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The Mitre Hotel and some other random anal...

Do you know that the dictionary on your cell phone spells cock or anal with the same keys?

I must be really bored. Usually happens when I'm procrastinating my bedtime with the excuse that I need to surf more of the net.

It's funny how blogs become doubly interesting after you've actually said hi to the person and had a mildly entertaining, pleasant time. The blog in question would be No Place as Home. I was admittedly daunted by the length initially, and still am. But Whatever, I'm just reading the parts I'm interested in now, and it's not bad at all. I particular like the reference(s?) to alien life forms gaining sentience.

I like it mostly because the writer is so normal. And it kinda makes me go, hey, anyone can travel around with world. All they need is a little bit of the quarter-life crisis to push them along. Ah, it’s definitely something I must do some day. Although I must admit I love talking so much I doubt I can stand traveling alone. Ever. (No, it’s not the same talking to the mirror in my compact.)

My girlfriend took us to the Mitre Hotel. It's straight down Killiney road, with a number 145 scribbled onto the gate. It looks like a run-down private estate, but it's really Singapore's most decrepit hotel(like that's much of a difference). It still has people living in it though, surprisingly. Brave souls who do not fear the roof crashing in on them while they jerk of to Victorian pornography. The drinks are insanely cheap. Three beers for $12, and I have to say, it has a very unique ambience. Uniquely Singapore indeed. She tried to teach me how to find it once upon a time, and I had tried to find it with the Boy, but gave up after all of 5 minutes and decided that the time could be better spent in his bedroom. But if you have the time, it is worth more then 5 minutes of half-hearted scouting.

It was a nice place, great regulars. And a strange old ang mo dude who probably has the crappiest, albeit the most, extremely unconventional housing in Singapore. I personally thought he was an interesting fixture, with a spindly single bed that didn't look up to the task of carrying his overweight frame and a termite eaten dresser covered with bottles of Prickly Heat and cough syrup.

Well, who knew.
You can be living in one damn country for so many years of your life, and you never discover such attractions for oh-so-long. Hell, in fact it was my girlfriend's German boyfriend that took her there. Would that be ironic? The real definition for the word has long been lost on me ever since Morisette abused it.

xoxox