No Exit

This was Monday: No Exit

I don't know where to start really. I had a really um... enriching... weekend. Andrew had been convinced it had been throughly horrible for awhile back there... Sure, there were moments of ludicrous insanity and I do feel sick now after all the excesses, but it was definitely a throughly memorable "holiday". An off the rails adventure would be a more apt description though.

Saturday and Sunday were pretty cool, and it was awesome to be in the depravity that is Bangkok, but Monday really hit the spot.

At about 8 in the morning, while I was hitting on him again, despite the fact that I'd told myself never to do it again (and of course you always do), something happened and the tables turned. All of a sudden, it was as if a switch had flipped and he became determined that we should have sex and get it over and done with. I was up for it of course, but tbh it was not the way I planned for it to be. It's always a bad idea to try and compel someone into having sex with you especially if they say no and give very good reasons for why they don't want to/ can't do it.

Anyway, it had its moments, and I'm glad it happened because in a fucked up way, it's cleared some things up in my head. Things I already knew before (because he had told me) but it was one thing to know, and another to understand.

We had a chat about it later, and he mentioned that he was a little surprised at the way I reacted when he suddenly came onto me. I think I was a bit frightened when it happened actually, because I hadn't plan for it to, and definitely not in the way he went about it. He always warned me though, and I knew shouldn't have pushed the situation, but I did.

After that, Gia, a romantic interest of his from once upon a time, a documentary producer that had worked all over the world who was loud, forceful and a tad obnoxious turned up to help us film. He was slightly wary of the idea of leaving her alone with me, so he called the Fixer to come over as he had to go and deal with some other things.

I had no idea why he was worried about leaving Gia alone with me, but I found out soon later that once we started going down the rabbit hole, she wasn't all that easy to deal with. Mostly because she didn't stop talking, and there was no way to get her to do so. Not like it was a horrible thing, but after 6 hours of non-stop chatter, I was just about going crazy.

So it was just Gia, The Fixer and myself going down the hole in the hotel room, making a nuclear bomb size dent in the mini-bar and hearing Gia talk. At about 7 p.m. I realized we (Andrew and I) were pretty much fucked and there was no way we could get to the airport in time. I started panicking but Gia fixed it by postponing the flight (I didn't have a laptop, and had no flight details, and she had to get the concierge to do it).

I started getting anxious over Andrew, although I knew it was ridiculous, and just sat there at the end of the hole feeling unnecessarily paranoid and thinking about all the possible situations that could have happened to delay his return. And as usual, things got from bad to worse, and his phone died on him so he became completely un-contactable.

Then... it started poring. It was one of those electric, torrential, storms.

Eventually he turned up. He made it back to the hotel just before the storm started. I felt really bad for him.There was no way we were going to make the next plane, so we had to stay another night.

Both Gia and him got into an argument where I think she felt under-appreciated for her help in changing the tickets because he wanted to buy seats on a different airline to get back out that night itself, instead of the next morning. It was the first time I'd actually seen him seriously pissed off. But it had been a really stressful day and he didn't need any more shit flung at him. Anyway things calmed down shortly. But he kept on telling me how fucked up and depressing everything had become, and how horrible it all was.

At some point in the day, he'd even sent me a message that said  "I don't  know what it is about this city, but it always spits me out broken and sad at the end of a visit. I never leave feeling better than when I arrived."

Things just got more fucked, and by the end of the night, it was like something out of a bad movie. There were empty bottles of alcohol everywhere, broken glass on the balcony, spilled beer on the carpet, used tissues (nothing to do with sex or masturbation) strewn all over the place.

And at one point, something really strange happened.

Gia was talking non-stop at one end of the room, and Andrew was lying on the bed on the other end. Then he took out his iPhone and started playing "Humans" by the Killers on it. And he started dancing. Horizontally. On the bed. I'd seen him do it the night before and thought it was kind of weird and hilarious, but it was in a more private setting with just me and him so I suppose I found it more funny than weird. But this time, there were other people in the room. And Gia had this look of shock and reprehension on her face and the Fixer also had a "what the fuck" look about him, and I wasn't ready for it so it also took me by surprise.

At some point I contemplated joining him and jumping about on the bed, but 2 things prevented me from doing so. 1. We hadn't talked about the morning in any significant way yet, so there was this slightly uncomfortable thing, on my part, that was hovering between us. It wasn't a big thing and once we talked about it (after the other two went away) everything got back to usual. 2. The other two made me feel slightly uncomfortable, which I guess is lame because I'm always like, who gives a fuck right? Apparently I do more than he does.

Or, perhaps we all just have a different sense of humour from each other. Although I don't think that's totally true because I still can't stop laughing out loud thinking about the horizontal dancing on one end and the machine gun going off on the other.

I swear to god, that was the climax of the weekend. You can not begin to imagine how fucked up everything look. If you factor in the storm, it was epic.

Since the incident on Saturday where I basically passed out on the dance floor, I was kind of liking the insanity of the whole trip. And anyway, it was what I had expected. The moment he mentioned Bangkok, I knew it wasn't going to be a chilled out holiday. Anyway, you know how it goes, sometimes things go so bad they actually turn good. And if it's going to be a tragedy, might as well accept it and hang on for the ride and come out learning a little more about yourself and the people around you.

We eventually got back to Singers. I had a massive amount of alcohol on the way back to dampen the pain of leaving it all behind. I know it's ridiculous because I will definitely be back, and I've always wanted to leave and go live in Europe. But still, it's difficult to close a chapter in your life and move on not knowing what lies ahead.

Later that night I went over to his place to give him his birthday present and I started crying quite badly. I don't know what it is about me lately, but I've started becoming a lot more emotional than I was before. Maybe I always was, I just give in to it easily now (but I don't ever like to make a big deal out of it).

At the airport there was no time to get one last drink so we took photographs in the I-D booth instead, which was a funny way to say goodbye. And then I headed off for the worst plane ride ever. Because being thrown in a tin can hurtling at 500 mph through the troposphere after a totally nutcase weekend that jostled you harshly emotionally and physically isn't the best thing to do to your body. Not fun. And now my f-king flight has been delayed another 45 minutes. After being delayed 5 fucking hours.

City of Angels

Oh my god I'm so horny I could throw myself off the balcony into the Chao Phraya river, but I'll just jerk off to some lesbian porn instead. Bangkok is a wild city, and every girl is a kind of gay. Kind of. If you pay, they will alter their sexual orientation just for you. Or... you could just go for the older women, they hate most men. Andrew is an exception for them of course. Anyway, It was a great idea to come out here with him; one of the best holidays I've had with a guy. It's definitely different. To all the girls that were invited but didn't come. you missed out.

It was massively complicated and we had to change about 3 flights, but eventually we made it in time to have a glass of champagne at Terminal 2 before taking off. Not long after checking into the hotel, his on and off romantic interest Bunny turned up. She was cute, but I already knew that from the Facebook photos of her. She also turned out to be really sweet, fun, and surprisingly tolerant. Even when I was hitting on her hard. I don't remember any of it of course.

All I remember was having that one last shot of vodka at the ice-bar above Titanium bar and then waking up the next morning with Andrew beside me and Bunny on his other side. Later as we made it to Wat Bang Phra, everyone filled me on the details. So what had happened was that I had that last fatal shot and then had a second wave for a moment before practically passing out on the dace floor. Bunny and Andrew had to drag my sorry ass back to the Penn. Bunny was sitting in the back, and I was lying on her lap, and Andrew was in the front seat... and at at some point I started stroking her thighs, and she exclaimed, "Isabella! What are you doing!" Unfortunately I have no recollection of it. I also apparently showed my left boob to this pair of identical twins who were staying with the Fixer. (He offered me an 'identical twin sandwich' the night before we were supposed to fly off). I didn't get to speak to them much, but they seemed cool, and I'll probably be visiting them in Bologna. Along with the Fix of course.

On the way to Wat Bang Phra, everyone else filled me on the details I'd forgotten, and Andrew told me he didn't think I was a 'really lesbian' According to him, I just like the physical contact, and if my first choice was not up for grabs, I'd go for the next available person. Something like that. It's not entirely true though. I never replace people. If I have sex with someone, it's because I want to have sex with them. Maybe I used to do it when I was younger, but I don't do it anymore. I don't think it's fair. You shouldn't ever have sex with someone as a replacement. That's lame, and it doesn't do anyone any good. Anyway.... I he was right. I do love the physical contact, and I really dig the vibe between two people that are sexually attracted to each other. It's a wonderful thing. I love feeling it, and I'm sure they do too.

And I wasn't going to hit on Andrew because I knew their history, and it wouldn't have been nice, for me to have done so. Not all girls are as chilled out about this kinda thing like I am. Plus the thing that matters for me most is that everyone feels good about the situation. I know I went a bit too far, but I'm always gentle about these things, and I don't believe in compelling anyone to sleep with me, so it couldn't have been that bad. Plus, it was definitely preferable to the both of us hitting on him simultaneously. And I would never, ever want to make another girl feel jealous because of me. It's kinda ridiculous, because I appreciate it when guys choose me over another chick, but at the same time, I feel really bad for the girl. Because.. you know, he's a good catch, and now I've got him, and I'm happy about it, but some nice girl out there is sad about it and... you know, I won't mind sharing, as long as they share the same sentiment. Also, I've found that this works better with people. Sure there are some really lovely, non-cheating guys out there, but most of them are not programmed for monogamy  (and not like I am myself) and if you accept them for what they are, I realize they just come to you. A good friend is a lot harder to find then a lover.

We got the tattoos after much delay (over sleeping, me not being able to get my hands of Bunny, not that she did much to discourage it either). I promise really awesome photos. The tattooing wasn't as painful as I thought it would be. One day when I'm old and wrinkled, I'll have a great story for the grand-kids. Once upon a time, I went on a trip to Bangkok with this absolutely, utterly, charming man...

Oh I don't know. He's really lovely. I know the reason why he took me on this trip, but I don't really know the real reason, you know? At the end of the day, I think it all worked out for the best. I wasn't ready to say goodbye on Wednesday... and look at what's happened now! I've gotten a tattoo on his suggestion and it's the same one he's got! But I definitely won't be regretting it.

I know my life will carry on, and I'm not the least hung up on this affair, there will be other men, and a lot more awesome times in Europe(...there are all these lovely people I have to fuck!)but... he's special. He will always be. I wouldn't have gotten the tattoo otherwise. I've never known anyone with the kind of passion he has about love and life. He believes in things, you know? And I think, somehow, he's made me believe in those things too. I don't agree with his version of true love, and I think the world will always be fundamentally shit from a relative point of view, and tbh I don't really know what he thinks about these topics either, but I will ask him when he is revived.

Enough bullshit. It's too early in the day. I haven't slept. Fucking Kylie M. Woo hoo. Plus I had enough energy to give 3 bar girls a full body massage, but they didn't return with us. Damnit.

I'm not a pervert and other problems.

Hey guys. Things are all over the place. No worries, more updates soon once I've settled down nicely. A whole bunch of freaky shit is happening, and I'm concerned about my parents and what fragments remain of our relationship. It's been a very hard time for them, with my brother leaving, and now me, and my sister hell bent on leaving the country for uni as well. So... gonna lie low for a few more days until I can tell them everything is alright. But I promise I'll still be blogging, the entries will just allll be delayed....

In the meanwhile, please vote for my slogan on type tees: "I'm not a pervert, what I have is a deep, dark sensuality." Courtesy of Special K, who I was talking to this morning. He claims he's hornier than Picasso ever was after I said all artists were perverts in their own way, otherwise they couldn't be artists. :P

Off to Amsterdam Tonight.

The party lasted till 5 a.m. on the Spirit Roof. One glass was broken, Braveheart looped 3 times, Ash was prancing around and fighting with Feli in a kilt (it's heavy!), one of the chairs got broken, Tom gave MGM his blessing to have sex with me, again (If only it were that simple...)

The stars were gorgeous last night, unlike how they usually are in Sing, and at 4 in the morning, Charis sang a couple of songs for the few remaining people on board while we gazed into the night sky.

My parents have accepted me leaving. In fact, my dad actually told my mom a couple of days ago that he didn't think Singapore was a good place for the kids. Something to do with people's attitude towards how life should be lived.

I'm going to miss them; Tom, Phil and Andrew.

To Tom and Phil, I just want to say thank you so very, very much for taking care of me the last few years. My life would have been crap without you guys. You were both very decent to me. Phil, for being the dad I never had, and Tom for always being there,  accepting me for who I am and for never giving up on our friendship despite times where I've been a total childish bitch.

To Andrew... for being an amazing, exciting, charming and fundamentally romantic character in my life.

I always look forward to all my jaunts overseas, but this is possibly the first time where I feel I'm leaving something good because I have to, and not because I am trying to escape something.

Last Weekend in Sing.

I don't think my last weekend in Sing could have ended off in a better way. It was Seb's birthday on Friday and I went out to meet him. It was one of those really huge, out of control parties that had about 20-30 people (he's Spanish), half of whom preferred speaking a foreign language (French. Surprise, surprise), and no one I found particularly attractive enough to stick around to chat up (the music was too loud anyway, and I was too sober).

I gave up on it before midnight and headed down to a private bar with an okCupid meet up that had turned up at Seb's thing to say hi to me before I headed off to Holland. The place was empty except for a couple of guys I hadn't seen before. One of them, who introduced himself as Gabriel, was quite cute, so I decided to make myself a drink and stick around for a bit.

He started telling me this funky story about setting a fountain on fire by sneakily throwing in glassfuls of gasoline during a party over the course of the night, eventually lighting the thing up into a roaring fountain of flames. I've established that guys who play ridiculous, slightly dangerous pranks like that ( they usually involve explosives, over-specified motor vehicles, instigating dodgy locals in a foreign lands etc.) suit me well.

So I'm drinking my drink, thinking I'd really like to invite this guy back to my place, but not knowing how to go about it, yet. So I start insisting he get himself a drink. There was no one manning the bar at the time, so I start dicking around the back of it, suggesting all sorts of things he could have. Then I found a necklace coiled around a hook nailed into the bar and start fiddling with it. It wasn't a regular sort of necklace. It had multiple attachment points and could been hooked up in all sorts of different ways, and I started to get really into it (like... oooh look at that shiny thing... ).

Then Gabriel came around, fixed himself something, stood in front of me, took the thing from my hands and started attaching it around my neck. It was a fairly inconspicuous gesture at first (if I wasn't attracted to him it would have been, but this was not the case). But then he started playing around with it while it was on me and that was when the bells went off in my head and I thought, "Oh man this is cool. He's flirting with me. Woo hoo!" More often than not, most guys are completely retarded and don't know that you're interested until you're straddling them half naked.

So he's fiddling around with this thing, and I'm sitting on the high stool and leaning towards him, and he carries on playing with the clasp at the back of my neck, giving me more of an excuse to lean in towards him; before long he was stroking my back and my hand was on his waist, and I could feel the other guy in the bar actively ignoring us... and I knew that now was the time to extend my invitation... So I did, and we left back for the G-HQ.

All this while I'm thinking, "Man, this is awesome. I had been planning for a pretty lame night alone, but look what happened!" :-D

So back at the G-HQ, we had a couple of shots of tequila, get onto my bed, and started making out. I felt really comfortable with him. More than usual. That he was really fit and had nice abs certainly helped. But mostly it was just me feeling comfortable about myself around him.

We're rolling around, and I've gotten all my clothes off, and I've taken his shirt and trousers off too, so he's almost there... And then I ask him if he's got anything kinky thing he likes. And he smiles and goes, "hmm..."

Now my hands are on his pants, and I start pulling them off, and when they finally come off, I'm like, "Oh my fuck god no way. This is amazing. Oh my god, this is such an awesome night, like I mean, you're awesome but this totally made my week. What the fuck, what's it called? A Prince Albert?"

"It's a reverse P.A." He told me.

"Man! This is extreme. I wouldn't have guessed."

"It's partly why I got it." He said. 

I won't go on into more detail because I couldn't remember much from that night after the revelation, except how it felt, and how it felt was mind-blowing. I mean, not just because he had that: he would have been amazing anyway, but that little addition certainly had a positive multiplier effect.

Then, it proceeded to rain all weekend, which gave us a great excuse to stay in bed. We talked, and fucked, and read a bit of Dorothy Parker, and fucked some more and he narrated a couple of stories from this book by Sebastian Faulks for me.

And for some reason, throughout the weekend, I kept on thinking that there is a cosmic will out there that's going to make everything alright.

2 Vaginas, free-sized condoms and lost pants.

The dinner was great. I managed to convince the Fixer and the other dinner guest that I had two vaginas. And that I even have a website all about it: 2vaginas.com (It's just a collection of my animations ATM.) At some point, MGM got a tad bit pissed off. Being a social retard, I couldn't really figure out what it was about until later. So he went home. I called Luna and the Bit up and they said they were hanging out at the Dojo, so Fix and I went and met them. Apparently The Fixer likes Luna! Surprise, surprise... We drank more, and I became increasing obnoxious as the night wore on. It felt like I started talking, and didn't stop. Someone mentioned it. When I get drunk, I become deaf and find it difficult to listen to people. I don't like it, really.

Eventually everyone packed up and we went back to MGM's. He was fast asleep and had locked the door to ensure no further disturbances from hobos without a job. There was nothing else to do and we were really pissed, so we started making out. I swear to god, I hadn't made out with an Asian guy in what...5 years? So you see, it's not that I'm against it, its just that most of them have crap attitudes and are massively boring. Plus, I'm just  not hanging around Asian guys, so the chances of it happening were almost 0 until two weekends ago.

Anyway I suggested going into the guestroom to look for condoms. There were none, and you know, having sex with the friend of the guy I want wasn't something I was hell bent on doing TBH. I mean, if it happened then alright, some fun, no harm done etc. But I felt like I wouldn't want to go through any great length to do it, and I think he kinda felt a little bit weird about it too. So we didn't. I don't know whether that was a good or bad thing, or if it was even possible anyway because the moment I crashed on the bed, I passed out. It's that bed in the guest room man... he's done something to it. I'll never be able to have sex on it, it's jinxed to make me pass out the moment I lie down.

The next morning, the Fixer got up at 07:30. He realized I wasn't full asleep so he started talking to me.

Him:"What the fuck happened? Why don't I have any pants on?.
Me (seriously laughing my ass off): "Fuck knows. Maybe it was because we tried to have sex but couldn't and then we passed out?"

We rolled around in bed and tried to surf the net on his iPhone and talked shit until at some point he decided he had to get up to finish his laundry and went outside. I followed him and lolled about on the couch trying to read the New Yorker and while watching Amazing Race videos on YouTube.

MGM finally emerged.

MGM: "So what happened last night? Did you guys have sex?"
Me: "What the fuck? No."
Fixer: "Nah."
MGM: "Why not? What's wrong with you."
Fixer: "We didn't have any condoms."
MGM: "You could have come and asked me."
Me: "Naaaaaaah......... Seriously."
MGM: "No you could have!"
(pause)
MGM: "They might not fit though."
Fixer: "That's what HE says, the dog."

Singapore Escorts

That was a fun Thursday night. The Fixer and I went for a 10k run, and he says I kicked his ass at it. I don't think I ever did that route in under 50 minutes, but this time I think it must have been around 45. I never ran it so fast. By the time we got back to MGM's, I was dripping wet and hot and shirtless and in a really good mood. The boys were impressed ;-)

Later on, while we were waiting for dinner to happen, I went on MGM's mac and was greeted with his "top sites". Anyway apparently someone had been dicking around on it, so there were escort sites plastered all over the place. Well okay, there were only two, and one was "Gaystar Services". It's a all a big mystery, MGM has no idea where that one came from, although I have my suspicions on Lady M. (Or the other one. You know... the other one... whichever one that isn't me...) Anyway we started talking about escort websites and I realized I still haven't found Avi's. 

I'd Googled "Singapore Escorts" several times before, but never managed to find any site that looked remotely like anything that would be his. Most site out there are fucking lame, look cheap and have terrible descriptions of the women, all written in bad English. The last time I tried to do this was in 2008, and I guess it wasn't on the top 4 hits then. I also thought maybe guys that want high class escorts would Google for something else, so I got MGM to do it. I know it sounds like of lame (just type in the words that mean what they mean!), but seriously, there's a ton of bullshit out there, so I thought that surely a guy must know something I don't (in this situation) if he is to find the woman of his dreams for the right price.

We found it. It's now the top hit, and I know it's Avi's because it's just looks good. But in order to confirm it, I had to find myself on it. And guess what! I did!

Singapore Escorts

This is the lovely description of me:

Octavia has wonderfully cute, pixie-like facial features, and a body crafted with equal attention to healthy tone and feminine grace. She reads voraciously, and will surprise you with knowledge and insight in many subjects spanning art and science. In fact, nothing turns her on more than a man with a brain...

There was no doubt about it. Also, I don't know many other chicks who would call themselves Octavia. Back in '07 when I registered myself with some stupid escort agency, the guy told me I couldn't use Octavia because no guys would get it. So I settled for Sophie instead. Borrrring. But he had a lame ass agency, Avi's agency is cool. It also pays a lot.

MGM: "My god, you cost $6000 a night?"
Me (throwing my head back and speaking with a fake ass French accent): "Now you know how much men would pay to sleep with me!"'
MGM: "I know! What kind of guy has that kind of money to blow on sex? What the fuck. I can't afford you."
Me: "You know you can get it for free!"
MGM: "I know! I'm missing an opportunity here, think of all the money I could be saving!"
The Fixer: "Hey let's call the guy! I want to order Octavia."
Me: "Oh god no... don't piss Avi off, he's probably busy being a nerd right now, writing programs to save the world or some shit like that."
The Fixer: "Saving bourgeoisie Singaporean girls from material poverty..."

Anyway don't call for me if you're tempted to. I'm on the site because I was a plausible candidate in pre-GFC days when there were more customers then women, and he was a bit desperate for girls. I messaged him last night and told him he could leave me on the site because I think it's cool and I like being on it. Especially if I cost that much.

St. Patrick's Day.

Sam came by the Dojo last night. It's been awhile since we caught up with her, she's one of those interesting, left of center girls (like all my girlfriends really) I find worth staying in touch with. Plus, she's an artist. Like, a real one. I don't think of myself as an artist. I'd never go out and do something completely crazy for a sustained period of time. The difference between some crazy activity being art and some crazy activity simply being simply some stupid thing you do is how well you plan it and how often you repeat it IMHO.

So, Sam's now training to be a pole dancer. Her big idea is to go to Tokyo and NY and pole dance in those places and get some guy to photograph her. With the money she gets in tips from pole dancing in gentleman's clubs, she'd then go and reinvest that money in a host club, so she can photograph the boys who work there. John later asked her if pole dancers got to wear clothing.

Sam: "Of course they wear clothing, it's necessary for protection".
John: "Protection for the dancer or the pole?"

At some point I started bitching about losing $50 bucks at BluJazz a few days ago, and this guy who was just sitting around, whom I didn't know, suddenly said maybe it's in my stomach. Maybe I'd somehow eaten the money.

Me: "What the fuck? It's not like I was working at some kind of fetish bar where the guys stuff the money into my throat instead of my underpants."

I noted the look of horror on his face. I suppose it was kind of rude, and he must have been wondering what kind of freak I was, but hey, Sam started all that talk about pole dancing and tipping and shit.

Then we saw Erlend Øye from Kings of Convenience outside this stupid Seesha bar and we tried to say hi, but we were all kind of lame, and he looked a bit unfriendly (it's the Viking thing, they all look a bit unfriendly on first sight) so we didn't hang around. I could kick myself for not touching his nose. I should have touched his nose and gone off about the whole "From where I come from, if you touch a big nose, it brings good luck in the fertility department". FUUUUCK! I fucking hate it when I see a guy I want to talk to and then don't, you know? You should always try and talk to someone you want to talk to, because the worst that could happen is he tells you to piss off, and, big fucking deal about that, really. And, maybe I would have gotten laid last night if I'd touch his nose.

Back to the MGM saga. I went over for a couple of drinks, or four, and he told me about his epic weekend, which is more epic than you can imagine, and clarified one thing which we all got wrong: The thing he was watching with Lady M. when he greeted us (The fixer, Ash and me) in the wee hours of Saturday morning. It wasn't lesbian porn, it was House. What the fuck! 

Dinner at Nicolas.

The Fixer invited me for dinner last night. I had a perfectly regular evening planned with Flo (gym, movie, shag), when I got a message from Fix asking if I was free for dinner. I wasn't, but I figured dinner with him would be a lot more amusing than the night I'd planned (because I had planned it I knew what was going to happen, so that's not very exciting now, is it).

It turned out that the chef at Nicolas had given him a +1 invitation to his restaurant. There was no menu, we just sat at the bar and ate whatever he made us. The food was stunning. Seriously. Oh man. I'm not a foodie, but this was probably one of the best meals I've ever had in Sing. It was one of those places that served tiny portions of each course, where every little detail is well thought out. Everything was just perfect. And I had pigeon. I didn't know it was red. I thought it'd be white, like a chicken. But it's meat is actually red. 

We talked about food, MGM and other assorted topics. At some point, MGM sent me a message along the lines of, "You should have told me how you felt, I didn't realize. Sometimes I go off on my own solitary adventures and ignore my friends. It's not cool, but I'm like that. You can ask Mr. Fix it. We can talk about this anytime."

I show the message to the Fixer and he told me, "Yeah, he's like that. I thought you knew him better. I got used to it after knowing him for several years." 

I told him I knew it, but I didn't really know it, you know? I guess I expected it, but just didn't deal with it as well as I should have. Plus, the fact that I get insecure about the value of my company when people start ignoring me didn't help. I just felt like maybe I was starting to impose on him, and that was why he was behaving like that all weekend. He's usually a very lovely person to everyone around him, until when he's not. I guess that would be confusing unless you were used to it.

We had a little conversation with the chef before they shut the place down. Turns out that he was born in the Congo. The one that was formerly known as Zaire. We talked about Africa for awhile. I always love talking about Africa. You can talk forever about it because it's so beautiful and so full of horror simultaneously. It was also one of the most rewarding holidays I've ever been taken on, my only regret was that I wasn't as mature enough then to fully appreciate it, and the wonderful person that took me. <3

The Fixer and I then planned to have drinks on Ann Siang hill, but as the cab passed The Scarlett, I told the driver to stop and let us out. I hadn't been to that place for ages and ages. The last time I was there was probably to get some fetish photos done, a long, long time ago.  

Tom was around the area so I told him to come and meet us. I figured he would get along well with the Fixer, and I was right. Later on, I insisted we go back to his place, because his place was cool, and he has a really good bar and knows how to make drinks properly. Not to mention the really good collection of single malt whiskies. The whole time we were there, the Fixer was constantly checking out his library. (I made him browse through Lost Girls. You can read the post I wrote about it a month back here. Tom's not very pleased that the Godel, Escher, Bach just missed the shot by a few inches to the left).

Honestly, his flat is like a candy shop for cool nerds. When I grow up I want to have a flat just like that, but with a cleaner bathroom.

Call the Unwind Protect!

From how I see it, the thing between MGM and me has managed to bungle itself up into a sub-optimal state where I'm wishing I could take back what I said and felt and have things as they were. Which is kind of fucking retarded, because I don't really, it was good they happened, and I had fun. But I want things to stop being weird. If I knew it was going to be such a big deal, I supposed I wouldn't have tried. (But that's bullshit of course, it was not like I had a choice in who I end up having feelings for).

Okay, anyway it's time to call the unwind protect. I hate rationalizing things and thinking about every little incident that has happened (as amusing as some of them may be). It's pointless and I can't assume what he thinks (for all I know he could be thinking nothing of it).

On a lighter note, just about all my close friends know that we haven't shacked up, and they've given me 2.5 different answers.  

Girls: "Just forget it, you're leaving soon anyway."
Guys: "You've got a few days left."
The Fixer: "You've got a few days left, I can help you."

It's a small sample size, but the gender divide in the answers is still kind of amusing, don't you think.

All that emo-BS aside, over the weekend, I somehow managed to persuade a completely sober Luna to come over for a threesome, which ended up being more of a two and a half-some, but as if we really cared about the technicalities.

I woke up after the whole crazy deal with MGM and Ash naked under the Burqa in my bed with the Fixer kind of asleep beside me (you know one of those sleeps where you've drunk too much and you're constantly re-surfacing to consciousness before falling back just under the surface of sleep). We we both flopping about trying to sleep and not succeeding, and I think he eventually gave up and started conversation. He started talking about this restaurant he wants to open (more like a up-market super chic cafeteria, I'm thinking in the same tier as a place like Vapiano) and about chilies and lemongrass, and hot waiting staff and yummy drinks etc.

At some point I thought it would be an awesome idea to have a Crimson Tide (Bloody Mary variation) at 10 in the morning in bed, so I offered, and to my delight he was totally into the idea. From my experience, there are more people that don't like a Crimson Tide than people that do, so when they do, you know you've got a keeper ;o).

So we were drinking all day, and at some point, I booty called Justin, who is this Swedish guy Luna and I both knew from a couple of months back. I had shacked up with him previously, and had just found out a week or so ago that Luna had, as well.

At around midnight, Justin sent me a bunch of texts while I was hanging out with Luna and friends and she got curious and asked me what was going on. I told her I was trying to organize a booty call. Eventually, she asked me who it was, and I told her.

Her: "Oh... Alright."
Me: "Yeah... ... ... Do you want to join?"
Her: "Oh nah, I'll pass."
Me: "Come on, it'll be fun."
Her: "If you can get me to feel less sober..."
Me: "Sure."
Her: "Oh nah... I'll pass, you guys have fun."
Me: "Come on!"
Her: "Oh... I'm going to be here for a bit. If I don't feel tired, I'll drop by."
Me: "It's all cool. We're not like crazy about each other or something. We'd probably be sitting on the couch drinking and talking shit for ages, so I promise it'll be safe. Just come."

So I went back, and Justin and I did indeed sit on the couch and talk shit for ages (even if it's a booty call, it's not in my nature to just get right into it). Luna then ended up turning up at around 2 in the morning and we all had one more damn drink before someone made the first move, they started kissing and we took it to my room (to save the carpet).

I asked them after it was all over if they wanted to watch a portion of Shortbus. Luna had to leave, but Justin stuck around, and he loved it. And that was that.

Shut Out.

A rather epic weekend if I may say so myself, but not like I would have expected otherwise. MGM introduced me to a friend of his from the wild and seedy side of Bangkok (as if there were another side) who was brought here as a fixer. The company he's doing consulting for had their birthday bash on Friday, so we were all invited. It was a bit wet TBH, and the pole dancers weren't all that fit, but what the fuck, in this town of fuck all interesting things to do excluding getting toasted on the Spirit Roof and rolling around on my bed, it was at least something.

Ash and another girl turned up as the party was going flat and we all drunk one too many jugs of margaritas. Then MGM took his leave, because he had a rain check to keep with this other chick called Lily M (otherwise known as Lady Macbeth). who absolutely refuses to see other girls and most other men in MGM's company. So he left, which made me a little bit upset, and I expressed it by punching him in the shoulder. He didn't find it amusing, unfortunately.

Ash and I got drunker with the Fixer and eventually we all decided we'd march down to MGM's apartment and invade his privacy. I kept on telling them that there was no way in hell he'd let us in, and definitely not Ash and myself - It was almost 3 a.m., Lily M. ruled all. Only males were allowed. And even then.

The Fixer didn't agree. The plot was to barge in and steal the fun and head right up to the Spirit Roof leaving the master and mistress down below to engage in whatever deal they had between them. The plot failed. Tragically. MGM greeted us at the door. We were assaulted by intense audio-pornographic-stimulation. He said hi, asserted the fact that Lily M. was there, and shut the door.

I told them so.

We went back to the G-HQ and put on Chatroulette because at this point in the night, there was nothing else to do but to drink ourselves to death and contribute to the population of perverts crawling the site. Ash asked me if it was cool if she wore only MGM's burka. I said she could do whatever she wanted and went to make drinks for all. When I came out, she was naked under MGM's burka, which was a nice surprise. There's something about Burkas when they get into the hands of non-muslims. It's like the Catholic Schoolgirl uniform, we just want to take it to its logical conclusion.

We went on Chatrt. I was impressed with Ash, she's got a tongue so sharp it could slice you dick off if you weren't man enough. And Ash naked, under a Burka... that was some freaky awesome shit.

We dicked around for ages. The Fixer stayed in the background, mostly, because co-ed groups of naked people often get next-ed while a pair of Asian lesbians usually get a lot of attention.

Eventually Ash left because she got lucky and the Fixer and I passed out on my bed. We woke up the next morning and the third thing he said to me was that he's not going to even try to hit on me because I wanted his friend. Fair enough. We chatted for awhile (I was still drunk) and at about 10 I suggested a Bloody Mary. Only it wasn't a Bloody Mary, it was a Crimson Tide, made with gin and clamato.

And that was the morning, and the rest of the day.

Late Last Night on Chatroulette.

Hi Stranger!

Because I'm too fucked today to actually say something.

On Techno-Nazis and Male Whores.

I met Avi last night. I don't see him that often, mostly because he had a girlfriend and also because he lived way out in the 'heartlands'. It's a pity really. He's an awesome person, which was something he told me back in '07 in a bout of frustration while I was obsessing over another guy. Who turned out to be not all that amazing once the high we were living in wore off.

We have a bit of a history, and he's changed a lot. I think he's got a lot sweeter after he left that position in Citi. I think it's something in the I-B environment that turns perfectly decent people into impatient, disgruntled, and generally pissed off individuals. We had a shared interest in ultra geeky, techno- nazi shit. Like, you know, trans-humanism, time travel and other such wonderful fictions you can read about in Dresden Codak.

I remember having this strange conversation with him about how sex and love and in general all human emotion detracts from some kind of ultimate purpose in life. To be honest I have no idea what I thought that would be at that time, and of course I no longer agree with that stand. But I was young and stupid and into all that techno-nazi shit, and I also hated feeling love because at that time it was, for me, this traumatizing, painful thing that I felt contributed nothing to my personal growth (so I thought). It was a bit of a ridiculous situation; can you imagine two people that like each other to agree on how Love actually Sucks?

All that's in the past. I met him a few weeks ago and made the big apology for being a total bitch back in '07. Basically being very nice when I was with him but putting the knife in and twisting it every time I wasn't there. I told him he was right when he said he was awesome (for me) after I declared I was in love with someone else. It doesn't really matter now, but when I look back at the whole thing objectively, he was right.

Those days of stepping on guys that fall in love with me are over. I've finally gotten over the daddy issues, you know the one where a girl thinks all men are trying to put her in a cage  (just like daddy) and when she eventually gets out, she's stepping on their hearts like she wipes her heels on rugs because she doesn't have a sense of how other people feel. Barna called it The World Revolves Around Her Pussy syndrome, which I guess I kind of agree with. Just, you know, childish, selfish little girls learning how to become better women. It's a stage.

He's not the techno-nazi he once was, which is great. Because neither am I any longer. But he still does pretty weird shit, like catalog his daily habits to "optimize performance". How many hours slept, how many cups of coffee drank, how many hours at the gym, which ADD drug is better, etc. I was telling him it would be good enough for me to just stop drinking. Which I tried to do in February, and failed.

Ever since the economy tanked, he's been working in a small company designing some data visualization software for a mega project in Switzerland. I think it's really cool what he's doing, much better than working for some stupid bank.

But he's also doing this really weird thing where he runs an agency for sugar daddies and sugar babes. I know it sounds totally off tangent from everything else he does, but he started it just to see if he could do it, and it took off. We don't talk about if very much because of some weird shit that happened in the past where I actually (being stupid enough) imagined that I could be an escort. I'm beautiful and intelligent, but seriously, me? In the service industry? I get solicitations all the fucking time and I just tell them I'd fuck guys up the ass if they paid me a grand a minute.

I asked him about it last night and he laughed and said it was going well, and they he gets about an applicant a day. However, the funny thing was half of the applicants were Indian men. (BTW I am NOT racist). 

Me: What the fuck? Indian men? That doesn't make sense.
Him: I shit you not. (takes out iPhone, shows me photo of fat Indian guy in red underpants)
Me: What??? Oh god. That's terrible.
Him: Yeah. They send in applications saying they'd like to be paid thousands of dollars to fuck these girls (referring to girls on the agency).

Talk about weird shit.

Chatroulette.

I finally bit the button and went on Chatroulette. I love a little bit of randomness in my life, so it was definitely a thing I always wanted to do, but the thought of immediately being confronted with a total stranger online, which I then felt I had to entertain, isn't usually something I'm up for. It just felt like it was going to be somewhat of an effort, which it was.

Like most fun things in life, Chatroulette is fun because it’s retarded. I'm convinced that in order for it to be enjoyable, I have to be both drunk and high. Think about it as the world's sleaziest club for people that can't be bothered to move their asses from their bedrooms, but want the contact high with strangers. Or for those of us that start on a Friday night and don't stop till Monday morning, unfortunate enough to be in a city where the clubs actually close on weekends, and all our friends are out of town.

I was nonplussed about it initially. As a girl surfing the site alone on her couch, I got a lot of the usual "take your tits out". I've asked a few guys about this, and apparently the success rate is pretty bad. But you can't knock a guy for trying really. Initially, I was against the idea. I love taking my tits out in a multitude of disparate circumstances, but taking them out for a random stranger on the internet isn't one of them. The act didn't seem like one that would turn me on, or something that was novel enough for me to want to do it. There are more than enough tits on the internet already. 

However, I managed to find myself getting sucked into doing it after being on the site for a about an hour. Once I got relaxed to the idea of coming face to face with a barrage of perfectly random strangers, it became pretty easy for me to do weird shit, and for me to persuade other people to do weird shit too. But it wasn’t as if the men on the other side of the camera (because most girls hit ‘next’ when they got me) were strongly resistant to being persuade into dancing naked for me.

The site really is like a pared down microcosm for social interaction among strangers, where the main goal of the game is to persuade the person on the other side to stay with you for a bit, so you can have your fun with them.

Most of it is pretty boring. It’s just guys with their dicks in their hands waiting for a chick to talk dirty to them, or young kids fooling around after school. If I were to come up with some kind of taxonomic evaluation, I’d say there were predominantly three classes of individuals on the site. 1. Guys, and sometimes, girls, that want you to watch them do sexual things. 2. Friends that are just having fun 3. People that are trying to freak you out.

At some point, I managed to borrow MGM's Burka to play Chatroulette with. I wore it with nothing underneath and went online. My strategy was to play hardcore trance music in the background and hit next until I found someone with a suitably shocked expression on his face the moment he saw me. I’d then get up, lift the Burka slightly, and start to dance. Some of the reactions I got were priceless. Most of them just sat there with a shell-shocked expression on their faces, some however, did get up to dance with me. I must say I thought it was pretty damn weird myself.   

As if through some intervention of the Cosmic Will, I also started meeting other seriously weird people after that. First, there were the guys in the gorilla suits dancing to R and B, then there was the couple going at it doggy style while calling each other “rattlesnake” and “panda” (Honestly, what were they on!), and after, there was this dude pretending to pray with a set of rosary beads in his hands and a stuffed toy in the form of an octopus on his head. To be honest I was a little bit freaked out by some of it, but I really loved it nonetheless. I appreciate the effort some people take to fuck with other people’s heads.

Other things you could do on the site would be talking dirty to people you wouldn’t normally speak to, like really old men and 16 year old teenagers. Also, if your idea of entertainment swings towards the macabre, you can do horrible things like import gruesome stills of murder and suicide in place of the live feed from your web-cam and freak out people that don’t know any better. The possibilities are endless. Chatroulette is one hell of a chat room where the detritus of human boredom and insanity collect into one big virtual orgiastic affair of random bullshit and masturbation. I like it a lot. Possibly more than I would care to admit.

Dark Plots of Byzantine Complexity

So what really happened, according to MGM:

My sources tell me that your suspicions ran even deeper. Apparently, you thought that MGM was still planning to sleep in his own bed but deliberately removed the sheets in a Machiavellian bid to deter you from joining him. A source directly connected to the whole incident passed me this insider account:

The place: MGM Mansions, Singapore
The time: Late in the evening

[As the curtain rises, MGM is zipping around tidying up his apartment, emptying the washing machine, folding clothes and doing various other tedious chores. IC has been silently shadowing him for several minutes, never allowing him to leave her sight, with a knowing smirk as if she is well aware of exactly what he is up to and if he thinks she is that easily fooled, he is in for a shock.]

IC: I'm tired! I'm going to bed.
[This is the 4th time she has said this. Yet she is still here, shadowing MGM]
MGM: OK. Me too.

[MGM takes IC's hand and they go to the spare bedroom. IC narrows her eyes suspiciously.]

IC: But I don't want to sleep in the spare room! Why can't we sleep on your bed!
MGM: Because there are no sheets on that bed. I'm going to join you in a minute, don't worry.

[IC says nothing but her eyes narrow even further and she marches to MGM's master bedroom. MGM follows.]

IC: Well, it looks fine to me.
MGM. Hold on a minute.

 
[MGM turns on the light, so it is no longer pitch dark in the room. On the bed is a bare mattress.]

MGM [Indicating the mattress]: You see?
IC: Well, I don't care! I'm still going to sleep here.
[She peers at MGM with a defiant look of triumph on her face. She seems to be thinking 'Aha! Checkmate! Let's see you get out of this one, you slippery mofo.'

MGM [Perplexed]: Oh... Well, umm... OK. But, you know that I am going to be sleeping in the spare room, right?
IC [Quietly]: Oh.

[MGM goes for a quick shower. IC heads for guest bedroom. MGM exits shower and goes to guest bedroom. There is no sign of IC. But the duvet appears to be tightly wound up like a cocoon around some small sleeping body beneath.]

MGM: Umm. Hello... You awake? Hello...?

{Silence. Somewhere far away, a wolf howls at the moon. Curtain falls.]

I'd Like a Sheet on da Bed.

His iPhone screamed and I woke up with a start this morning in an unfamiliar bed. It took me awhile to realize I was in MGM's spare bed, that he was beside me, and that I was probably still drunk. He told me I passed out last night the moment I hit the bed.

According to him, I get suspicious when I get drunk. Which I guess is kinda true. Thanks to this deep, piercing stroke of insight, I can now label myself a special kind of drunk. :-O

Me: "Suspicious? Why do you say that?"
Him: "It's like the last time you found me passed out and tried to wake me up and told me to stop pretending I was asleep, and I wasn't pretending. You did it again last night."
Me: "I did?"
Him: "Yeah. After proclaiming you were going to sleep, you followed me around the flat while I was dealing with some stuff to make sure I wasn't going to leave you alone in that bed. Like I was plotting some kind of conspiracy to not have sex with you."

Then, it all came back to me. I don't take this kinda thing seriously, and he doesn't either, so it was possible for me to find it all rather funny. I mean, on the one hand, it's not all that funny because I missed my chance for awesome mind-blowing sex because I passed out, but hey, I like leaving things up to the whim of the Cosmic Will.

I'd finished Dungeons and Dragons with Phil, SF Mike, Indy etc. and was still totally within the world when MGM called to ask if I was coming over. Of course I was, but before I went, I had to actively tell myself to control all these hot pent-up feelings I had inside to make sure I didn't assault him when I got there.

As the night wore on though, the ability to control this factor started slipping and by the end I had staked my claim on his bed and was demanding (in all possible combination of cute and hot ) that he share it with me.

I remember him leading me to the spare room and me saying, "But I don't want to sleep in the spare room! Why can't we sleep on your bed!"

Him: "Because there are no sheets on that bed! I'm going to join you in a minute, don't worry."
Me: (marching to his bedroom with him): "No sheets?"
Him: (Gesturing at bed): "See I told you, it hasn't got any sheets on."
Me (Observing that the bed was indeed naked): "Oh alright. The other one then."

After that, I fell into a coma, and woke up, still drunk and in my underpants when his iPhone screamed at 9 in the morning. Despite all that, I was still feeling pre-tty good.

A Dish Best Served Intimate.

I've just discovered Marina Abramovic. Apparently she's the grandmother of performance art. MOMA is doing a retrospective of her work, and The New Yorker has a video slideshow on her work.

My previous attitude towards performance art was that it was bullshit. Most of the time. Sometimes it can be great fun, but I think most of it is mostly nonsense. I think if you took some of the strange shit they do in Angsbacka, which is this tree-hugging hippie commune three miles north of Molkom in Sweden, and put it in a gallery, it could count as performance art. Not all of the shit, but some of it, like the tantric sex thing they do at the end could well count as an art piece, with a few modifications.

But Marina Abramovic's work is compelling, quite unlike other stuff I've seen/experienced so far. Mind you the only performance art I've ever experienced in real life was my own, and I'm just a crazy chick with friends that make that sort of art, and I did most of it drunk, so you can't possibly expect a very favorable review from me of the whole affair.

Her stuff however looks pretty painful. It's how performance art should be I feel. Personal, intimate, and genuine. I really like the one where she gets gallery viewers to use, on her body. a bunch of tools placed beside her. It's almost like being invited to take part in a psychological experiment. The one about the two naked people standing on either side of a narrow doorway so people had to squeeze through them is also pretty neat. It'll be sensational if they brought the work here to Singapore and allowed everyone, including children to participate.

Anyway, I will leave you with this photo. 

I think the best sort of performance art is the one you do for yourself in an intimate setting. It's a pity you can't see my back in it, but he had, while both of is were in an addled haze, talking at 100 wpm, drawn an entire map of some fictional land of wonder on my back.

Have you heard of the Museum Of Broken Hearts? It is a traveling gallery of photographs where people send the one photo that defined a relationship that meant a lot to them but is now no longer. I wish I hadn't lost it, but an ex left a bizarre photo of him tied up to the bookshelf in his girlfriend's red thong. With a jar of Nutella beside his face. With a dildo in it. 



More to come....

One Fine Day in Singapore.

Remember the time I mentioned painting myself completely blue  before taking  a walk down Orchard Road? I've finally uploaded the video. Enjoy!

Turning 24.

Oh my god... last night was so awesome. Most of my favourite people were there, Charis wrote me a song, I got a hat from Sara (I don't know where I've left it now), far too much champagne from MGM and Tom's going to take me shopping this weekend for something useful.

It was nice to finally get to introduce the guys to each other. I'm not particularly aware of the minefields of introducing Scots to the English and vice versa, but it turned out quite alright, I'd say. Small world too, apparently they're both somehow vaguely connected back in Cambridge.

I absolutely (heart) them both. Such lovely, intelligent, charming guys. They're kind and gentle and they take such good care of me. And Phillip too. My life would be utterly lame without these amazing people.

I feel so anxious and so overwhelmed right now. Maybe it's because I'm leaving, and I really don't know what is going to happen.


Oh I don't know.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yay! I've done almost nothing all day! Went out for drinks with MGM last night and his crazy writer friend from BK/I-S Mag. I got two presents that were "not new, but carefully selected" and a kiss :-D I've decided to have the party outside YY and Sara's studio-space thing around Arab Street. It's going to be great.

And... guess what? Just to prove how much a geek I am (not that this really needs any more reinforcing) I share the same birthday as the world's sexiest scientist. Dr. Brian Cox. He's really sexy, and he rocks.  I can watch You Tube videos of him all day talking about the Universe. I'm already quite well acquainted with most of the content in his documentaries, but just watching him talk is quite something. He speak about everything with this perpetual dreamy wonder in his eyes.

His new series Wonders Of The Solar System begins on BBC Two on Sunday March 7th at 9pm.

To Experience Maximum Effects.

At 6 pm. I felt everything coalescing into a big cosmic ball inside me. I closed my eyes and the world started to roll. I felt like everything was connected, and I felt good. The world was spinning and the light that was reflected off all shiny surfaces seemed to me to be far too bright. I had lie down and close my eyes. Which only made me feel even more awesome.

Concerta usually never makes me feel like that, but I think a combination of having my imagination ramped from writing fiction, pleasant feelings directed at MGM, my impending move to Holland, and a history of spiritual short-circuitry reacted with the pills, and for about an hour in the middle of the day I broke down. It's some good shit. To experience its maximum effects, dissolve in olive oil and eat with bread. Which I never do, of course. 

It got too much though, and I went for a run to calm myself down. Running on amphetamines is sub-optimal, but for me it does work if I need to get out of feeling fucked.

Those pills are strange. I feel good on them, my brain is super-focused and I'm suddenly a lot more creative. For about 2 hours in the middle of the day, I get on a roll and it's just awesome. But the come down can be quite a bitch. Nothing a long run and copious amount of alcohol can't solve though.

During the trip, I had an epiphany. It had to do with my long and diverse history of falling in love and fucking married men. It's kinda freaky, but I'd say about half of the men I took somewhat seriously (which is not saying much) were married. My ex was married, funnily enough, for the whole 2.5 years we were together. Then I went to a nerdy conference in San Diego and thought I fell in love with another married dude I met there, which started the break-up. But of course the whole relationship had been falling apart for 6 months prior to that anyway. And of course at that point I had decided to fall in love exclusively with men with a mid-life crisis, so the chances of them being married, separated or going through a divorce was quite likely.

I think most people in marriages are living in some kind of lie. I think everyone is living in some kind of lie anyway, but most of the time it does not include being in cramped emotional quarters with someone else. The thought it just terrible. Relationships make me feel claustrophobic. I love them, and I love falling in love, but I think the claustrophobia wins out in the end, and I prefer to stay away from anything getting too serious. But really, you can't control this shit. You fall in love because the sex is great, your partner is charming, and before you know it, you're seeing each other everyday so you might was well move in together.


It's bleak really. The odds are stacked against you. About 50% of marriages in the developed world fall apart and end in divorce. Out of the remaining 50%, how many are actually functional?

You're probably thinking, what kind of lame-ass epiphany is that? I already knew all that, it's not a novel revelation. But you know, when you're in an alternate state of mind, you have this feeling like you really get it. I didn't just know that all this tragedy was the truth, I understood it was the truth. That the current system in place is shit but people still believe in it.

But I'd also like to believe it will change. That people will start seeing things differently and stop lying to themselves and everyone else around them. That they would liquidate their partners so there will be more to go around because as we know, all the best men are taken, except the ones that aren't taken and are about to be taken, so they might as well be.

Sleeping with the Meerkats.

From the life of Pi. (You know it's time to go to sleep when you start talking about small furry creatures in your bed on facebook chat :-O)

I woke up at dawn covered from head to toe in a living fur blanket. Some meerkittens had discovered the warmer parts of my body. I had a tight, sweaty collar of them around my neck, while others had wedged themselves around the area between my legs.

They left the tree as briskly and as unceremoniously as they had invaded it. It was the same with every tree around. The plain grew thick with meerkats, and the noises of their day started filling the air. The tree looked empty. And I felt empty, a little. I had liked the experience of sleeping with the meerkats.

Didn't see that one Coming.

Man. I have to say last night was pretty epic. It was mostly hilarious, somewhat awesome, and just that wee bit embarrassing (if you get trashed, you've got to do things that will make you blush the morning after).

To start of with, I had been drinking Red Snappers since noon (A Red Snapper is a modified Bloody Mary made with gin instead of vodka and Clamato juice, instead of tomato juice) , under Tom's benign influence. We'd just been hanging around all day with this random couch surfer drinking the equivalent of our recommended daily intake of fruit and veg in an alcoholic beverage and doing fuck all, really. So I was already slightly drunk even before the party started. Which is the only way to be, surely.

At around 7, MGM called to ask if I was ready to be escorted to Dr. Dre's dinner, so I made an attempt to sober up a little, stuffed myself into a corset dress, and got my ass moving. When we got out of the cab, there were all these white people standing around at the beginning of the street waving to him. When we got closer, they started laughing and I swear I heard them say, "Sorry, we thought you looked like Günter Grass." I thought it was a bit weird, but I was concentrating too hard on trying not to break my ankles while walking on the cobblestones, so I didn't say anything. I only found out later that they actually said, "Sorry, we thought you were our friend." Now how the heck did the two get confused, I have no idea.

It doesn't beat the time I thought this guy whom I had somehow landed up in bed with, when I asked him what languages he spoke, heard him reply, "English, and Arithmetic." What he actually said was, "English, and that's it really." (Yes, he was a total geek) Funnily enough the people yesterday were Aussies, and the guy was from NZ, so I think my brain just has a way of fucking up accents from down under. I can only understand Phil because I get him to repeat everything he says at least once.    

The dinner was alright. I was trying very hard to control myself around MGM, because I'd discovered in the last couple of weeks I actually liked him. As in. You know. Differently. Everything was rolling along normally, and then one day, it hit me. I was thinking about some of the crazy shit we did, and laughing silently about it when out of nowhere I realized, "Oh my god! You're thinking about him in that light." I felt a little freaked out by the sudden realization but thought it was quite cool anyway. I put the though aside and didn't think much of it until last night.

Everyone got increasingly very drunk over the course of dinner (there was no corkage fee at the restaurant) and the party got taken to BluJazz an hour past mid-night. By the time we got to our third drink, the urge I had to kiss him was getting just that little bit too overwhelming. Eventually, I reached the zone of "what the fuck" and when he turned around to say something to me, I leaned in and kissed him. I swear, it was the most amount of nerve I ever had to rack up to kiss someone in a damn long time. Oh man, for the first few moments I was just relieved he reciprocated. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I was genuinely thrilled when he did.

Anyway, the funny thing was there were a couple of people at the bar that had been assuming we'd hooked up a long time ago, when there I was freaking out over the possibility of being spurned for a kiss.

The party started to die down a little, and we went back to his place. We were pretty damn drunk, and I tried to jump him (the one thing I was telling myself repeated not to do!), but everything got really, really confusing and the next thing I knew I was coming-to on his couch in my underpants, the lights were all on and he was asleep in his room. The first thought I had was, "Oh shit. That was lame. Did I pass out while I was on top of him? What the fuck? Oh my god, I'm so embarrassed."

It's all cool though. I don't know what to make of it, but who cares about that. He was really sweet about it (he is always, actually) and we had a short chat about it in the afternoon while broiling on his roof, and he pointed out that it was something just waiting to happen, so it wasn't a huge surprise that it did. Only he didn't imagine it would have been last night.