Thursday, April 29, 2004

In the Shower

Guess what. I met the guy I fucked around with on the train a few days ago. Remember, the dude I asked to pay $50 for a kiss and then later told him I didn't want his cash because he probably couldn't afford it anyway. It was really freaky. He was staring at my girlfriend too. She got really freaked out. I had to send her out of the MRT station and make sure he wasn't trailing behind. Not all girls know how to handle weird pervy men.

I'm still learning.



Someone* told me to stop bitching today and pull myself together. That would take me a weekend of great sex and my weighing scale to tell me I've lost a kilo (and we wonder how...). Christ. She* said I had to find happiness in myself by finding pleasure with my own company. Well. Heh. Um... of what nature?

I was watching the full run through of the production yesterday and I sincerely thought it was cool. The play's adapted from Karel Kapek's Rossum's Universal Robots (or R.U.R) and to put it in a nut shell: Humans over produce super-smart super-sapiens with synthetic bodies (robots) and the latter takes control of the world. Radius was fabulous in the soliloquy over how the robots were smarter and more hard-working then the human-beings were; and therefore humans should die because they were essentially of no use (ordering them around, lazing about, and only ocassioncally fufilling their function of reproduction). And I thought how true that was of the psyche of well, insane cold-blooded murderes. That seriously, their problem wasn't western opression, it was an inherent low-esteem (or no esteem) for anyone else they decided to view as *lol* infidels. Mm yeah, like whatever. I'm not particularly passionate about things like that, but anyway, it's a fairly well-done production. As much as I dislike working on it.

Yeah, a proud member of an apathetic Gen Y.

All that moral hype over the hero of the Nicole Highway Collapse is really getting to me. Please don't send me hate mail. But I keep on wondering this one thing when they go on and on about how brave he was: was his death really necessary. Christ. So the last surviving person to evacuate the area was the last guy you alearted. And the place was clearly crumbling to bits by then, and you didn't leave. So what else did you expect to do? Save more lives? Meh.

I'm so outdated... but one of my favourite Asian Bloggers, The Peking Duck has left Singapore *sigh*

Days left till PMS runs me over completely: 3 (My favourite number too. Which is incidentally the day and month I was born on :D You can send me presents next year!)

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Mood swings

Absolutely hate the time of the month and what it can do to me. I think it just gets worse and worse as I get older.
I woke up this morning, wondered why my wrists was hurting so damn much and went "Goddamnit. Those scars are really fucking ugly." I suppose a little blood between the sheets and broken skin can be quite a novelty sometimes. But damnit, they are ugly.

Met my one of my photographers today, the female one, Ruth. She's so fun to talk to, and she's just bursting with all these insane ideas that only someone as crazy as I am would be game for, and only someone as psycho as she is would come up with. We're really trying to figure out how to shoot at a McDonald's without getting me caught on their CCTV -if they actually do have them proliferating all over their outlets in the first place-. They are some of the most fun local people I know. Well... these budding indy-artistic types usually are. This guy -he's shot me before, with Ruth (she's like my mamasan)- was talking about the four of us going to Tioman during the holidays to do a calendar, for me, called *gasp* a day in the life of The Spg *laughs* How... egotistical does that sound huh.

Anyway, I met them for dinner today to get some really old photographs. I must have 200 of them now, but that REALLY doesn't make up for the ones that Jason had to delete without MY consideration. Bastard. But they totally cheered me up with all their ideas.

I had a mild tiff with Mr. Big today over *gasp* sms. How Lame huh. It was my fault I suppose. I should have just left him alone, but I was just so fucked up when I woke up. Well, my girlfriend and I went out with him for dinner yesterday, and she sorta embarassed me by giving this sorta impression that we were leeching off him. Like she flippantly mentioned how the dinner was on him, oh maybe a couple of times. I guess it was no big deal, but I was really in a totally neurotic state of mind then. I had to sms him and ask him if we gave him that* impression -that we were leeching off him- and he said she* did. Anyway, it was such a bad date. Bah.

The best thing to do in situations like that is to leave it be.

Well, that's quite nearly my motto in life for everything I find unpleasant.
Ignorance really IS bliss.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Most Certainly in a Bad Mood

1)The photos I got today weren't ALL the fucking photos he took of me. I want all 200 of them damnit! Jason's computer crashed, and I will be SO FUCKING PISSED if all that is left of a 4 hour shoot is 30 picture. Sure their good, but that's not going to get them on Suicidegirls.
2)I met Mr. Big today. He was around Orchard window shopping over BDSM outfits at Far East Plaza and I was around the area with my girlfriend. Dinner. Bad date. We don't click. There's just something about him. *grr*
3)Mr. Grant did not message me back after I replied his sms. Yeah, right, big deal. Well, it's a big deal to me. I suppose he's busy, and doesn't see the necessity, but is a little two word nicety too much to ask?
4) I have to work on the fucking play tilll 7:30 p.m tomorrow and I don't have the necessary footwear that everyone else does and the fucking cast manager did not get back to me with the address of the place in time before the shop closed. I am dead.

This shit sucks. Everything sucks. Fucking hell. Go to hell.
And let me insult the locals because they are totally pissing me off today.

My girlfriend says I really love instigating people. Well, not particularly, just him. And I usually regret it, because it reminds me of a period in my life I DON't ever want to remember.
I've only ever had one conventional romance; meaning with a guy that was utterly local; which (usually) also meant he was utterly droll, boring, broke, and bad in bed. Well, some local boys are really going to spam me now with hate mail -no worries! G-mail has 1 whole fucking gig of storage space, and I can now send attachments up to 10MB in size. No more breaking up of my email for SuicideGirls.

And in a way, I don't regret having that romance. At least it gave me an idea of what blind puppy love really is, and I'll tell you what it is, it's stupid. All that nonsense about getting married and living together and trying to make things work even when you know they CANNOT work because he's too dull for you, with not enough ambition to ever get anywhere in life.

I do know some really great locals who have amazing ambitions, and who actually live up to them. Yeah sure, great for them. They still live with their parents though, how strange. *laughs* I am being totally unreasonable today, I KNOW. It's just about the time of the month.

Well, let's talk about married men.
I've met a few expats with families they left behind, and their totally cool with taking me out to dinner, or taking me out club-hopping, without expecting anything. The bottom line is, they're considerate.
Local married men do seem to be such bitches though.
An SMS I recieved today "I totally need some release tonight, can you hook up a Malay girl and we can take it off?"
Fuck you man. On Sunday you asked me for a date, over dinner, not a threesome. Go to hell.
I did think he was a pretty cool guy; maybe I'm niave, and most men have uterior motives, but the expats sure do seem to be a lot more discreet.

Screw everything.

Gonna collect photos from Jason. Mildly excited.

Monday, April 26, 2004


Mmm, someone emailed me, pointing I had 'turned off' the comment function for the past two posts. I didn't turn it off. I use enetation, and I had to specifically add the function to each of my posts. And since 1) people were't commenting all that much and 2) I have decided I didn't really want your thoughts of my life read by other people. I decided not to bother anymore. Feel free to email me if you have any strong opinions; of which I will always be glad to read, and maybe reply, if you're polite!

Half of young Americans to get sex diseases

Well, personally, I don't think it's accurate; or even if it was, there's probably some biased in it that doesn't make it all that trustworthy -the writer has a vested interest in advocating safe sex over abstinence, which I have to admit is the sensible thing to do- but I thought it was interesting, since I'm on the subject of protection today.

Hmm... You know, alot of people have chlamydia and don't know it? They might have tiny traces of it, and they live the course of their lives never knowing, until some day some girl they fuck comes up to them, slap them in the face and presents them with a medical bill, saying, "You gave that shit to me, asshole" I COULD be wrong, haven't really read up alot of it, but a friend of mine didn't know he had chlamydia until his girlfriend made him go for a test.

Mmm! Anyway, I do not believe in unsafe sex; but does safe sex necessarily constitute the use of the condom all the time? I think it's really more important to choose your partners wisely and limit them, because well, see, if you were sleeping with this one person all the time, I think the whole rubber bit might get comprimized sometimes - familiarity does have a way of cultivating a laissez fur attitide towards protection- So anyway, I think that's more important.

But I'd use a condom, yeah, to reduce the chances of getting something evil, but most of the time I'd use it because... well it's just preferable. I can't stand the idea of all that icky stuff in me, for all my kinky-ness and how I really seem to like getting dirty in anything edible. It's not just about STDs afterall. That 'male icky thing' -as I like to call it, so there- has a way of totally fucking up the Ph level in the female anatomy sometimes, and that'll give a girl tons of problems like gardnella and candida and blabla, many other disgusting things that most guys really don't want to have their girlfriends tell them.

So I'm telling you, if you're a guy and you don't know.
Please be considerate and use that fucking condom.

(I do aknowledge that not all women are this sensitive to Ph level imbalance, but since I am, and since I'm writing this...)
Some women have no problems
I Call Bullshit

Not written by me (maybe I should aspire towards her level of derision...)

I call bullshit on those things. Unless you’re a total slut in a bad neighborhood, you don’t really need condoms. Especially in high school, when everyone is too inexperienced to have STDs. Oh, and AIDS (or should I say “SHMAIDS”). I call a huge fucking gigantic bullshit on that stupid disease. Sorry, but middle-class kids who don’t have gay sex and never use needles (i.e. 80 percent of North America) DON’T GET AIDS. I know hundreds of people, even some who died of AIDS, but they were either gay or junkies. Do you know anyone who knows anyone who knows anyone who knows anyone who isn’t gay or a needle user but got AIDS anyway? No, you don’t.

And STDs? Big whup. The worst ones I’ve ever heard of anyone getting are herpes and venereal warts. Herpes tends to go away after the first two outbreaks, and venereal warts are taken care of with a few blasts of liquid nitrogen. I know that technically the virus is with you forever, but talk to someone who got herpes or VWs more than three years ago. They’ve probably forgotten about them. As for the clap and gonorrhea and the other bullshit STDs, they can be cured in an afternoon. Seriously. Doctors have us scared so shitless of sex that we won’t let any guy come within a light-year of our pussies. I’m sorry. I like guys and I like doing it with guys and the guys I do it with are really cool to me. As far as my boyfriend not wanting to “wrap it”? Come on in, Craig! The only guys I ever made wear a condom were the ones who were too stupid to pull out. I haven’t seen a condom since I called bullshit on those types of guys years ago.


I do not support her, but what she says about AIDS is quite fucking true.

I Hope your Clean

Ooh. *Cringe*
I'm not the most morally upright, puritan, decent girl around, but I'd like to think I'm really not *that much of a slut. And even if I am, I don't think I'm stupid enough to actually get anything like HIV. It's not like I'm even sleeping with one new person a month, don't bother carrying my own protection around (just in case I got really drunk and hot), and screw any thing that walks by.

By the way, you can get HIV through oral sex anyway.

Am I making any sense?
Well, yesterday evening Mr. Big and I went to the Latin festival; but before that we had a little tete a tete, without a condom. I mean, I've been seeing this guy for awhile already, he's been going down on me all the time, and anyway, he's pretty decent. So it didn't bug me that we didn't. Oh he's incredibly decent. (Read on)

I made a perfect idiot out of myself at the festival. Half a bottle of wine, one magarita and two tequila shots -the guy at the counter gave me one more for nothing if I flashed. And I was so drunk I didn't care. But that wasn't really the most embarassing bit really-

See, all the fucking women there were stright :(
They were so stright. Beanpole stright. *boohoo* And I was really in the mood for something really, extremely naughty.
I like black people. Have I ever mentioned that before? There was this black guy with a really sweet looking chinese girl, and I thoguht Black could salsa pretty well so I asked him for a dance. Then later, he was doing a merangue with his chick, and I cut in. They left after that dance though- maybe I freaked them out- I think I freaked a HELL lot of people out. I am currently consoling myself with the phrase "Chances are, I'm probably not going to meet those people ever again." And even if I did, I'm probably not going to recognize them. -Doesn't matter if they recognize me. Ignorance IS bliss afterall.

Mr. Big assumed I like Black guys because well, their generally percieved to have really huge cocks. Well, wrong. I like the colour of their skin. Black girls, with body oil? Oh come on. You know how hot they can be.

Anyway, at first it was well, just for fun. You know, trying to pick up a chick. How hard can it be? I didn't have a problem the last time I was with Mr. Grant. But I do suppose Mr. G is alot sexier, and a way better dancer. (*sigh* I messaged him this morning -wonder if he'll reply!-) But later on, well, I thought I really started to make an ass out of myself. But I suppose it was forgivable because I'm young, silly, cute and slim. And I can salsa quite decently, compared to all the other people there. Ah yes, trying to resurre myself. Hey, at least I entertained a bunch of freaks for awhile. I regret it mildly though. It should have been more romantic and less insane. Mr. Big isn't that kinda person anyway. Ah hell.

Met a girl from the town my grandmama lives in. Apparently she used to live on the street adjacent to my gran's place. Small world huh.

But... funniest thing was when I slapped Victor Hugo's ass. I have no idea who this guy is Really, but according to my very illustrious Salsa instructor, he's UK's most celebrated salsa musician.

Of course I had to slap his ass.
He turned around and looked at me. And I grin; "Do I have to pay for that?"

At about 11, I was so fucking drunk I tried to kiss a girl on the floor. Mr. Big got embarassed, pulled me away; cab, his place.
He asked me, then, how many men I've slept with. I just told him. It isn't THAT many, but he got a little paranoid -remember, this afternoon, no rubber- and then asked me to go for a blood test. Well, needless to say we didn't go to bed on the most cuddly of terms.

Like, I think it's a little strange that he's so much older then me, but he still has the same kinda inhibitions I had when I started having sex. But of course, I'd rather him then a perfect slut.

Sore throat, felt really sick from too much alcohol and oily food; last night ended pretty crack. Mm... but heh. At least it beats staying at home trying to finish overdue essays.

I love tim tam straws and olives.

Saturday, April 24, 2004

Maybe Miracle

Maybe, Maybe, JUST Maybe.
But I really shouldn't be saying that should I. Because that's leaving room for doubt, and that would be the antithesis for the certainty of her recovery. Mmm...

I believe she'll be fine, and I know, for sure, that next year we'd be staying in my uncle's new place (he's redoing his house. Complete with an indoor garden! Oh... it'd be just wicked if i could do a shoot there some day.) And she'll be with us.

Well, anyway she can walk up a whole damn flight of stairs. I thought that was a real improvment from not even being able to go to the bathroom last night. The image of pandora's box with hope as a little fey comes to mind...

Nothing exciting happened today of course. I'm stuck in a country that's partly thrid world and partly first, sleeping with my brother and my dad in the same damn room. Bugger. Been browsing Suicidegirls most of the day, Siren has an amazing set called Space that looks like something of a cross between the Cirque Du Solei and um, Babylon 5. I'm thinking of doing something with my face made up like one of the characters in Cirque's Alegeria.

Talking about performance art. I am so going to ask Mr. Grant to watch Morphia Series this Singapore Arts Fest. You know, some people say the contry's really trying too hard to 'make it' in the whole Arts Scene, well, I don't care if it's pretentious or not, and I don't care if people think I'm a manufactured psuedo Indy Gen-Y-er. I know beauty when I see it, and if something is entertaining, well then, It's entertaining. And the whole arts scene; well, hey, WOMAD, tomorrow's Latin festival, the bunch of blue people that are going to live inthe display windown beside Esprit at Raffles City. They sure make life a little more interesting. (I wonder, oh I just wonder, if I could go up to those blue people late and night and ask them if they would let me use their premises for my personal portraits :D) -I can't find the link, but I know there'll be people painted blue and living in a display case this year, I'm pretty damn sure of it-

There's a certain sad solemnity about.

I saw my Grandmama today at the medical care centre. It was horrible. I've never seen her in such a terrible state before all my life. I just can't believe it! Just 3 months ago she was still running about minding her garden (she's got a huge, wild garden. Looks unkempts, But I think it's beautiful nonetheless) making the morning coffee after a mile long walk, going to the beach with her new grandchildren... And now she's... I really don't know how to describe it. It's just awful. You know, it's like I see her on the bed and I'm thinking to myself, oh my god. Maybe it'll be better if she just died.

I visit her twice a year every year, and Christmas with her is a ritual that's deeply ingrained within me. Every December since I was born, I'd turn up at her place, walk up the same flight of stairs (when I learnt how to walk anyway) to the same room she usually lodges me in, and I'd think, well. That was another year. Man, that was fast.

I love her, but not in the same sense I love my parents, I suppose. I don't see her that often, so it wouldn't be devastating if she were to go away. But it's everything that she signifies that I'll really miss. Without here, I doubt anyone would actually bother to call in the whole extended family back from the next Christmas; And anyway, it wouldn't be the same if she weren't around.

Usually when I visit, it'll be a happy, noisy affair at her place. You know. Lots of food, lots of alcohol -she did love her gin- Kids everywhere. Right now, *shudder*.

My uncle died 3 weekends ago. I didn't know him, so it's no big deal to me. But I can't imagine how...pressed.. my dad's sister must be at the moment. Well, first it's your husband, and then it's your mother now.

I know, this whole affair is absolutely boring and I'm really ranting on and on... *sigh*

I'm too tired to think.

Friday, April 23, 2004

Moral Bigot?

It was 2 fucking A.M. and some guy, from the methodist church I used to attend messaged me on ICQ.
I wished I remember to save the conversation, it was... well maginally amusing.

He started of by telling me that the World taints the inner soul. And that I was a creature of the world (Well hello? We're living in it aren't we?") And that God was disappointed I had drifted so far (Who are you to judge where I stand with God?) And that we are accountable and anwserable for our own sins (I don't believe that. Out sins were accounted for on the cross and the purpose of Christ is to take out place in bridging the gap bewteen God and Man and answer for us, because there is no way in hell we'll have a good answer for God.)

So I tell him he sounds like a moral bigot, and please stop bugging me, because it's not going to change anything. I've tried repenting ever since the time I made out behind the camp dormitories in some East Malaysian Jungle when I was 12 and guess what? Well, I've still been sinning ever since. Ah, it sucks to be sin concious, so bugger of bigot and leave me be.

I know I must sound like a hypocrite or whatever. You know. But my beliefs are my own, so. *shrugs*

Mr. Grant just called me too! *grin*

Thursday, April 22, 2004

It's $50 a kiss

This totally cracked my girlfriend up.
You know how I have this thing for foreign men? Well, yeah, duh, the title says it quite blatantly. But I don't _only_ like white guys. I think hispanics are actually kinda cute too. But like any other race, they have their fair share of turn offs.

So I was in my school uniform on the MRT (train) back home after a horrid day at the college -think 8 hours after a night of too much alcohol, too many drugs, and too many multi-vitamins from GNC; throw in a confrontation with some guy who threatened to sue me for libel- All in all, I was in a pretty bad mood. And I did what anyone in my place would do, I fell asleep on the mrt.

I opened my eyes a couple of times during the trip, and glacned at this weird looking freak sitting directly across me. he smiled at me, and I looked away. It happened a couple of times before I finally did smile at him; just before my stop. For some reason, I knew he was hitting on me. So I sat in my seat until the last possible moment and scramed out of the train just before the doors closed. Guess What??! He rushed out ofter me, nearly getting hit by the glass screen.

So I'm going up the escalator, and he's like, "Just back fom school?" I nod vaguely. "What school?" I point to my tie (Doens't he get the hint?) "What's your good name." Told him it was Alice. Some more pointless conversation. By this time we were well out of the mrt station, and I was starting to get rather irritatied.

"Where do you stay?" I snapped.
"Then why are you here?" -his stop was not for another 3 stops after mine-
"Because I want to get to know you."
Hah. But I don't, you fat little bag.
"I have to tell you, you are the hottest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"I get that alot." (Especially if he* wants my pants off.)
But it's a compliment, and I try being a little more civil towards him. He didn't look harmful.
Him, " I've just arrived in Singapore from New York, so I really want to get to know more people...blablabla"
Me, "Originally from?"
Him, "Sao Paulo, that's in Brazil."
"I know where Sao Paulo is."
"Can we sit around and talk for like say, 5 minutes?"
"No. I'm high on crack and I need to go home."
"Not even for 5, 10 minutes? How 'bout a drink at the coffee shop?"
"You can walk me to the condominium, that would be your 5 minutes."
Him, "I have a request..." Pause. "I'd like to kiss you."


"Please, just one little kiss."
"Fuck off."

I walk on really briskly -so I'm really fit right, and he's this fat wheezing windbag trying to catch up with me, nearly funny, if I wasn't so damn irritated by then- well, I know I'm evil; but I thought, no harm trying to amuse myself.-

So we walk along and he's asking me stuff about myself- and telling about what he does -very boring-
"What else do you do besides going to school?"
"I'm model for erotic lingerie."

Then he goes back into asking me for a kiss. This time, it gets funnier.
"Oh, just one kiss. We don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."
"I don't feel comfortable with you. How's that?"
"Then what can I do?"
"You could go for plastic surgery, loose 10 kilos, or pay me fifty bucks for a kiss. And a kiss is a kiss. Nothing else."
"I'll give you cash, that's no problem. Oh please understand Alice. I'm not just any other guy, I'll treat you really nicely, I'm seriously looking for a long term relationship. I'm not going to dump you blabla..."
"Well, I'm a whore, I hate long term relationships. And YOU don't turn me on at all."

Anyway, by this time it's getting really annoying and I'm reaching the gate of my condominium.

"Well, I'm just about home. Bye!"
"You can't do this to me. I'll pay you, and we don't even have to have sex, oh you've got to leave me your number...blabla..."
"Oh? How much can you pay me? I'll only do you in a nice hotel room too."
-I have never prostituted myself, but I've thought about it before, and I've thought about how much I should cost; of which is relative to how undesirable the male is-
"No hotel rooms. Can we go up to your place?"
"Fuck Off!"
"You see, the thing is that I'm not making all that much money, and I'd rather give it to you..."
"Forget it. I don't want your lousy money. There's no way you can afford me."

Then i go up to security and tell them to make sure he doesnt follow me into the estate.

Jesus Christ.
Strange, but totally amusing.


Wednesday, April 21, 2004

And At His Place...

Oh Boy was it wild.

Like he has all these fetishes; and with him, I'm just totally, entirely, wholly uninhibited, and absolutely liberated.

Hair-pulling/you're such a slut Isabelle/ ass-spanking/bitch/ pussy/whip/pinch/slap/slut. Oh such a slut.

Sex, with him brought me to a totally different plane of reality. For real.

And you know what?
Oh Gosh, he's the best.
Even after that, he could STILL give me a full back massage -being lathered in lavender oil after sex? Priceless- Sweet ain't it.
By oh, 3 ish a.m. we were both totally exhausted, then guess who should call but Mr. Manhunt.

*laughs* Well, that would be my photographer, and he WAS Mr. Manhunt sometime back. At 3a.m., on a Wednesday morning he calls me (I got a shock at first... thinking, OMG, is that my Mom, wtf would she want with me at this time of the night?) Anyway, he goes, "Hey girl! I can't believe you're still awake." Me: "You're so nuts. What the hell do you want." "I just felt like doing a midnight shoot!" Me: "Siao. I'm totally high, totally exhausted, and really really unstable. Mentally. I want to be alone with my guy!"

"Ah hell, anyway this Saturday... guess what! We've got another girl. And there might be one more."
"Orgy. Can my friend come? Two guys and four girls. It'll be insane. Stock up on the alcohol, I'll bring my Dildo."


Mmm... and just before we went to bed, he poped me with a really good sleeping pill and (i don't believe this) he actually asked me if I wanted a multi-vitamin...

I love it when he feeds me pills.
I swear to god. I'm Nuts over him. *Sigh*

Mr Grant

How eventful the past 24 hours were: 100% insane.

Mr. Big was being a bitch yesterday. The details are kinda boring and tedious, so I really can't be bothered to go on a tirade about them. Anyway, my mom got a call from the college over my terrible grades this term and I got called home early from Salsa. So I'm at home feeling really fucked up and extremely neurotic over just about everything. And as I walked up to the condominium, I was just thinking about how nice it'll be to just die. Mr. Big totally upsetted me. Like I told Mr. Grant later, I can't stand it unless I'm at the center of attention. Unless I was absolutely the most beautiful, intriguing thing to him. It's not like we had to do what I wanted always, just as long as I got the feel that he was paying me due attention. I guess we really don't click all that well.

Mr. Grant, on the other hand! *naughty laugh* Is absolutely my devil.
So at 2330hrs, I texted him and asked him if he'd like to entertain a totally neurotic girl. And he was like, yeah hell, sure.
Got into a cab; No. 5 Emerald Hill. Where he told me there were all these cool people he was with. Think a Diamond trader and a Swedish Pornstar.

So I went into this club, found him standing around at the bar, yelled out his name and... you know the ritual. (hug/kiss/asspinch) Then this girl whom I totally supposed he was flirting with, who was every inch an SPG, and such a boring, unattractive one at that, came up and put her arms around him and started going on and on about how Mr. Grant was her wife!
Then some really nice music came on and we started getting it going on the floor -Mr Grant is a fab dancer- And when we* get it going on, we really get it going on.

I had just purchased a new burlesque-princess-ish outfit from Phuture London (photo to be posted soon) and the skirt was nice and tiny with lace. Perfect for spanking. So we were at it on the floor, and he spanks my ass. *laughs*

After awhile the boring/unattractive SPG comes up to him and (looking really dissed) says, "My wife's gone already lah" And well, I can see what kinda fix he's in - I suppose she thought she'd get laid by him that night. No idea, came too late to judge anything- so I said. "Indeed. The sex operation was successful"

He* then started telling me how these two ladies beside us were lesbians and that we should find out. So he hits on the brunette, and I go for the blonde. Anne's not particularly hot, but she's a cool woman, and she thought I turned her on. And it was FUN running my hands down her cleavage, and her thighs... I know huh! Like, what kinda free entertainment was providing for the other guys at the club, but hey, Have I said this before? I live to entertain.

Some dude from another table took bad ass photos of us, and one from under my skirt O.O No face though, thankkkk god. By this time I was really too drunk to care. I kicked his ass. That was nice.

So it's 1 am, I'm superhigh, and I look at Mr. Grant and... "Let's split from this hole"
Cab, Run back to club to retrieve credit card, Cab, His place.


Tuesday, April 20, 2004

So What Now?

My life really never ceases to be eventful.
Last night, I found out my Grandmama was diagnosed with cancer. So I'll have to be buying tickets to Kuching later, to fly out on Thursday. (My brother absolutely HAS to visit her because he's the only son by an only son.) This is absolutely terrible, horrible, and absolutely absolutely unfair!

Well, I guess it isn't, everyone gets cancer and dies eventually, but it sucks.

Well, let's not talk like she's terminally ill. Screw that.

Amounting to that, I was accused of slander today, for calling the drama troupe's director a fucking homo (among other things) online, on this defunct blog, 2 fucking months ago . Well, so I'm a potty mouth and I was really mad -hey, you had a fine time embarassing me, and now you're going to have a fine time playing me around just seeing how far you can push me.- I hate all of you. I hate this shit. I hate school and I hate the system. Burn in hell.

I can't believe a staff, from the college, actually went to search up the guy's name, actually clicked that blog entry (well, it said FUCKING *****) and actually read it. Do they have nothing better to do? You'd think as grown-ups, they'd really have more to bother about then some teenage girl ranting about how much she hates being insulted during an audition.

This reminds me of an ex- teacher who told my parents I was sleeping with my boyfriend because she was 'concerned'. I wonder now, was she really? There are somethings that are meant to be confidential when you confide in someone, and she totally breeched that. Some people are just nosy-parkers, gossips and fire-blowers. Maybe she really was concerned, but right now, I'm too pissed to believe that.

Don't tell me I was asking for it.

Anyway, away from that retarded bit of pain in the ass.

Mr. Big was so nice as to tell me he'd pray for my Grandma last night. It's just lovely to recieve such messages from someone to tell you that hey, they kinda care, early in the morning, when you're getting up for another nightmare of a weekday.

I have so much more to write, but I'll really have to be going to get those tickets now.
Then salsa later, and the Hot Tub ;) (NOT Justin's tub.)

Monday, April 19, 2004

I'm not lying.
I really am a print model for this new uh... cocktail called Ezcapizm.

Me, in Oil and Oreos!

The Girls are Great BUT...

That's the complain I get from most expats I meet over here.
One of my favourite questions to ask them over lunch at NYDC or dinner at China Jump would have to be this, "How's dating in Singapore"
And the replies go along the lines of, "Oh, it's fantastic. There are tons of beautiful women here, you'll never find such a proliferation of slender print model girls where I come from. Plus, I've also never had so many girls throw theirselves at me and reek of desperation with every sms they send"

Allright, I added in that second bit myself, but it's the the truth they all know but think it's too rude to say.

But I wonder what makes the girls from where they come from more interesting.

In fact, are they really any more interesting? Because I like to believe in a... um... homogeneous quality in the demographic of human beings. Like, there are as many ineresting women in Singapore for guy A as there is to him in say, a city of similar population somewhere in Europe, or Africa of whatever.

I don't think it's fair that they say their boring. Well, sometimes they really fucking are - but then, not all white men are engaging either. Anyway, chances are, its possibly more a matter of being able to connect, as opposed to the girls really being boring. Well, see, most Asian women will feel inhibited the first time they start uh.. seeing/sleeping with a white guy -duh, it's so strange. It was strange for me anyway. I don't know about other girls, but I have a feeling they all feel queer about the situation the first time they're with one -I could be SO wrong; and all feedback will be welcomed-

And well, because it's a different situation, they might not know how to behave. The answer to which would be 'normally'. (Some people might think I'm so wrong because people won't behave normally around someone they really like. Whatever race they are. True, but we're talking abt Singaporean Women who have a taste for white expats.)

So what's weird behaviour?
Well, when the girls think that it'll be great to date a white guy because he's white, rich, eloquent, generally different -like they lead a different lifestyle from what most locals do (well duh, they can afford it)-; And when Mr White expresses interest in them, they go bonokers and (don't laugh-because I did, and I know it's rude. But I was also laughing at myself one year back when I behaved the exact same way, so I can be excused) try to make sure he doesn't just disappear by constantly reminding him of their exsistence.

Well doesn't that reek of desperation.

This whole issue over the game was insanely retarded last year when I just started out dating foreign men. (Foreign, because I don't solely go for white men all the time. Hispanics and Blacks can be equally as desirable :D) Like well, I was constantly wrecked with the thoughts of, "If I sms him, will he reply? If he doesn't I'll seem so desperate! But I want him to ask me out again. I shouldn't make my replies too long, that'll seem too eager/ but I am eager!" Oh the retardedness of it all. I never did admit it to anyone until now of course (when I am no longer like that, thank God), I was too damn proud. My girlfriend wasn't much help either. It was insane. Like we would actually try to figure out how many days would be the usual to wait it out without a call or message from someone we've slept with, so we'd know when we could sms back such that we Don't stink of desperation. This is of course, well, totally retarded and every guy is different. And as long as you don't send pointless messages like, oh I miss you (because he doesn't you idiot. You were just a lay.)

Two afternoons ago, I was talking to Mr. Grant -more on who the hell he is another time. But all I can say's that, I really like him, he's a fucking cool dude, and one of the coolest people I've ever met all my life. I don't know how he is between the sheets from one drunken romp that I won't say was a mistake, but was definately something I didn't plan for. But I think I had a blast- And he was telling me about all these pretty women he gave his name card to and how they all kept on text-ing him with cute little good-morning messages with teddies made out of punctuation (lord, what an abuse of commas and periods) which he didn't see why he should reply; and which stank so insanely of well- desperation. Like it was strange, because these women were actually beautiful, but one month after not contacting them, they'd still text him. And it wasn't because he didn't like them, but women like that are probably going to be not worth going out with.

Because once upon a time I was like that, and I don't think I was worth going out with then. Well, sure, for a lay, but anything else?
Eh, Not.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

L'Oreal, because I'm fucking Worth It!

Renee has GOT to be the best makeup artist I've had up-to-date. She's so amazingly creative; I had this look that required me to be totally oiled up and splashed with dirt. But because dirt was... well... dirty, and not really quite as black as she would want it to be, guess what she used? Oreo Cookies. (Whoops, hope that wans't a trade secret) So basically I had a hell lot of fun romping around in Jason's studio today. You guys are gonna love it when this shoot comes out. It's fucking gorgeous. Isabella oiled up with body oil mist, dusted with Oreo crumbs, eating mango while rolling in papaya seends and giving a banana a blowjob. I look at the photos and I'm like, fuck! That's ME? Mr Big was well... *laughs* he's never seen anything like it before, I'd say.

So I call him while I'm naked and getting bronzed right, and he's like, "I've never had a naked woman call me up before." Huh.
We went to a dive trade show and He spent alot of money, and then we went shopping at L'Occitane for some really girly stuff. He's into aromatheraphy, apparently.
He suggested taking me out to buy Lingerie. Well, Well, Well. Who the fuck am I to object.

Apparently he's got one of those essential oil burners at his place.
He's also got something totally kinky in store. Think: garter belts (I have NO idea why he has a thing for that, but he does, and so do I), Godiva chocolates, Citron massage oil, Cuban cigars and a bottle of wine. Oh and the hot tub. In no particular order.
INSANE! God I don't know what to feel.

I mean, on one had, yeah, I like him. There's this whole romantic experience encompassing our relationship. Like, it's well. Romantic. He's kind and nice and all of that, but I don't particularly find him a great deal of fun. He doesn't make me laugh a great deal (well I laugh at him somtimes when I tease him lol) But he's just well... Oh Bother. Today was by far the best occassion I had communicating with him, and that took awhile too. I simply don't feel all that loosened up around him always. But I guess that's ebbing away with familiarity.

It's strange huh. How we can sleep with people we barely know. *sigh* Sex for me is a far cry today from the notion from which I percieved it as a child. Did that make sense?


Saturday, April 17, 2004

Super SPG

Another Irreverant Guide.

Once again, don't say I didn't warn you.

Excited/Agitated/ UGH, One too many espresso shots!

I had a GREAT night, and a Great day. But I'm feeling none too good about it. Way too little sleep. 5 hours everyday for the whole of one week is a seriously bad idea. Especially when there's a portfolio shooting you have to actually PAY for in15 hours. I think I'll have to pop some pills and sleep from 9 to 9. I Really wish I got some of that Morphine, goddamnit.

Well, Somehow I managed to gather the courage to ask my darling Mr Big for cash to hire the stylist. He sponsored me halfway, which really is better than nothing, and I genuinely am rather happy about it -the rest of the cash I got from this girl who owed me money for an abortion- But oh, it's not because he can't afford to indulge me (our dates are relatively extravagant) It simply wasn't in his value system; Like he wanted me to pay part of it for myself, maybe to get me to understand that he wasn't simply gonna be a readily available ATM machine (not a very good analogy since he's the one that has something to slot into me... mmm bad joke...). Well, no intention to. Especially if I'm going to get paid from Suicidegirls soon. I was sufficiently embarrassed about it though. I always need to ask for cash, and I always Do, but Oh. I still feel embarrassed about it anyway. Oh well *shrugs*

We were kinda having a lazy morning, and I was like talking to him about, I don't know what. And I finally said... "I need a favour out of you" and he was like "Right, see I knew there was something." Gah. And when he gave me the cash he was like, "So its... a Hundred and TEN" With a particular emphasis on the ten. He was just making fun of me I guess. (The extra ten's for cab fare.)

Oh he was really nice last night. Barbecuing for all the girls at the club, giving me a massage, just being well Himself. And he’s nice, pleasant, albeit a little tame. J likes him, I’ve never seen him talk to any other of the other expats like he talks to Mr. Big. But I guess he is very friendly, and well, as local as an expat can get. The fact that they both bumped into each other at a business conference does help I suppose.

The past two days have of course been a lot more interesting, but I’m way to tired. So I’ll go have my nine to niner and carry on tomorrow.

Fuck ya’all :D

Friday, April 16, 2004

They aren't really ALL wild

*shakes head* Apparently not. Mr Big has never spooned before. I nearly couldnt believe that.
In fact, I still can't believe that.
I was hanging around his apartment a night or so ago and we were talking over drinks (Vodka on the rocks for me, that's about the only thing I can drink on Atkins :( I miss my Magaritas and Whiskey Sours...) And I was giving him a private viewing of some of the more risque photos I took with Dee when the subject naturally diviated to threesomes and Tracy Cox's Supersex. And I asked him what his favourite position was and well *gasp* it was the missionary. How boring.
"Well, I like spooning. All girls like spooning."
And he had to tell me he hadn't done if before. One decade of sexual experience and you've never spooned? O.O It's not the seventeenth century *gah*

Anyway, he sent me a really queer message yesterday afternoon while he was at the doctor's. Something about a menage a trois with my princess. I figured it out after a call- he was wondering if he should try and get viagra, since he was getting a prescription anyway. I CAN imagine what fun it'll be if he did! But oh well *shrugs* Princess doesn't want a threesome anymore. Possibly because she was sick, and maybe because her boyfriend was so good to the the whole time she didn't think it would be right. Bugger.

I could find another girl, that wouldn't be too difficult I'm sure. My photographer was telling me about some chick who wanted me to use a strap-on on her. "Tell her to be be totally inconsiderate and brutal about it please" Oh My God. I DON'T think I'm up to the task.

Ah well.
And OH BOTHER. Never, ever mix all your baking ingredients together before sampling them individually first. Apparently the half cup of cream was spoilt. What a fucking waste. All my baking endevours have been such failures lately. And I'd like to blame it on my maid. Well SHE was supposed to watch the brownies to make sure they didn't burn, and How could she not have thrown away that expired cup of cream? But maybe it's just some supernatural force trying to help me out with my diet (it's not east to make rockyroad cookies when you can't even lick the batter of your fingers)

Thursday, April 15, 2004

What Matters Between the Sheets
- An irreverent and unsubstantiated personal opinion and comparative guide- (Don't say I didn't warn you)

Everyone knows how important a good orgasm is, and I'm going to prove why Asian men just don't cut the bill when it comes to that.

Starting with a little survey. Randomly pick out a 100 local men off the street (Over the years I've just randomly asked guys to 'go and measure' So it's not entirely baseless). Chances are, their average penis size would be 5 inches, they can't perform with condoms -forget it, I'm not going on the pill if it's going to make me fat- and they can't last; but oh that's fine...wait.. no. They can't get up in double quick time either. Damnit.

Do that with 100 angmos you pick off New Asia on a Saturday night and the probability will be that you’re going to get really great sex with dick that’s usually at least 6.5 inches and god-knows how wide, and sex all night long. Well, the baseline is this. I’ve never been disappointed by them– although I do acknowledge that some have small-er penises, but even then, I doubt they go as small as 4 inches. But insofar as I know, I don’t think any of them have a problem performing with condoms unless they’re on flu medication.

At this point you’re probably thinking I’ve an obsession with the size of penile appendages. Well, Yes I Do.
So There.

When I was in secondary school they had moral education lessons –I was from a Methodist Institution where they made us wear cute little pinafores with zippers on the side- and the teacher would go on and on about how sex before marriage was immoral and a bad idea for the girl. (Basically, it’d make her Used.)

“Well, I wouldn’t buy my car without first taking it for a test run”
- That obviously didn’t go very well with my counselors either.

Size DOES matter. I’ve never seen a 4.5 inch dildo.

–maybe there are some for 13 year old virgin lesbians-

I don’t care what any bloody sexpert says; she’s just trying her best not to make handicapped men feel any worse –otherwise their pathetic 4 incher might just halve overnight- Sex is after all mostly psychological, and small dicks simply don’t appeal aesthetically. On a more physical level, I do genuinely think bigger is better.

Erectile Dysfunction: 60% of Indian men –the locals I believe with the biggest penises- suffer from ED. Sad eh? 49% for the Chinese. Caucasians are least prone to suffer from ED after Hispanics.

Apparently I CAN like local men

Only if he has a fantastic business sense, a godawful sense of humour and happens to be my very illustrious salsa dance instructor.
I had a great time at Xenbar today; Justin taught me how to do some mildly erotic shines. He also kept on pointing out the way my butt shakes when doing the suzie-Q. I don't really remember what he said exactly, but it went along the lines of "Look! See they way she moves. Nice butt." Then after a couple of moments and demonstrations -to the rest of the class "You all ah, stop looking at her butt. Don't try anything funny, she's still seventeen (I'm not). Very under-aged." Gah.

Well, not as bad as me telling him he was 47 and then saying that he could be 45. That was embarassing. But what was I supposed to think? He was the one who told me he was really old, and then later on convinced me he was 55 with grandkids. Ugh. He doesn't look that old, seriously, probably about 33. It's just that, coupled with the way he kept on going about how he was 'very old' he had a remarkable travel experience all the way from, oh I don't remember. Argentina to Nigeria to the States and back to Indo-China. So that sorta made it more possible for me to believe him.

Yes, I can be incredibly niave when it comes to things that don't really matter a great deal to me. But what's the point of trying to scrutinize whether people are lying about their personal lives or not, it's not like it's going to affect you in any particular manner.

I guess Justin is one of the very -oh so very few- exceptions I'd make in my stand of not lusting for local men. But I suppose I wouldn't date him, and I seriously doubt I appeal to him. That's another strange something I noticed about the local men who go for me. Single 30 something guys -the only age when the local males start to actually make a substantial income-simply do not see a romantic attachment in me. If they do, they usually have a girlfriend they plan to marry; and to them, I'm just a little something for their amusement. Sure, as long as they pay my price for amusement; and I'm not talking about the erotic, filthy sort of entertainment. I don't think I could do that, unless they paid me lots and lots of money -and they don't have lots and lots of money-. I suppose local guys at 30 are looking for something entirely different from the expats -at any age- that are here. The former are starting to settle down after half a decade of nagging from relatives at Chinese New Year, the latter... Well, I suppose they would be accessing how that sweet thing in the black dress (probably heathing up the floor at New Asia, or The Next Page, or whatever) would look like on top of them, in bed, in a pair of laced knickers and fishnet stockings.

Anyway, Justin bought a hottub for the club.


It's on the top deck with the alfresco dining area. I saw him half-naked with a super soaker and a tank filled with ammunition strapped to his back. ("Hey man, those must have belonged to your grandkids") I told you he had a bad sense of humour. Oh well, men never do grow up, and in a way I'm glad for that. I love playing He-Man and Shera in bed.

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

I woke up this morning and everything was great.
Aside from the fact that I've once again failed at induction on Atkins, but that's another problem.

I got online and *grin* two new emails from the two people I wanted to hear from the most.

My darling apparently hasn't forgotten the way my hair smells despite a seperation of several oceans and maybe a couple of continents -depending on how you read maps- and he hasn't forgotten where we last said goodbye. Oh you know, sappy stuff. I'm a sop for romance and nostalgia. He might be coming down to either Shanghai or HK at the end of this year though, so I can't wait to visit him :D

I replied his lovely email with another wild story about a girlfriend from the drama troupe I was in a couple of years back. She, apparently, wants to loose her virginity, but of course to a guy with quality. He suggested bringing her to Insomnia; for sure there'll be tons of volunteers. And for sure 99% of them will turn out bastards. So I really don't think so. But, well, *shrugs* i guess that depends on what a person's looking for really. One night stand. flings. longer romances. I guess what's important's that the feelings turn out entirely mutual on both sides...

In more exciting (to me anyway) news, my application for Suicidegirls is apparently being worked upon, and my account might be ready sometime as early as this week. I don't know if they've actually recieved my model release form, because they never got back to me about it -that's what I hate about snail mail. Small tiny white envelops do have a tendency to get lost en route all around the world- But what matters is, I'm gonna be part of the Starbucks equivalent of internet nudity. Hmm.. that actually sounded kinda cheap, but it's a cool site. I like it. I've always wanted to be on it since I saw it two years ago on a Rolling Stone magazine with Marilyn Manson on the cover.

And on more modelling news, ezcapizm has gotten back to me, and the shoot IS this Sunday. Only, I have to find someone to sponsor $200 for the stylist, otherwise I'll have to cough up the dough myself. And I really don't have the cash. Oh, I'll have to ask Mr Big. LOL.

I've recieved a few comments on the way I write, and I'll try to work on the language and style as I go along. I know how important it is to have a blog that reads easy and interesting; and narrative style has all the world to do with that. I'm a little rusty though :(

Anyway, it's been a weird weekend. A bunch of events happened with the relatives on the paternal side of the family and my dad took us back to Kuching -thats' in East Malaysia- to well, aknowledge that we care.

My aunt gave birth to another gorgeous chap cheng baby a couple of weeks back. I think he's called Johanssen, or however it is you spell that in German. Yep, he's a gorgeous sino-germanic baby.

Well actually he isn't.
I think all babies are ugly.

But I know he'll grow up to be just gorgeous.

You know what, I think i'll be less inclined to abort a chap cheng foetus then one that's fully Chinese. It's so much harder to kill them when you know they'd grow to be beautiful children. Talk about shallow, but beauty does make up for so many things. We're more inclined to forgive beautiful people over ugly ones. In fact, sometimes we hate ugly people just because they're ugly. Perhaps it's because we don't like the things we are most afriad to become. Let's not get philosphical.

So right. I have a new baby cousin.

And, my grandma fractured some part of her back so she can't eat. We had communion with her, everyday, and she's better now. I'm thinking of getting the elements of the blood and the body tattooed just behind my ear, with a bunch of grapes following the curvature of the ear. Yes, apparently I'm quite spiritual. Well, not the yoga new age kind, but I believe in God and Christ and all that.

And on the last possible day before we were leaving back for Singapore, my uncle died. I feel kinda sorry for his 12 year old daughter, it was entirely unexpected. To sum it up in all it's sordid surreal reality, in the words of my mother, "That was a real surprise. I didn't expect David to die" Indeed. I didn't know him, so it didn't bug me at all. But well, he was part of the family. My sympathies (as if they're any good.)

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

If beauty is defined by a western standard, then no wonder we like occidental men.

Neil Humphreys has a way of going on and on about how the local angmo loving girls go for the money.
Well sure I do. I do it because more cash means better dates. What kinda crazy girl would want to go for a broke local boy? Even if they aren't stingy, you'd feel really guilty about spending their cash. Even on something as basic as dinner at Ichiban Boschi.

My girlfriend suggessted I went shopping with Mr Big.
Right. I'd ask him to take me to a play, or buy alcohol at duty free, or whatever. But shopping? "Mr Big, could you loan me your credit card?" Meh. Nah, not an option. Like i'd ask him if I really needed the money, a hundred or so wouldn't be a big deal to him, but I wouldn't spend it just like that* You Know.

When I think about it, cash does play a HUGE factor in dating. I like eating good food in a great ambience, I like holidays (or sex sprees with a purpose) and I like being asked to wear kinky underwear and getting them bought for me. And above all, I love a chic apartment.

Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

Ernest Dowson

I really love this poem for some reason. I even caligraphed it a couple of days ago on a piece of wood...
Read it from Eugene O'Neil's Long Day's Journey into Night.
Colonial Mentality and Affected Accents

There was this one absolutely hilarious night I was out with one of the guys from the drama troupe and my girlfriend joined us for some drinks at the Alley Bar and she was going on and on about colonial mentality and all that jazz- while quite drunk after too many Hoegaardens- and later when she left, I asked C what he thought of her he went, “Well, she quite epitomizes the people she was talking about”

We weren’t talking about SPGs per se; just people who had a blind worship of the west, and from the way she was going on and on about angmos and expatriate salaries *laugh* it was quite funny in a politically incorrect manner.

Well, C apparently, is a broke Brit guy. You don’t really find many of those here, but he’s one of them. And I think I had to pay cab fare for him that night. It was mildly annoying–I never asked him out again, duh-

Colonial mentality is a strange and troublesome thing. Some sociologists tell me it’s because we’ve modernized just that little bit too fast, and everything’s imported. Everything; from technology down to culture. And it shows.

Most local people should really stop criticizing SPGs; innately, they all suffer from this syndrome anyway. In fact, I think party girls are better at coping with it then most other people, simply because they’re exposed to it all the time; and novelty soon wears off into the ordinary.

Think about it, how many people try to talk with an accent when they’re around someone that’s speaking with one? Unless you’re perfectly comfortable with the way you speak, you like the way your voice sounds, and you think there’s no accent that’s better then it is, chances are, you’re going to speak with a slang. I’ve seen businessmen as old as 40 do it, and it’s funny. Tons of people do it (even non-english speaking Europeans) and SPG critiques should stop trying to make fun of the girls when they talk with a slang. They can’t help it. For sure they think speaking with an accent makes them well, better, more articulate; and for sure some of them sound like idiots doing it, but it’s just wrong to criticize them specifically when everyone else would do it anyway. It’s an affliction that’s exemplified in the some party girls, but it’s also something that goes way beyond them.

But I’m sure we all know that; Asia has a fixation with the West.

I have to rush of for a run now -trying to loose that troublesome kilo before sunday's photoshoot.
You can see the photographer's work at
He was this year's Singapore Stila event photographer.

Monday, April 12, 2004

Why White Expats?

You know how there are all these books out there on Sarong Party Girls, and the barrage of articles in the local paper and letters that respond to them, but none of them are ever really written by someone who freely admits that she’s a, well, SPG.

They’re usually written by either single local men who feel as if the angmos were depriving them of their share of women, or by Caucasians who think these silly Asian girls are being very silly indeed in their worship of the penises of the west (Neil Humphreys has a rather amusing article on SPGs –albeit inaccurate- in his mildly amusing second book on the island-nation) or well, by women who date Caucasians and try desperately to defend themselves by saying that they’d date a local boy anytime if he met their criteria of being extremely eloquent, absolutely interesting, and unrestraint-ly generous (yeah, sure *rolls eyes*)

I’m not saying that what these people write are entirely untrue, because like any other demographic, girls that date white men come in a (I’d like to believe) substantially diversified range of characters and temperaments. But the, well, despite all the insight they give into this Asian trend –yes, a trend. It’s apparently becoming disturbingly* apparent in KL, (to quote one of those local guys who think they don’t get any* because all the women are getting laid by white men)- they don’t exactly tell you anything about the SPG. As an individual.

All right. The term Sarong Party Girl is really supposed to be derogatory. According to the current encyclopedia of all things SPG (Jim Aitchison’s Sarong Party Girl), she’s really supposed to be a gold-digger, a slut (and I’m not talking about Marty Beckerman’s Sexually Liberated Urban Teens, even though I have to acknowledge that some party girls fall into that category –lol-) and well, as far as I know, basically that.

I know it all sounds rather insulting, but well, here’s a little not-so-secret. All women like money and all women like sex. And I know –oh from talking to a few local girls, not necessarily ones that have ever dated Caucasians- that all of them secretly want to snag one. And the reasons are absolutely so primordial in nature it really epitomizes the whole dating game.

Reason one, they’re loaded. It’s not that I’d want them because they’re a walking credit card, but having a huge disposable income means excessive dates, extravagant holidays and kinky underwear. Not trying to defend myself, or other party girls, but I’m sure most of us don’t go, “oh I want this new Gucci handbag…um… please?” You’d have to have skin like leather to do that (and we all know how lovingly soft the skins of sweet asian things are.)

And on to reason two. And this really is a big deal to me. Caucasians are better then local men in bed. But let's just not go into the tasteless details. Just leave it at the fact that Asians suck. The Chinese have small penises and the Indians are the most prone to ED -that's erectile dysfunction for the uninitiated. Carrie Bradshaw knows how important good sex is to a relationship, and so do all women, from Boston to Beijing, Sydney to Singapore.

Finally, local boys live with their parents. Those that don’t live with their girlfriends. Or their wives, and 1.2 kids. All that will mean a few things. Either you have to sneak into their bedrooms, still littered with broken He-Man toys from 2 decades back well past midnight, or book into a hotel room- remember how broke they are? Chances are, it’s not going to be at Shangri La- or agree to a ménage a trios with their wives. The last of which isn’t all that bad, I’ve always wanted to see how I’d look after one conventional and one caesarian delivery.

Oh, and what would dating the alternative entail? Nice all night romps to Norah Jones with a spectacular view of the Singapore River –it actually looks quite nice when you can’t see what color it really is- and breakfast the next morning while he entertains you with his ironing and plant watering capabilities while getting ready for another day in corporate Singapore- in the same office building your daddy works in.

See, it’s not a matter of racial discrimination in dating really.

Besides, isn’t dating someone not of your own race just All the range these days.

So there. That's the compulsory brief introduction.