Little Bits of Here and There

This is one thing I absolutely hate about missing a day of blogging; that when I finally get down to it, there’s just way too many things that have happened to write it all down properly.

Dee and I went to an old, derelict building to do a photo shoot, which turned out very nicely indeed. The photographer wasn’t dumb after all, just insufferably long-winded, and not very eloquent about it. I promised I’d attend a high-school class reunion yesterday, but found myself having lunch with the guy after another short photo shoot in the lobby of his hotel. The set in the derelict building was cool, and feature both Dee and I coming out of a cage in stockings, knee-high boots and a loving snarl. The sexiest part about the set was when I tried to climb the cage behind Dee, with my legs straddling her on either side, and she’d grabbed my thighs to prevent me from falling down.

She’s a really cool girl, and actually, most of the girls I know personally are really cool people. They’re all completely sincere, completely gorgeous, and best of all, are not usually jealous. Not around me anyway, what for? They have everything I have, and it’s not like I have much anyway, to start of with.

Allright, this is where I start bitching about last night.

So it was graduation night, and I had a rather boring time at the dinner, although I did feel a twang of nostalgia at points. But thinking about it now without the annoying sentimental music in the background, I’m glad to be out of it. For some reason, all school anthems have that bloody line that basically means that very soon, we’d be leaving the protected enclosure of the damn place and going out of academia and into the harsh reality of the world. I don’t think that’s right. In fact, I think there’ll be bitchy people who’d always want to put you down no matter what or where. And then, there’ll be nicer people of course, who believe that the pie isn’t limited, and just because someone else has something more, it doesn’t meant they have less of something good. Anyway.

I bumped into an old friend of mine outside this club I’m none too fond off, and he got me a glass of vodka on the rocks. And this wasn’t just a couple of shots, it was a full glass of it, and that got me completely wasted (I had a couple of drinks before that too). He took me to a back alley and gave me a massage. I know it sounds kinda skanky, but back alleys turn me on, and I slapped his wrists when he tired to get to my boobs. So in all honesty, it was just a little bit of cuddling fun.

The insects started to get to me and I got back into the club. Now, there’s a dancer that Will has shot for once before, and he’s show me her prints when I had been at his place. I always thought she was a pretty cool girl, like I did the other one, and guess what? She glared at me last night and said, ‘Don’t you dare touch me’. Whoa! Now I know why so many men have problems with their women, they’re all so damn uptight about themselves. For the love of god, you work in a club. How seriously do you want to take yourself anyway?

Then there was a fucking bastard who pulled my dress and dragged me to his place on the bar top. That really pissed me off and I must have kicked him in the stomach. I’ve got nothing against being rubbed against or touched in a club if I like the person. If he’s considerate and cute, why not? I’m not ever going to see him again anyway, and there’s nothing dangerous about it if you hop into a cab right after. But to pull my dress? That dress wasn’t cheap, bastard, and if it’s torn, you can be assured of some bad luck coming your way.

The club was about to close and I sat around chilling out. And some one came up to me and said, ‘where you from?’.

‘Here.’ I replied.

‘I asked,’ he repeated, ‘where are you from?’.

‘ Huh? I said I’m from here!’

‘It’s a fucking simple question, you better give me a simple answer in return.’

“And I’m telling you the truth idiot. I’m from here! Singapore, here, how hard is that to understand?’

He then goes on to say some shit about how I’d better be careful because I was causing a lot of unhappiness. Oh? You know what this was a case of? It was of a huge guy, about twice my height and four times my weight in body mass, telling me to be careful. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, loser. And anyway, I’m not too worried. What really upset me was how people could be so mean. I’m a fucking customer, I buy my own drinks, I have all the right to do whatever I want. If I touched your ass, you must have given me the wrong impression to start of with. I used to be sorry, but all of you are so bitchy, you can go to hell.

I mean, these people are what’s wrong with the world. They are stupid, small-minded, and therefore inevitably, petty. It’s such a trifle, this shit. Will told me something a long time ago about me being a threat. A threat? What in the world to? Are they giving out the winning lottery numbers to the girl that gets the most attention every night? If people can’t even be nice upon the basis that they have nothing to be otherwise than nice about things, then tolerance is an impossible concept, for some. And because I’m such a drunkard, the more I though about it, the sadder I became, and I couldn’t stop crying. I’ve never cried so hard or felt so much horrid self-pity for myself before. Terry must have thought I was completely mad, but he’s always kind to me, thank god.

I called up Martine, and woke him up at about 4 a.m. He was all like, ‘You’ve been at Cayote again, haven’t you. Please stop getting wasted there, some of the men there are complete losers… blabla’. I eventually decided to go home. Firstly, my dress stank because it was one of those really pretty ones with loads of folds that have a way of getting into the gravy; and I eat like a mess. Secondly, because I have my period. And Mr. Big has told me how a woman leaking on his sheets would usually piss him off. I didn’t quite like that. A woman can’t help having her period after all. But I know it’s different when you’re really into a woman, and when she’s just a lay.

And there’s something even more peculiar about me having my period just at the same time Dee started hers. We’ve not been spending that much time around each other actually (shit, thinking about this reminds me of the magazine we want to get off the ground. I’m such a lazy, wasted fuck; really need to get some reading done and more writing squeezed in), but I’ve definitely been schmoozing with her a great deal. And my biological clock has somehow decided to synchronize itself with hers. I think she’s completely lovely, and one of the few sane women in the country. Too many of them are bitches who are all scheming and cobbling their own private agendas in order to get the most out of other people. What ever happened to doing something for the sake of love or lust or experience.

The Princess was talking to me about Martine… she only says things I already know (not that she hasn’t anything smart to say, but rather with relationships, there’s only so much you can say. There’s a lot more to it, certainly, but the rest simply cannot be put into words, that is all) but nonetheless, it shows she cares. She’d asked me about Ethan, and I was all like, ugh fuck. I’ll think about it when I have to think about it.

My dad’s asked me about him actually, because I’d made way too many long distance phone calls to the UK and to his cell-phone that my phone bill’s about several hundred dollars last month. But no matter. Martine’s actually asked me where I was going to study after I’ve left the country, and I’ve told him Wellington, probably something like graphic art, possibly sometime mid next year. He says he’d love to visit. To me, that’s completely odd. Guys (Ethan aside) don’t normally think about our relationship beyond a couple of months. Although the truth has proven to be otherwise, because I’m horrible at just letting people go. I’m not sticky, or demanding; just a little bit too much of the traditionalist sometimes. If a past relationship is worth the remembrance; for one night, why not.

He’s getting completely cheesy on me, but I love it. For so much of last night, all I dreamt about was me kissing him. And kissing, and kissing, and oh so sweet and soft and tender. Someone emailed me sometime back asking if I ever got tired of sleeping with new and newer guys. I now know the answer. It’s yes, when I find someone I really like, and someone I want to be completely consummated with. His and his alone. Yes.

xoxox