I'll be away for almost half a month I really felt a sinking feeling inside me. Two weeks without sex! And in the same hotel room as my mom! That's like the utter opposite of sex, if there's such a thing.

Lack of sex is one thing, but I'll actually, physically, miss him. I'll miss rubbing his skin, poking his sides, playing with the hair on his legs, biting his knuckles, nipping his ears, etc etc. I have literally dozens of ways to make him ticklish-- and he's damn ticklish everywhere, basically.

Tonight I teased him that he's being too hung up over my trip. He's been whining about it to whoever'll listen. He's been busy planning his days and weekends to keep himself occupied since I'm not around. And all this while I'm the one who's even more hung up about missing him. I won't have my friends around to distract me. I won't have Raya open houses to go to, or Beyonce's Jakarta concert to attend.

Well, at least I have my mom. My oldest and best girlfriend? Perhaps it's time for some good old-fashioned mother-daughter bonding over shopping in Buenos Aires.

One small problem.

Dear god, how shall I hide my morning wood for two weeks?!

Revelation

2007-10-22T02:19:00.000+08:00

I'm sure everyone's heard about it by now, and let's all keep in mind that these are fictional characters, but this is it.

DUMBLEDORE IS GAY!!

It's definitely canon. The great Joanne K. said so herself to loud applause in New York. I'm sure nobody expected it. It's such a stunning, shocking, scandalous, revelatory statement. I really respect J.K. all the more for revealing this. Thanks to Youngwolf2k for highlighting this to me just moments ago.

Were all the signs there for us to see? I'm personally glad that they weren't. It's so good to have a positive character who's such a big influence in the series, be gay without being overtly so. It's a children's book after all-- I certainly wouldn't want to be the parent to explain to the child why "Dumbledore tried to kiss Grindelwald but then got gay-bashed".

Although personally, if I was Albus, I'd have given Oliver Wood some very private, very personal lessons. Once he turns 16, of course.

Now I can't wait for the movie version of "Deathly Hallows". And see who's going to play the young Albus Dumbledore.

So what's next? Or rather, who next shall be outed? I refuse to believe there isn't one in Harry's year. Personally I'm betting on this being her next book: Minerva McGonagall and Dolores Umbridge: The Secret Love-Hate Lesbian Relationship Revealed.

Computer Catastrophe

2007-10-18T04:22:00.000+08:00

It's a miserable life, if you happen to be one of Wingedman's computers.

First, thieves break into The BF's apartment and make away with my old, venerable Compaq laptop, the first I've ever owned, and which I spent a full year paying on instalments waaay back when I was a Second Officer. It had no battery, nor a working disc drive, not even Wi-fi (gasp!) but it was the only portable thing they took. They even overlooked The BF's ipod nano which was in plain sight but instead took his gym bag--to store the laptop in, presumably.

I hope the fucking thieves pull a muscle lugging it around. It weighed a massive 2.7kgs, a fact that I was acutely reminded of everytime I had to change aircrafts (up to three times a day) back when i was flying domestic. Still, it kept me company on those long, lonely nights when I had neither BF nor World of Warcraft.

Ever since I got my Vaio, it was banished to The BF's place, mainly for him to do his office work and...well, just his office work. And that's before he changed jobs. So by the time they got their grubby paws on it, it was relegated to merely being a very expensive paperweight sitting on the coffee table gathering dust.

Then, a week later, lightning struck. Literally. On Tuesday as I was happily having Roti Bakar with Weeshiong, somewhere at home, there was a flash of light, and my not-yet-three-months-old iMac died a premature death. A fact that I didn't find out until I reached home later that night.

Normally, a touch of my mouse and the 24-inch screen would come to life, luminously, in all it's glory. Except that it didn't. No matter how much I tapped it's fantastically-flat aluminium-hewn keyboard, or frantically pushed the one and only button on the thing, all it did was mock me with it's dead, black screen.

DEAD! BLACK! SCREEN!

Okay, so it's my fault that I left it on to download porn while I went off shopping. And it's my fault that it's the third time it's happened. In fact, it's like a ritual of passage that all my computers have to go through--- being zapped by lightning while, incidentally, downloading porn. Do you think it's some kind of sign?

The first time was with the aforementioned Compaq. Replacing the motherboard cost me almost 900 bucks even though it was under warranty. Apparently, lightning strikes come under "Acts of God" and aren't covered. And also, telling them that you're Buddhist and thus don't come under that particular jurisdiction just gets the phone slammed down on you.

The second time was with my Vaio. Thankfully, the adaptor made the ultimate sacrifice to save itself before the current could overload the laptop. However, nothing with the word Sony stamped on it comes cheap, and forked out nearly RM300 for a replacement adaptor.

Now god knows how much I'd have to pay for the iMac. All the electronic components are packed so tightly I don't know what else is fried. And should the technician get it working, I guarantee the first thing he'd notice is how the desktop is filled with files with names like Danny Gets Fucked.torrent or Bareback Cum Gushers.avi

Oh well. Let's hope he's a cute technician. There has to be some silver lining among all these disasters. Besides the fact that a God that I technically don't believe in is trying to tell me something.

Delusions

2007-10-15T07:33:00.000+08:00

At the aerotrain terminal, I paused briefly and looked at my reflection in the glass doors. It was the wee hours of the morning, and the only people around were half-dazed passengers and some cleaning staff.

Not bad, I thought to myself, adjusting my tie. Even after 12 hours of intercontinental flight, I still cut a dashing figure in my uniform. I caught sight of a young Dutch couple looking at me. Passengers off my flight, most probably.

Well, they wouldn't be the first to entertain thoughts of a threesome with a cute young pilot, I chuckled to myself, as the train glided onto the platform. I was used to the stares, but nevertheless, I stood a little straighter and walked into the train.

It was still dark outside, and I could still see myself in the mirrored glass of the rapidly-moving train. The Dutch couple wee now behind me, occasionally casting glances my way. I gave them my best angle. Tyra would be so proud of me. I touched my hair to make sure all was in it's proper place.

I was glad now that I'd told the tailor to make my jacket just a little slimmer around the waist. It's amazing what suits can do to your figure, with shoulderpads you could fire missiles from and waistlines so small you need to suck in just to button up.

The train finally reached the terminal. As casually as possible, knowing full well that admiring eyes were on me, I expertly maneuvered my luggage (Victorinox, of course) into position behind me with just a flick of my wrist and a shove of a toe. The train doors opened, and I stepped out.

Only to crash spectacularly, full-bodied, into a glass panel. The train's doors had opened, but not the station's. I had grossly mistimed my smooth exit.

The glass panels wobbled violently, and then slowly slid open. I heard a soft snickering from somewhere behind me, but was too mortified to turn around. I wished I could disappear into the gap between train and platform but realised i was probably too fat and probably would get stuck halfway down.

Face burning, knees smarting, I quickly rushed out and flew for the elevators, cursing the makers of that idiotic aerotrain.

Well, so much for the dashing, well-coordinated pilot anyway. And there goes my chances of a second swinging proposition.

It's Britney, Bitch

2007-10-11T01:15:00.000+08:00

Well, this is the video weve all been waiting for, from the train wreck that is "The Legendary Ms Spears".

I'm really glad her single is doing well. It really proves that there's no such thing as bad publicity. And besides, it's a good song. Even though she repeats the title like, a million times in the song.

Did I mention I used to keep a picture of her in my wallet? This was waaaay back during my pre-glam days when Slutilla had to help fork out for my meals sometimes. And I kept a picture of Ms Spears to, you know, throw people off the scent.

Only now do i realise that all it does is actually confirm what people already know: Only true faggots carry around pop star's pictures in their wallet, or, as in Kitty's case, put up posters of Spice Girls in their bedrooms.

Kitty, I can only imagine when you finally come out to your mom.

"But you can't be gay! You have all those half-naked women on your bedroom walls last time"

Take this korean boy. Obviously obsessed with Britney, and possibly gay to boot too. I mean, look at his moves. He's even better than Ms Spears, given the space he's in and the condition of his surroundings. I had to watch this like, a dozen times in appreciation of his mad dancing skills. I especially like the little bow he did in the end and how he scurries to switch the video camera on and off. It's so cute.

I wish I could bodyroll like that during BodyJam.

The School Meme

2007-10-09T12:50:00.000+08:00

Yay a meme! Iused to think they were pretty tiresome (some of them anyway) but these days, after my long hatus, it does feel somewhat nice to be included in the community again, so thanks to the incomparable, the dibuang-negri weeshiong.

I attended three different high schools in my life, but I suppose only one matters now, the one which I've made some of the best friends I've ever had, and I'm not just saying that because some of them read my blog still (hello to the original Sluttila!--note the difference in spelling).

I suppose I was quite unobtrusive in school. I always hung out with the geeks, but I was never as good in studies as they were. I never really had any high school crushes-- not for the lack of trying, mind, but simply because there were slim pickings. My year was completely devoid of omgawd-I-want-him-so-much-god-please-let-me-have-his-babies kind of guys.

Favourite subject
Pendidikan Moral, without doubt. Why? Because in the two years I attended my last high school, the teacher was pregnant. Twice. Unusually fertile, she was. the entire class actually cheered when she announced that she was going on maternity--again. And there usually weren't enough replacement teachers to go around, so it was essentially a free hour, four days out of the week. Small wonder we all failed abysmally when it came to SPM results in moral. The school average was like a C5 or something.

Favourite teacher
The late, great Mr. Lee. He was the Guru Disiplin, and was the epitome of the adage "talk softly but carry a big stick". We all looked up and respected him like no other teachers. he knew when to be explosively strict and when to look the other way when we prefects were caught watching confiscated porn in the AV room.

Worst Subject
A lot of people like to cite History as their worst subject, and I would too if not for a really dedicated teacher (whose name, naturally, slips my mind). Consequently, I got a A2 for a subject I thought I'd never pass. Kemahiran hidup (living skills) was also bad for me, seeing as all guys had to do macho woodworking as an elective while all I wanted was to bake cakes like all the rest of the girls.

Sat beside a boy or a girl
Of course, boys. I don't know how it is today but in my time even in co-ed schools boys weren't allowed to sit beside girls. You know, just in case the boy accidentally fingers up the girl or something. Accidentally.

Hold any positions in school?
I was a prefect. That's about it. Enjoyed all the privileges, enjoyed being a Little Napoleon, and all that. But that's about it. I was rather lethargic about being any kind of leader, really. And I think I'd have been a bad one, and go easy on the cute boys or something. Oh well, not like that has changed much.

Co-ed or all-boys
Co-ed, co-ed, semi-all-boys. The last because the school was transitioning from all-boys to co-ed. Essentially, pussifying itself. I bet the school founder is spinning in his grave.

Represent your school in any competition?
Mostly debating, story-telling and spelling bees. I'm not very good at debates, because I'm not the kind of person who can think fast on the spot. I can probably insult people very quickly though. Too bad they didn't allow verbal abuse during debates or that fat bitch from Assunta would have gotten a lot of mileage from me.

Getting to school
Bas sekolah. And one year of cycling.

Still keep in touch with your schoolmates after all these years?
Yes, I do actually. Almost weekly, if I can help it, otherwise, I see them online when I play WoW. In fact, some of my current friends are dating my ex-classmates. You know, those of the male persuasion. My year lacked burning hot guys, but faggotry ruled.

Did form 6?
Heavens, no. I couldn't stand being taught in BM any longer than I statutorily had to. So I took Cambridge A-Levels.

Well this went on longer than I thought it would. And it does bring back memories, especially now when we're all so different. Hairstyle, body shape, dress sense, sexual orientation *wiggles eyebrows*

Not me though. I do believe I'm a GSB-- Gay Since Birth. Platinum card-carrying holder of Faggots United because I've never actually seen a real live naked woman-- and never intend to.

Gratification: Delayed

2007-10-08T01:44:00.000+08:00

Actual size...if you have hands like dinner plates, that is

Behold the iPod Touch.

I really, really, want it. Since I can't have an iPhone. Until 2008 anyway.

And it is well within my means to afford it.

Technically.

But just because I can afford it doesn't mean i should get it, right?

Especially since I don't even have dining chairs yet. Or a kitchen. Or even cutlery.

But it's sooo beautiful. Loook at the internet browsing function! The video playback!

I can't even remember the time when I had to force myself to not buy something I really, really wanted. I always give in.

But RM1739 is a lot of money. It could buy me at least two or three designer knock-off dining chairs (I really wouldn't mind an Arne Jacobsen Ant or Model 3107 chair in beech or black).

Or, my guests could just sit on Ikea stools. Maybe nick a bench from the nearby school's canteen. Or I could throw a stooluck party! it;ll be like a potluck, but bring your own seats! Sounds like fun? No?

Decisions, decisions. Why, oh why must I be such a whore for gadgets? And everything else, really?

Unexpected!

2007-10-04T01:15:00.000+08:00

It's always nice to be appreciated, even more so when someone's from your own community. I still remember the time I got a package from the incomparable Jay. I still remember being utterly shocked, mesmerised and touched all at once by his simple, thoughtful, unexpected gift.

And I thought I'd never be privileged to feel that way again. Sometimes, though, life does give cute little sweet cupcakes instead of nasty sour lemons, and very unexpectedly too.

Last Saturday, I thought I spied a fellow Blogger during the YKLS performance--- one of many that night, apparently--and thought I recognised him as a Bodyjam kaki. So I thought it was only appropriate that I should say hi to him the next time we meet, which would be the Monday class at the Curve.

Naturally, it's unbecoming of a proper lady to introduce herself to strange men wantonly, so before I actually met him, I warned him via his blog that I was going to thrust myself upon him in public the next day.

Despite what people may think, it's not a natural state for me to be approachable, or even friendly. Very often I have to draw a breath and go through a mental checklist (Zip open? Mouth stinko? Back straight? Hair gelled?) before I introduce myself to anyone.

That day he came in late for the class, so the only time I could approach him was in between classes. So imagine how much harder it is to have to meet a semi-complete stranger, with hair plastered all over my face, and breathing heavily like a sex-starved fiend after a particularly sadistic Bodyjam 42 routine (damn the neverending bounces). I'm not looking my best, to say the least.

Nevertheless, I caught his eye, and started to smile and opened my mouth to say hi. He then gave me what appeared to be a blank piece of paper and then, wordlessly, dashed off to join the next class.

So I stood there, somewhat dumbfounded, and looked down at the thing he'd thrust unceremoniusly into my hands.

In case you haven't noticed, it's an ambigram. It reads exactly the same upside down or right side up. It's so beautiful and so personal, I was literally floored.

And I had to wait one freaking hour to say thank you to Janvier. Damn you :P

Thankfully, our conversation after that returned to normalcy, and he did apologise for behaving in such a schoolgirl-ish manner. So my heartfelt thanks again for the unparalleled work of art. It really is a masterpiece, and I really don't feel I deserve it.

In medieval times, this would be the part where I cut off your hands so you'll never again recreate such beauty for anyone else. Aren't you glad we're all modern and civilized now?

Big Rant With Big Swear Words, Apology in Advance

2007-10-02T02:15:00.000+08:00

Someone very wise once told me (of course I forgot who it was, goldfish memory at work) that there are 3 things to never talk about at work or in blogs:

1. Race
2. Politics
3. Religion

It's a very, very solid rule to follow. Unless, of course, your work involves these things, or if you're like, winner of the Religious Blog Of The Year or something.

Today, however, I'm gonna skim very close to all three.

These are the headlines from all over the world, concerning Beyonce's decision to skip Malaysia and perform in Indonesia.

Beyonce shelves Malaysia concert

Beyoncé Calls Off Booty-Bottling Concert

Beyonce Cancels Concert in Malaysia Due to Dress Code

Beyonce Concert In Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia Cancelled Amidst Protests

Beyonce Cancels Rather Than De-Sex her Show for Muslim Country

Let me be clear that I do love my country, and I don't begrudge its official religion. But some things make you want to just headbutt a metal spike.

However, that Beyonce's skipping us and going to Jakarta, the world's most populous muslim country, to perform, is really just laughable. And make no mistake, the world IS laughing.

So what's been accomplished? The Morals of our Youths Have Been Preserved? The Evil Has Been Averted? Say No To Midriff-Barers? She-Demon of the Undulating Belly Terrorises Local Populace No More?

I guess, you know, I won't be able to see her perform...yes siree, no more access to Beyonce in any way...good job all you ten thousand petitioners...no way for me to be corrupted by her...it's so difficult to see Beyonce and her corrupting influence at all in any medium...except on the 65-inch TV display at Harvey Normans and practically every other electrical shop EVERY FUCKING HOUR OF EVERY FUCKING DAY.

I don't think I need to say anymore, do I?

11 Yays, 2 Boos, and 1 Fuck You

2007-10-01T03:11:00.000+08:00

1. Crazy weekend, but spent it all with The BF. Yay The BF!
2. Passed my 2nd base check on this fleet. Yay Me!
3. Was stalked in dark room by anonymous colleagues. Yay Me?
4. Best sisters/bitches Duff and Kitty are back! Yay Us!
5. Met Androjane's new bf. Yay ab-alicious hot guy!
6. Found out hot guy's actually my ex-fat ex-classmate, now totally remade-over ala Tyra Banks' ANTM. Yay Classmate!
6. Was called disgrace to my school since my ex-classmate's now hot and I'm still fat. Fuck you, Slutilla!
7. Ate 4kgs of crabs to feel better. Yay Me! Not so yay for poor crabs, though.
8. Went to Young KL Singers' performance in BSC. Yay Young KL Singers!
9. Bumped into many, many bloggers, some for the first time. Yay Bloggers!
10. Was caught unawares, nearly passed out from trying to hold bulging tummy in, in vain effort to appear slimmer. Boo Tummy!
11. Going gym tomorrow. Yay gym!
12. Realise cannot possibly suck in tummy for the one hour I need for Bodyjam. Boo Tummy! Again!
13. Dunch care. If Tyra can do it, so can I! *snap*snap*snap* fingers. Yay Me!

Disturbia

2007-09-24T23:59:00.000+08:00

Let's all establish the fact that I've about as much presence of mind as, say, a piece of mooncake.

A Ritz-Carlton Moet & Chandon snow-skin mooncake, but a mooncake, nonetheless.

I've left a lot, a lot of stuff in my gym's locker rooms in my day.

A Tiffany ring, which the heroic Duff helped me get back.
Shoes. But everybody's left them at one point or another. Right? No? So its just me then?
Membership Card. Twice.
Various pieces of shopping.
Hair gel. Well, wax in my case.
Parking tickets...ALL THE TIME.
And now,just this evening, my car keys.

I usually get to recover everything I've left behind...so far. So I usually never panic, and whenever I realise I've left something behind, I calmly walk back to the locker or the reception counter. Of all of the above, I've only ever lost the membership card, which is very weird in itself. The most I get is a frown from The BF, which is cute because his face just isn't built for frowning (it's for kissing, if you must know. Don't puke onto your keyboards please).

But this time, the keys weren't there. So the next most obvious place to look was the reception. i still wasn't panicked yet, though but I did walk a bit quicker. then I saw The BF with his cutesy frown but at least he was waving at me with my keys in his hand.

So I totally forgot all about it and went to dinner with our friends. So far, so boring, right? Well when I returned to my car, that's when I had my Disturbia moment. I found this on my car's windscreen.

I'm telling you honey, I clutched my pearls. I mean, finding your car keys in the reception is one thing, but to be reminded that they know where your car is too is quite another. i mean, it's not a small carpark-- it's a whole mall!

In a sense, i'm very relieved that my faith in the kindness of my fellow man is renewed, but I also can't help but feel a bit "I Know What You Did Last Tuesday. And Also Where You Park Your Car."

I'm really interested to know who this guy is. To thank him, of course. And also, to make sure he's not the kind of guy who stuffs body parts in fridges. Or something.

It's About Time

2007-09-20T07:30:00.000+08:00

To have another hot male on my blog. I'm still gay, after all, if anyone's wondering.

Ooo you were right, I DO have a nipple, and here it is!

Just one pic, and he happens to be a hawt teen sensation. He's not yet 10 years younger than I am, so technically I'm not a cradle snatcher. Yet.

And yes, I have watched High School Musical. Both of them. And Hairspray. It's a musical. Ok, I watched it because of him, and so did a bajillion girls. They can't all be wrong.

I think this is why no work on my house has been done yet. Damn you, Zac!

Leave Britney ALONE!

2007-09-12T18:37:00.001+08:00

I used to love Britters. I really did. She was MY GIRL, yo. True, she didn't have the voice. Or the brains. She still doesn't (In fact I suspect she has less now than when she started her career), but she was a great performer and I loved her songs.

On stage or off-stage, she was always performing. Whether it was her joke of a marriage(s) to her numerous panty-less sojourns, she knows she's in the spotlight so I suspect she's totally given up hope for herself.

I've watched her VMA performance several times, and although the song itself isn't that bad (very Britney-- at least no one can claim she's copying anyone else), her performance was lukewarm at best, and horribly lazy to boot. It's so obvious she's lip-syncing and near the end, she didn't even bother moving her lips anymore, as if realising that since she's not singing, why pretend anyway? Or maybe she forgot the words. All of the two words in the song.

And she was barely dancing. I do more moves in 5 minutes of bodyjam than she did in that entire performance.

Let's not even talk about that body. Ok, let's talk about it a little bit (because there's so much of it to talk about that's why). For a mother of two, I suppose any average woman would love to have that body, but she's BRITNEY, BITCH.

I think that's more of a title now than a statement. Britney, Bitch. Like Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law.

The tragedy is that she could have been so much more. So, so much. Oh well. No such thing as bad publicity, right? The producers did a masterstroke in asking Britters to open the show. Everytime they play that clip they have to pay MTV.

Who won what? Who cares? Did you see Britney omgawd!

Hmm maybe she's smarter than I gave her credit for after all.

Updates '07

2007-09-04T03:10:00.000+08:00

Well it's been a while, hasn't it? Anyway as Kitty just said to me, blogging is so 90's. Everything's about "social networking sites" now like Friendster, MySpace and Facebook.

And on my Facebook, I can get peed upon, get bitten and forced to join someone's zombie army, or just play a game of (thinly-disguised) Scrabble. However, one virtual world is quite enough for me, thanks, and as far as social networking goes, World of Warcraft still pwns all.

In any case, here's a quick update for what's been happening:

I finally got the keys to my very own apartment. Well, technically, it's 10% mine, 90% Hong Leong Bank's, but who cares. It's MINE! And I daresay it's a very nice one too. I was very cautious about having high expectations, but to my surprise, it's turned out very well indeed. The developer truly deserves to be in the Top Ten Property Developers.

However, I do wish they'd include deck chairs for the poolside. Or else, we'd end up like this poor fellow here:

Dead or just Desperate?

He does look pretty hot though. Although not many people have moved in, it seems that quite a few residents have taken the opportunity to use the facilities...like the totally orgasmically hawt guy The BF and I saw working the treadmill the other day. I wanted to drop my measuring tape accidentally on purpose just so I could ogle him at leisure but alas, The BF hustled me back to the car with a most unladylike speed.

"I don't know why you're upset we've got a totally orgasmically hawt guy staying at our place," I told him. "In fact, we should actively encourage such residents. In fact, ALL residents should ideally be totally orgasmically hawt."

I pointed out to him that I'd be away on flights most of the time, leaving HIM as a lonely abandoned spouse, inviting all sorts of scandalous opportunities of the Desperate Housewives type of script. Somehow that argument didn't quite convince him.

I suppose it'd be too much to wish that I had a totally orgasmically hawt neighbour. I've already met mine, and they're an all-too-decent retired banker and his enthusiastically friendly wife. Really nice people, but not the type I'd wish to see sunbathing, if you know what I mean.

Not even face-down.

Anyway I think they have more to fear from me, since I'm the swingin' single guy who'll be planning parties every weekend and blasting music from sundown to sunup. At least, isn't that the general idea?

I don't know. I'll be too busy playing my Dwarf Priest.

Next: The Perils of Renovation & Furniture Shopping

Precious Bum Padding

2007-05-21T15:37:00.001+08:00

The time draws near for my condo to be completed. Naturally, I've been making the rounds to various furnishing stores to compare prices and get some ideas on the ID.

On one of these jaunts, The BF and I discovered a place called Macy's in The Curve. No relation to the other Macy's of Thanksgiving Parade fame, naturally. In fact if the US Macy's discovered the existence of this one there'd probably be much wailing and gnashing of teeth at the cheapening of their brand, probably.

Every piece of furniture in that place is damn lou tou, to quote a very apt cantonese term. It's hideous. They can't even properly match the pieces together, and don't get me started on the green-hued walls, so reminiscent of duck droppings. And they weren't cheap either.

However, they had quite a wide selection of mattresses-- all with fairytale names like Slumberland, Dreamland or King Coil. So we spent some time bouncing up and down on the various types available (the bounce test is very important). I knew a good mattress would be upwards of a thousand ringgit but none of the ones here cost less than Rm1500.

So there I was lying blissfully on a particularly comfy one when The BF nudged me and pointed at the price tag. I gaped in astonishment at the large number of zeroes at the end of it.

RM22,500 for a Queen-sized mattress.

The first thing that flashed through my mind was "Is that in Thai Baht?"

How on earth does one make a mattress with such a price tag?! Obviously they don't subscribe tot he Ikea mindset of creating the price tag first. Or maybe they did. In that case, how do they justify a 5-figure price tag?

Maybe it involves human sacrifice. Human baby sacrifice.

Me: Hi, why is this mattress so expensive?

Infernal Salesman: Oh that's cos we use a lot of babies in the process of making it.

Me: Excuse me?

Infernal Salesman: Yes! Many, many babies were harmed during the making of this mattress. Truckloads. But look! You could just fall asleep just by lying on it!

Me: That doesn't sound very environmentally friendly.

Infernal Salesman: We're very concerned about the environment. We only use non-pesticide African cotton and free range chicken.

Me: And babies.

Infernal Salesman: And babies, yes. Very important., the babies. You know the phrase "sleeping like a baby"? We take that from them.

Me: Take, how? Like pour their blood over the springs that sort of thing?

Infernal Salesman: Goodness, no! What a strange mind you have. We just take their ability to sleep soundly. And transfer it to the mattress using a secret method involving 11 secret herbs and spices. The babies go on living, but probably they make their parents feel like killing themselves, though.

Me: Oh that's alright then.

This Is A Spam Blog

2007-03-26T15:11:00.000+08:00

Okay I've been tardy long enough, I suppose. Although it's not totally my fault I must say. One of Blogger's automated spam-sniffing roots had flagged this blog as being a "spam blog". What's a spam blog? A blog that usually has "irrelevant, repetitive, or nonsensical text, along with a large number of links, usually all pointing to a single site."

Well, they got the irrelevant and nonsensical part correct, at least.

In any case, I applied to have it unblocked, and submitted verification details to tell them, you know, Hello, I'm human, I shit in hotel rooms with the door wide open? (which actually does sound like the title of a spam email, come to think of it-- the ones you open and find suddenly it's full of words like srexy glirl hfuge dmick pqenetrating a woet poussy!!!!) and expected them to reply immediately with profuse apologies and a 1% share (at least) in Google stocks.

No such luck, dammit. I waited patiently for two whole days before sending them a nice reminder via email. Which was actually much harder than you think. Looking for an email address to contact Blogger is like trying to call up a Microsoft Complaints Hotline. You'd have better luck finding a unicorn in Lake Gardens.

Eventually I did find a form to fill, after clicking through hundreds of ironically-named "Blogger Help" links. I just wanted to know why I couldn't post up stuff for my blog, and was offered such useful hints as "Refresh your web browser". In any case I sent them a nice reminder and expressed sincere hope that they'd restore my much-beloved blog to me, and that they'd have a nice day doing so.

Two days after that, and still no reply I found the goddamned form again and this time I wasn't quite so polite, to put it bluntly. I may have invoked words like "idiots", "can't handle a simple matter" and "rot in hell" but I honestly can't remember.

Whatever it was it seemed to have worked. I got an email the next day telling me that I was, once again, free to put up blogs about hfuge dmicks and woet poussy if I so wished. Well, I don't wish to (at least not the woet pussy part), but the knowledge that I could is very satisfying, thankyouverymuch.

So that's my blog for this month, tune in again in another 1 1/2 months time for another update guys!

It's Not Who You Are, It's What You Wear

2007-02-07T22:47:00.000+08:00

The nicest thing about being a pilot is probably the uniform. People seem to just love it to bits. While I'm wearing it, little old ladies want to have their pictures taken with me, kids point and shout "Poils! Mak, tengok! Polis!", the public actually trust me with their lives, and best of all guys just want to sleep with me.

Okay so it was just one guy. And he had a wife. And it was in Amsterdam. But I was in uniform, and he did want to sleep with me. With him and his wife, that is.

It was just after a 13 hour flight, and I was dragging my luggage to my hotel room, feeling decidedly unsexy and looking forward to a long, hot shower. I always have my glasses on when I fly, which increases my nerd quotient by about 500%, and I'm smelling all aircraft-y (not a good smell, no matter how much Gucci Rush I slap on), when I meet this couple in the corridor of my hotel room.

I gave the guy a quick once-over, just purely out of habit, of course. He looked Meditarranean, middle-aged, slightly balding but in a good way, and had a thick--not fat-- body. Thus summarily dismissed, I continued past them without looking them in the eye. But I could see them looking at me and whispering to each other.

I never look at people in the eyes when I'm in uniform if I can help it. Because people have a tendancy to stare at pilots, probably judging the appearance of men whose lives they will be entrusting to. I'm not a smiler by nature (and thus would make a horrible steward), and when I absolutely have to, my smile is so polite and impersonal, even I feel it's superfake. So what I do is, stretch the corners of my mouth a bit, and just walk quickly past The Starers and Those Who Whisper Amongst Themselves.

While doing just that, the guy called out to me.

"Excuse me," he said in an indistinguishable accent (at least to me). "Are you an employee of the hotel?"

Of course I am! After all I'm wearing a suit, a cap, and dragging a full set of luggage behind me because I'm the fucking bellboy!

"Er...no, I'm not."

"Ok. Can I ask you a question? It's not a very common question, it's a strange type of question..."

I was intrigued. And yet, in the back of my mind, I could sense what was coming.

"My wife and I..." he began, before hesitating and stepped closer. Only then did I notice a grinning blonde woman peeking behind his shoulder. I tend not to notice women, just like I tend to take extra notice of men. Nature compensates, you see.

"My wife and I were wondering if...you'd like to come back to our bedroom and have some fun together, all three of us.," He leaned closer and nodded conspiratorily. "You know what I mean?"

I was in no doubt whatsoever about what he meant. My response was immediate and decisively firm.

"Thank you, no, I don't think so," I said, shaking my head and smiling. I think it's good manners to turn down an invitation to have a bisexual threesome with a swinging couple politely, don't you think?

"Are you sure?" he asked. The wife made a sad face.

"Positive," I said. No way in hell I was going near those boobies.

He shrugged, smiled and I went off with all the dignity a man who's just refused sex with random strangers could muster. Only in the privacy of my hotel room did I furiously start smsing everyone I knew (well, not The BF--yet) about what just happened.

The thing about been propositioned on the street (well, almost) is that it gives you a whole sense of confidence. The "Yes I'm So Hot Strangers Wanna Blow Me" kind of confidence. Until your bitch friends start telling you that it's probably just your uniform.

"But I looked sleepy, geeky and smelled stale!" I said to Slutilla.

"Then it's definitely your uniform," he replied. "And your race. You know, them swingers, they probably have a little checklist of people they want to do. And then you came along, a Chinaman Pilot and they probably thought to themselves Oh look darling! We can tick two categories off at the same time!"

God I hate it when he's right.

"Now if only it were two hot young studs...course your answer would be much different right?"

"That only happens in thinly-plotted porn movies okay," I said, a bit sadly, I must admit. Oh well, I can still dream (dream only ok, darling). I mean, if the uniform worked on The BF...

;P

Chronicles of an Addict

2007-01-31T04:09:00.000+08:00

In case anyone thinks I've abandoned my blog...well, I haven't.

Not really. Anyway "abandoned" is such a harsh word isn't it? It's appropriate when used to describe Britney "abandoning" her panties on a night out on the town...I've merely..."overlooked" mine.

My blog, not my panties, yeah. I never forget my...panties. Only my Level 30 Priestess wears panties, ok.

Moving on...

Contrary to what you may think, everytime I leave the pc on, I'll always have a page showing an empty blogger screen, staring accusingly at me everytime I click through the windows. And everytime I'll just tell myself..."Tomorrow...I'll definitely blog tomorrow...just one more level...ok...ok one more level..."

So yeah, I'll definitely blog tomorrow again. After this level. Yes, just one more level. OK...ok definitely just one more level OK!! After this one.

The Fifty-Two

2007-01-15T00:16:00.000+08:00

If you think being a pilot is difficult, try being a pilot's significant other. Besides the obvious trust issues, imagine being alone for most weekends and holidays and other significant dates, and always having to explain to people "Where's Will?", it's enough to drive anyone back to being single.

Which was why it's always incredibly satisfying to see the look on The BF's face when I popped up at the gym when I was supposed to be 6000 miles away in Europe on Saturday. As usual, he'd told everyone I was away (and since it was our anniversary week, milking sympathy for all it's worth as well ;). And then I strolled in, taking my place right beside him, just as BodyJam was about to start, thanks to a couple of cancelled flights. And the look on his face was absolutely priceless.

So it's finally to our 52nd week milestone baby. Thanks for being so selfless, so loving and so understanding. I hope you enjoyed my weekend surprise, and here's hoping there'll be much, much more weekends of pleasant surprises to come!

Just Like A Prayer

2007-01-08T03:00:00.000+08:00

Lord give me strength to resist temptation, for today is the last day to redeem Kinokuniya's store-wide 20% discount.

A Belated New Year's Report

2007-01-06T08:56:00.000+08:00

It certainly doesn't bode well for the new year when your first post of the year is about six days after the fact! In my defense, I've been extremely busy...yes, extremely busy enjoying myself, of course. You know it's been a really, really long time since your last blog when your own internet browser no longer recalls your blog's website when you type in the word "w".

In fact it's been practically a nonstop funfair rollercoaster ride all the way from Boxing Day, when I came back from London, somewhat depressed at having to miss Christmas AND worse, Christmas sales. It's really no fun getting stuck watching the telly and all they're showing are sales adverts with the inevitable words "Sales start 10am Boxing Day". Bleh. And my flight's 10pm Christmas night.

In any case, I had a lot to look forward to once I got back. The Vios sisters were once again reuniting, and eternal diva Duff was coming back in time for New Year's while Kitty had returned to KL (via Paris and Singapore--he spent 7 hours in Charles DeGaulle--that's why lah, don't want to take our national airline some more).

And I ate a fucking, fucking, lot. From the 26th right up to the 2nd my dinner card was full, as was my belly. Birthday dinners, reunion dinners, everything was great except my New Year's Eve dinner.

Eating out on New Year's Eve, or any other major holiday's eve-- is a mistake, really, unless you go for hawker food. We were at the Curve early, hoping to catch dinner, a movie and come out just in time for the countdown and the fireworks, but every place was full to the brim, with lines outside, even. We finally settled on Italiannies, since we managed to get a seat thanks to a couple of friends who made reservations but decided not to go. There were just four of us, Kitty, his better half (!) Ed, my better half and me. Unfortunately we had no idea they were having a Christmas menu, with prices starting from a very cut-throat RM69 ("Only ten quid!" gushed Kitty). We wouldn't have minded so much if the food was good and abundant but unfortunately for once, Italiannies let us down and the food came not only in miniscule proportions but was also quite tasteless. the worst steak I've ever eaten, in fact, and that's saying a lot, since I ate a lot of those RM9 coffeeshop "western delights" back when I was a student.

In true tai tai fashion, we decided to make a small fuss out of it and talked to the manager about the food and wrote in a letter. Nothing particularly nasty, in fact, the word "complaint" wasn't even mentioned, we merely offered some feedback on the food. Perhaps we were too nice about it. Maybe if we screamed and shouted and overturned our table we'd have gotten a 10% discount or something.

Still, it was a small blip on our night, since we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves after watching a n unintentionally-hilarious local horror movie (Seed of Darkness--no plot, cliched scares, and actors who look like they're reading lines off a teleprompter behind the camera), and the solid ten-minute display of fireworks. Nearby mall One Utama was also having its own fireworks but they ended well before The Curve's did, which must be quite an embarrassment, considering The Curve started theirs even before the stroke of midnight.

The eating didn't stop there, of course. After midnight, we had Hokkien noodles at a nearby place (to make up for the horrid dinner), and we spent most of New Year's Day at the new Alexis in Bangsar Shopping Centre--very the glam, with exposed concrete beams and white decor--where we exchanged belated Christmas presents. I got a lovely scarf from Duff and exactly nothing from Kitty. Now I know whose sock to fill with coal come next Christmas.

And then for the last night of our holiday, my lovely bf cooked dinner for four of us. His first time hosting so many people, and it was a success! Much praise all around, especially from seasoned cooks Ed and Kitty. And I didn't have to pay them to say anything either!

Well that's it for my New Year's report. Mostly about food, funnily enough, but also about being with the sort of company you'll never get tired of seeing and being with and bitching about every day. Goodbye Kitty and Duff! See you again for CNY!

Randomity

2006-12-28T00:06:00.000+08:00

1. Doesn't it make your blood run cold when you receive a message like this from your internet service provider?

We wish to inform our customers that the Internet service is currently experiencing a degradation in performance caused by several outages at some of the international links. This is attributed to the Richter 7.1 magnitude earthquake that struck off the southern coast of Taiwan at 12.07 a.m. on 27th December 2006, which caused the APCN2 (Asia Pacific Cable Network 2) submarine cable fault between Shantou, China and Tanshui, Taiwan and between Lantau, Hong Kong and Chongming, China. This has caused outages at several TM Net international transit and peering links, mainly to the said countries. As a result, Internet users in Malaysia and other parts of Asia may be experiencing some delay when assessing content and websites hosted outside of Malaysia, especially in U.S., Japan, China, Taiwan, Korea and Europe. TM Net has taken immediate action to divert traffic through other back-up links to reduce the traffic congestion.

Yeah, mine too. Worst of all, I can't play my new MMORPG-- World of Warcraft. And as anyone who's ever lost a friend to the depravities of said game, you'd know that the withdrawal symptoms are nothing short of catastrophic. "Not tonight honey, I have a headache" no longer means you're not interested, it just means you wanna fucking level up your Dwarf ShadowPriest.

2. Christmas! Obviously Christmas is much less jolly when one has lost internet connection to 90% of the online world. No? Well, I had a great Christmas--in London. I had the unfortunate luck of getting put on standby Christmas Eve and got called up for a 3-day London flight. Oh well, it's the price I've paid for my lifestyle (and I'll keep paying, and paying, and paying...never ask me if I'm free during Raya, the answer will forevermore be "no"). London is like a ghost town on Christmas Day. Everything's closed, even the Underground. The only places open are the kebab shops and chinese food...and pubs, naturally. I've never met a teetotalling Englishman, come to think of it. I think the last one died in captivity in the late 19th century at London Zoo.

3. Kinokuniya's "Snowflakes" promotion is a black hole. Don't get sucked into it! See, every RM50 you spend in a single receipt nets you one snowflake stamp. Collect three stamps and you're entitled to 20% off any non-promotional item in the store. But the horrible thing is, the stuff you buy using snowflakes are also eligible for accruing MORE snowflakes! Shock! Horror! Buy! Buy! Buy! Just remember: when the buying stops, the snowflakes will too.
This has been a very poorly-made public service announcement from poverty-stricken bookwhore Wingedman.

Things You Know When You Watch Eragon

2006-12-16T14:58:00.000+08:00

You know you're gay when...

You watch Eragon just because the lead actor is a hot blond twink

You know the movie's going to be a fantasy when...

the hot-blond-twink supposed to be a simple farmboy but is too chic (fitted leather tunics), too clean (check out his immaculate fingers) and wayy too fashionable (ornately-tousled locks for the grunge look).

oh, and there's dragons in it too.

You know it's going to be a good movie when...

the hot twink starts wrestling with his also-hot-twink cousin brother

You know the movie is counting on the dragon too much when...

the baby dragon looks like it's a kitten with wings and everybody just goes AWWW

You know the movie is counting too much on the lead actor to pull the gay audience when...

there's a gratuitous topless scene of him changing clothes while an older woman leers at him and says "Oops, I should've knocked." *bitch*

You know the movie was based on a book written by a 15 year old boy when...

The dialogue includes lines like "To the sky! To fight or die!" (or something to that effect).

You know the movie's going to be a total rip-off from Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and Star Wars when...

There's a blond guy shooting arrows while learning to harness his awesome powers and a grand destiny awaits him but first he has to rescue a princess and slay the bad guy

You know you fantasise too much when...

You imagine Eragon coming up to Harry Potter, saying "I've got a firebreathing dragon between my legs, while you've got a bunch of twigs".

Pizza, Pasta...and Prada

2006-12-13T01:37:00.000+08:00

Eating abroad is sometimes a big problem. Naturally you tend to convert the local currency back into ringgit, which is quite a bad idea because in places like London where everything is seven times more expensive, you'll end up convincing yourself that you need to slim down anyway, and you dont really need that RM20 Pret a Manger sandwich. Even if you find something that's within your budget, you might not like the way it tastes...assuming, of course you know where the meat came from...especially in the Oriental cities.

Thank goodness the idea of Italian food is firmly ingrained to the Malaysian consciousness thanks to places like Pizza Hut and Italiannies. When one thinks of Italian food in general, the first thing that comes to mind is, naturally, pizza and pasta. And, um...well, I can't think of anything else, really. And neither can the Italians, apparently.

It almost seems as if every street has a pizzeria, whether it's an upscale one or the more economical kind. So eating in Rome was a very easy affair--and surprisingly for an European country, an affordable one too.

Of course, not everything in Rome is affordable, least of all the shopping. At least this particular shop isn't afraid to be honest.

I think it's the most excellent name for a shop I've ever seen in my life. I mean, it's the exclamation mark at the end of it that just does it for me. Don't bother stepping in if you don't have at least a gold credit card, honeys.

The main shopping area is around the Piazza di Spagna-- the Spanish Steps. Don't ask me why--I barely gave the sculptures and fountains a glance as I headed towards the first shop I saw after exiting the Metro station--Camper.

I truly believe Campers are the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn in my life. I have three pairs, and I wear all three regularly, especially the pair I wear for work. In fact I don't bring any other shoe with me when I go overseas...I just slip on my work shoes and I can walk all day in them. I know it's sort of a blasphemy to praise Spanish shoes in an Italian city, but I'm telling you the Italians love them too. Unfortunately the shoes are still much too expensive so i'm eagerly awaiting mine to fall apart before buying a new pair. ~~Unfortunately~~ Fortunately, that seems to be quite a while yet.

Shopping in any European (or American, for that matter) city, is completely different, of course, and you certainly can't get anymore European than Rome. Here you can certainly understand the adage "shop till you drop" because there isn't a nice climate-controlled all-in-one shopping complex to buy stuff from with benches for you to sit on when you're tired. The shops here are all over the place in many different streets, and you have to walk in and out and up and down of each one because of course the uomo section is NEVER on the ground floor. And because there's heating in every shop, you also have to take your coat off and put it back on repeatedly. Even I, the veteran of labyrinthine Chatuchak felt tired after a few hours of this.

I have to say this though, Asians are the absolute whore-iest bunch of shoppers I've seen anywhere in the world. Japanese, Chinese, Indian or Korean they were flocking to LV and Burberry like it's the end of the world and they have to die with a tartan check scarf around their neck and clutching a monogrammed handbag. I could barely squeeze into Gucci--and this was a Monday afternoon.

In any case, I'm glad I didn't buy anything. Nothing was cheap, thanks to our anaemic Ringgit. Just a well, since I barely have a budget for sightseeing much less for shopping.

After wandering around the area for a while I decided to be adventurous and take the bus back to the pickup point for my hotel's shuttle. This is the landmark near the pickup point, the monument to King Vittorio Emannuel--the first King of a unified Italy.

Naturally, I promptly got lost because 1) I assumed I'd be able to recognise the stop and 2) How many monuments can there be, even in Rome?

Big mistake. The answer is roughly in the millions. When you're talking about a 4000 year old city, even fucking McDonalds is housed in a monumental-type building. But I wasn't exactly complaining. After all, there were shuttle buses every hour so I wasn't in any hurry, and if you're going to get lost, make it Rome.

I got off somewhere and just started walking in what I thought was the general direction of the monument, and night started to fall. The Romans were out literally in the streets, dining al fresco despite the cold, and the christmas lights were all strung up. It really felt magical, seeing the lights reflected off the rain-slicked cobblestones, with couples and families huddling close together. I really wished that The Bf would be there to share it with me. *Awww*

Sorrylah dear, mom already booked the next trip to Rome with me already. Next-next time ok?

When In Rome...

2006-12-06T09:07:00.000+08:00

In any city you stay, the location of the hotel is most important. Well, actually, cleanliness and then the location. It would be best to have it right in the middle of the shopping/clubbing/gay area of the city but that's not always possible, of course, especially in Europe where the nightly price of a room costs half of my salary--if not all of it. At the very least, somewhere that's within two minutes of the local MRT/LRT/Metro/Underground or its equivalent.

Which was why I was dismayed to find that our hotel in Rome was right smack in the middle of nowhere, with its main feature being the highway next to it, and boasting over a hundred (!) rooms per floor. Naturally, I had the honour of being given the 103rd room, which incidentally is at the end of this very, very long corridor.

If you can't see the end of the corridor from this picture, it's probably because of the earth's curvature. The ceilings were low, and the rooms tiny. My captain put it best: It looks like a prison, except that they can't see you shit from the outside. And they have better lighting and carpets.

Luckily for us, the hotel provided a shuttle bus to the "city centre". A bus which, naturally, dropped us off in the middle of nowhere, with no shopping/clubbing/gay spots, or even a MRT/LRT/Metro/Underground or its equivalent. It did, however have an spectacular view of the Teatro Marcello, an ancient ampitheater that was built in 11BC. 11 BC! Commissioned by Augustus Caesar himself (yes he of the poor choice of friends)! Over two thousand years of existence! And now it's a drop-off point for camera-happy tourists.

So we had to resort to taking the bus to town. Me. A gay. On a bus. The shame! Plus, the entire road system in Rome seemed to be paved with cobblestones, so they were pretty treacherous to walk too. But it's all part of the charm, you see. Rome is so quintessentially European, I think even more so than most cities. Everywhere you turn, everything you see from the roads to the buildings to the fountains is part of ancient history. Even the McDonalds operates from the facade of a 200yr old building! They don't call it Roma Aeterna-- The Eternal City- for nothing.

The first place I hit was Vatican City, and by the Vatican City I mean the Basilica of St Peter, of course. If you can only see one thing in Rome, it has to be this place. Starting from the magnificence of St Peter's Square, one can't help but feel awed by the sheer size and grandeur of the place. Nothing I can say or show in any pictures my humble cameraphone took can adequately describe the sheer majesty of one of the most (if not the most) iconic monuments in Catholic Christianity. Whew. Try and count how many adjectives I used to describe this place and it still won't be enough to describe it even remotely.

The best thing is, entrance is completely free, except that you have to go through a security screening which, I've heard, can take up to hours if the lines are long. Thankfully it was a low-tourist season so we zipped past in mere minutes. You do have to pay to see the Sistine Chapel though, which is in another building in the Vatican, so being typically Malaysian, we decided to skip that and buy the postcards instead.

Just kidding. Of course I'll definitely go another time, but I think I'll bring my mom with me the next round (so I don't have to pay twice lah!).

The free show only included the catacombs below the Basilica, where all the popes are interred including the latest, Pope John Paul II. He still had people kneeling before his sarcophagus, lighting candles and flowers and whatnot. Hey, he's on the fast track to be a saint, after all, so it makes sense to be in his good graces early. I was mightily impressed by the catacombs though, since they were well-lit, incredibly clean and most importantly, didn't stink. Although I must say my entire knowledge of tomb raiding comes from Indiana Jones movies so I guess I was pretty relieved there weren't any dusty skeletons on sharp stakes popping up from beneath us.

In any case I soon got a bit tired from all the splendour concentrated in one place. Oh look here's La Pieta by Michelangelo. Isn't he supposed to be a ninja turtle or something? Of course, most of the people there were tourists or pilgrims so there wasn't much to look at in the way of local...er, delicacy. Except the lovely, lovely Swiss Guards of course.

The one on the left looks a bit dowdy but the guy on the right is teh h0tne55. Even with the clownish uniform he still looks great in a beret and a muu muu. But I'm sure he can be a lethal killer, muu muu clown uniform or no.

Here's the requirement to be a Papal Swiss Guard: The guards must be Catholic, unmarried males with Swiss citizenship who have completed basic training with the Swiss military and can obtain certificates of good conduct. New recruits must have a professional diploma or high school degree and must be between 19 and 30 years of age and at least 174 cm (5'9") tall. Sounds good to me. Please attach all applications Attn: Wingedman Will, Isle of MenmEnMeN.

At the end of the day, I decided that I'd reached my quota of sightseeing. I mean it's Rome and all, and there's still a lot to see but this is my general breakdown whenever I travel--10% Sightseeing, 40% Food and 50% Shopping, and I was underperforming by at least 90%.

Next: Pizza, Pasta & Prada

The Amazing Race Not-So Asian Edition

2006-11-30T02:40:00.000+08:00

Does anyone else think Andrew from Amazing Race Asia is kinda hot? Must be his tan. Or his shaved head. Or his smile. Or that huge-ass cluster of moles on his upper lip which I didn't notice until I saw the official photos. Good God, man, get a biopsy or something!

Does anyone think that Allan Wu is Über-hot? Well, until he opens his mouth that is. I think he loses some (a lot, actually) of his heat when he goes all bug-eyed and insists on announcing
"You are team number (rising tone)...three (expel breath)". With every single team. Honestly even the kids in Barney videos can enunciate better. I'll never forgive him for mangling my hometown. "Welcome to Koala Lempour, Malaysia." WTF?

Perhaps he should just paint a number on his abs and flash the teams their position whenever they get to a pitstop. The ratings would go through the roof and he doesn't even need to say (rising tone)...anything (expel breath).

Does anyone think Sahil & Prashant are hot? Anybody? No? Sahil & Prashant. Anybody? No? Sahil & Prashant. Anybody? No? Sahil & Prashant. Anybody? No? Sahil & Prashant. Anybody? No? Sahil & Prashant. Yeah, me neither. Models kononnya *snort*

Did anyone think the M&M brothers had a fighting chance when the series first started? Well, I too, was guilty of writing them off a little too early. They're turning out to be one of the funniest, coolest and most laid-back teams who somehow still manage to perform well, despite constantly filmed munching on something, huffing and puffing through their more strenuous tasks, and getting massages at the airport while waiting for flights.

Does anyone think Sahran & Howard really are just "best friends"? Not with them calling each other darling in every other episode that's for sure. But I'm glad that the producers have stuck to their guns on this one at least: there's always been at least one gay or lesbian team in every season of The Amazing Race--most notable winners Chip & Reichen who described their relationship as being "married" (and then "divorced" after the race). And why not? Gays make absolutely great tv. Sahran has been consistently freaking out in previous episodes (fear of snakes, heights) and I'm very sure he'll continue to drama on camera in future instalments. You go, girl!

Who They? What Do? And Hwhy?!

2006-11-27T16:12:00.000+08:00

I knew I had to catch this the moment I heard about its existence. Little Britain set my brain on fire the moment Duff forced me to watch a clip of Bubbles--a very very large "ex-Olympic gymnast" with a faux French accent. Here's one of her finest moments (it's a pretty good idea to turn down the volume when watching this one-- there's anal bleaching involved).

Of course, the rest of the show is just as insane--and just as brilliant. But I wondered how they'd pull it off in front of a live audience. Especiall those who've already seen all three of their seasons and have already heard all the jokes AND bought the DVD just for the extras.

Kitty was a huge fan too, naturally, and we actually managed to find a date where they were performing in London and I was in town as well. Unfortunately, we could only get seatsin the ass-end of the auditorium, despite the prices costing us a bomb. For the millionth time, I wish I earned in pounds! The difference between paying 32.50 and 227.50 in any currency is stunning, considering water costs 1 pound there and RM1 here (yes I'm still feeling sore about the water issue).

We decided to drive, since we weren't sure of the place. I opened up my London Map For Tourists and Brixton wasn't there. I looked at the little map of the Underground that came with it and to my horror it dawned on me that there were too many stations in London to actually fit on a casual tourist's map. It's that complicated.

So we drove. Or rather, Kitty drove, confident in the supernatural powers of his talking (it speaks!) GPS unit. Thank goodness we gave ourselves a two-hour buffer or else we'd never make it as we became hopelessly lost as soon as we crossed the river--even the mighty GPS couldn't save two pondan sesats, evidently.

In the end, we managed to find the place, but parking was just as big a problem. It's not just that London has a lack of parking spaces, it also has a very frustrating ticketing and zoning system. You can't just park anywhere you like, or else traffic officers will swoop down and fine you probably even before you've switched your engine off. They're everwhere. I think that's the UK's solution to unemployment. "Can't get a job? Become a traffic warden! Every street needs one!"

Alright back to the show. I was pretty disappointed with the first half, though. They did trot out their more famous characters, but all the jokes and catchphrases seemed a little too familiar--even my favourite rubbish transexuals Emily and Florence were easily forgettable. Still, the audience lapped it up, of course--that's what we were all here for. However, it had the feel of being in an extended version of the tv series.

The second half was completely bonkers though. In the middle of a (what I consider tedious--it's the "Margaret...Margeret!") sketch, they launched--while completely still in character--into a debate concerning each other's sexuality (the fat bald one's gay, the tall one's fiercely heterosexual but doesn't mind having some on the side), which one liked to bottom, who's going to win X-Factor (definitely not the McDonald Brothers!) and Michael Ball's (who was in the audience) balls.

After that it was hit after hit. The monstrous Marjorie Dawes of Fat Fighters fame came on, and managed to convince a "heavy" member of the audience to voluntarily come on stage to be humiliated in public, since that's what Marjorie does best. It was all in good sport of course, but seriously, Matt Lucas' portayal of the racist, patronising and hypocritical Marjorie is uncannily accurate. The first time I saw Marjorie on screen I thought she was a real woman.

They capped it off with a song-and dance routine by fan favourite Daffyd Thomas, the delusional homosexual who always thinks he's the only gay in the village despite little old men telling him that they too, have discovered the joys of rimming. What's even more amazing is that they managed to get Anthony Head (the Buffy guy! Who usually plays the dignified Prime Minister in another sketch) to put on a tight, garish rubber suit of the type that Daffyd favours and do the macarena in it.

It ended up being worth EVERY penny AND sen I spent. I seriously hope they'll hurry up and churn out another season QUICK.

God, I love London!

Not To Be Outdone

2006-11-23T01:15:00.000+08:00

Just in case anyone out there thinks I'm a shallow queen because of all that endless talk about shopping and gymming and ogling-at-cute-guys, this post is all going to be about books. Cos, you knoe, I'm lyk, intelleckchall and everything.

Plus, I was reading one of weeshiong's recent posts and I'm furious at how he pipped ME by blogging about the Absolute Sandman first. Let it be known that I was the one who enlightened him on the existence of this glamourous tome, and that I was the one who urged him to get one in the first place. Me! ME! ME! ME!

But of course I'm not the petty type, so in my munificence, I shall forgive him for that slight.

I think I overdid it a little this month, however.

In my defence, I bought this from Amazon.com, and received a rather hefty discount-- about RM60 less than what it cost here in Kinokuniya. So, it was a bargain, really! Besides, as far as books go, this is the holy grail of writing.

This was an impulse buy, pure and simple. It's quite entertaining, actually, and I did try to resist temptation by actually going to the counter to have a look at it before buying, but alas it only ended up convincing me further. Dammit!

I actually managed to download this before it was available, and even before I was through ten pages, there was no way I'd end up not owning the real thing. By the way, does anyone think that Brian Bolland's Snow White looks exactly like Shu Qi the taiwanese actress?

Little Nemo In Slumberland! This was also bought on a whim. It was so cheap! Only RM67.90 for over 400 pages of full-colour renditions. Apparently Neil Gaiman took the name Morpheus from the king of dreams that appears in this book. Other than that...well...it's quite a chore to read, actually. But it's nice to look at and most importantly...It was so cheap!

A one-shot hardcover from one of my favouritest authors, Alan Moore (who also created From Hell and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and V for Vendetta). Anything he writes is gold, basically. Plus, there's a gay couple in here too! Yay for equal rights in comics.

Yes, I'm a whore for books with pretty pictures in it. I really should get a lifetime membership discount card from Borders and Kinokuniya.

I'm already looking forward to my next buy...

Not So Little Britain

2006-11-20T04:00:00.000+08:00

You can't see it, but the shop on the left is Burberry and was naturally filled with Orientals. We're just mad for tartan, I guess

After lunch, I made Kitty drive to Bicester Village where they have a whole street full of outlet stores from brand names like Burberry, Hugo Boss, Tod's and many, many more. Kitty was raving about it the week before so of course I had to check it out for myself. It's a fucking hour-long drive from London though, but it's so totally worth it (especially if you're not the one driving). Not everything there is insanely cheap, of course, but some markdowns are really worth it. I just realised that this will cement my reputation as a cheapskate whore, but I don't care. For a 24-pound Calvin Klein dress shirt I'd gladly sacrifice the remnants of my reputation on the altar of stingyness.

The long drive also gave me the opportunity to view the English countryside. You wouldn't believe it, but the grass is actually greener over there. Just half an hour out from London and you can start seeing sheep grazing on all that lovely greenery. This feeling of novelty lasted roughly about 15 minutes before it started getting...repetitive. I mean, once you've seen one sheep, you've pretty much seen them all. The same goes for the grass too, come to think of it. Still, it's a good change from all the palm trees one sees in KL. Honestly, you'd think it's our national tree or something, the way they're growing from every road and hillside in the city.

By the way, Bicester is pronounced as bister. Just like Leicester is lester and Worcester is wooster. English is weird in that sense. And it's not just the 'cesters that get this kind of treatment. The name Cholmondeley is pronounced as chumley. I think this is absolutely fantastic for making people feel as if they're a bloody stupid fool tourist who can't be bothered to know the local names. From now on, I shall be greatly offended if anyone says the name Wingedman the way it's spelt. It shall now be pronounced as "wimmen", then everyone will pronounce it wrongly and be labeled a bloody stupid fool tourist if they don't read Confetti In The Wind, like, everyday.

Also in Bicester, I finally had my first good meal at a sandwich bar called Pret A Manger, (which, naturally, is also not pronounced the way it's spelt, but then the entire french language is like that) which sells sandwiches and light savouries using only natural, preservative-free ingredients. I had a really delicious ham-and-cheese pastry but again, the prices they charged just for water was ridiculous. I mean, the stuff comes out from the bloody ground, you know, and doesn't it already come natural and preservative-free?!

Next we went back to Kitty's flat somewhere in the outskirts of London. It's interesting that the English call all their apartments "flats" whether it's council housing or something posh like Bottomley Residences or even if it has a garden in front, as long as they're stacked on top of one another. So humble, hor? Unlike here where there's stigma attached to any kind of place that isn't called "condominium". Say the word "flat" and people would immediately think "Pekeliling!"

The perfect site for a horror movie, I'm sure. Too bad it's all torn down, though.

Anyway, darling Kitty offered to cook "kai see hor fun" (flat noodles in clear chicken broth) for dinner, so off we went to a Sainsbury's nearby for some ingredients. Honestly it was the messiest supermarket I've ever seen. Cartons and boxes of product strewn all over the aisles and shelves. I'm not surprised Sainsbury's never expanded out of the UK.

In the end, though, the dish turned out surprisingly well, although I couldn't eat much. I'm actually really proud of Kitty and the way he's adapted to life in a foreign country. He took really good care of me and was a perfect host even though I was cranky and windy and headache-y. So here's to darling Kitty for helping me fall in love with London, although it didn't really take much. I'll already be making my third trip this weekend, and I'm already planning to catch a Little Britain live show with Kitty this time! Computer says yes!

*much excite*

Like London London Lond-uh, Wanna Go Down

2006-11-13T02:20:00.000+08:00

"OMG lyk welcum to London, land of beauty ppl lyk me!"

This was the message from Kitty that greeted me when I first arrived in London. I was in my hotel room, sleeping not-so-soundly, as I was suffering from the Twin Evils of Jetlag and Indigestion. This was my first trip to London, thus it was pre-pycho-phone-call.

"OMG wake up now you fat cow, we need to paint the town gay!"

Well, how could I refuse an invitation like that? Despite being ill, I was in London baby! Land of pretty houses with lovely names like Riverbank Place or Bottomley Residence! Birthplace of Topshop, Burberry and James Bond (I think)! So many sights to see, and so many hot British men ~~to do~~ to see also. Besides, I needed to bitchslap Kitty for that fat cow slur.

In forty minutes, Kitty zoomed by my hotel in his company-sponsored Ford Focus.

"OMG honey, you dare to drive in London ah? You can barely drive in KL and you've lived there all your life."

"KL don't have this mah!" he pointed to this.

"Yes I know it's fancy, but you STILL can't see what's under that hot traffic cop's trousers can you?"

A GPS unit that gives directions in a macho male voice. Even a pondan sesat like Kit can follow things like "At the roundabout...take...the SECOND exit".

I thought that was pretty cool, but that's just the geek in me talking. In any case, we had to park like, immediately after he picked me up because I insisted on exploring the area around my hotel.

So we walked along Kensington High Street for a while. I think this is the point where I fell in love with London. Just seeing Muji and Hotel Chocolat mere steps away from where I was staying. In fact all the shops were absolutely lovely! Each had their own little storefront right on the street with window dressing and all. You'd never find brands like these in KL outside of a shopping mall, so it was quite a novel experience. Although I suspect it'd be a huge drag when it starts getting colder and I'd have to take off and put on all those layers of clothes everytime I entered a store. And forget about comparing prices, there's no way I'd willingly walk all the way back up the street just to see if H&M has the same hoodie like the one I saw in Zara.

"Could you please puke in my fried rice? Might give it some flavour."

We had lunch at Wagamama, a designer-y, canteen style layout Japanese noodle bar. Except that I didn't order the noodles. You see, when I'm overseas in a country where a bottle of water costs like SEVEN TIMES what I'd pay for in Malaysia, I tend to be a little tightfisted. Besides, I was still feeling queasy around the tummy, so I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, which was the fried rice (cha han, on their pseudo-anglo-jappo menu). I love fried rice. I was totally bloated with indigestion and I still ordered the fried rice, which tells you how much of a whore I am for an oily plate of fried carb.

Big mistake. HUGE. After years of eating the finest fried rice KL has to offer, my stomach literally rebelled against the tasteless crap that was put in front of me. Seriously, all I had was like white rice, hard bits that used to be peas and/or corn and slices of boiled chicken. Boiled chicken. And they all looked like they'd never seen the inside of a wok in their entire vegetative existence. I braved a few spoonfuls before deciding that it wasn't worth risking death by choking on a clump of unfried rice-- it definitely wasn't worth the 6 Pounds I paid for my tummy to be abused, that's for sure. And people were actually queuing up in droves to eat the food at this place. I felt like going up to them to warn them against choosing the cha han. To be fair, I don't know if the rest of their food is nice (Kitty and his bf say the noodles are not bad), but for me, any place that can fuck up my beloved fried rice is dead to me forever.

Dead.

FOREVER.

Oh my god. It's now 5.40am and all I've only progressed till lunch for my London post? I'll never be a travel writer, that's for sure.

A Little Bit Of Weirdness

2006-11-05T22:02:00.000+08:00

(The London post will be up as soon as my body catches up with the local time-space continuum. Three trips to Europe in two weeks plays havoc with your sleep, I can definitely tell you that)

Having the phone in my hotel room ring is never a good sign for me. My room number, though not exactly a total secret, is accessible only to other crew for emergencies only. When I'm on nightstops, I'm usually utterly content doing my own thing, prancing around the local gay spots, browsing through gay magazines at gay bookstores, that kinda thing.

So it was kind of a shock when the phone next to my hotel bed in London rang at ten o'clock at night. I was soundly asleep, having just landed earlier that evening, and my first thought was of irritation.

"Hello," said the voice on the other end, a trifle hesitantly. "My name is Mario..." he had a soft voice, not entirely unpleasant. "I'm from Greece, actually, but I'm staying in London now."

I'm no expert at linguistics, but he certainly sounded about as Greek as Prince Charles. Or he must have come over a long time ago.

"Uh," I replied groggily.

"Do you...remember who I am?"

That stupid question again. What's wrong with these people. Do I have to walk around with a disclaimer on my forehead "IF I'VE NOT SEEN YOU IN MORE THAN SIX MONTHS, PLEASE ASSUME I NO LONGER KNOW YOUR NAME"?

However, I was VERY SURE that I've only met two other Englishmen in recent years and none of them were named Mario. "No, sorry."

"Oh, I guess not...uhmm this is going to sound weird but I met a guy from Dubai at the pub next door yesterday, and he gave me this room number to call..."

"Uh...first of all I don't go to pubs, and I'm really really not from Dubai."

"Oh, that's what I thought...he must have checked out without telling me. So where are you from, then?"

"I'm from Malaysia," I said curtly, hoping he'd get the hint and let me sleep.

"Oh I love Malaysia! I went to Kuala Lumpur last year, then I went to Langkawi and stayed at the Four Seasons..."

Did he expect me to be impressed? Sure the Four Seasons Langkawi costs an arm and a leg, but all I could think was, Why the fuck isn't he ending this conversation yet?!

"I'm glad you liked it. But I have to go sleep now," I said. Not the best of excuses, but certainly the most honest one.

"Oh, did I wake you up? I'm so terribly sorry. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you," he said, sounding genuinely contrite.

That woke me up a lot more. From a simple case of a wrong number, this guy was starting to really creep me out. I knew the British were friendly, but this was ridiculous.

"That's alright," I said firmly.

"Oh, no, I insist. What time do you plan on waking up?"

Oh My God. I just had a Silence of the Lambs moment.

"Um. I don't know. I just need to sleep really badly." My mind was a total blank. I didn't know what else to say to an obvious psycho like him, without pushing him over the edge.

"I can call you later when you're up."

Why, WHY was this happening to me? I started to think that I was on some kind of practical joke show like MTV's Boiling Points or something, because this Mario was obviously missing a few pipes from his plumbing.

"I don't think so. It's late. GOOD NIGHT."

"I'm just trying to be friendly," he said, rather petulantly.

"I appreciate it. But I'm very tired and I don't know when I'm going to wake up. GOOD NIGHT," and without waiting for an answer, I hung up.

Naturally, I couldn't go back to sleep after that. After all, he knew my hotel, and he knew my room number. This was hands-down the weirdest thing that's happened to me in a hotel room--and that includes shitting in the nude with the room door wide open. I had visions of waking up only to see a shadowy figure at the foot of my bed, with masking tape in his hands...and a tube of lube.

Or maybe I should lay off the Japanese-rape-fantasy porn for a while.

Let's Go Dutch

2006-10-31T13:35:00.000+08:00

At last. At fucking last. After spending three and a half years shuttling between the hinterlands of Sabah and Sarawak.

AT LAST.

Whenever someone would ask me "So where are you flying to next?" I won't have to mumble a string of destinations that no one has heard of since Geography class in Form 3.

AT LAST.

I can finally answer breezily, "Oh, just London. Or was it Sydney? Oh, I can't be bothered to remember, all hotel rooms look the same after a while," I'll sigh theatrically.

AT LAST.

Of course I hope I'll never reach that stage. I still want to be as passionate about flying to all these places as I am right now. Just let me gloat for a while.

AT LAST.

Slutilla can shut up about me flying cows and chickens and headhunters back to their villages.

My first real aircraft was in fact, the famous flying koi itself. I felt a curious sense of destiny as I saw its striking colours from the airport lounge. Inside, of course, they all look the same. The difference was that I was now flying a 350 ton machine with over 300 people inside it. I try not to think about that. Suddenly, flying cows and chickens isn't such a bad thing. At least they won't write in complaints if they're subjected to a hard landing in Bintulu.

Amsterdam was my first destination. Sadly, our hotel is attached to the airport, so I didn't even so much as breathe the Dutch air outside. The stay was very short indeed, not more than 24 hours at all! So I spent most of the day inside, sleeping and attempting to study, but in actuality spent more time being riveted to BBC1's "Cash In The Attic" or watching senseless German music videos on MTV. Actually I can't tell the difference between Dutch and German, so I'm just guessing.

Slutilla called me a failed gay man because I didn't immediately take to the streets and wave the gay flag or something. I've heard it's a very liberal city, but what's the rush, really? I'll be going every other month, almost, and I'll be sure to explore it the next time. Besides it costs like 10 Euro just to take the train into the city and that's almost RM50 here.

Eating out is pure extortion in any European country, of course. The only option we had was to eat at the airport, so we indulged in traditional Dutch delicacy and had...Burger King. Or the other Dutch treat, Delifrance. The only other eateries were kebabs and chinese takeout and I think those are more British, arent they? I don't know what the Dutch are famous for besides their cheese (which was heavenly OMG). I didn't even see a single Dutch Lady product while I was there, and I was a bit put off by that.

The Dutch Men are a different thing altogether, I can tell you that. Tall, fit, chiseled jaws and hair and eyes in all colours. They also come in all shapes and sizes, since The Netherlands are quite cosmopolitan. The best thing is, they all speak English! I was thoroughly enjoying myself watching a tanned, toned specimen slicing strips of kebab off a roasted lamb while I was having my burger. Perhaps I shall have some kebab instead on my next visit...

~~Sadly~~ ~~Unfortunately~~ Happily, that was the extent of my interaction with hot Dutch men, and in fact Amsterdam in general. I'll be sure to explore more the next time, apparently a canal tour is not to be missed. Any other suggestions where else to go, guys?

Next: My London London Bridge Wanna Go Down

Wedding Jitters, Part Two

2006-10-27T02:32:00.000+08:00

Alright, so this is officially THE longest I've been away from the blogosphere. 11 days since my last post! Well, I have been just a teensy bit busy, what with going to Amsterdam over the weekend and all. More on that (and the Dutch guys!) later...

"Hi, remember me or not?" he said with a smile.

I froze, and groaned inwardly. Why, why, WHY do people love to start conversations like this? Luckily he wasn't outright minging, otherwise I'd be tempted to ask him, "Depends. Are you worth remembering?"

But of course I just looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. As some of you may know, I'm positively shit with names. I struggle to remember the names of my batchmates back in flying school--and these are people I lived with for one and a half years. Literally, out of sight, out of mind. I think my phone has more memory than I do.

"Oh! Yes! I remember, of course...uh..." I tried stalling. I looked around wildly for help. I vaguely knew he had to be someone from school, so there had to be someone else I could ask for his name. Assuming I could remember anyone else's name, of course.

"You're [insert Wingedman's real name here], right?" he asked skeptically. Ah! Looks like he wasn't sure after all. Although he was right. Why do people tend to remember classmate's names in full? I guess it's after years of listening to the same names being called out when attendance was being taken. It doesn't help in my case, though.

"Yes, sorry I forgot your name..."I admitted sheepishly.

"[Insert his real name here], lah! How could you have forgotten?" he laughed.

"Oh! You look so different now! Of course I remember how you used to look like! You look better."

This always works. Whenever caught pants-down, just accuse them of looking differently than they did ten years ago. And then flatter them by saying they look better (even if they don't!) because people always want to look better than they did ten years ago, naturally.

Once he said his name, though, it all came back to me. He was indeed a classmate of mine (for only a year, though) and all I could remember was that he had the best skin in the whole school, utterly flawless and blemish-free, thanks to having a beautician for a mother. Also, his hair was renowned for having been in the perfectly same style for years, with nary a hair out of place. We used to joke that he slept with a helmet shaped in the style of his hair, strapped to his head. He used to go absilutely apeshit whenever anyone dared to invade the airspace around his head for fear of spoiling his perfect coiffure.

And he did look different now of course. He'd finally changed his hairstyle, though evidently not the amount of gel used. It was more modern and spiky. I wondered idly if he'd scream if I just reached out ruffled his hair.

In any case I was just as envious of his skin as I was ten years ago. Still as flawless as ever, the little shit. Fortunately that was as far as my interest in him went--his type never appealed to me, and even less so now.

So I just exchanged pleasantries, and didn't even bother to end the conversation with a "Let's keep in touch!" because (1) We never had anything in common in the first place and (2) He's not that hot anyway.

So that was the end of it. I'm rushing this piece because I absolutely need to study for my trip to London later today--life is getting absolutely hectic now. I'm going to meet up with Kitty, and see if we have time to explore the city.

Wish me luck guys!

Wedding Jitters

2006-10-17T00:22:00.000+08:00

It's amazing what one finds during a chinese wedding dinner. Normally, these affairs are deathly tedious for young, single gay guys. The pall of heterosexual union hangs over the entire proceedings like a funereal shroud, really.

Happily, I don't get to go to wedding dinners that often. Unhappily, that seems to also mean I don't have enough straight friends or relatives. I guess that's quite a common trait that gays, especially those active within the community, tend to share. I mean, your boyfriend (obviously!) is gay, your best friend's gay, your gym friends are gay, you only go to gay clubs or the gay bars, even your mahjong buddies are all gay, and the only co-workers you're comfortable hanging out with are invariably the gay ones.

So where's the space for the poor straight friends who may or may not know about your penchant for dicking around (literally) and are still unsullied by your gay gay GAY aura?

Busy getting hitched, sooner or later. And thus I found myself at the Shang on a Saturday night, at the second-to-last table, fiddling with the menu. The only thing I was looking forward to was the chocolate hazelnut royaltine served with vanilla ice cream. Naturally, that was the last item. I used to look forward to the traditional sharksfin soup, but most couples gleefully jettison that off the menu--more out of financial considerations rather than any real actual concern over the shark, I suspect. I won't say much more, or else I'll have another visit from some rabid Greenpeace blog-patroller. I already had one come by for my piece on bear's bile, next they'll be throwing paint on my dalmation-puppy-fur coat as I attend the Asian Blog Awards?

Now the next best thing to look forward to with a wedding of any size are, of course, the men. It does involve quite a bit of luck, I must say. Sometimes you could be lucky and get a particularly goodlooking streak that runs through most of the male members of the family tree. On the other hand, you may get withered branches of that same tree. Most times, of course, you'll get a little bit of each.

This particular wedding was to be no different. Nobody really oustanding, though, but there were a few do-able guys who notably came without partners, so perhaps they weren't the breeder type. Then again do-able can become okay can become what-the-heck after a few glasses of beer, right? Thank god I don't drink.

I did spy one guy who looked incredibly familiar, though. And he was quite do-able. More than a bit do-able in fact. Then he noticed me noticing him. And then he got out of his seat and started walking towards my direction...

To be continued

Wingedman Escort Agency, Sdn Bhd

2006-10-08T23:22:00.000+08:00

"When I'm back in KL can you please bring DH around?" asked Duff a few weeks back. "I'll have to spend time with my family and my ex-colleagues and I don't want him to be alone all the time."

DH is his fabulous ~~trophy~~ white boyfriend whom we've never seen before, and they were about to make their first public appearance together in Kuala Lumpur.

(It's ironic, really. Kitty goes all the way to London and scores a Chinese boy from a village in Perak, and Duff goes all the way to Shanghai and nets a Irish-Welsh hybrid. I believe each instance is the gay equivalent of winning the Da Ma Cai lottery.)

"Of course I will," I assured Duff. "And if he annoys me, I'll just sell him off at the Thai border. White slavery is rather lucrative, you know."

"Oh I've already warned him: If my friends don't like you, I'm dumping you," he replied.

Typical Duff diva-ness. I'm 99% certain he was joking when he said that, but just to be sure I immediately declared undying love and affection for DH, despite having only seen his gaydar profile and chatted with him briefly on MSN.

In the end, we didn't have to sell nor dump anyone, because DH was a big hit in KL. Everybody gave him the thumbs up, and why not? He's young (this is very important), cute, friendly, cheerful, has a wonderful sense of humour, and all this in spite of him getting diarrhoea, food poisoning, weird rashes all over his body, getting locked inside a house and missing a flight (okay so it was cancelled).

Then there was the fiasco in Liquid. Being his last weekend, we decided to go dancing...and we had to choose a night where there were three clubs vying for the pink dollar. I've never ever seen a dance floor so empty--and it stayed empty the whole night. Nevertheless we had fun downstairs at the bar when they started playing retro tunes. There's nothing gayer (or sadder) than a handful of gay men singing "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" in an empty club. In any case it was a horrid showcase of the KL gay scene.

It could have been his worst holiday ever, and he'd have every right to go back to Shanghai and proclaim KL as a total gay wasteland, but he's just so sweet and still insisted to the end that he had a great time. I think DH is a real keeper, and wish him all the best in the taming of his particular shrew...

And dear Duff, if you're reading this, please expect the bill for my escort services shortly. P/S--I do accept bottles of SK-II miracle water as payment.

NewIcon Hottest Hunks In Malaysia 2006/2007

2006-10-04T22:07:00.000+08:00

I'm getting sick of being pushed out of PLUblog's top 20 list by those obscene (and I mean obscene in a good way) picture/video blogs full of hunky, half-naked, well-oiled men, while people who get by on wit and charm languish at the bottom of the list. It's a perfect representation of the gay scene, I must say. Luckily there's still intellectual guys like Paul and Jay holding on grimly to their places in the top ten.

I've decided that if I can't beat them, I'll join them. I mean, how hard can it be to find hunky, half-naked, well-oiled men? All I have to do is spend RM10 on a magazine and I get three pages full of them.

No, no hottest hunks just yet, though. You'll have to scroll further down this post for the annual Chinese Man-Meatfest, but some people just aren't interested in hunky, half-naked, well-oiled men, would you believe it? How these people get through life, I do not know.

And others object to having hunky, half-naked, well-oiled men appear on their screens at work without any warning, so for Spot and Snowie, here are the requisite cute puppy/adorable children pictures to warn you against what's ahead.

by Ratterell

by Elfleda

I must say that NewIcon's hunks are always of superior quality. Unlike Cleo Malaysia's politically-correct approach to Eligible Bachelors (Oh, we can't have them take off their shirts anymore or else society will self-destruct!), NewIcon literally let's everything hang out. I've never seen so many sixpacks in one place, besides Tesco. Enjoy, people! I know I did.

Bears, Bears And More Bears!

2006-10-02T00:53:00.000+08:00

I think I've ingested more Panadol in the past few months than I ever have in my previous 25 years of existence. As dear weeshiong said when i told him this little fact: That's not funny.

I'm not addicted. Really, I'm not. I'm just getting sick on a very frequent basis. Three times in the past three months, in fact. Fever, chills, lymph nodes swollen like a postpartum Britney Spears and all that fun family stuff.

Anyway the third time this cycle happened, which was last weekend, I decided I had had enough and took drastic measures. If western medicine couldn't save me maybe it was time to go back to my roots.

Literally, roots. At first sign of illness, I drank the foulest, most bitter concoction ever brewed in Chinese history, of which I'm sure has roots, dried beetles, snake's skin and bat's wings in it or something. It's that foul. And that Chinese--because we'd famously eat anything that moves, crawls, slithers, flies or even if it just twitches.

Next, I consulted a traditional chinese physician. You know, the type who merely has to listen to your heartbeat and can immediately tell if your liver's failing. Or so my mom tells me, she swears by this particular Kedai Ubat near my parent's place. I was terrified he'd be so good he could tell that I only like to have sex with men. Just by looking at my tongue or something.

Thank goodness he merely said I was too heaty...a condition that's easily cured-- by consuming bear's bile. I'm not talking about the furry ones you're fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on your preference) to see hairily sweating in the gym, but rather the ones you see lumbering about in the zoo gnawing on sugarcane. Apparently, bile from a black bear is the most cooling thing one can take. And even more amazingly, the doctor says you don't even have to kill the bear now--the modern way is to harvest it by syringing the bile out of the (presumably unconscious) bear.

No amount of money is enough to make me stick any sort of needle into any sort of bear, human or animal, unconscious or not. I mean, do you know where your gall bladder is?! How would anyone know where a bear's gall bladder is?! It's not like it's got udders for you to squeeze it out like some hairy man-eating cow.

That last sentence could describe a lot of people come to think of it.

I asked for another option. He said to drink Lo Hon Kor, a kind of sweet herbal drink.

Then I went back and told The BF and the next day, he was boiling it already for me. And it's absolutely delicious. I can tell ya, it's the second-best liquid he's ever served me! :P

The Most Glam Condo Name Ever

2006-09-25T21:31:00.000+08:00

Everybody knows real estate is lucrative. That's common knowledge, almost like saying banks have money. But you'll never know exactly how lucrative it is until you actually have to fork out your hardearned savings to seemingly everyone and their uncle.

For example, I have to pay a creature called a "Commissioner of Oaths". At first I thought "Is that just a cool name for someone who approves swear words or something?" I had visions of him going "Fuck you...okay. Maklu Superman...not acceptable."

In actual fact he just sort of...verifies the documents and signatures and stuff like that. I have to actually pay him to authenticate my own signature, and verify that Yes Indeed, It Was I, Wingedman Will, On This Day In History, Hath Inscribed Mine Signature Upon This Parchment...or whatever legal language lawyers use.

But I digress. Real estate is big business. And I've discovered the secret formula for real estate success.

It's the name of your development, of course. Choose a suitable name, and watch people throw money at you in a desperate bid to live the high-end life. And I know just the very name. And it has to be a condominium. How else can you squeeze a thousand people onto a tiny plot of ex-cemetery land and charge them two arms and a leg?

My Ultimate Development's name shall be nothing less than "Casa Villa De Kiara-Damansara-Nottinghill-d'Binjai Diamond Residency Suites." If that doesn't sound opulently grand, I don't know what is. Each word should add like, 10% to the value of this property, never mind if it's located in Balakong. Notting Hill's in bloody London anyway, and there's no rule saying you have to name a condo after the actual location of the place! Just the name itself should fill up the entire cover of the brochure.

Speaking of which, it won't be called a brochure. It'll be called The Bible of Luxury and it shall be leatherbound, hardcover with a dust jacket featuring the words Casa Villa De Kiara-Damansara-Nottinghill-Mont-d'Binjai Diamond Residency Suites, and a close-up picture of a single dewdrop on a pure white rose petal.

And you'd have to buy the brochure. Obviously if you can't afford to cough up RM99 for the floor plans to the glammest address in Malaysia you certainly don't need to know anything about it either.

And to think this is just the beginning of my world domination in real estate! I'd rake in millions at last, and will be able to build my Island of MenMeNmEn! But that name just isn't glam enough either...

So who wants to joint-venture with me?

Warning: Very Unsafe For Work Post

2006-09-20T00:21:00.000+08:00

I knew this picture was too good for gay boys to resist. Everybody loves it. Everyone wants it.

Everyone draws inspiration from it!

And now, everyone has it. Including, apparently, amateur porn studios.

Are you absolutely sure there's no milk there? 100% positive? I could have sworn I was lactating last night

I can tell you right now he's not looking for lice in that area. It gets progressively more...revealing.

Look at her smiling benevolently on those who are about to engage in carnal pleasures for profit. I don't know whether to be disgusted or to laugh at the irony.

Or maybe I'll just shut up and enjoy the movie.

So You Wanna Be An Empress?

2006-09-17T17:14:00.000+08:00

In the future, you all can call me Empress. And wish me like, a million years of healthy, long life.

I will have the power of life and death in my smallest fingernail.

And my bathtub will be the size of an entire apartment.

I shall appoint hot young men who are excellent at (ahem) swordplay as my Generals.

And still lust over my stepson.

I will be able to sneer at lesser mortals and utter the six bitchiest, most arrogant words in either the English or Chinese Language:

"Who do you think you are?"

"你以为你是谁?"

And I'd give the bitch who's bethrothed to my stepson 30 lashes of the whip, then threaten to brand her face and exile her to the South.

Now THAT'S true power.

Go watch The Banquet. It's so opulent, so grandiose, so over-the-top that even driftwood has to be artfully placed. It's the most beautiful film I can remember. The sets are so sumptuous, the first thing I whispered to Slutilla was "Is the interior designer for hire?"

I'm so watching it again.

Loan Me Some Hotties

2006-09-13T01:13:00.000+08:00

I firmly believe that there are no hot male home loan officers at all in PJ. For the past week, I've seen hot chicks, I've seen dumpy aunties (more on that later) and I've seen middle aged men with thin mustaches.

But no young, hunky, hot men who'd do "anything" to have you take up their loan. No cute, desperate young executive in hot office attire hoping for one last transaction to make up his sales quota. Nope. No such luck for me.

What I got was a horrid old lady who'd look more at home selling nasi lemak at a PKNS flat than actually handling people's money in a bank.

First of all this bank (whose name shall not be mentioned, but rhymes with lended farted) made me wait for over 20 minutes after I'd already taken a number. And this is at 3pm on a Friday too. It wasn't as if there were many people either. In fact, after I saw that there were no bloody customers besides myself and all the officers were chatting amongst themselves that I stomped up to them and demanded to know why I was still waiting.

Of course, none of them actually did attend to me. I was shoved off for the aforementioned nasi lemak lady to handle. The first thing I said was "Do you usually make your customers wait 20 minutes in an empty bank?"

Everything went downhill from that point of course. She made some weak excuse about not noticing that there were unattended customers in the system etc etc. I decided not to say anymore.

As the meeting progressed I began to systematically hate every aspect about her. First of all, I hated her smell. It was obvious that she preferred smelling au naturel. Or maybe she was content to rub pandan leaves under her armpits before dropping them into the rice cooker for her morning nasi. Either way she smelled faintly horrid until I had to actually lean away from her. Next, I hated her short, stumpy fingers. They looked like they belonged on a gorilla. A very smelly, misproportioned gorilla. Then, of course her dressing came under scrutiny. I won't even bother talking about her curtain-pattern couture. But what I especially hated was how some of her hair stuck out awkwardly from her tudung. I almost wanted to ask her if she thinks Siti Nurhaliza would have looked better with a few strands of hair sticking from her tudung on her wedding day.

There was more, but the boiling point came when she started saying my documents weren't photocopied nicely enough and she couldn't see them (though they were absolutely good enough for all the previous banks I went). She even had the cheek to ask me to "Do a little work and run to the EPF office to print the latest statement" because the yearly statements being issued didn't have the EPF logo on them. I was almost apoplectic with anger by then, but the true crowning glory came when she told me that the bank's policy was to give only up to 89% margin of financing.

"So how am I going to explain to the developer that I can only pay them 99% of the purchase price? Ask if he'll take the maid's room as compensation is it?"

"Maybe you can take out your EPF?" she replied coolly.

"But I don't know how much I have in my EPF," I replied sarcastically. "After all since this statement has no logo it must be fake, right?"

"I don't know, this is company policy."

In the end, I just gathered all my documents and left in a huff. I wanted to tell her that I may be starting a very long relationship with their bank and didn't want to begin by being served by someone who should be making rendang instead of insulting the veracity of my documents, but of course I'm to sweet for that. I just told her I decided not to apply today, and practically had to snatch my papers out of her filthy paws.

She tried salvaging the situation by offering her namecard. "So you'll come back on Monday, Mr--?"

"I've been talking to you for half an hour and now only you want to ask me my name? Even if I come back on Monday I will make sure I'll be served by someone else. You bitch."

Now that's the answer I came up with hours later when I thought about the whole fiasco. But all I did then was say "I'll see if I have the time," but I'm pretty sure I said the "You bitch" part in my head as I left.

Thankfully all the other banks treated me almost like gold, and hopefully I'll get a few letters of offer by the end of this week.

But I never did go back to that smelly old woman, or the bank that would employ such a creature, and I never will.

Swaying, Sun-Kissed Effervescence

2006-09-04T00:16:00.000+08:00

Inspired by the romantic notion of swaying palm trees, breezy verandahs and luxuriant greenery comes a vision. A sublime reality of tropical living that reflects the very environ we live in. For surely in a sun-kissed country in Malaysia, a haven of tropical beauty and grace, we should be basking in all its glory.

This semi-d in the sky is a delightful synthesis of soulful simplicity, careful craftsmanship and effervescent aura.

This was taken from the sales brochure of my future home. I've seen a lot of sales brochures, but this one takes the cake, literally, with its abundance of superlatives. I mean what an "effervescent aura" has got to do with a condo is entirely beyond me. It's not like it's a packet of Eno or anything. And I bet even Moët & Chandon would be hard pressed to describe their bubbly as having an effervescent aura.

And I haven't even started with the "sun-kissed" or "swaying palm trees" part yet. Maybe Paris Hilton may want to consider shooting her next music video at my place.

In any case, I didn't buy this place because of its hyperbole, impressive though "breezy verandahs" may be. I do love the area--bordering between the quiet enclave of Sunway Damansara and the shopping madness that is The Curve/Ikea/Tesco. The unit I chose is quite huge for what's essentially a two-person place--1420 square feet. It even has a tiny maid's room, though The BF sort of disapproves of the type of maid I had in mind, you know, the hot young male wearing only an apron, very eager to please type.

I'm just excited to be a homeowner of my own at last. I know there's a lot of hard work and money to be poured into it, but for now, all I can think of his how to plan my housewarming party.

Is that so wrong? I mean, Paris may drop by, you know.

Conversations in the Key of Blonde, Part I Lost Count

2006-08-29T00:32:00.000+08:00

Kitty says: i wanna be slym*
Kitty says:i wanna wear slym fyt jeans
Wingedman: whatever
Kitty says: u know i got so many shirts that i bought which are size s
Kitty says: and i haven't never worn them?
Wingedman: lyk faster go to gym la
Wingedman: ur getting fatter by the minute!**
Wingedman: have u actually lost weight at all?
Kitty says: nop
Kitty says: actually i did at one time
Kitty says: i was lyke eating salad + grilled chicken
Kitty says: for a week
Kitty says: and gymed
Kitty says: i did feel lighter and i can button one of my pants
Wingedman: then?
Kitty says: now fucken fat la
Kitty says: it's a disaster
Kitty says: i need lipo***
Wingedman: omg
Wingedman: ur a disaster!
Kitty says: yeah like a car crash
Wingedman: dunch cum near me when in KL
Kitty says: why not
Kitty says: u will look slimmer when u r actually fat too!
Wingedman: if u wanna dance in LQ please refrain from jumping
Wingedman: otherwise the whole floor will collapse
Wingedman: omg they'll call us the chubby three
Wingedman: omg luckily i'm not that fat yet
Wingedman: but i fucking hate my tummy
Kitty says: yea u r never fat u bytch
Wingedman: big tummy is just as bad ok
Kitty says: it's about tyme to be fat jewnow
Kitty says: since u r doing a 747
Wingedman: minging duff was telling us abt this new diet
Wingedman: eat whatever chu lyk
Kitty says: omg i like the sound of it
Wingedman: but eat small portions every 4 hours so u'll never feel hungry
Kitty says: they sayd u shud cut to small portions
Kitty says: so it doesn't lyke supersize ur tymmy
Wingedman: omg my tummy is megasized
Wingedman: it's too late!
Wingedman: all that kfc dinner plate has ruined me
Kitty says: omg kfc
Kitty says: thanks for the suggestion for dynner!
Wingedman: omg but i thot kfc there not nice?
Kitty says: does it matter?
Wingedman: remember eat small portions every 4 hours
Kitty says: omg!
Wingedman: so u eat one drumstick
Wingedman: then at 12am u eat another wing or something
Kitty says: omg
Kitty says: then 4am another?
Kitty says: must i wake up?
Kitty says: lyke taking medycine ?
Wingedman: I dunno I didn't invent this diet leh

*Unfortunately, our spelling has never been the same since Kitty and I discovered colinandkero. All our i's become y's. You becomes chu. Don't becomes dunch. I'm not quite as far gone as Kitty though, as his grip on the English language was always rather tenuous to begin with. I wouldn't even call it "grip", really, more like a limp-wristed handshake.

**It's not true that all gay men obssess about how fat we look. Rather, it's the reverse which is true. We hate being fat but we obssess about being slym. Slim, I mean. Why else would we talk about it lyk, everyday?

***Liposuction, to gay men, is like the ultimate solution for any extra baggage, it seems. In theory, nothing could be easier than to just suck the damn fat out of your body. Don't like how fat your arms look? Lipo, darling! Don't like your beer gut? Lipo, baby! Ass too big? Lipo, lipo, lipo. I don't know anyone who's actually done it though. We're always NATO-- No Action, Talk Only. I'm perfectly certain that anyone who actually admits to doing it will never shake off being called Lipo Lim behind his back or something.

Sadly this entire conversation did indeed take place (and in fact takes place far too often, with different people--all gay, naturally), although I don't know if eating every four hours (whatever you like!) will actually help you lose weight. If it does indeed work I think it'd the best "diet" ever. You won't even need to buy any books, either, or take steamed brocolli and raw carrot to the office for lunch anymore.

The Autoblog

2006-08-27T21:00:00.000+08:00

I've not flown for almost a month now, and not surprisingly, I kind of miss flying. I mean, when you don't have to think about annoying passengers, inclement weather, bungling air traffic controllers and idiotic co-workers, flying an aircraft is a joy, of course.

But make no mistake, it is hard work. We don't hit autopilot after take off and then pester the stewardess for a milo ais immediately, as some people might think. The older (and smaller) the aircraft is, the more work it takes to get people safely from point A to point B. And my previous fleet was commissioned in the 80's, so you can imagine me staring at monochrome computer screens everyday. When's the last time you saw that green blinking cursor, eh?

That's all now in the past. I'm flying a bigger, and newer plane now. And I love my new fleet. If you see the next four images, you'll notice they all have one word in common.

Yes, that word is AUTO.

Everything in this aircraft is automatic! Including the pilots!

Of course, everyone knows what this is. I have no doubt that one day it will take over my job and I'll be forced to work as, oh, a fluffer or something. And there's three of them no less.

Alas, there's still the monochromatic green screen plaguing me. Cut cost mah. I try and view it positively, since it's at least something familiar from my previous fleet. However, I wouldn't have minded a nice Windows XP display. That's even more familiar.

However, I'm willing to forgive all its shortcomings, just for this ability. There's no button for it, but trust me, it's there, and I'm so gonna use it:

All those days of slogging through five manual landings a day are over. OVER!!! No more silly hilly Tawau! No more stupid-short-runway-Ipoh!

*gloat mode on*

I wonder what they pay pilots for, really.

And The Nominees Are...

2006-08-24T22:15:00.000+08:00

SMS from Androjane: OMGoat! We need to shop for new outfits! We've been nominated for best asian lgbt blog! Lol

I was in Weeshiong's car at that moment, going home after a heavy KFC dinner. Heavy in particular because it ended in both of us pushing the last piece of a BBQ Cheezy Meltz (yes it's as sinful as it sounds) towards each other and going "Eat it!" and "No, YOU eat it" and "No, YOU'RE the one who ordered it!" and, bizarrely degenerated to: "Children are starving in Ethiopia, so YOU eat it!"

In any case, weeshiong on his best day is hardly a match for my sheer force of (bitchy) will, (pun intended) so no need to guess who's going to have to do more cardio this weekend. But I digress.

This Asia Blog Awards nomination thingy has been lurking around for quite some time now, ever since Louis' Velvet Underworld highlighted it a few months ago. But now the list of nominees have been finalised, and now I'm proud to share the limelight with six other worthy blogs.

The polling hasn't even started yet, so I urge you not to go to the site and check out my competitors. Seriously, don't. They're all probably, lyk, dead links. Or porno sites.

OK fine, they all feature really good writing and each of them are unique in their own way, and I'm truly awed to be compared on the same level with them. Well, perhaps with one exception...

I know, I've bashed colinandkero a lot on my blog, but since they're now-defunct I shan't speak ill of them anymore, and wish them each only the best for their journeys in life, love and proper grammar. Lyk, really!

Oops.

Anyway these nominations are heavily skewed towards Malaysian bloggers, and that's probably because, as Louis pointed out, the awards are rather obscure despite the rather long and impressive list of judges. There just isn't enough exposure to have a proper field that, by right, should encompass all english LGBT blogs in asia, or asians living abroad.

Of course it's sort of a relief that Jay isn't nominated because then he'd totally beat the crap out of the rest of us. Actually he won't even need to sully his dainty fingers, because his raving hordes of fans will probably do the job for him, for daring to even stand against their ab-alicious Lord.

And then at the ceremony we'd all have to struggle to keep a graciously pleasant face when they announce him as the winner and the camera pans to all us other losers to show our reactions. I've rehearsed this well, I'd bow my head slightly, and grin broadly as if I've already expected this and anyway winning is such a bore isn't it with all the expectations that come with it, and oh god I hope the bitch breaks her heel on the red carpet.

There will be a ceremony won't there? And Jien will be the host, right? Should I wear the Vera Wang or Zac Posen? Off-shoulder or strapless? Nude tulle or Swarovski crystal beads?

Decisions, decisions.

Jealousy, Jealousy, Jealousy

2006-08-19T12:47:00.000+08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, this is how one gets a free upgrade on any of my flights.

Isn't she luvverly? What you see here is nothing other than a Jay original, all the way from London, featuring my daaaarling Audrey Hepburn, and inspired by my plea for a cheaper alternative to Ikea's blatant gaysploitation.

It was a total, unexpected surprise to receive this parcel waiting for me at home. Jay had requested my postal address just a week or so ago, promising intriguingly that he's not sending me anything that might bleed, stink or tick...but may smoke.

I opened it carefully (do not bend!) and when I realised what it was, I just had to gasp in shock and awe. The idea was so simple-- just bits of paper glued onto a differently-coloured background, but just the very fact that someone literally across the world would do this with his own hands--from scratch, was totally beyond me. It's not easy meticulously gluing small bits of paper to cardboard, as anybody who's ever attended Pendidikan Seni would know.

I'm assuming everyone who reads my blog reads Jay's too. He's about the funniest gay blogger out there, and more amazingly, he's consistent. You can be sure that every post will get you smiling, if not actually snorting Coke onto your keyboard. He also has a huge...talent. Actually many huge talents. For art. For bitching. For choosing men.

Plus, he's got abs.

Naturally, we, my friends and I, all collectively loathe him (especially his abs). I mean of course we do love him (and his abs) and we wait for his every post with bated breath, and we discuss about his latest postings (and his abs) at late-night mamak sessions but we still hate the fact that all our blogs put together still doesn't have a fraction of his kind of traffic. And the fact that none of us have abs.

And now he goes and does this. From entirely out of the blue. It's so hard to hate him, dammit.
So here's a big THANK YOU to my new BFF Jay. I know it's totally inadequate, but in the meantime, I hope stroking your...ego just a little bit will do for now. Let me know if your abs need stroking too.

Love you, Jay, love everything about you, thinking of being you for Halloween!

When I'm Sick...

2006-08-14T00:23:00.000+08:00

Who would drive all the way from his house to pick me up, have dinner, drop me back home, then drive 20 mins to Mid Valley, look for parking in that infernally popular mall, buy me herbal tea, then drive back to my house, just to pass me the tea before taking a long drive home himself?

Who would cradle my feverish body in the stifling heat and the darkness for hours on end, while waiting for my fever to break--while not sleeping himself?

Who would have breakfast waiting for me when I woke up, just so I wouldn't have to eat Panadol on an empty stomach?

Who would have the saintly patience to endure my fever-induced short temper and sarcastic remarks and still not hold it against me?

Why, only the best boyfriend in the world of course :P

Going WAYY Beyond Expectations

2006-08-08T23:12:00.000+08:00

A few months back I found myself waiting in line at the x-ray machine--for my own flight to Bali, no less. It may come as a surprise to some of you that even the crew don't get to breeze past security nowadays with nothing more than a winsome smile and a cheeky wink. But we usually get to cut to the head of the line, of course. There's even a placard (usually ignored) that says "Please give way to airplane crew".

Anyway as I was about to hoist my bags onto the machine, the Caucasian woman behind me gave me a look. It wasn't the "oh-he-looks-so-smart-in-that-uniform" look, either.

"Are you the pilot of this flight?" she asked apprehensively.

"Er, yes. One of them, anyway."

Her eyes widened, and a hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my god. You're really too young to be a pilot!" she exclaimed.

"And you're really too old to fit into that spaghetti-strap top, honey. Don't you know the difference between freckles and liver spots?"

Of course I didn't say that. God knows I wanted to. God also knows I have much, much more in my arsenal. I am a Weapon of Mass Bitchiness!

I offered her a sweet smile instead, and said in my most convincing straight voice, "Don't worry ma'am. I'm quite capable. Capable enough to inform you that your breasts are about to brush the floor. Good grief, woman, haven't you heard of bras?"

Alright I didn't say that either. At least not the part after the first "capable". But God knows, etc etc.

Actually I get that a lot. The Look of Disbelief. Do people really think that pilots are bred in huge vats until they look old enough to be grandfathers, and have all the skills needed to fly an airplane downloaded into their brains ala The Matrix?

I've tried to view comments like these in a positive light by telling myself it's actually a complement. I mean, I am gay, and all gay guys love to be told that they look too young to drive/enter clubs/have sex. But it's a matter of professional pride too, you see.

Besides-- *flip hair*-- I like to think I'm not really that kind of stereotyped gay guy.

Is it really too much to look youthful and yet exude an aura of manly confidence? And not have passengers come up to me and tell me I'm not qualified to fly their fat, pasty ass to their cancer-causing sunbathing holiday destination?

I knew I should have downgraded that hippo to the cargo hold. No window seat for you, but we've got humidifiers and straw padding!

Stars Aren't Just Blind, They're Also Nonsensical

2006-08-07T00:20:00.000+08:00

Has anyone noticed that there's been a slew of new singles being released lately? From big names such as Beyonce, Justin Timberlake, Jessica Simpson, Christina Aguilera and...Paris Hilton, no less.

And in the rush to put their goods on the market, I guess a little bit of lyrical quality must suffer. Take Fergie (of Black Eyed Peas fame) and her mysterious London Bridge.

How come every time you come around
My London London Bridge want to go down
Like London London want you to go down
Like London London be going down

Like, what does it mean. Are London's Bridges always up by default? Is she alluding to something else? Why does the video show her humping a Buckingham Palace Guard?

Nevertheless I do like the song. And I'd love to hump a cute Redcoat so I can't blame her, really.

Alright how about Justin Timberlake's infectious new single? The silliness starts with the title itself. Just one word. SexyBack.

Come here girl
Go ahead, be gone with it
Come to the back
Go ahead, be gone with it
VIP
Go ahead, be gone with it
Drinks on me
Go ahead, be gone with it
Let me see what you're working with
Go ahead, be gone with it
Look at those hips
Go ahead, be gone with it
You make me smile
Go ahead, be gone with it
Go ahead child
Go ahead, be gone with it
And get your sexy on
Go ahead, be gone with it

You can't actually hear this in the actual song, of course. In between the heavy bass and Justin's heavier breathing all you'd hear is "Go heby go widdit, go heby go widdit and WOO". Thank god for internet lyric sites.

Anyway he'd still sell a shitload of records, even if all they had were of him heavy breathing for five minutes. He's hawt.

Smouldering eyes, check. Sexy stubble, check. Hands framing crotch, check. I'd say this is definitely a "come-fuck-me-look"

On Her Madgesty's Secret Service

2006-08-03T00:00:00.000+08:00

I HATE KITTY.

I hate him so, so, so much. It's like I physically want to go over to London and bitchslap him to death. And that wouldn't be enough. I'd have to display his battered body over G-A-Y as a lesson to all gayboys.

And his crime?

Watching Madonna's Confessions Tour concert for 40 pounds.

I was eating bak kut teh in KL, sorry I missed it, Your Madgesty

It's only like the most fabulous concert event of the year! Tickets were sold out hours after they were put on sale. So how did that bitch come by his?

The wonders of eBay of course. And for a third of the original price too.

It's just not fair. We in KL will probably never see the rear end of her fabulous purple leotards, like, ever. And we're the truly deserving ones, the ones who know the entire rap from Vogue (Marlon Brando, Jimmy Dean, on the cover of a magazine...).

And who's our representative? Someone who thinks Vogue is still just a fashion magazine. And who thinks La Isla Bonita is where Pirates Of The Caribbean takes place.

KITTY MUST DIE.

And he might be watching it AGAIN on the 10th because he liked it so much.

Tell me now, is my hair showing any green yet?

A Meaningful Conversation

2006-08-01T03:17:00.000+08:00

"Soooo....not flying today ah?" A friend asked today.

This is the standard way to start small-talk when you're with a pilot and think that the silence somehow begs to be filled. It's a good way to start things, actually, but just don't expect anything particularly exciting in return. In fact, half the time the answer is "No".

"Well, I'm on standby actually. Yesterday, today and tomorrow."

"Oh how does that work?"

"Well, they specify a time where I have to be ready to go to work if they call me up in case some other pilot's sick or can't do a flight," I explained patiently.

"Ok. Sounds to me you're not actually working lah," he sniffed.

"Now how the hell did you reach that conclusion? I might work. And I can't like, go to Genting or even watch a movie just in case they need me urgently," I protested. Actually I didn't give a shit, really. I'd still totally watch a movie. Probably not Genting though.

"So what are the odds of them calling you?"

"Oh...say 50-50. Depending on the season and the time of standby."

"Oh. It's really like a day off, then."

"Omg do you not understand how odds work? If a surgeon said you had a 50-50 chance of survival you wouldn't be this flippant, surely."

"Are you comparing your work to brain surgery?" he asked incredulously.

"No! I mean, I'm explaining how odds work, you idiot!"

"Whatever. You say you were on standby yesterday, yes? So what did you do?"

"I, er, woke up at noon, had a dim sum brunch, went shopping, went to the gym, came back home and had a nap, then went out for dinner with Slutilla and friends."

"Yup, sounds like real hard work to me. Sure sucks to be a pilot on standby, doesn't it?"

"Omg is your hair turning green?"

"Wha--?"

"Maybe it's a side effect of taking too much of, you know, Jealousy Pills or something."

"..."

Forgive Me Sisters, For I Have Sinned

2006-07-27T23:42:00.000+08:00

I'm sick.

Ok, so I'm always sick (in the head-- or so Slutilla says). This time I'm ill.

Really fever-induced-ramblings-kind-of-ill. Which is strange because usually I don't get sick for more than one or two days and it's been almost four already. You know I'm really ill when I go see the doctor and it's not even a working day. And you know I'm really, really ill when I don't switch on the airconditioning to sleep at night--and I've been using the airconditioning every night since I bought it with my very first paycheck.

Is this some kind of divine retribution for calling girls icky? I repent! Forgive me, for I have sinned!

GIRLS ARE NOT ICKY. Girls, women, females of all ages and shapes and sizes are fabulous and luminous life-giving, baby-nurturing, Prada-buying creatures! No not creatures! Human beings! Sorry again!

Now give me my health back, you bitches.

Holly No Go Cheaply

2006-07-24T02:36:00.000+08:00

Dearest Ikea,

I note with interest your PJATTERYD Picture of Audrey Hepburn, printed canvas on a frame. I also note that it's not on sale.

Despite the ten million items in your store that seem to be.

Your sales suck. YOU SHOULD MAKE MY GODDESS MORE AFFORDABLE DAMMIT.

I hope you revert to me on this matter as soon as possible.

Yours (really) sincerely,
Wingedman

Wingedman, The Flop

2006-07-20T23:59:00.000+08:00

Kitty says: actually u r such a flop
Kitty says: u never had GFs
Kitty says: with vaginas
Wingedman says: i know i'm an incomplete gay man
Wingedman says: i'm unpopular with the gurlz
Wingedman says: cos i never give them attention
Wingedman says: i'm always like, stop blocking my view, woman
Kitty says: omg
Kitty says: instead of that
Kitty says: u must now
Kitty says: gawk together?
Wingedman says: i knoe
Wingedman says: i must get a FH with bigger ballz than me
Wingedman says: so she can lyk chat up with hot guys
Kitty says: that's y
Kitty says: actually it's fun to have fag hags
Wingedman says: lend me yours la
Kitty says: omg?
Wingedman says: u have lyk so many
Kitty says: omg u bitch
Kitty says: they all love me

It's true, I'm a flop when it comes to girls. I never had a girlfriend. I never even really had any close girl friends. When I was in school I used to tease them mercilessly and pull their hair and hide their My Little Pony pencilcases, which, apparently, pisses them off no end. Then of course, there were no girls in the flying school (I didn't mind that one bit). And I don't really get along with the stewardesses...but that's because I'm a totally different person at work. I'd describe my work persona as "uninterestingly heterosexual". The only times I make contact with the stewardesses are probably to ask for a cup of tea or maybe a newspaper and could you be a dear and close the door on your way out thank you so much.

And besides, deep inside me, I still secretly think that girls are icky. I don't know how they think, how they feel or how their bras (or what's inside them) work.

I wonder if that's why I'm gay now? Because guys are much less of an enigma, maybe? I mean, I already know how guys work and we're really easy to please. After all only guys know what guys like best *wink*

Other people, though, seem to have fag hags oozing out from their pores. Asm@di's one. Kitty's another. What's with these people? Do they have some pheromone which makes them fall over each other to claim them as their trophy fag? How do they seem to get so many!? I know Kitty's completely hopeless on so many levels, so I guess he must kinda appeal to the motherly type.

And now I've resorted to begging for extras. It's time to expand my mindset and discover Girls - The Final Frontier.

Career Opportunity!

2006-07-19T00:13:00.000+08:00

V A C A N C Y

The advertiser is a leading gay blogwhore in the Malaysian blogosphere with a high-flying job and an active lifestyle and a tendency to overspend.

The advertiser has a world-class collection of accessories from famous brands, but is looking for the ULTIMATE accessory that has so far eluded him: a FABULOUS, FABULOUS FAG HAG.

Responsibilities:

primary duties will be to morally and emotionally support and advise the advertiser whenever required, and sometimes without being asked to, and more importantly even when specifically told not to
the individual is expected to provide arm candy whenever the advertiser feels like shopping, eating, clubbing, going out in public, etc etc.
the individual is also expected to act believably as the advertiser's girlfriend whenever encountering his family members and/or annoying straight friends and/or colleagues. A certain amount of limited physical contact may be necessary.
other duties include procuring contact numbers of cute strangers, or at the very least ascertaining their sexual preferences
the individual must be prepared to face late nights and long telephone conversations about hot men, men who are jerks, hot guys at the gym, rants about work, hot guys at work, hot guys on the street, hot guys on the telly, hot guys in cinema, hot guys in general. Among other things.

Requirements:

The advertiser is looking for candidates who are fun, witty and above all, fabulous.

Applicants must be female, at least in outward appearance (female enough to deceive the general public will be acceptable)
Applicants must be at least presentable to the public in general i.e. not minging at the very least.
Applicants are required to have basic good taste and sense of dressing and are expected to be honest when telling the advertiser that those jeans make his ass look waaay fat
Applicants must be fully conversant in English and must have at least some ability to bitch. Bitching in multiple languages is a plus!
Applicants must possess strong stamina especially when required to do cardio work such as shopping and sightseeing
Applicants must have patience especially faced with a totally emo advertiser who can be pissed off at any variety of reasons with no advance notice
Applicants also must have enough balls to tell the advertiser off if he's being a complete jerkwhore, without hesitation
Sexual preference is not a factor, but applicants must be VERY WILLING to appreciate and hold lengthy discussions about the male form
This is a full-time, 24/7 position with no days off

Perks:

The advertiser is willing to provide exclusive moral, physical, financial and emotional support and advice whenever required, and sometimes without being asked to, and more importantly even when specifically told not to
Successful applicants can expect to have random free meals at posh places, random presents based on preferences and a birthday cake of their choice
Birthday presents and their values will be directly related to the successful applicant's performance review
The advertiser will be fully willing to fend off unwanted attention, and be the perfect fake boyfriend esp. to the question "why aren't you married yet?"
If successful applicants are married, advertiser will be willing to be the bestest godfather ever to any children and shower them with tons of love, affection and as much Barney as they can take as long as they stay cute and ALWAYS call him "kor kor", NOT "uncle"
The advertiser guarantees to introduce successful applicants to all hot single straight men, as long as the advertiser is unable to turn them gay

Interested? Apply within!

Les Liaisons Dangereuses

2006-07-13T00:44:00.000+08:00

An email received lately:-

Hi
how are you
My vanness
I go to Malaysia 7/20
you understand Chinese..?
You have the liaison telephone?
I may with your connection....
Vanness

Dear fan(s)

Thanks for your support. I do not have the liaison telephone, and you definitely may NOT with any of my, er, connection.

With love,
Wingedman

P/S And stop running your emails through babelfish!

Wake Up, Wake Up, On A Saturday Night

2006-07-06T11:16:00.000+08:00

Approximately four months from now I can finally answer the second-most irritating question in my life:

"So when are you going to fly international?"

Always kinda looked like a huge flying koi to me

At last, Wingedman's getting bigger wings! Hard to not be a size queen when you're flying this thing, but *sigh* I'll try.

For anyone who wishes to ever see the inside of a First Class, please pray for my continuing success during training.

Ex-FSS!! Can help me with widebody SEP??

Love Is In The Blogosphere

2006-07-04T04:58:00.000+08:00

I just noticed something.

For all you people who want to fall in love (or just have sex) CREATE A BLOG.

It's true. Blogging does help you get laid.

I'll let the statistics speak for themselves. Of the 31 links to blogs I have on my sidebar, only ten are still single (as far as I know). And some of these ten are bloggers whom I don't know well, so they could very well be attached without my knowledge. Two of them are real girls (since birth, as far as I know) and they shall be excluded because, well, girls are icky and shan't play with boys.

Of the other 21 ALL of them are attached, sometimes to each other, even. If not attached, then at least they've had contact with other bloggers. And when i say "contact" I mean the "full-body" kind.

It's a 66.7% accuracy rate! Let's see Fridae have those kind of figures.

So for all you singletons out there...GET A BLOG. And for all you bloggers still single...well, rest assured that the odds are in your favour. I mean, look at colinandkero...

Lyk, I wan 2 b de luv by every1 lyk tat...

The Shining One

2006-06-28T06:35:00.000+08:00

"Hey good looking, do you want a girl?"

My eyes bulged as my brain tried to comprehend what the man was trying to say to me in Mandarin.

"Eh?" was all that I could elicit in response.

"Girl, pretty girl, you want?"

Ohmygawd this can't be happening to me. This only happens to Slutilla! He's the one with the word "Pervert!" stamped on his forehead!

But there was just no denying it. I had finally been approached by a pimp.

The BF and I were at Genting Highlands, taking a break from the midweek madness that is KL. He had taken a day's leave and we had decided to get some fresh mountain air. Well, as fresh as a casino resort town 6000ft above the sea can be, I guess.

We hadn't been walking around for long in one of the indoor areas when this Chinese uncle sidled up to us and gave me his proposition in a low voice. I don't think I even dignified him with an answer. I think I just stared at him incredulously until he left.

I shouldn't be all that surprised, really. After all, gambling and prostitution has always gone together hand in hand since the good old days, right? I just never thought I was, you know, "client" material. After all, I don't drink, I don't smoke, and I sure as hell don't womanise. The light of innocence positively shines from my face (and you thought it's just the effects of my daily SK-II routine).

So we put the incident behind us and just continued walking. Neither of us had been to the casino before, so we decided to go in and check it out. We got a huge ego boost as we walked past security because we both got checked for ID--emphasis on both. I'm not just innocent, I'm young and innocent now!

The BF started playing the ~~slut~~ slot machines and my eyes glazed over almost immediately. I just don't know how those aunties and uncles could spend the entire day staring unblinkingly at the rotating slots, pressing the same button over and over again with a reverance usually reserved for religious experiences. Gambling's not really my thing either (Light of Innocence shines brghter!), I don't even gamble during Chinese New Year. So I wandered off to check out the hot croupiers in their vests and bow ties. It's the perfect opportunity, really. They're always at their tables, dealing out cards or whatever, too busy to look up most of the time, and you can just stand there and pretend to watch the game while ~~mentally undressing them~~ admiring their beauty from afar.

Anyway there were just one or two good specimens (manga-haired!) but after dressing and undressing them a few times it gets boring, and besides the sheer number of senior citizens milling about was starting to seriously creep me out. There's only so much sagging bits in flowery blouses that I can take in a day.

I went back to The BF who was now starting to morph into one of those blank-eyed zombies, so I told him I wanted to go.

"Just a bit more," he said without glancing at me. "Almost finished the credits anyway." There were only about a dozen left and it wouldn't have taken him a few minutes to finish. Now neither of us knew how much one credit was worth. He'd just put in ten ringgit and started playing, and I didn't know how much he started off with, so I assumed he'd want to play until it all ran out.

I rolled my eyes and went to ogle at the cute croupiers again. After ten minutes I came back and to my horror he had hundreds of credits left. He had actually started winning when I was away!

"You know, you could take another walk," he said, as his credits began to diminish rapidly after I returned. Fine!

So once again I wandered off, this time a little more peeved. When I really couldn't take it anymore I marched back and as luck would have it, he had won even more. This time I had to threaten him with abandonment before he agreed to give up his gambling addiction (at least for today). So we went to exchange the credits.

And ohmygawd he got like more than a hundred ringgit back. More than ten times the capital he put up! Almost immediately he wanted to go back and play again but I put my foot down and told him he could take a bus back home if he touched that ~~slut~~ slot again. Besides it was getting late and I wanted to explore more of the resort before night fell.

Which is when we got approached by the same pimp again. This time though, it was The BF who got asked.

"Hey want pretty girls?" asked Uncle Pimp.

It was The BF's turn to stare incredulously.

"Boys also got."

My eyes brightened. But before I could answer The BF had already hustled me away from Uncle Pimp. I was pretty impressed. The pimps really do cater to all markets. I wonder how many of his boys double as croupiers during the day...

Anyway I really had fun in Genting. Despite throwing a fit at the casino, despite discovering I'm a bad luck charm, and despite the discovery that I don't look that innocent after all, I had a great time together with The BF. Of course it feels good to win money, especially when it's unexpected. And it's not often that I get to see The BF so deliriously giddy since he's always worried about work. Also, there's nothing like being surrounded by old people to make one feel really young again. And now I know next time I can just park him at the casino while I go hunting for sluts of my own.

Slots, I meant. Of course. Hunt my own slots. Yes.

The Most Exciting Post Ever!!!!!

2006-06-27T00:18:00.000+08:00

Inspired by the dullest blog in the world, my fellow dullards weeshiong, Joshua and I have decided to embark on the Mundane Meme! Where we each shall compete to produce the most boring blog entry we can think of.

Of course I'm going to win. I have Supreme Tai Tai Procrastinating Powers ok. If that doesn't say a lot about my laziness I don't know what will.

I put one foot in front of the other. I repeated it again. Thus I found myself in another room altogether.

OMG isn't this exciting?! Let's see who else should join the fun:-

1. Jay. Because he never does memes.
2. Paul. Because he's still potty mouthed.

Top Ten

2006-06-25T20:17:00.000+08:00

Weeshiong kindly tagged me on this a couple of weeks ago. Thanks to my Supreme Tai Tai Procrastinating Powers and my continuing blogger's block it looks like this is all I can come up with this week.

Top 10 Life's Simplest Pleasures (in no particular order)

1. Standing under a hot shower after a tough workout
I usually can't even lift my arms high enough to shampoo my hair after Bodypump. It's all I can do to twist the shower handle.

2. Tearing into a hot, crispy piece of KFC when ravenously hungry
What can I say? I'm just the Colonel's little whore, as evil, evil weeshiong put it (like he's not lah!).

3. Spotting a really, awesomely cute guy in the least likely of places
Like, a totally fit, hawt and hunkalicious specimen waiting in line at the local KFC. It just proves that you can eat fried chicken and still be totally fit, hawt and hunkalicious.

4. Sleeping as late as I want, and waking up as late as I like.
No question. Absolutely the most fabulous ability a Tai Tai should have. Even more appealing when you realise everyone else is at work (and not so appealing when you realise you have no one to play with).

5. Snuggling in my comforter on a rainy, non-working day
When in conjunction with no. 4 I feel that it's like, the best day ever and I'm not even out of bed yet!

6. Reading a really good piece of writing-- whether book, comic or blog
Makes you go "Oh. Wow" and immediately you want to read everything he/she's ever written to get the same feeling again.

7. Planting a kiss on The BF when he least expects it, then watch a slow, shy smile spread on his face
Especially when he's driving, and he's powerless and tries to weakly protest but still can't stop himself from smiling.

8. Executing a smooth, perfect landing
It's much harder to accomplish than you think! Between all the crosswinds and the thermals and the fat passengers and their fatter luggage, every landing is different. I still get a rush whenever I take over the controls for landing.

9. Nuzzling baby nephew's tummy and listening to him scream with laughter
You can do it over and over again! And he'll still laugh! And scream! And call for his mummy! And flail his chubby arms and legs! And just be the cutest ickle wooby lubby baby ever! Until he starts peeing anyway. Then I just hand him back to his mom.

10. Bitching/gossiping/bitching/joking/sharing/bitching sessions with the sistas
I do love me bitches. I only bitch because I love you girls! Though honestly, so far only Slutilla can really keep up. Bitching with him can get really exhausting and has freaked out people who aren't familiar with a relationship that's based on mutual love/spite.

Northern Delights

2006-06-21T11:47:00.000+08:00

It's not often that i get to meet up with people on my nightstops, and it's even rarer for me to meet up with a fellow blogger. The last one I met was canardbidon, I think and the one before that was evil/lovely weeshiong who was parading himself around the gym too often for me to ignore.

So on Monday it was a kind of a milestone for me to meet Joshua all the way in his hometown of Penang. He'd invited me to come and join some classes at the Fitness First in Penang, which I've not been to before, since it's too far away from the hotel we're in.

Now I normally don't go to gym on my nightstops. I usually just straightaway take a nap and then wake up at mealtimes for the nearest KFC (and I wonder why I'm so fat). The main reason is because packing for a gym trip away from home is quite a hassle still. I mean, you only have limited space in your bag, so you've gotta include shoes and shorts and socks and extra shirts and more underwear etc etc. And what the hell are you gonna use for a gym bag?!

And wouldn't you know it when it came to unpacking in Penang I realised I'd left my shorts and socks at home. Naturally, I couldn't show up without either, so I dragged Joshua into the nearest Nike before the class. I've not even set foot in the damn gym and already I felt leaner. Or maybe just my wallet.

I must say Fitness First Island Plaza is a very nice gym. It's got huge floor-to-ceiling windows and a spiral staircase, which I liked immediately. However, even at 6.30 on a weekday, the gym wasn't exactly buzzing with activity. I think it's partly because Island Plaza itself is deserted (its cinema was forced to close down for lack of business!) and also because Fitness First faces stiff competition from newer, sleeker gyms at more upmarket addresses.

Not to say the quality of the men were lacking, though. I saw quite a few very excellent specimens while I was...working out. Joshua claims he doesn't have very good gaydar, but I don't think you need any kind of special mutant powers to figure out that any guy wearing a pink shirt that says "For Rent" probably isn't looking for female roommates.

He did warn me that the class would be full of aunties though. But as I've said over and over again, aunties are not to be trifled with. They can really make or break the class for the instructor, although a class full of sweating middle-aged females with assorted saggy bits isn't exactly the best motivation for me (or for the instructor for that matter). And I realised that aunties don't always have to be of the female persuasion. There was a guy in the changing room who dressed like Gucci vomited all over him-- HUGE bag with the signature monograms, and even a matching toiletry purse. I don't see that even in KL!

And after gym, I insisted that he bring me to a good nasi kandar place. I know, I know it defeats the purpose doesn't it? As Lawrence put it so succinctly... gym + nasi kandar = 0 but I don't care. I love my authentic nasi kandar, and besides, I only have it when I'm in Penang. When I'm not stuffing my face with KFC, that is. It's not my fault that there's a KFC right next to the hotel!

Anyway I'd like to say thanks to Joshua for the hospitality and for bringing me around Penang and putting up with my last minute shopping and for offering me Nike discounts and for pointing out the hot boys in the gym and for agreeing to have nasi kandar even though all he wanted for dinner was steamed brocolli and for generally treating me with the due respect my divaness deserves. Sigh, if only all boys were as accomodating as him!

Confetti In The Wind Turns One!

2006-06-14T01:30:00.000+08:00

Happy Birthday Confetti In The Wind@Blogspot! Lovely, lovely weeshiong remembered and actually did a nice little graphic for me.

It's been a great year. I never thought how big a part of my life blogging would be. There's not one day which passes by that I don't read blogs, read comments on my blog, leave comments on other people's blogs, go bloghopping etc etc until hours pass and oh shit, it's too late to go to the bank already (yes, banking hours are much narrower for someone who wakes up at noon).

Worse still, it begins to permeate every part of my life. Something funny happens to me, I put it on my blog. Something sad happens, I put it on my blog. I buy something, it gets put in my blog. Something or someone pisses me off HELL YEAH YOU'RE GOING DOWN IN MY BLOG, BIATCH. You know it's bad when your parents survive a terrible accident and the first thing you do is take pictures of the mangled wreck and think, "Hey this would be great on my blog!"

I think about blogs when I'm driving. I think about blogs when I'm gymming. And I especially think about blogs when I'm flying, because it's a hell lot more interesting than counting clouds.
I even have a small notepad to jot down random blog ideas when I'm flying (though not much of that recently).

No comment on thinking about blogs while having sex.

And all this is just thinking. It gets proportionately worse when almost all your friends start blogging. Then you actually start talking about blogs. Blogs that look nicest, blogs that look shittiest (seriously, some people just shouldn't be allowed access to Adobe Photoshop). Blogs that are interesting, sarcastic and funny and blogs that just make you want to shoot the owners in the head and string their carcasses up as an example.

And then we start talking about the people behind the blogs. Who's hot, who's minging. Who's dating whom, who's just broken up (and is now available for rebound sex). Who's a slut and proud of it, and who's declaring his virginity publicly (you can guess which blog gets more hits).

Blogs are all about people, really. Getting to know them; their loves, their lives and their losses. You see a little bit of you in their words, and you like it, so you keep reading. Or you see a little bit of who you wish you could be in their blog so you keep reading. Or maybe you feel that their blog is like watching a plane crash -- it's so horrifying but you just can't stop looking at it.

I'm really proud of my blog, actually. It's made me a lot of acquaintances, it's brought me closer to my existing friends, and it's found me a real, true friend I know I can rely on the next time my car breaks down :P It's given me an avenue to express myself creatively (which I've always wanted to for the longest time), and it even almost got me a writing spot for an entertainment channel.

So here's to Confetti In The Wind, and here's to all you readers out there! Thanks for a year of fabulously faggoty fun, and may the next year bring more grandiosely gay good times!

Four Is A Lucky Number

2006-06-12T00:52:00.000+08:00

Thanks to Michael for the fourplay meme! Honestly my mind has been a total wasteland lately when it comes to blogging, so I'm reduced to taking other people's ideas now. Next I'll probably just put up pictures of sexy hunky footballers.

Hey! Not a bad idea, that...

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. Salesperson at a computer shop (age 15)
2. Clerk at Citibank (Credit Card Division) (age 18)
3. Salesperson (Direct selling...you know, the ones who approach you at your table selling kitschy pens during your lunch hour?) (age 18--one day only)
4. Office Boy at Some Company Which Until Now Does I Don't Know What Something Related To IT (or something or nuffink) (age 19)

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. My Fair Lady
2. The Sound of Music
3. Laputa: Castle In The Sky
4. Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring

Gee. Judging from this selection you could say that I'm still a kid at heart who lives in a fantasy world and dreams of becoming a real Lady Of The Woods nanny and fall in love with her employer.

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE LIVED:
1. Kuala Lumpur
2. Kota Kinabalu

Uhh...okay I've not really lived that long. Give me time.

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. American Idol - Cos I like to criticise just like everyone else.
2. Friends - I could (and have) watch every episode of all 10 seasons over and over again.
3. Desperate Housewives - Let's face it. Every gay boy secretly wants to be Bree.
4. Will & Grace - Actually, I just watch it for Jack & Karen.

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON HOLIDAY:
1. San Francisco
2. Bangkok
3. Redang Island
4. Singapore

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
Magicthegathering.com - I'm a secret geek wo still gets a tingle in my balls whenever I rip open a fresh pack of cards
Jay's But Enough About You - This bitch is too good to not visit daily
Gizmodo.com - God this seals my fate in the annals of geekdom
gaytorrentnews.org - Hint: There's no news on this site that's for sure

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. KFC! That's where I want to be! Honestly, between sex and a fresh Hot & Spicy chicken, I'd rather choose the chicken. I mean, you can always have sex later, and the experience will be the same (better on a full tummy, in fact) but there's absolutely NO WAY to make a H&S crispy again once it's cold.
2. Fried rice. Slutilla and I are total whores for fried rice. My favourite is Char Chan Teng's Fried Rice with XO Sauce. Almost better than KFC!
3. Peanut M&Ms.
4. Ice cream. FULL-CREAM FATTY ones only please. No vegetable-oil Walls crap for me.

FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE:
1. Flying for Cathay Pacific, then taking the month off to be:-
2. Towelboy for the entire Spanish football team. Failing which:-
3. On a beach in Hawaii. Or better still:-
4. In my Palace on my Island of MenMeNmEn.

FOUR LUCKY PEOPLE TO TAG
1. Evil, evil Weeshiong
2. Ab-alicious (or soon-to-be) Jay
3. Potty-mouthed Paul
4. Overworked, Underfucked Androjane

Lessons From The Loo

2006-06-05T00:01:00.000+08:00

My parents are in China until the end of the week, so I'm taking the opportunity to take Alanis Morrissette's advice in Jagged Little Pill. Except that I won't be walking around naked in the living room, obviously, since terrace houses in my area tend to have living rooms that are very visible to the roads outside. But all the other rooms are fair game, as far as I'm concerned.

Which led to some consternation on The BF's part when he found me brushing my teeth next to the first floor window--in the buff.

"OMG the neighbours can see!"

"Cannot-lah. It's only overlooking the back of some shoplots, not many people walk past one."

"Still!"

"See then see-lah!" You can't get more Malaysian than this last retort.

I'm not gonna be cowed into putting on clothes in MY own house that's for sure.

Okay before anyone else thinks I'm a weirdo, I don't do it all the time alright? I even wear clothes when I'm asleep. It's just that when I happen to be not wearing clothes (e.g. after a shower, after work), I'm usually in no hurry to put them back on without reason (e.g. going to bed, dinner, going out).

And of course this isn't just limited to my being at home. I mean, I used to think I could be safely, privately nude in my hotel room...

For the most part, hotel rooms are as private as it can get. I mean, there may be a video camera behind that suspiciously thick mirror in Kota Bharu broadcasting my naked attempts at reproducing Bodyjam moves to the downstairs staff, but as long as I don't know about it, I'm okay. I think.

There was one horrific incident in Singapore a few months ago though, which nearly put me off being naked for good.

The hotel we stay in Singapore's actually very nice. It's shiny and new, the beds are comfortable, and it's within walking distance to the MRT and the gay clubs. And our rooms, though small, are like, 30 floors high. So it's with some peace of mind that I left a trail of clothes and underwear around the room as I prepared to make myself...more comfortable...once the door was closed.

Or so I thought.

I was in the loo, doing number two (with the toilet door wide open, naturally) that I thought
I heard voices from the corridor. Now hearing voices from outside one's hotel room is nothing new, and they don't usually linger for long. However, I did think that it was unusually loud, seeing that I was hearing it form inside the bathroom. From where I was...sitting...I had a view of the bed and the window only, and I was hardly in a position to go check.

I couldn't actually here what they were saying, but they did linger on for quite a while, so I thought "oh, it must be the room opposite, talking at their door," so I took my own sweet time, doing my...business...at leisure. By the time I finished...washing up (and down)...the voices were gone, so I got out of the toilet and saw to my everlasting horror that the door to my hotel room was WIDE OPEN.

Now most hotel room doors are designed so that they'll always swing shut when left ajar--and they can't be slammed shut either. But they do usually come with doorstops that lock in place only when the door is opened to its widest angle--to facilitate the cleaning staff, etc etc. And THAT'S the position the door was in. Gaping wider than a whore's vagina, if you'll pardon my language.

I can't remember if I squealed in horror or not, my I DO remember taking a quick peek at the corridor--still nude--just to see if the perpetrators were around. They weren't, but I'd already felt horribly violated by then. They must have looked into the room and saw the clothes on the floor and surmised that I was in the loo, because I DEFINITELY would have noticed someone peeking on me in the toilet. I don't shit with my eyes closed, you know. It's not that type of experience. Frankly I don't know who'd be more traumatised--me at being discovered or the poor sap who's got to live the rest of his life after seeing me on my throne doing the nasty.

I think I didn't check that the door was fully closed and the lock latched, and someone must have noticed and pushed it open. I don't know WHY they chose to leave it as widely open as it was when I found it, but I'm just so glad they didn't actually come into the room and nick my Vaio while I was happily reading Fortune on the toilet. I mean, it's not as if I would be in any condition to chase them even if they did. I've run worst-case-scenarios in my head over and over again since that incident and believe you me, they're all quite...what's the word?

Shitty...

Anyway the lesson I learnt here is not to stop wandering around naked, but to FUCKING MAKE SURE every room door is shut and BOLTED before I start stripping. And I hope you all learn to do the same too.

A Tearful Reunion

2006-06-01T01:40:00.000+08:00

My baby's back!! In less than 24 hours after sending the laptop in, I got an sms notifying me that my item is ready for collection. So I called them and was told that my Vaio was indeed ready.

Me: So...how much do I have to pay?
Call center chick: Oh...let me see...it's free of charge, sir.
Me: (Pause) Were you guys that entertained by my porn?

Anyway I daren't ask any further in case they did unearth some obscure admin charges or whatever, so I went back to the service center in Bandar Utama.

I have to say it's the best service center on the planet. It's exactly WHAT a service center should be. Nine counters, behind which sat seven people, and only two or three other customers.

I approached an empty counter. The lady manning (womanning?) it looked up, smiled at me, and asked me to take a number. Fine, so I didn't notice the number-generating device behind all those product banners. I took one, and before I could even sit my ass down they'd already called my number. And guess what--it was the same woman who'd asked me to take a number.

Ignoring the sheer absurdity which had just happened, she soon retrieved my darling Vaio and asked me to check it. Once again I asked if there were any parts replacement charges.

Service center chick: None. It's free of charge.
Me: Ha? Then what the hell was wrong with it?
Service center chick: Well, they replaced a display circuit.
Me: And that's free?
Service center chick: Yes.

Ohhh-kaay. I was only too happy to get the hell out of there. And as Zemien pointed out in his comment, never once did I see a porn-happy technician. I must say that their service center efficiency is indeed exemplary. For a company that has such a diverse product line, I'm glad to see that there were never more than two or three people both the times I was there, which speaks well for Sony's quality. Although you can't quite lug a 42" Bravia plasma tv all the way to BU in your car boot, I guess.

I'm just glad I have my baby back, fully intact. Now to make up for lost downloading time...

The Day The Porno Died

2006-05-30T00:50:00.000+08:00

You just know your day is fucked when you come back from lunch and all you want is a little bit of ~~porn~~ Will & Grace before you nap, but when you try to turn on your RM7000 laptop all the bloody machine can do is give a little mechanical whine before lapsing into deathly silence. A silence which no frantic keyboard-stabbings, screen-shakings, sobbing pleas or shouted threats could break. It looked like all those days and nights of nonstop ~~porn~~ downloading was its final undoing.

And this was in the middle of a 5-day trip for me. We really only start to appreciate stuff when they're gone, don't we? I realised that I've never ever left home without my laptop before, and I really didn't know what to do now that I couldn't watch my ~~porn~~ Will & Grace and a whole stack of now-useless DVDs.

Anyway now that I'm back in town, and with my Vaio still staring blankly at me, it looks like I've got no choice but to send it to the Sony service center for them to have a look. I don't like their RM160 repair tag (before any parts replacement, naturally), and I like even less the fact that some unfortunate techie will be accessing about 10 gigs worth of hardcore gay porn (if my hard disk happens to still be intact).

I really don't know how to show up to collect my filth-infused laptop in a couple of days. Perhaps I could pretend the laptop's not mine? I mean, I don't look old enough nor rich enough to afford a Vaio, you know. I could say it belongs to my boss, and hint broadly that he's kind of fruity, nudge-nudge-wink-wink. Although I'd have to dress like a straight person, which would be a problem, because I don't have any loose, oversized clothes in mismatching colours. And I'd probably have to talk about football, omigod.

NO WAY. I'll face the nudges and the winks and the knowing looks. My darling Vaio gave its life so that I could watch Bareback Boy Bunns Vol. 6 and all the rest, and I'll be damned if I'll let myself feel humiliated for that fact!

Bring it on, techie bitches!

Bangun Pagi, Gosok Gigi, Cuci Mata...

2006-05-26T00:38:00.000+08:00

I feel so pleased with myself. I think I just had the most productive day of my life! In the space of one day I managed to go to work, get myself invited into a hot guy's hotel room, watch the American Idol final and catch X-Men 3. AND I even managed to nap for an hour in the afternoon. How's that for productivity?

First things first. The American Idol final was, for me, quite a predictable affair. The moment Katherine McPhee sang her final song last night I knew it was all over for her. I think it was called "It's All Over, This Song's Shit". I guess she was so disgusted by the cheese-laden lyrics and uninspiring arrangement she didn't even finish the last note properly and I can't blame her.

I was never really a Taylor Hicks fan, but I must say he worked his butt off to win the title. Even though his "specially composed" song ("Do I make you proud?! DO I?! DO I?!!?") was only marginally better, his unique style made all the difference (thank goodness he went easy on the spasmatic dancing). Thus did he clinch the title of the 5th American Idol.

As usual the final was a long-drawn out affair, but I like that Ryan Seacrest and the producers kept it light and satiric while at the same time bringing in some A-list stars to duet with the Idols, (although I do think Prince is a bit dodgy). I loved Mary J. Blige but it's obvious that she totally delivered The Smackdown to Elliot Yamin while singing "One". Someone should have told him that Bono's shoes are just too big for him to fill.

And Kellie Pickler should really get her own show! I mean she's dumb as a cow (not you, Spot) but she's so not afraid to show it. I don't know if her reaction to eating "ess-kar-goats" were scripted but you can't help laughing when her eyes bulge at yet another french delicacy. Maybe she's not as dumb as she looks after all. In that case, she's a real crafty cow and should still get her own show anyway.

I watched all this in the company of a cute, young pilot, always so eager to seek my pleasure during every commercial break. He had invited me back to his hotel room, pleading for me to help him ~~out of his pants~~. I told him I'd only be too glad to give him a hand~~job~~. He responded by saying he'd be on his knees ~~with gratitude~~.

Oh, I didn't need to cross that last one out did I? And I thought this trip was going to be boring!

Anyway he's simply a cadet pilot that I'm supervising for the next few days. And he's bloody good too. I mean when I was at his level I could barely press any button for fear of exploding the aircraft and here he is coolly breezing through his training. Even the instructor pilot was somewhat in awe of his capabilities. It's so unfair isn't it? Some people have all the looks and all the skills. I won't go into detail about how godly he looks but I will say that some stewardesses actually thought he was Brazilian. And he's got eyelashes any girl would kill for. Long, curly lashes so thick it's almost like he's got tarantulas on his eyelids (I mean this in a sexy way).

Well at least I get to relax for the next few days. Since he's doing all the hard work (i.e. flying) I just sit at the back of the cockpit and read the papers and fiddle with my Nintendo. While staring surreptitiously in awe/jelezy at his lovely curly lashes. Maybe it's Maybelline?

On the way to the hotel, I found that he was an Idol fan as well. And without any prompting at all, he invited me to come to his room later and watch it together. How sweet of him!

"Oh you can also come earlier and catch Minging United vs Stewpid Villa if you want," he added. Or something like that. Who the hell can keep it straight between all those European football clubs anyway. Except...

Yes, he's one of them. The Straights. Plus it turns out the invitation was only a ploy so I could help him prepare for tomorrow's flight. That manipulative little bitch. Someone must have told him I always bend backwards (or forwards, tee hee) for a cute face and a bubbly butt.

Anyway The BF has nothing to worry about since I'm a consummate professional at work (just ignore the paper-reading and the Ninetendo-playing bit). He's not the first trainee I've had under me, and I'm proud to say they've always been quite molest-free. True, none of them have looked like Brazilians before this, but still it's nice to cuci mata (wash the eyes) during every flight for a change. Just makes the day go by easier doesn't it?

God I love this job. Love it.

Letting Planes Go (Fong Fei Kei)

2006-05-24T01:25:00.000+08:00

Being a pilot makes me a member of the service industry, doesn't it? And being in the service industry means I got to be nice and friendly to my customers, don't I? And the customer's always right, aren't they?

I'm so not cut out for the service industry then.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate my passengers. In fact, I absolutely love the hot/cute/fit/hunky ones. And I do tolerate most of them. I sometimes deign to smile and nod at even the female passengers. I'm proud to say that I've once carried a little old lady's luggage all the way to the baggage claim.

But sometimes the passengers can really get on my nerves. Like when the aircraft's all ready to go, all the bags are loaded, the tanks are full and the paperwork is done BUT the traffic staff knocks on the door and says "We're still waiting for a couple more passengers, don't know where they are but we've already paged for them". That's when you sometimes hear the P.A. in the terminal calling for the "last remaining passengers for Flight 69, Mr Minging And Ms Stewpid, please report to Gate XX immediately. I SAID NOW, BIATCHES!"

That's what it'd sound like if I was in charge, you can bet on that.

Due to safety reasons, if the passengers have check-in baggage and they don't show up for the flight we have to crack open the hold and search for their shit and offload it. And inevitably, just when we've found the bags, 10 minutes AFTER we're supposed to have departed, Mr Minging and Ms Stewpid stroll in with their 15 kids and their bazillion shopping bags, as if the other 100 passengers and crew on the plane are awaiting their Royal Pleasure or something. Inevitably!

There's no reason why they should be late, unless there's a problem at the immigration, or they were held up by the security checks. Passengers are required to be at the boarding gate 10 minutes before departure, it says so on the P.A. in three languages. It's even posted up at eye level above EVERY urinal in the whole airport, and behind every toilet door, just so people won't forget the time while they enjoy the lovely washroom ambience.

I wish we could be like the trains sometimes. Precise to a fault, down to the last minute. I always take the ERL (the high-speed train between KL and the airport) to work and I love seeing people's faces as they rush down the escalator just as the doors are closing.

Yes, I know, not so fun when I'M the one rushing down the stairs to see secretly gleeful faces mocking me from the train as it pulls away from the station. But still I know there's nobody but myself to be blamed, right?

I wish airlines could be a little bit more like that, you know? No more waiting for lost passengers, shopaholic passengers, passengers who've "suddenly" forgot they left their front door unlocked at home. And I'd see their panicked faces plastered against the glass, mouthing obscenities, carrier bags strewn about their legs. Ah, bliss!

Of course we can't do that. We're service-oriented, after all. There's lots of other reasons beyond their control why passengers could be late even though they've already checked-in...maybe their connecting flight was delayed, or maybe they don't understand English and can't read the gate number. Maybe they're senior citizens and aren't used to fancy high-tech flying. Or maybe it's all of the above. It's always better to give them the benefit of the doubt and wait a few more minutes just to be sure.

I mean, it's not as if they're paying RM1.99 for my flight are they?

Not yet at least.

The Other Question You Must Never Ask A Gay Guy

2006-05-22T00:25:00.000+08:00

Whenever someone asks me how long has it been since I've joined the gym, I always change the subject:

Clueless: So how long has it been since you've started gymming?
Wingedman: (instinctively covers belly with both hands) Oh I forgot to bathe my goldfish bye!

But sometimes they don't get the hint.

Annoying Clueless: Haha good one. No, really, how long.
Wingedman: (Sucks in stomach surreptitiously) Oh, three months maybe.

The idea is to make the "Three months, maybe" sound light and breezy. Like it's insignificant. Beneath your notice even. Gym? What gym? You hardly ever go!

But sometimes they're really persistent.

Annoying Clueless Idiot: No-lah definitely more than three months right? I got a call from your gym last year asking me to join up? And they said it was you who referred me?
Wingedman: (looking purplish because still holding breath) No difference right 3 months or 3 years. Same-same one la.

Annoying Clueless Idiot With A Death Wish: Yeah yeah! OMG three years of gym and you still look like this ah?
Wingedman: (Releases breath with a snort and gets murderous glint in eyes) Look. Like. What. Exactly.

Repentant Annoying Clueless Idiot With A Death Wish That Could Be Fulfilled Sooner Than He Thinks: Eh...ah...no lah you look alright lah. Serious. Fit, even.
Wingedman: (Puts down parang) Why thank you. So sweet of you to say so.

It's seriously not funny anymore when all you do when you don't have work is go to the fucking gym. And I do work out! All-cardio, all-the time!

So why are my fucking work pants getting tighter?!

I have half a mind to sue Les Mills. I join so many of their classes and yet I fail to achieve that svelte, toned body that their models seem to maintain effortlessly--nay, gaily--in their promotional posters:-

Surprisingly, most Siamese Triplets lead very sporty lives despite having limbs growing out of their chests

So I've stopped doing weights. And I still eat KFC at least ~~three~~ ~~twice~~ once a week. And I don't always do the full class.

(Light, Breezy Tone) That's got like, nothing to do with why I don't fit in my pants anymore, okay. If I'm getting fatter by the minute it's because there's something wrong with the Les Mills programs, so there.

And anyone who thinks otherwise is an Annoying Clueless Idiot With A Death Wish That Could Be Fulfilled Sooner Than You Think.

Wesak, But No Whoopee

2006-05-15T22:12:00.000+08:00

Another year, another Wesak Day. Being brought up in a staunchly Buddhist family I've been indoctrinated since young that this day was to honour the birth, enlightenment and passing of the Buddha into Nirvana. And I've always been impressed at how well the Buddha can plan his life so that all those significant events can fall on the same date. So ngam one! I also want to have superpowers of super-coincidence and super-plan my super-schedule. You can bet there won't be typhoons or volcanoes making my aircraft late that's for sure.

Unfortunately, a quick check on Wikipedia dispelled such youthful nonsense about how Wesak Day came to be. Apparently the date was decided upon at a conference of Buddhists 60 years ago.

I kinda liked my super-explanation better, though.

Anyway, this year I had to work, so it wasn't until mid-afternoon that I had time to fetch my parents to the Wat Chetawan in Petaling Jaya for some spiritual salvation. You see, I haven't been exactly the best-behaved gay Buddhist boy in town, as last year's blog entry proved.

Come to think of it things haven't changed much...

Anyway to atone for my (many, many) sins of the flesh I decided to seek blessing from the monks. Also I needed to express my gratitude to Whoever's out there for keeping my parents safe from that horrific crash they had in March.

The monk on the furthest right was the one that blessed my family and I. They do some chanting and then they'd sprinkle you with holy water in the tin pot next to him (you can see the monk next to him doing so). This particular Reverend was really free with the water, though. I didn't get sprinkled so much as I got showered. Perhaps he sensed that there was a particularly heavy sinner in the group and therefore had to use more holy water. I'm not complaining, certainly. The more obviously wet you are the holier you must be, right? I mean, it's holy water. Can you ever have enough?! They could spray me with a holy water hose if they wanted to.

Anyway I put in a donation in my name and The BF's name as well. He's been having particularly bad luck of late, and I'm sure he could do with some showery blessings. I did ask him to come along but I don't think it would have gone down well with the parents. They did take the Eight Precepts that day, one of which includes a vow of non-violence.

The entire place was packed with devotees, each carrying a bunch of joss-sticks and determined to plant them in any available spot--despite the warning signs that joss-sticks were forbidden in the main hall, and that in fact there were NO urns in the main hall for them to plant them in anyway. But of course, that never stopped anyone. Thank goodness my mom knows that the measure of spirituality isn't in how many joss-sticks are lit, or where you stick them into, so we quickly paid our respects and left.

And thus my yearly religious duties were dispensed with in just 15 minutes. I think this is a new record! Let's just hope my yearly good-luck allocation doesn't last 15 minutes too.

Juice Suckage

2006-05-11T10:38:00.000+08:00

God!

I seem to have developed "blogger's block". I've been staring at the same empty space for the better part of the last hour, furtively typing a few sentences, then erasing them with an Arrgh.

God! I'm making up words now.

It's not like I have no topics to blog about. The past week has been SO FUCKING hectic that I don't even know where to start. So why not just rant about WHY I can't bloody blog?

Evil evil weeshiong (now confirmed evil by no less than his own mom) has very charitably pointed out that I seem to have transferred my dry spell from my bedroom to my blog. I hate to say it but he's totally right. Ever since The BF came into my life I've blogged less and less. He's my Delilah!

Of course I'd be the last to blame The BF for ay of my shortcomings (especially after the week he's had--more on that another day) but I can't help but to wonder if it's true that I've literally had the creative juices sucked out of me.

Hmm.

That's not such a bad excuse, really. Carry on the suckage, dear BF.

The Most Helpful Sales Staff In The World

2006-05-08T11:25:00.000+08:00

"Dammit I forgot my shorts again!"

This was the thought that ran through my mind as I was rooting through my luggage, naked from the waist down. See the first thing I do whenever I reach the sanctity of my hotel room is immediately change into something more comfortable. Namely, shorts and a t-shirt.

But I forgot my shorts. And it wasn't the first time either. Or the second, even. Anyway I hated having to sleep in my undies the last time it happened (too constricting) , and I really don't feel comfortable sleeping in the nude either (too exposed), so I decided to buy a pair at the shopping complex next door to the hotel in Kota Kinabalu.

Now KK is known for many things--it's wonderful islands, its lovely mountains, the verdant jungle. What it's not known for is it's shopping, which is frankly quite shit. I mean, if you were in the market for a "Rafflesia--The Worlds Bigest Flower Welcome To You Borneo" t-shirt, then I suppose you'd love it, otherwise it's quite shit. Everything imported is more expensive, and the only things made locally are like, rattan baskets. And the aforementioned unfortunately-worded tourist t-shirts.

As it happens it wasn't all shit. There was a Nike shop in the dingy shopping complex so i decided to get a pair. A bit on the pricey side, but I could always wear it to the gym.

As luck would have it they were having a sale. A Clearance Sale, to be exact. Looks like even Nike was throwing in the towel. Anyway I wasn't too happy about it. In my experience clearance sales usually mean that they transfer the new stock to other existing outlets and try to fob off the old stuff which not even colourblind aunties would buy.

I saw several signs plastered all over the shop-- "50% discount on all apparel with any first purchase at normal price". Sounds pretty good to me. I thought to get a pair of socks. You really can't go wrong with another pair of socks to sweat in.

There were no socks left. At least not for anyone who doesn't wear a support bra while gymming. There were still hundreds of socks, but all in pastel tones and sugary designs. And the only unisex sock left was in size XL, presumably to fit Bigfoot if he ever lumbered out of the Borneo jungle and didn't like the blisters his Nikes give him.

I wandered around the rest of the store. No shorts except huge-ass basketball shorts which hung to my ankles. Why are they still caled shorts then?! I did see a couple of Nike Dri-Fit shirts which I kind of fancied, though they're a bit pricey--but they had my size. I can never get Dri-Fit shirts in my size back in KL, unless it's the "Colourblind Auntie" collection. I guess people in KK aren't so hot about Dri-Fit. The shirt has some sort of technology that "wicks" away the sweat from your skin leaving you cool and hopefully, dry instead of sweating profusely like a pig in heat. It sure comes in handy when I'm doing a cardio class and I'm sweating buckets all over the step board. I guess you gotta do something when even total strangers come up to you and remark "You sweat a lot don't you?"

I accosted the nearest sales assistant at hand. "How does this promotion work?"

"Oh it's like this. You buy one item at normal price, and your next item is 50% off".

"Okay. So the cheaper item will be 50% off is it?"

"No. You can buy any item at original price. Then you choose any apparel and you can get that at 50% off."

"Eh?" I wasn't sure I was listening correctly. I buy a RM12.90 sock and I get 50% off a RM121.90 shirt?!

"Yes," he said slowly. "Let me give you an example. You buy a sock, which is the cheapest, and then you can get a Dri-Fit shirt for 50% off."

I was going to nominate this guy for the most helpful sales staff in the world award.

Anyway I did buy the XL Bigfoot sock just so I could get one of them RM121.90 shirts for RM60.95. The shirt fits nicely, and surprisingly the sock fits okay too. If I kind of tuck the extra fabric behind the heel of my shoe, that is.

But I still hadn't gotten my shorts. In the end I had to go to this dingy local retail store and just grab a functional pair of shorts. I couldn't afford to spend much anymore seeing that I'd just made an unscheduled purchase.

Therefore I'm now sitting comfortably in the hotel room, wearing my brand new ANTIONI shorts. Don't be misled by its pseudo-Italiano name, it's produced by the very Malaysian-sounding Hing Yiap group. Dunch play play ok, they're the official sponsor for the Malaysian contingent in just about every major sporting event there is. Oh well if it's good enough for our men's gymnastic team to prance around in it, I suppose it's good enough for me to sleep in.

My Hips Lie, Cheat And Steal, How About Yours?

2006-05-04T15:36:00.000+08:00

I've sort of given up watching television even before my days of flying. Back then, the most exciting thing on tv was The X-Files, and even that ended halfway through college. Then, when Astro came along, watching MTV seemed to be the coolest thing to do, short of actually belonging in a band. And I couldn't even do that, thanks to having two retired parents who spend all their days watching Wah Lai Toi or Jamie Oliver doing his Naked Chef thingie (which btw, I think is THE most misleading title ever! No nudity at all! How rude!).

To this day the only bill I don't pay at home is the Astro bill because things still haven't changed, only there's a new TV and more comfortable chairs for the parents.

Now that I'm hanging out more and more often at The BF's place, I do find myself watching MTV/Channel V nowadays, seeing as there's not much else to do in his spartan room after having la sexo, except to have more sexo. Once we've exhausted that avenue, only then am I allowed to goggle at the new crop of VJs that both MTV and Channel V offer.

I don't think you're allowed to be a VJ on any of these music channels unless you're of mixed-parentage. A glance at any of their profiles and you'd think you're looking at some fusion restaurant's menu-- "American-Filipino", "German-Chinese", "Brunei-British".

Even the ones who claim to be full-blooded locals look mixed. Witness Greg Uttsada "I'm not Tai-Tai, I'm Thai-Thai!!" Panichkul.

Anyway I'm not complaining at all, especially when they serve up such yummilicious specimens like VJ Dominic "Chinese-British" Lau (left). I love that he's got his mom's Western nose and sculpted jaw, but has his dad's ~~slutty~~ slitty eyes. Sexo Wingedman, por favor!

However, this post really isn't about the boys of MTV. In fact, it's not really about boys at all!

It's about the latest Goddess to grace my little Altar of Divas. But first, you must sit through some La Tortura.

I'd give anything to have those luscious hips of hers. And maybe her breasts. It's like every part of her body is independent of each other? I've been watching this video pretty much nonstop since I saw it on MTV and I'm forever in awe at the unspeakable acts she can do while writhing suggestively on the floor.

As a gay male, I've always thought of boobs as--well, I never think of boobs at all, really, but it's all changed since I saw the first few seconds of the music video, where she's repeatedly shaking her well-oiled boobs at the camera. Now I know what my straight friends mean when they say they're titillated whenever they see a Shakira music video. I think if she wanted to, she can even make each of her boobs gyrate in opposite directions.

Oh, and she can sing too, but really, who's listening. I bet you guys anything that you won't even be reading the lyrics whenever she starts to bodyroll on that table. Amazing woman. I'll stop short of actually saying I want to do la sexo with her--no woman's worth it-- but I'd give almost anything to take lessons from her!

I'm prepared to offer Slutilla as a slave for one year. Two, and I'll even throw in Kitty if she can show me how to shake that ass like it's not even part of her body.

I never really knew that she could dance like this
She makes a man want to speak Spanish!

Supreme Tai-tai of the Universe

2006-04-27T01:59:00.000+08:00

How does one decide what's important to him? How does one make the choice between what's easy and what's right? Should I tell the parents? Or are the ignorant truly blissful? Do I feel like BodyJamming or BodyAttacking?

This is the point in every young gay man's life where he takes a good, hard look at himself and asks, "Where is my life going?"

Well, I know where my life is going, and it's going to be mostly at the mahjong table. Why? Because I plan to be the Supreme Tai-tai of the Universe.

Tai tai is a term used in Chinese circles, which translates in its strictest sense as 'supreme wife' where a man is wealthy enough (Tai-pan) to have several wives. The term implies respect but it is no longer strictly interpreted. It now applies to the wife of a wealthy man who does not need to work for money. A Tai tai is a privileged lady of means.

To qualify as a Tai tai, one must have lots of leisure time, lots of money and lots of gossip to exchange.
- Wikipedia.org

See that last line there? It explains everything I could possibly want in life. Lots of time to spend in endless gossip with other fabulous gay men while we fritter away money that's not ours on the mahjong table.

Ah! Mahjong. The Supreme Pastime of the Supreme Tai-tais of the Universe. You can't be one without learning how to play it. If you're a Chinese, you can even sort of pick it up by osmosis, after spending 20-odd Chinese New Years with the familiar click-clacking in the background. I think it's some sort of genetic memory. Like chess, it's sort of easy to pick up; like chess, it's ridiculously difficult to master; but unlike chess, it's not deathly kill-me-now boring.

Therefore to achieve my Supreme Tai-tai of the Universe status (henceforth STtotU), I've decided to at least be handy at this game and work my way up. So I asked the most hard-up mahjong kaki I know to arrange a game on a Sunday afternoon.

"Slutilla, I feel like playing mahjong."

"Ok. Now?"

"Yeah."

"Ok. No prob. Hand itchy also."

In terms of STtotU status, Slutilla's far, far ahead of me. He won't let me tell you guys the extent he'd go to play a game, but let's just say he's not been seeing much of his bf lately.

Even so, Slutilla's a novice when compared to the mighty Galadriel, Lady of the Mahjong Wood and the third player for our session. Why do we call him Galadriel? I don't know. He sure as heck ain't no lady. Maybe it's his queeny attitude.

"What do you mean, go diminish to the West? I said, pong your North la!"

As it was my first game playing with actual money on the table, I couldn't very well play by myself. Luckily, I didn't have to as The BF turned out to be an extremely capable player, as is expected from someone who's been brought up in a small town with nothing better to do than play mahjong and fan the satay grills (I'm so gonna pay for this tonight!).

So I spent an hour just watching them play, and the next two playing under their supervision. It still felt great to win even though I didn't handle most of the major strategic decisions. It felt especially great to win Slutilla's money, but only because he was mean and said I was merely a pemain boneka (puppet player). Only for now, my dear! Soon the student will surpass the mistress!

Once I master this game, nothing can stop me from being Supreme Tai-tai of the Universe! And then I'll have a servant boy in loincloth serving me tea (on his abs), another servant boy (also in loincloth) to handle the tiles for me (I can't very well chip an elongated, carved fingernail on them) and another one (guess what he's wearing) fanning me from behind.

*cue high-pitched evil laughter

Yup, I'm pretty sure this is how the Empress Dowagers of yore used to play mahjong. This is definitely the life for me.

The Gayest Ad Ever

2006-04-23T11:52:00.000+08:00

I love this clip! I've watched it like, only a million times since Slutilla first forwarded it to me. It's in flash format, so I can't steal it and put it up here, but I strongly suggest that everyone have a go at it.

Also, if you're at work, put on your earphones...the visual's are PG-13, but the vocals may be a bit....fruity...

42 Below Vodka's Excellent Viral Marketing Ad

Real estate is GAY!

Bangun Pagi, Gosok Gigi...

2006-04-20T01:51:00.000+08:00

I got tagged! Thanks to weeshiong. This is the School Meme. Let's all relive the good times! Can anyone remember their school song? I can't remember any of mine (but to be fair, I had to remember three).

How many schools did you go to?

Two primary, three secondary schools. Hmm come to think of it, that's quite a lot. Well, mainly because we followed my dad to another state when he took up a promotion, and followed him back to KL when he retired. So that explains the two primary and the two secondary. The last secondary school came about because the previous one, being a brand-new school, had neither science labs nor science teachers. So I had to transfer to another school for my last two years. It turned out fabulously as I met a great bunch of people with whom I'm still fast friends with to this day.

And some of those friends are gay, too. Although my school isn't exactly bursting with faggots (unlike Slutilla's SMK Sri Pondan) I discovered quite a few, almost one every year since I left high school. I think the 10-15% gay population rule really holds true--at least for schools in the city.

Here's a little titbit for you guys-- I only got as far as A-Levels. I dropped out of Uni after a year, and don't have a diploma to my name, much less a degree. So basically, I only have high-school qualifications, which worries my mom no end.

Was I the studious nerd or the last minute hero?

Can I be the last minute studious hero? It's practically part of Malaysian student culture. Never do anything today that can be put of until tomorrow. Never study at the table when the bed will do just as well.

I must admit though that I was very firmly part of the school nerd clique even though my studies weren't that hot. It wasn't that bad anyway, as the Malaysian culture definitely rewards the nerds more than the jocks. The nerds get all sorts of scholarships to all sorts of places, while the jocks get to be exiled to some remote Sekolah Sukan Negara in Bukit Jalil. If they're lucky.

Was I the class 'taiko' (troublemaker) or the teachers' pet?

When your mom's a teacher in the same school, you're definitely the teacher's pet--even if she doesn't actualy teach your class, and even if she only teaches at primary level. And when you're part of the Nerd Squad, you're automatically get the teacher's pet aura.

Besides, same as weeshiong, teachers ultimately talk to other teachers. And they love gossip just like any other women. And there's no better gossip (besides Mrs Tan having an affair with the Guru Disiplin) than how badly another teacher's son is behaving. So with that ingrained in you since your first day in school, you really can't afford to step out of line.

What was the biggest rule I broke in school.

Was there a rule against watching (straight) porn movies in the library's AV room?

And yes, I was a prefect all my life too.

Three subjects I enjoyed the most

English. Unless the teacher had worse command of the language than I did (which managed to happen once). It was appalling (for us students) and bloody humiliating (for her). We could only watch in stunned disbelief as she explained to the class that the proper way to pronounce "yacht" was, literally, "YAR-tch".

Maths. I never really kinda enjoyed it, but I used to be pretty good at it to my eternal surprise. Anyway maths is really extremely overrated. Who the hell uses differentiation or trigonometry in everyday life?

Pendidikan Moral (Moral Studies). I can't believe this is an SPM subject. They needed to come up with a replacement class for the non-Muslim students while the Muslim ones did their Religious Studies. They couldn't very well come up with something actually useful otherwise it wouldn't be fair to those who didn't attend the class. So we had Moral Studies, where every teacher was painfully aware of the futility of the class and every student knows it's a waste of time. Why then is it my favourite? Well, our teacher was perennially pregnant (no kidding, two kids in two years. She's more fertile than a paddyfield), and no other teacher would touch this class with a ten-foot pole, so we always had a free period while she was on maternity.

Three teachers that inspired me

I can only remember one, the late Mr. Lee who was the Discipline Teacher at my last school. He was an excellent leader-- firm but not too rigid, and always had a softer side. OK that sentence is sooo porno. Anyway to this day I remember his favourite saying-- "Hate, like love, is a very strong word. Don't simply use them."

You lot are tagged. I expect your assignments handed in by Monday.

Jay, because you're the class slut
Slutilla, because you're the other class slut (and we want to know more about your fascinating school)
Paul, because you MUST have been the biggest nerd in school (and I say that with much love)
Alvin, because we want to hear about schools from ulu places)
Asm@di, because we want to know what you gys actually DO in Pendidikan Islam
Quikfixed, because we want to know about how hippos educate their young
Shigeki, because your culture is so different!

Class dismissed.

Those "Eligible" Bachelors

2006-04-18T15:12:00.000+08:00

Last week, Paul (Bedtime Stories), Weeshiong (Drowned Glass) and I sat down to an MSN Messenger conference of great importance. We considered it a matter of national interest and that's why we devoted almost three hours to this gravest of topics. Many were the passionate opinions and many more still were the caustic remarks, but at last we reached a common consensus.

I'm talking about the Cleo Malaysia's 50 Most Eligible Bachelors issue, and the consensus was that next year they should rename it Cleo Malaysia's 5 Most Eligible Bachelors, And 45 Other Average Guys We Roped In Just To Make The Numbers In The Hopes You Won't Notice.

We went through each and everyone of these guys and gave comments on each one, just like all schoolgirls (and lusty gay men with time to kill on a Monday night) like to do. Thank goodness now they have an actual proper website for easy viewing. It's just as well because I really have neither the time nor incentive to scan all those mingers one by one into my PC and put them up. I mean, look at the entire bottom three rows on the website! With the exception of just one (in my opinion, two in weeshiong and Paul's) the rest tak boleh pakai.

Okay, maybe the phrase cannot be used is too harsh to describe perfectly average-looking guys who may or may not have Mother Teresa's virtues, but all I'm saying is that for a national women's magazine to proclaim these people as MOST Eligible Bachelors in the nation, is seriously 1) False advertising and 2) Bad judgment.

I guess it all depends one what their definition of "eligible" means. The guys should take heart that women (in my humble opinion) are usually far less shallow than gay men; one hag's meat is another fag's poison.

Seriously, when I predicted in February that the Malaysian Bachelors won't be half as hot as the Singaporeans, I really wished I would be wrong for once this year. I mean, Malaysia isn't that bad, honestly, there's still some drop-dead gorgeous guys around town. I know this for a fact, because I see them in the gym all the time (but not when The BF is around, of course, because, y'know, I only have eyes for The BF. Swear!). At the very least, they could have had a topless pic at one of the hunkier guys just to redeem themselves, but not even that was forthcoming.

To be fair, they didn't get them all wrong, of course. They have to put some really brilliant ones in otherwise no one'd buy the mag except the paper lama man.

Bachelor Number 25 is also the only white guy in the series. I'm not saying that immediately makes him a favourite, but he's also the only guy to show some skin. Nice arms, honey!

Bachelor number 33 has a cool boyish looks I quite dig. Not for Paul or Weeshiong though. "Too arrogant," said they. "He's just confident," said I. What think you?

Bachelor No. 8 is my personal favourite. He looks like the decent, boy-next-door type (like The BF!). Plus, he's actually articulate (he's got a blog that's actually readable) so that's a plus, definitely.

Nice smile, No. 27! Er, that's about it.

And there you have it. 50 of Malaysia's pride and joy (and at least one imported). I'll keep hoping that next year's will be better. Malaysia boleh!

My Next Holiday Destination

2006-04-13T16:54:00.000+08:00

Bangkok? Forget Bangkok.

Switzerland's where it's at, baby!

How long's a flight to Zurich?!

*Edit* Don't worry kids, it's safe for work. Just lots of cute, smiley Swiss-type guys. If only their men were duty-free, sigh.

The One About Bangkok, Part Three

2006-04-09T23:53:00.000+08:00

Where else would you find a blog that talks about treasuring parents one day and go-go boys the next? Confetti In The Wind, of course. This is the third, and I promise, final part of my Bangkok trip. Everyone I know (who didn't go with me) rolls their eyes whenever I start sentences with "When I was in Bangkok..."

Speaking of which, when i was in Bangkok, I practically had coconut water leaking out from my pores. In the 5 days we were there I think I had a coconut at almost every meal, and in between walks. There'd be some peddler at every corner, selling ice-cold fresh coconuts that just cannot be resisted. Although Slutilla had a problem disposing a particularly odd-shaped husk since it couldn't fit into the garbage can's slot in one of the Skytrain stations. We spent a fun few minutes entertaining the locals with our colourful language ("Fuckla it can't fit!") and our attempts at stuffing oddsized lumps into small holes. You'd have thought with our experience it would have been easier.

The go-go bars are conveniently located just the next road from DJ Station though it's quite a walk. Getting there, however, meant that we had to walk through the infamous Patpong Road. Touts would come up to you and wave a piece of laminated cardboard in your face while muttering "sex show sex show" or "pussy eat goldfish" (I'm so not kidding). Should you happen to glance at the "menu" you can see a whole smorgasbord of what exactly these talented pussies can do. Of course, being gay as a popinjay, Slutilla and I felt extremely uneasy walking the entire length of the road, where women in colourful (but surprisingly not scantily clad, as one would imagine) outfits stood in doorways, smoking or talking and generally trying to catch any passer-by's eye. Needless to say we walked the entire stretch while staring at the ground in front of us with great interest.

Duangthawee Rd the gay version of Patpong, is even narrower and seedier. Thankfully, there were no laminated menus in sight, but the touts are much more persistent, perhaps because the road is effectively a dead end, so there's no such thing as an "innocent passer-by". Go-go bars with names like Screw Boy, Dreamboyz, X-Boys, Golden Cock (?!) line both sides of the lane, and each one has a few, ahem, sales consultants in front of its entrance. They'll pull at your sleeve, while whispering loudly "Big cock show! Fucking show!" and they'll invite you to stand at the doorway to view the boys on stage before making your mind to go in or not.

There's no cover charge for any of these bars. Once you're in, they'll usher you into your seat and ask you for drinks. Order anything--they all cost Bt200 anyway. There'll usually be a show at 10pm or 12am. And before the show starts the boys will be on parade, usually only in underwear and maybe a singlet, and each boy comes with a number.

The boys are brazen. If normal Thais simply look at you on the street, these boys will devour you from head to toe and throw in a wink or two. If you let your gaze linger on anyone of them for too long, the mama-san will come mincing over and ask if you'd like number 33 to sit beside you...no obligation...just have a few drinks and talk...he's very new, you know...from Isaan...flower not yet open...etc.

With this in mind, I daren't even make eye contact with anyone in particular. It didn't stop the cheekier ones though. One of them even put his hand up on the projection screen where I had my eyes glued to a Thai movie, to try and catch my attention.

The shows usually start with a cultural dance/performance in full costume. After that there will be other performances ranging from the carnivalesque (fire breathers) to the sadistic (dripping hot wax on each other/into their mouths--EW!).

I think I can leave the big cock show and the fucking shows to your imaginations. Not as hot an issue as one might think, but worth a look, certainly. A few looks, actually.

Once the show's over, you can pay up and stumble out into the night, or you can choose a boy to take home. You have to pay the club to "take the boy out", but what happens after that is strictly between you and him. And before you pervs even think about it, no, I didn't.

So concludes my Bangkok trip. It was an eye-opener, that's for sure. And I can't wait to go back again! There's just so many places I've not been yet. More temples to see (and donate to), and a whole river to- ahem- cruise. So many coconuts to drink, and so much seafood tom yam to try. Plus, the guys are easy on the eye as well.

Bangkok! I'll be back.

Car For Sale

2006-04-07T02:48:00.000+08:00

It was the morning of The BF's birthday, and I was sleeping over at his place when I was rudely awakened by a call from my dad's handphone. The programmed ringtone for all my family members is Beyonce's "Crazy In Love". The lyrics include the words "Uh-oh uh-oh uh-oh oh no no" because they never call me unless it's an emergency.

"Hello," I said, thinking they must be asking where I was since I didn't go home the night before.

"Come quickly," said dad. "We were in an accident."

I went from being barely-conscious to fully-awake instantly. "Oh my god. Is mom okay?"

"She's fine," said my dad, and I instantly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Where are you guys? And how are you?" I hastily added after realising I hadn't asked about him. Well, if he was well enough to make a phone call I guess he wasn't in that bad a shape.

After he told me where they were, I hastily got dressed. The BF was already up and was in the kitchen getting ready to prepare breakfast. He got the shock of his life to see me leaving the room, fully dressed, on the morning of his birthday. Of course, he was most understanding about it, and even walked me to my car. I really felt bad as we had made plans for the whole day.

I rushed over to the scene, fielding calls from my sisters when i saw this at the side of the road.

This is my dad's car. Well in this state, I guess the word "car" is really quite a stretch. "Wreck" is a much better word. I was absolutely aghast, as you can imagine. The entire back portion of the car, from the boot to the back seats, was crushed.

He and my mom were on their way to market, and had stopped at a downhill-sloping traffic light when a lorry lost its brakes and slammed into the back of their car. My dad's car spun out of control and hit, and was hit by, oncoming traffic. All in all, there were 11 cars involved in the accident, but my dad's was the worst hit, of course. It was a BIG lorry, the type used to haul sand around for construction. And it wasn't even the only vehicle which hit it.

Amazingly, no one was injured. The front two passenger seats were virtually untouched. My folks were the only ones sent to a nearby clinic, and got treated for just minor scratches from the flying glass. We sent mom for an x-ray just to be sure (they turned out perfectly normal), while my dad was already giving interviews by the time I got there, so he's obviously fine. I can say this for sure--those Chinese-newspaper journalists are damn fast to get on the scene.

The rest of the day was taken up by sending my parents for more checkups and filing police reports and handling the wreck. The wreck was a mini-celebrity in itself, I tell you. It got much shaking-of-heads and stares-of-disbelief that anyone could walk out of that under their own power. Even in the police station, among all the other wrecks, it was like, King Wreck. Tow-truck operators congregated around it to discuss how to move it because the back wheels were were folded underneath it (in the end the tow-truck needed a police outrider escort to clear the lanes for it). After we got everything settled, I barely had time to go to gym (BodyStep!) and have a birthday dinner with The BF.

It wasn't until much later at night (after a karaoke session!) when my head hit the pillow when I realised how close I was to losing my parents forever. I couldn't even imagine the terror they must have endured for the few seconds after the crash. My dad blacked out for a few minutes, but my mom said she was conscious the whole time, and could only, literally, pray for her life. Sometimes you just can't help but wonder, maybe there really is a God or a greater force out there watching over us, because my mom's very, very pious (I come back from Bangkok and she asks me about the temples, first thing). I've read enough in the papers and seen enough pictures to know that you don't get involved in an accident like this and walk out of it with nothing more inconveniencing than having to file a police report and insurance claims.

I really have to thank unknown good samaritans who pulled my folks out from the wreck and sent them to the clinic. A motorcyclist even took the trouble to locate my mom's sandals for her! My mom's glasses were knocked from her face but hooked themselves on the silver Kuan Yin pendant around her neck. Dad never found his glasses, though. I guess he needs to go prayers more often.

I guess I need to go prayers more often too. You never know, out of all the god(s) you offer joss-sticks to/light candles for/pray five times a day to, whether any one of them, or all of them for that matter, may have a divine hand in saving a loved one's life.

So, a great big THANK YOU, O Divine Ones, for letting me spend some more time with the people I treasure more than life itself. Thank you for continuing to let my mom make me pancakes and milk everytime I have a morning flight, and thank you for continuing to let my dad drive me to the train station everytime I catch a flight. Thank you for letting me see them everyday and know they're okay and all is right in the world.

And I promise to make a donation in the Temple of the Emerald Buddha FIRST THING next time I'm in Bangkok :P

The One About Bangkok, Part Two

2006-04-03T20:51:00.000+08:00

Bangkok!

I must admit, Bangkok was never high on the list of places I wanted to visit. London, yes. San Francisco, yes. Sydney, yes. Hong Kong, yes. Before I did my research, I always thought Bangkok was no big deal, y'know? Because 1)It's too close to Malaysia to be considered really a "holiday" destination, 2) it had that "seedy" reputation, and 3) aren't the people just like the ones we have here anyway?

Well, I can say with certainty that I'm not wrong about assumption no. 1 (but in a good way), not quite right about no. 2, and OH SO, SO , SO, SO WRONG about no. 3.

The natives are fucking gorgeous! I cannot stress this enough. Almost from the moment we stepped off the plane, Slutilla and I nearly had whiplash trying to check out every cute guy we passed on the street. We'd usually nudge and wink in the general direction of the cutie, but in Bangkok we'd just look like a couple of spastics because we'd have to do it every few seconds or so. Seriously, I'd be happy just to ride in the Skytrain up and down the line during rush hour just to ~~press myself up against~~ watch the menmenmen. Even the girls seem to be prettier. Whether they were born that way or not.

There's something we discovered about the Thais: they like to hold your gaze. Well, not like, for minutes or whatever, but just enough to make you feel very self-aware. My friend Jason had a solution--just smile at them, and more often than not they'll smile back. I didn't dare apply his theory (in case they actually do smile back), so I just kept throwing furtive glances at the hot stuff and always looked away first.

The area where we stayed was called Silom, and it's the most happening street to stay in. Everything's within walking distance! The Silom Street Market, street food, the clubs and bars and yes, the go-go boys.

Clubbing in Bangkok's grande dame of gay dance clubs, DJ Station, was a heavenly experience. It's located in Silom Soi 2, and they've done up the whole alley quite nicely--it's covered and tiled. They even have a baggage check, so travelers can deposit their bags for one last dance before heading off to the airport. They only charge you Bt250 (RM25) on a Friday night and you get two drinks! And the list of drinks are damn extensive too! I got my usual Bailey's (no cherry though) and it was generously filled, unlike KL's Frangipani where RM25 gets you little more than Irish Cream-flavoured ice cubes.

The place isn't huge (by Liquid/The Disco standards), but it's damn happening! There were drag queen shows almost every night (accompanied by lithe, gorgeous boy dancers) and it was packed to the brim, even on Sunday night. It's a little bit difficult to find a place to stand and just look at guys though, due to its rather unappealing interior design. Well anyway the place is full of lovely things, so whatever spot you pick, you can be assured of a good view anyhow. And within minutes the podium will be full of half naked men, both local and foreign, showing the rest of us exactly why we need to go to gym.

Across the alley is Expresso, which is really a bar but is packed on Fridays and Saturdays with people who can't stand the crush of men over in DJ Station. The music over here is FANTASTIC. While DJ Station is all about serious house-y music, Expresso only wants to have fun. That means handbag tunes! Britney, Deborah Cox, Whitney, Mariah, even a few Bollywood numbers! And if you're lucky the drag queen bartenders there will hop on the bartop and show you how to pump it, in full saree costume, no less. Plus, you can bring in your drinks from DJ Station next door! If that isn't fabulous, i don't know what is.

Alright this review is running a bit too long, so I'll have to save the best for last. The go-go boys are coming in part three!

Happy Birthday Darling!

2006-03-31T13:47:00.000+08:00

Dear BF,

If I could, I'd like to congratulate everyone who's ever had a hand in your upbringing, for helping shape the sweetest, most understanding and good natured boyfriend ever.

Happy Birthday, dearest.

Love,
Your BF

The One About Bangkok, Part One

2006-03-29T14:20:00.000+08:00

Bangkok!

It's going to be a week today since I left for Bangkok and I still can't stop raving about it. I met up with Kitty yesterday and talked about it for the better part of lunch until he asked if I was on the payroll of Thailand's Tourism Board.

It's been the best vacation of my life, and I've never enjoyed so much of everything all at once-- good food, good entertainment and most of all, great company. For that I have to thank Slutilla and Jason for putting up with me (and making me sleep in the saggy spare spring bed for two nights).It wouldn't have been half as much fun without you guys!

I reached home from Bangkok at about 11pm, which is usually well past my mom's bedtime, but I guess the sound of me grunting upstairs with the luggage must have woken her up. Now my mother goes to Bangkok at least once or twice a year. Not because she particularly loves the place, but because, well, it's cheap and close enough to be convenient yet just far enough away to be exotic.

Mom: How was Bangkok?
Me: Oh, I loved it!
Mom: Did you visit the Grand Palace?
Me: Oh yes, I spent so many hours there! (actually, only about three hours)

Mom: How about the Reclining Buddha? Did you see that?
Me: No.
Mom: Temple of Dawn?
Me: Uhm, no.
Mom: Did you take a boat on the Chao Phraya and see Chinatown like I told you?
Me: Er, no time.
Mom: Did you see how small the Erawan Shrine really is?
Me: I thought it was covered up in white cloth?
Mom: So you did go?
Me: Er, no.
Mom: So where did you go then?

Oh dear. Did my mom really need to know what her red-blooded, 20-something gay son did in Bangkok?

Me: I went shopping!

That's the safest thing to tell family members. No one can dispute the fact that Bangkok really a shopping paradise, even more so than Singapore, and a lot cheaper too! The Chatuchak Weekend Market in itself boggles the senses. There's thousands upon thousands of stalls (some say up to 15,000 stalls!) which attract, reportedly, 300,000 visitors over the space of a single weekend. If you've never been there, you can't imagine the scale which i'm talking about. I knew the figures before I went but nothing prepared me for the sheer ginormity that is Chatuchak.

We walked for about four hours in the stifling heat and never even reached the pets section. The market is loosely divided into sections, and you can find practically anything and everything under the sun--from clothes to antiques to collectibles to handmade paper to entire pieces of furniture-- you can find the map here. It's simply quite wonderful to just walk and see what's around the next corner. Of course, if it wasn't so bloody hot and humid I think I'd have enjoyed it more, although I did like seeing those cute sweaty white boys wandering around shirtess. After walking around in a semi-daze, and spending more money on drinks than on actual stuff (Imy total purchases were one t-shirt and a toy for my nephews), Jason led us to a wonderfully air-conditioned restaurant, where the "tables" were actually old-style sewing machines. I still have one of those machines in my house, in fact.

None of these legs are mine, if that's what you were thinking.

Anyway we left soon after that--there's only so much sweaty shopping this princess can take, after all. I don't know how a friend of Slutilla's does it--that guy actually declared that he never misses an inch of Chatuchak when he's there. Of course, he is a fitness instructor with inhuman stamina.

I actually made the bulk of my purchases at the Silom night market, which is actually near where we stayed. The stalls there were selling some stuff that couldn't be found in Chatuchak (although since I didn't fully explore Chatuchak I can't really say for sure). Anyway, I bought several lovely movie-themed t-shirts for myself as well as my Studio Ghibli-obssessed straight friends back home.

I also found these enchanting orchids made from soap. The woman was actually carving them up at her stall, and I thought the detail and the colour was simply amazing. More presents!

Of course, I can't leave Bangkok without exploring the higher end of the market. We did visit the main shopping boulevards of MahBoonKrong, Emporium, Central Chidlom, Siam Center, and the new crown jewel of Bangkok, Siam Paragon. Mostly all I did was window shop, as I can't afford most of the brands at home anyway, being in Bangkok wouldn't change that fact. I had a look at the local fashion brands, and I must say i'm quite impressed. I can say for sure that design- and fashion-wise, the Thais are light years ahead of KL. There are huge stores in practically every shopping centre selling all kinds of kitsch that we only get from one store in KL--Room Interior.

I did buy some stuff from a quintessentially Thai brand with a very western name: The Jim Thompson Silk Co. They sell, well, Thai silk products, essentially. We got a trio of silk patchwork elephants as gifts. These elephants, or chang in Thai, are certainly going places! One will be winging to Melbourne to Slutilla's bf, another to London with Kitty and one more to Queen Duff in Shanghai.

Guess who's getting the flaming pink one!

There's so much more I've not covered-- from the Suan Lum night Bazaar to the ubiquitous Boots stores that are found everywhere, but I have to stop somewhere. I think that pretty much covers the extent of my spending...oh wait! I almost forgot to mention to book-lovers out there that Chatuchak sells a lot (alotalotalotalotohmygawdalot) of second-hand books, and that Kinokuniya (and other big bookstores) sells gay foreign magazines.

Part Two: Gay Bangkok next!

City Of Angels Indeed

2006-03-26T02:45:00.000+08:00

OMG.

I rak Bangkok.

It's fan-fucking-tastic.

Too much to tell in the one hour I have on the hotel's PC.

But, I really, really, really love Bangkok.

Can't wait to bring The BF with me the next time!!!

Pre-Holiday Blues

2006-03-22T22:31:00.000+08:00

Oh god these few days have been most hectic for me! Between work, boyfriend (more work, lol!) and preparing for Bangkok I've somewhat neglected the blog. I have so many things I want to post but I can't hardly find the time to do it. Even now, it's like 10.45 at night and I have to wake up at 4.30am, I'm stealing time from my precious sleep. The sacrifices I make!

First of all a big THANK YOU to all of you guys from coming out of lurking and posting so many helpful places of interest for me--especially the parts about the food! I'm so going to go everywhere and try everything! FYI, we'll be staying at Silom.

However, this trip is already turning out to be quite stress-inducing--and I've not even set foot on the plane yet!

First up is the political instability happening right in Bangkok itself. I hope it won't bother the tourists too much but I read in the news that they've started demonstrating in front of the Singaporean Embassy and up to 65,000 tourists from Singapore and China have cancelled planned trips because of this. I don't know about you guys but when you spend all afternoon scouring the map not for tourist attractions but for places to avoid you know this holiday's going to take a lot more work than you bargained for. I'm going to buy a PROUD 2 B MALAYSIAN t-shirt first thing tomorrow at the airport.

And then, as with a lot of problems, a lot of it is self-induced. Due to a miscommunication , we ended up booking tickets with a departure time very close to the flight I'll be piloting tomorrow. I'll be touching down at 12.40pm, and we're supposed to depart KUL-BKK at 3.15pm! That means I won't even have time to go home and change into my civvies...I'm just going to have to pray my flight isn't delayed...god I don't know what I'm going to do if I miss it. I suppose I'll have to mingle with the masses at the "Now Everyone Can Fly" counter and pray no one recognises me.

Lastly, I feel like I've been swindled even before I'm in Thailand. I changed about 8000 baht today, with a monstrous exchange rate of RM9.99 to BT100. And then I go back and just about everyone else has exchanged it for less than RM9.70 to BT100. FUCK ME FOR A FOOL WHO DOESN'T DO HIS HOMEWORK. Everybody, please, please boycott the RHB Forex counter in KLIA Level 5, next to the MPH. Dear Goddess Kylie, may those who cheated me contract piles not less than twice a month.

And to my dear suffering bf...I already miss you (really one!) and I hate to leave you when you're so ill...please take care of yourself okay? I'll be back before you know it. MUAKS!!

Krungthep Mahanakhon, etc etc

2006-03-15T21:49:00.000+08:00

Firstly, I'd really, really like to thank all you sweet people who've taken the time to wish me on my birthday. It's a wonderful feeling--the best in the world, actually!--and that's partly the reason why I've not been posting much lately. There's nothing like letting a birthday post sit there staring accusingly at everyone who's read it and hasn't yet wished me Happy Birthday.

Anyway it's time to move on, I suppose. I suppose other people can have their birthdays--like my fellow Vios sister AJ, whose birthday is tomorrow. Happy Birthday darling! You're just 5 days younger than me, bitch, you don't have to rub it in.

This month is shaping up quite nicely. Despite the fact that I had to sit for my bi-yearly Base Checks (in which i go into the flight simulator and try not to crash the plane despite the instructor's best efforts to make me do so) like, the morning after my birthday (which is why I was home early, blogging). That's all behind me now and I have annual leave to look forward to at the end of this month!

And I'll be going to Bangkok! Yes, finally, the pilot gets to visit the only major city in the region that he hasn't been to. I've been to such ulu places like Yangon and Pontianak (seriously, how do people there live with that kind of name?!) but I haven't so much as flown over Bangkok airspace.

All that's going to change from the 23rd to the 27th! I'll be going with the ever-entertaining Slutilla, whose last trip to Bangkok was such a long time ago he was more interested in candy than cock at the time. Luckily for us we'll be going with yet another friend who's been there loads of times and we're quite content to let him lead us around. I wish i could bring The BF along, but alas, circumstances don't permit. And before you perverts raise your eyebrows questioningly, a whole bunch of his ~~spies~~ friends from the gym are going along on the exact same dates, so there's not going to be any hanky-panky involved.

Did you know, Bangkok's official name in Thai is unbelievably long? It's called Krungthep Mahanakhon Bovorn Ratanakosin Mahintharayutthaya Mahadilokpop Noparatratchathani Burirom Udomratchanivet Mahasathan Amornpiman Avatarnsathit Sakkathattiyavisnukarmprasit. The first part means "City of Angels" and the rest you can jolly well Google for. Try saying the whole thing ten times, fast, and soon you'll be seeing angels too.

Because a previous King didn't think just "Bangkok" was regal enough, you see. I bet Queen Elizabeth now thinks the name London's too dinky.

Anyway if you guys have any places to recommend please feel free to put them all right here! Especially places to go and things to eat.

*EDIT* Henceforth all references to watching live shows where all manner of household items (ping pong balls, razor blades, etc) are shot out of women's pussies are BANNED. Don't you cocksuckers know that's damn offensive?! There are ladies reading this. Me first of all.

In Daylights, In Sunsets

2006-03-11T22:38:00.000+08:00

525, 600 minutes is way too long to wait for your birthday to come around again.

Especially when I've had a birthday like today's.

Thanks to my lovely bf for being such a sneaky monkey and organising a surprise get-together. This is the first time in my life I've had a bf around to celebrate my birthday with me. It sounds cliched but it really is the best feeling in the world. Now I know why they're so useful to have around, and why everyone wants one!!

Thanks for all the lovely people who came and waited for half an hour while clueless me took my own sweet time having four scoops of Mövenpick ice cream at Jogoya's lovely supper buffet.

Thanks to Slutilla, Jason and Weeshiong for celebrating with me at Jogoya. You bitches can sure eat! Which is good! And thanks for the most creative birthday card ever, weeshiong!

Thanks to everyone else who for your wishes and kind thoughts and for not mentioning my age.

And to everyone else who didn't remember my birthday...don't worry, I probably won't remember yours either. So there.

Shall We Yauatcha?

2006-03-10T15:51:00.000+08:00

To fully appreciate the following conversation, I suggest you read this lovely post from Kitty's blog about his anniversary dinner with his bf at Yauatcha, an upscale chinese eatery in London.

Yauatcha! The name invokes the sound Bruce Lee used to make before chopping foes in half.

Yauatcha! Obviously the owners thought "Hey let's find a name where we can fit as many vowels as we can and still make it sound oriental!"

Yauatcha! Where Char Kuay Tiau (essentially, just fried noodles with a bit of seafood--a hawker stall favourite in Malaysia) costs frigging 8 Pounds per plate.

Yauatcha! Because apparently one of the owners used to operate the only Chinese restaurant that was Michelin-starred.

Yauatcha! YauatchaYauatchaYauatchaYauatcha! Because the name's so damn silly. I shall one day open a restaurant called Cheebyepooi and invite Mr Michelin to give me a star so I can hang it big big over the counter. Then I also can sell nasi kangkang for 10 pounds a plate.

kitty: isn't it like

kitty: ur birtday ?

kitty: some time?

kitty: like soon?

kitty: like today?

kitty: or tomorrow?

kitty: or something

kitty: or notthing?

wingedman: not yet la

kitty: so whatchu gonna do?

wingedman: we're going to starhill

kitty: eat 40 pounds char keuy tiau?

wingedman : omg

kitty : omg

wingedman: you're well out of order on that one

kitty: MAHAI

kitty: u never read properly

wingedman: 40 pounds! for a michelin starred CKT?

kitty: CHISIN ar 40 pound?

kitty : 40 pound is for everything la!

wingedman: i mean the 2 of you la

kitty : dim sum, etc etc

wingedman: still

kitty: SUNGGUH!

kitty : 7 items all in all

kitty : it's like

kitty : 40 ringgits?

kitty : where to find?

wingedman : it's mahai 7x40=320 ringgit or sumfink or nuffink!

kitty: OMG?

kitty: yes

kitty: it is

kitty: but it's like anniversary celebration

kitty: kinda thing

wingedman: like if u cooked at home

wingedman: u can have like a BAND serenading?

wingedman: like, you can rent has beens like A1?

wingedman: or gary barlow?

kitty: LOL but it's for the experience lah!

kitty: but that fucking 8 pound CKT is worst than our 3 ringgit CKT LA

wingedman: seriously?!

wingedman: omg

wingedman: 8 pounds

wingedman: i suppose if ur earning like 1000 pounds a week it's ok

wingedman: even 500 pounds a week is fine

wingedman: 100 pounds a week i think u shud just have a bit o'dust

kitty: omg?

kitty: who earns 100 pounds A WEEK?

kitty: thats MINGING!

wingedman: YOU're the minging one!

wingedman: I give u discount 4 pounds i fry for u ok?