The Night of Mis-Incidences

Fate is a funny temptress of mis-incidences, so it seems. It sometimes baits us into consequences that we cannot digest without the introduction of embarrassment and monetary losses.

When we set off to party last Friday, it was calendar marked as a day of alcoholic intemperance, citing birthday celebrations as a cause to throw sobriety a rain check. It was going to be one of those nights that the boys were going out in force and at a place where we were going to bump into more familiar faces.

Against a sudden premonition of an impending omen, LB decided against the better judgment of taking a cab down and decided to drive. He was half awake, and I was rushing him to leave the house because I needed to meet Jud there and he finally caved on the inconvenience of flagging down a taxi.

10 mins later, we are in his car singing along to canto pop songs and cruising down the highway at 90km/h. There cannot be a better start to the night than this.

When we got there, we got into a discussion on where he should park. It was only logical that he parked it at Pier Robertson because there was a high chance alcohol was going to incapacitate him and sheltered parking was going to save him the risk of a Saturday morning parking fine from over-zealous attendants.

Then almost like a sign, there was a lot right in front of us by the road side, which offered much closer proximity to Butter Factory and saved us on time from looping back to Pier Robertson. He slotted in and we briskly walked over to find Jud who was waiting for me at the entrance.

It was JL’s birthday and there was, as I was informed prior to this, going to be old school Trance playing. The attire was ‘Rave gear’, of which I naturally didn’t turn up in unlike some of them who actually spent the afternoon combing town for the appropriate clothes and ended up with so much Sylum sticks, that you would think there was a Chingay parade going on inside.

It was a standard affair of whiskey and some clown actually bought a whole bottle of 151. I frowned at the selection of drinks and decided to have a bottle of vodka for myself. 4 glasses in, Faith arrived and LB told us to accompany him to the car to get his cigarettes because he couldn’t bear the sight of Jud smoking Marlboro.

When we got back, the music started getting better, despite the fact that it was nowhere remotely close to being rave music. I got introduced to a whole bunch of people, got handed a couple glasses of champagne and everything was going into intoxication overdrive.

Then suddenly, LB come running back to us while we were outside catching a puff.

LB: “Dude, my car just got burgled!”
Me: “What?!”
LB: “I lost my cigs, my headphones, cash card and speed pass.”
Me: “Holy shit!”

Never would I imagine this ever happening. This was Singapore, the land where crime is at such a low that we can't even have a Superhero. If Batman was living here, he would spend out his nights having supper at Newton.

Me: "Did your windows get smashed?"
LB: "No I forgot to lock the dooor just now, I think."
ME: "Shites!"
LB: “YA! HAHAHAHA! It’s crazy! I need to go make a police report.”

Jud turns to me,

Jud: “For someone that just got burgled, he is taking it awfully lightly.”

This was until he realized that his laptop was also stolen and the consequences to that would spread like wildfire. I was by then already tanked and could not understand the full extent of this problem, and while he ran off to lodge a report, I dashed back in to finish up the other vodka bottle.

I was spiraling out of control, dumping vodka into a full jug of screwdriver, then using it as mixers again and the guys started yelling at me for it. All I knew was that the party had to be continued elsewhere and where else better than Zouk.

By then, I was already developing mild alcoholic amnesia. I couldn’t really remember how we got there, but I remembered ordering another bottle of champagne and then a series of incidences followed. I don’t remember how or why I was reaching out for this girl’s hand, whether it was an introduction or it was to pass her the champagne, but next I know, I’m stroking her hand and there she was smiling at me.

It was weird because when I was actually holding her hands, I was well aware of what I was doing, even if it was mildly uncharacteristic of me to be this sweet while inebriated. I knew for one the flirt was validated because she was someone whom I was attracted to, but the purpose or initiation behind it is still totally lost in me.

Then next thing I know, I am turning to the bar and I see Jud standing next to me with her hands on the champagne bottle. Then it hit me and I began a pace retarded thought process impeded by the injection of alcohol into the brain.

‘Wait a minute. If Jud is here next to me, with her hands on the bottle, then whose hand am I holding? Am I flirting with the correct person? Do I know this girl? Why am I even holding her hands? Wait, did I just flirt with a stranger? Why is she smiling? Wait, was I supposed to be holding Jud’s hand?”

And if I thought things couldn't possibly get more embarrassing than this, then I stand truly corrected, because apparently I am capable of more moronic stuff than I can imagine. Just imagine, someone leaning over to give you one of those chi-chi French cheek pecks and I reading it as her coming over to make out with me.

You cannot imagine how much shock there is when you aim for someone’s cheek and you get a tongue down your mouth instead. I amaze myself all the time.

Somewhere along the line, RoundEyes and Jud started having a conversation with 3 guys. I did not know them and was too intoxicated to even give a fuck about strange men who are half a head taller than me. All I heard was that they were talking about cars and one of them made a snide remark about cars in Singapore.

Me: “Where are you from?”
Him: “Hong Kong.”
Me: “Then why the fuck are you talking about cars when you guys have parking problems?”
Him: “…”
Me: “Go fix your parking problems first then come back and join the conversation on cars.”

Needless to say, the three of them walked off immediately. I quickly turned to RoundEyes,

Me: “Eh, I think I just pissed off your friends.”
RoundEyes: “I don’t know them.”
Me: [I turned to Jud] “I hope they aren’t your friends too, because I might just have caused you to lose them.”

We left shortly after and I was too tired to even be tempted on the thought of supper. I was totally fine in the cab because I distinctly remembered getting into a debate with the cabbie on which was a faster route to my place.

When I got off, everything suddenly starting spinning so badly that I thought I was caught in a tornado. I remembered puking into the drain, crawling up to my front porch and then trying to fit my key into the hole.

Then I woke up the next day and the first thought that came to me; did I just flirt with the wrong person?

GT4's Wedding - Pt 2

Between the end of the tea ceremonies and the dinner, we had a good 4 hours to ourselves to rest up before we had to report to the hotel ballroom at about 6.30pm. Reznor wanted to head back to sleep and I knew it was a bad idea because when he sleeps, it will take a marching band just to get him up.

He assured me that it would not happen and requested that I gave me a wakeup call at 5.30pm. I knew he was never going to wake up and he tried to convince me otherwise. Four hours and 6 missed calls later, I prove once more that while I might not always be right, I am never wrong.

By the time I got there, two of the brothers were discussing about the dinner itinerary with Daniel Ong, whom GT4 got as the emcee for the night. I was immediately introduced as the ‘brother who is doing the drinking’. My parents must be beeming with pride if they knew.

Then the reception started, and wine was being served, so I found myself obligated to begin drinking because time always seem to pass faster with alcohol. By the time Jerm and Reznor got there, I was already on my fourth glass of red wine, and they suggested that I stopped till dinner actually started. I knew I was getting high because people were actually beginning to look better.

I also wrote my wedding wishes for the couple,

“Best wishes to GT4 and Ruth. 2 years down the line when she starts nagging, I’m going to say ‘I told you so.”

Sometimes I wonder why people would want to invite me to a wedding.

Dinner was a cordial affair with a couple of familiar faces who I’ve not met since I graduated from secondary school. One of them, as I whispered to Reznor, was a time bomb whose igniting wick was pretty much tagged to alcohol.

For one, he was the loudest guest that night, singularly starting a wedding toast that sounded like it paralleled the entire group of us that was on stage. And secondly, his table was already curiously laced with a line of wild concoctions that stank of potency, way before the groom and bride got up to do their rounds on the tables.

When we finally got to his table, he quickly handed one of the glasses to GT4, who quickly rejected it, opting to stay with beer for the night. He looked at me and I gestured for the glass which was filled up halfway to be passed over to me.

Me: “What’s this?”
Him: “Cranberry.”

Me: "Why am I not thrilled to hear this."

I took a whiff and I knew there was wine in there along with a generous mix of Cordon Bleu. Save for the fact that gulping it was like swallowing fire, it actually tasted decent. Then he handed me another glass.

Him: “That was for the groom. This is for you.”

And finally I understood my value in the wedding. I was going to be the shield that would uphold the sobriety of the others. I knew I was meant for great things.

The after party was at the hotel bar right at the top, and the whole group of us packed it in over champagne and beer. The initial plan was to head down for Armin at Zouk because everyone was there, but the after party seemed almost just as enjoyable and we didn’t have to sardine ourselves just to get alcohol.

It was quite a night. GT4 was still thanking us for the help, the boys were still chugging beer and the champagne was starting to get to me. I know this for a fact because the need to dance was slowly getting to me and I was throwing up suggestions to continue the party at Zouk; at a place that was going to be so insanely packed that there might be a cover charge for your shadow. I have the dumbest ideas sometimes.

Most of them frowned at me when I suggested Zouk, then responded with nasty words like, ‘tired’, ‘crowded’ and other dirty four letter words like, ‘home’ and ‘can’t’. The only thing that was bugging me was turning up at Zouk in a suit, because if I saw me, I would be laughing at me. Then again, there was Reznor to be ridiculed along with me, and it could be like Halloween all over again.

So 3 of us left whilst the others went on with their champagne and took the party to the suite. I was tanked, looking great in a suit, had the keys to a room at the Shang in my pocket and going to party with Armin. Life does not get any better than this.

When we got there, most of the guys were at wine bar, and talks of it being super packed inside were abuzz. I knew coming in a suit also meant having to repeat myself incessantly over my choice of fashion. It tickled them silly to see me in one because this was like watching Verne Troyer do a slam dunk.

LB couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of me, Reznor went off and left me as the only clown in a suit that isn’t working there, and I was waiting forever to get my drinks. Suddenly, life is no longer good.

And when I said that everyone was at Zouk, I wasn’t kidding because from the MissMonths to the one night stands, either I was bumping into them or receiving ‘are you at Zouk?’ messages. Suddenly, the pool of eligibles became massive and my attention was no longer monopolized by the one holding my hand.

When I finally got in to join Muthu and the others, the mood to party had already left me. I was feeling tired, had a suit to hold on to, had no space to dance and infinitely overdressed. So while the crowd erupted in a pandemonium of discordant cheers and whistles as Armin teased, I made the decision to surrender a night of hard dancing and vodka chugging, for a bed at the Shang.

Not alone of cos.

The next morning, I woke up and found blood stains on the bed sheets and steaks that ran down the comforter and even the pillow case. It immediately reminded me of the stain story, and I was smart enough to figure out that its was blood and not shit this time. Why does this always happen to me?

I just hope that doesn't count towards the bill.

P.S: This is what tickled LB

GT4's Wedding - Pt 1

Peer pressure manifests itself through various contexts, like smoking, cheating in exams, taking roller coaster rides, prostitution and getting married. Most of your friends don’t realize that when they get married, you lose a safety net, and it leaves you wide open for the ‘when’s your turn’ question from nosy strangers.

So why would any true friends want to put you in such a precarious position you ask? That’s because regular sex without condoms, the chance to don a wedding gown and the prospect of losing their freedom is an enticing enough collateral that they would gladly trade in your happiness for. There goes altruism out the window, again.

I’ve never been entirely huge on the whole wedding thing, because my grim myopia on everlasting love forbids me to see anything beyond nagging, more nagging for putting your drinks on the table without a coaster, more nagging for leaving the toilet seat up and endless nagging for not listening to what they have to say.

Then there are the ones that do defy reality and look like an enchanted story right out of Disney. And I know of people who do deserve to be scripted into such a fairytale. And if there should be one, then I hope GT4 and Ruth gets the nod.

3 years ago when we were still religiously partying with cheap alcohol at O Bar, I would never have guessed that GT4 was going to be first of the group to get hitched. We were like all single heterosexual men, had too much love for women and alcohol – or beer in his case – and didn’t have any immediate goals to settle down.

Any other reasons other than the above two, immediately qualifies you to be gay. Need to focus on career, gay. Need time to go to gym, gay. Too much time spent in LAN shops and not enough time to meet women, gay + moron.

When he finally passed us the wedding invitations, it was a kaleidoscopic mesh of emotions. It was weird on some levels because he was my primary school-mate, thrilled because he’s a dear friend to me and the missus is a great person – pretty and she loves champagne, how can you not love her -, yet humbling enough for a good 2 minute self-reflection of my life.

The wedding was numerically symbolic due to several coincidences. It was on the 9th, in the year 2009, his car number plate is 9 and there were 9 brothers and sisters for the wedding. And just to make this more spectacular, I’m going to guess that they met on the 9th, had their first anniversary on the 9th and that bill came up to $9. Now THAT would be cool.

Prior to the wedding, I met up with him regularly over dinner, beer tasting and to throw him a stag night party, which was so mild, I think there are more vice going on at a children’s MacDonald’s party. The great thing was that he grew more excited with every passing day and it was infectious enough to rub off on me and I had a sudden urge to fall in love. So I decided to try proper dating again. Three words,

Worst.Idea.Ever. But that’s a story for another time.

Couple days before the wedding, GT4 gave us a brief rundown of the wedding day and our roles and limitations, which came with an emphasis on appropriate behavior, even under the influence of alcohol. That was a big problem for me. Then he reminded us of the time we have be at his place early in the morning. Now that was a huge problem for Reznor.

Now, I cannot impress upon you how much of problem it is to wake Reznor up, because this is one guy who can fall into such a deep sleep that he will not even respond to an alarm ringing incessantly next to his ear, and this was so loud I would have heard it last year.

True enough, on that very morning, everyone reported to GT4’s place on time or they merely breached it by 10 minutes tops, largely due to directions. Reznor, on the other hand, woke up late and came nearly 45 minutes later. I looked to my watch,

Me: “What time are we supposed to be there?”
GT4: “9.15am.”

It was 9.05am and we were at least a good 15 minute drive away.

Me: “Someone’s very optimistic today, isn’t he?”

When Reznor finally decided not to ruin the wedding and showed up, we convoyed down to Ruth’s place behind schedule -we later realized this was a good thing. This was the ritual practice of door knocking where the men had to go through an entire gauntlet of ‘punishments’ – physical, financial and digestive wise – before the groom is finally able to enter the bride’s room.

It all started with doing push-ups on a crowded stairway, and this was early in the morning, in my new pink shirt, a tie and an empty stomach. For a moment I didn’t know if this was a wedding or a Gucci boot camp.

With that done, it came to a plate lined with bitter-gourd, laced generously with wasabi and freshly cut chilli padi. I don’t know where to begin on this dish about what I hate about it because if ‘shit’ could encapsulate all my disgust for it, then a simplified ‘shit’ will do, but no. If you ever need to simultaneously vomit and sneeze at the same time, then this is the dish for you.


Had it not been for Jerm’s Fiji water – yes we drink only premium water -, I would never have managed to swallow it, and would effectively lose my appetite till my life is over. Then came the sour lime drink, which despite everyone cringing at it, actually tasted pretty good for me since I’ve always had a penchant for all things sour.

And finally, we got pass the first gate and we were allowed into the house but still kept from the bridal door. They took out some bowl with a paste in it and GT4 ran away like it was the plague coming upon Egypt again. You would think that he was going to be fed rotten squid or decayed intestines, but no; almond paste apparently has the same effect on some men.

Like what the fuck I hear you say? Yes, this was the one thing that was actually really delicious and it scared the shit out of him. And there I was thinking that there is nothing more scary than marriage.

Then we were made to line up in a row with our pants pulled up to the knees. Before anything else happened, we all knew there was going to be waxing, pain and a lot of screaming involved.

Botak raised a mild protest and as soon as he lifted up his pants, we could all see why. It was the Amazon rainforest; densely populated, curly and thick. And I thought I was going to have it bad. I did request to wax my balls instead, but they thought I was joking.

Me: “I have to warn you all that there will be a lot of screaming on my part.”

I walked over to this little boy sitting infront of us.

Me: “Hi boy, you might want to cover your ears, because the last time I waxed, a lot of bad things came out my mouth. You do not want to hear it.”

Then 5 seconds later, we were all left with a bald patch on our legs. I turned to Reznor , whose leg looked like the aftermath of a rectangle crop circle.

Me: “There goes wear berms for the next 3 weeks.”

Then it was some banana game where the groom had to peel the banana and eat it while it dangled out of the guy’s crotch. Suddenly, this felt more like an orientation day camp than it did a wedding. Maybe next we would get to sing some campfire songs and toast marshmallows on an open fire.

The penultimate hurdle was some QnA session which started out with a trick multiple choice question on her favourite colour. I shouted, “Diamond”, they laughed and GT4 still got it wrong eventually. And to make it worse, after a series of questions, he had to give them a token sum. He got a bunch of the questions wrong and we started shouting,

“I think we try again next year lah.”

When that was all cleared along with the final block which was an agreement ‘contract’ of the usual ‘through sickness and health’ and the whole, ‘my money is my money and your money is our money' crap, he finally made his way into the room the end our suffering.

So it was back to his place and along the way we made some conversation with the 2 sisters that followed Reznor and me in my car. I commented on the relatively short ‘door knock’ and they told us that this was because we came late and we were falling quite a bit behind schedule, hence the abridged version. I always knew being late had its perks.

It was the mandatory tea ceremony at Gt4’s place and then the throwing of the bouquet. Now, if you’ve been properly educated to this ritual by Hollywood, then you would agree that this is the most coveted prize to get, because urban legends say that the one who catches it, would be the next to get married. And Tinseltown has always supported this myth with vivid imagery of a mob trying to snatch the bouquet from mid-air.

Then came the moment for Ruth to throw the bouquet and you would wonder if she was throwing a hand grenade instead, because everyone was trying to distance themselves away from the projected trajectory of the flowers. It took the photographer several minutes to coax them into populating the middle area for photo creditability.

When she finally threw the bridal bouquet, everyone ran away from it and it landed on the ground and the poor girl closest to it had to grudgingly pick it up. It was hilarious to watch because I have never seen women running away that quickly from flowers before.

Me: “Gt4, let’s show the girls how it’s done. We’ll stand there and you throw your car keys.”

We headed back to the bride’s place for her tea ceremony with this huge roasted pig, which two of the guys had to carry up. Then when it was all over, we had a brief discussion for the big dinner ahead and I told them they didn’t have to worry about fire safety because there were lots of SQ girls within the sisters. And more importantly about the rooms they allocated for the brothers.

Ruth: “You guys don’t mess up the room okay? No orgies or whatsoever.”
GT4: “You have to tell it to these two.”

He pointed at Reznor and me.

Ruth: “Ya, you don’t go into the wrong room hor!”
Me: “Relax, as long as the girl that I take up with me isn’t one of the sisters, it’s fine with you right. Don’t worry.”

I looked to Reznor.

Me: “So same rules as Bangkok applies ya?”

The Tattoo And Mum Story

For the benefit of those who aren’t on Facebook and didn’t get to read this story, here it is.

For the time since puberty kicked in and I fully appreciated the merits of women, cleavages and short skirts, I’ve been fixated on – and my choices skewed towards – women with sharp noses and tattoos. Yes, skin ink is very much a visual treat for me and it unhooks the belt buckle a tad faster.

When I got my first 2 tattoos done, I kept it from my mum for about 4 years until a stretching incident gave it away. The great thing is that parents can’t really get pissed over something that is almost irreversible.

Get your ear pierced, and they can get you to take it off. Get caught smoking, they force you to quit. Get pregnant, and watermelon, a baseball bat or an accidental push down the stairs can prove to be quite adept solutions.

Yes sure, there’s always the option to laser off the tattoo, but that money is so much better spent on other necessities in life like, groceries, insurance and cable TV.

When my mum found out about the tattoos, she made me promise that I wouldn’t get another one. She threw in huge words like, ‘crazy’, ‘inappropriate’ and ‘gangster’, gave me articles on diseases transmitted via tattoo needles and randomly made up stories about people getting killed because of tattoos.

I obviously knew I wanted more so I made no such promise, got a new one and introduced her to Miami Ink. God bless cable television. Then couple years on, I told her that I was planning to get another back piece and she made a passing remark about getting one if I did a new one.

Obviously, I didn’t take her too seriously until she repeatedly brought it up, whether I was surfing the net or lazing around the couch. Eventually, I went ahead with mine and she finally got tired of asking me and told me,

“I want to get it done before the year ends.”

This was the coolest thing my mum has ever said, other than that one time she said, “here’s the key to the car”.

The flip side was that she didn’t know what she wanted and I didn’t want her to rush into it because if 3 months down she decides that she hates the design, I will hear no end to it and I will be introduced to new tattoo aversion words like ‘regret’ and ‘waste of money’. And I might seriously consider slicing my ear off and let kids play hop scotch with it.

It was also amusing for me at some point that was going to put my mum through pain as a gift, but it was also the coolest thing I think anyone can give to their mum for Christmas - other than an affair with Santa.

Then we finally made the trip down to the shop after finally settling on the Virgo’s symbol which is essentially an ‘M’ with a fanciful curved tip and an ‘n’ merged right next to it. Go Google it, you’ll see what I mean.

This was symbolic on three tiers. For one, my mum is a Virgo. Her name also starts with the letter ‘M’ and lastly one of the first girls that was cleanly shaven that I hooked up with had a similar tattoo at her pelvic – not that my mum would be happy to know this.

While my tattooist prepared the stencil, mum started browsing through the tattoo books and immediately highlighted several tattoos which she thought were nice. This included flowers and fairies. Then she stopped at one.

Mum: “This one is nice. I like it.”

I turned to see her finger tapping against the picture in the book. It was a tribal design of sorts and of which I only fully realized the design after she lifted her fingers off it. It was, of all symbolic representations, of all mocking ironies, of all sum of fate,

A butterfly. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

And just when I thought the irony ended there, I realized that my mum is now, hiding the tattoo from my dad. Nostalgia makes a great movie. All I know is that she said something about, ‘the right’ to tell my dad. 30years and she still doesn’t know that there is never a right time when it comes to dad.

My mum rocks. Am I the greatest son or what.

The Best of 2008

Just because this is the new year and we only say good things, I will review my 2008 positively – which sucks because everyone knows there is less literary merits in writing the good things than to brazenly vituperate all that is bad.

I can’t complain because other than the persistent zit on my cheek, a mild hangover and an empty stomach, I can’t really remember anything mildly terrible that has happened and worth me ruining my vow on silence of vulgarities.

I am after all Singaporean, and I believe I might just have a loose fraction of Irish blood in me because I don’t think it is even remotely possible for me to run through the keyboards without subconsciously linking F-U-C-K together.

But let’s recap MY happy moments shall we, because I believe some of you reading this were a part of it.

1. Best Party

I had some great house parties this year and I still vividly remember having my tongue down the throats of strangers, whose introduction to me was over whiskey and bourbon. Yet, only one party absolutely stood out for the setting, the people and the sheer intemperance of alcohol.

It was a chartered boat, a female to male ratio that looked like the demographics of a Mango sale and a cornucopian wonderland of the trinity of incapacitation; champagne, vodka and beer. This was one of the only time that I actually got smashed before sunset.

It was a hedonistic cruise which held several episodes of drunken debauchery, manifested in the form of botched lap and pole dances, jumping off the boat, girl on girl kissing, champagne sloshing and random making out. I’m guilty of several misconducts, but it’s me. You can’t expect anything good out of me.

This was funny for several reasons because the boat actually ran out of water towards the end and people were throwing up everywhere and there was puke all over the toilet floor – and sometimes a trail leading to there.

I even slipped on it, got up and started laughing at one of the guys who was so drunk that he was incapable of response to pain. Now that I think of it, it was a lot funnier when I was drunk.

2. Best Pick Up Line

Generally it is best that I shut up when I start drinking because anything that comes out after the 5th glass is hardly charming and anything after the 10th is catastrophic. I am hardly the social nutcracker neither am I the pleasant conversationalist under the influence of trance and alcohol.

The one reason why I do not pick up random strangers is that I know somewhere down the line when I get tired of her cleavage and when I’ve ran out of trivial introductory formalities, it nose dives. And yet sometimes miracles happen and it becomes an accidental pleasantry.

You know if life you see people and you think to yourself, ‘wow, that is a hot piece of ass. I would like to fuck her’. No? No one? Just me? And then years down your paths cross and you think this might be fate. That is not fate, well not until one of you get hit by a car happen to be driven by the other person. Now that’s fate, or maybe that’s just TVB.

Anyway, when I was still in NUS, there was this one chick whom I would always run into when I was walking up the stairs. And she would always be in front of me and trust me, this girl had such a figure that I didn’t care that she was Caucasian.

Forward 3 years later, I run into her at a party and believing this was God’s way of rewarding me for staying sober still and nudged by inexplicable courage, courtesy of vodka, I approached her with what I believed was the best pick up line in my library of wit.

Me: “Are you from NUS?”

Yea well, I know it sucked but it apparently worked wonders because she got all excited about trying to figure out if we took any classes together and stuff, until I confessed that I was glued to her ass. She said, “Why didn’t you talk to me when we were in school”, and I interpreted that as, “Let’s fuck”.

2 hours later, she said she was going back with me and I said, “That is the most romantic thing anyone has said to me all day”. Am I good at reading conversational codes or what.

3. Best Holiday

I haven’t been out of the country much this year and if I could count coming back early January from Taiwan last year as a legitimate holiday, then I would say that was the best, but between Hong Kong and Bangkok, the choice is clear.

Bangkok was great because for the sheer amount of debauchery we submerged ourselves in, the tab was worth it. It was as I remembered, a carnal circus of skin on skin, lewd proposals, cheap liquor and a moral vacuum.

And yet it was also an anti-thesis on my assumptions that Japanese were superior beings on bed and with a cock in their mouth.

Yet, Bangkok was great because it was a vicarious substitution of sorts. It was about living the life at a fraction of the cost. It was about limo rides, shark fins and bottle laden tables. It was about being the expatriate and the desire of local women. It was about letting go of inhibitions and knowing that consequences are 3hrs of flight time away and might never catch up to you.

4. Best line on a date

I’ve had short dates, most of them relatively excruciating to trudge through with hardly even stipples of anecdotes to amuse myself with. Then there are those dates that you knew had only one real purpose and that was the impeding fornication under the sheets at some transit hotel or a deserted off road track.

One particular date started with drinks and was prolonged by her reluctance to home. It was a matter of who would verbalize the desire first. She finally on my suggestion that I send her home, caved and said what would be the best pick up line used on me this year.

She: “I thought you usually fuck on your first dates?”

5. Best Carpark Moment

I’m never a big fan of sex in the car because exciting as it might be, the novelty dies off after 2 mins and spatial constraints start to supersede the erotic quotient of outdoor sex. Yet, sometimes the events leading up to it become amusing when marvel at how things can pan out at the absence of sobriety.

This was The Riverwalk and it started as a mild intoxicated walk back to the car for her and then evolved into a lingerie viewing of sorts. She had commented on her delighted purchase of a new set of under garments and I suggested a viewing to mark my approval. She got her clothes off and I said she made a bad purchase and demanded she remove them immediately or face the wrath of the fashion police.

Yes, what do I know about fashion, but when people are under the influence of alcohol, everything is a great idea. Next thing I know, there is a girl naked in my back seat in a very public and brightly lit carpark. And I wonder how can anyone hate living?

6. Best Dance Event

Nothing will ever come close to the rave at Port Dickson for one reason, Tiesto. For the uninitiated to the Trance scene – know that I frown at you -,Tiesto is the biggest name in the industry. He is so awesome, you cannot say his name without screaming in joy. Deaf people are cured just from the sheer awesomeness of his music.

In perspective, he is to Trance as how Beyonce is Destiny’s Child, or how Batman is to Gotham or how young boys are to Michael Jackson; Essential.

This was one event that was worth every minute of the 6 hour journey up to Port Dickson, because when he did his finale and there were fireworks, it was the singular most happy time in my life that did not include lying next to someone naked.

I wrote about the whole event in two parts here and here. And for most parts, I introduced that event as the Sunshine Party for reason that people were in sunglasses at night (for very valid reasons of course).

7. Best Birthday Celebration

What else beats having 25 people pub crawl from Boat Quay to Zouk, with the sole intention to conquer a 26 drinks list, while engaging in socially harmful antics like grabbing crotches of strangers, random lap and bar top dancing, French kissing strangers and forcing bystanders to do the Great Singapore Workout.

That would be LB and my joint birthday bash.

Sure there were many good birthday parties. Germ had hers at a hotel suite and I got drunk, jumped off the table and stepped right on Aude’s vagina by accident. I know that sounds amusing, but I assure you it wasn’t for her. But, does anything really beat having 25 drunk people parading the streets?

8. Best buy of the year

That would be $100 for a home entertainment system that allegedly cost $3999 but in actuality cost $60. And if you need to know, I have yet to try it. If anyone is willing to test it out for me, by all means.

The great thing is that when I was recounting this story to some other friends, it turned out that one of them actually also bought the exact same system as mine and also through one of those loitering vans. The only difference was that she wasn’t as candid about it as I was.

She confessed only because I was telling it like I was the proud owner of a new Mercedes Benz which I bought at the cost of a Picanto. The only difference was that she paid $450. And the thing is, both of us have yet to even come remotely close to testing it.

But for the sake of my $100, let’s just assume that it is working just fine.

9. The Firsts

2008 has been a year of many firsts for me. Sexual nationality and race conquest aside, I actually finally won the lottery. And this is 27 years in the making and it came to a point where I was starting to wonder if the Government rigged it just so that I was the only person to not strike.

After years and unimaginable money thrown over the Singapore Pools counter, I finally won on a permutation of my car number. Minus off my initial investments, I am left with $110. Great things are installed for me. Now, I am one step closer towards the $10 million dollars. Life is great again.

And of course, there was my virgin wax session, which was so painful, I actually looked down at one point to check if my dick was still there.

2009..

So 2008 has gone, and a year on, I am still reminiscing the winter in Taiwan, I’ve changed jobs, I’ve learned to drink in moderation – sometimes -, February, September and December made sporadic interventions in my life at some point and I’ve almost gone back on my words on only dating Asians.

It’s been a fast moving year. Beijing has shown the world that beyond architectural wonders, they will stop at nothing to make the best Olympic hosting, even if it meant video editing and lip synching. Spain might have won the Euro cup, but no one really cared. The world is still in peril, but thank god we have Miss Universe to save it.


And I am still single.