Monday, February 25, 2013

25 Things A Cab Driver Never Want To Hear

1) "I'm in a mood for a free ride today."

2) "I hope you're in the mood to give a free ride today."

3) "I smell dried cum in here, did you just jack off?"

4) "Twenty dollars on top of the cab fare if you beat the red light in front."

5) *points gun to head "You know where this is going right?"

6) "I'm not interested in your political stance, shut up."

7) "Uncle do you even know where you are going?"

8) *halfway through the journey "You accept pesos right?"

9) "I just shat in my pants."

10) "Uncle open upo your bonnet, there is a body I wanna load."

11) "To answer your question, yes I am a lost spirit."

12) "Sorry I am going to take another cab. I have a gut feeling this one is going to crash somewhere, today."

13) "I know you're secretly watching us make out at the back, daddy."

14) "Your meter is spoilt."

15) "Oh my god my dead grandmother can drive faster!"

16) "Are you Bruno Mars? No? Okay shut up then and let me listen to the real Bruno Mars."

17) "I can see that you're cold blooded but I am not so for the love of god, crank up the air-conditioning."

18) "If I don't make it by the end of the journey, here is the number of my son's mobile phone."

19) "Just to let you know there is no way in hell I am going to pay the ERP charges."

20) "Are you aware that there is a dead rat in the passenger's seat?"

21) "I'm kidding, that was the smell of my fart."

22) "It's either the getai song or your incredibly nasal voice sir. I can't handle two fuckery at the same time."

23) "Why this cab no TV ah?"

24) "I don't know why this is called a Comfort Taxi. It is anything but comfortable."

25) "To Orchard Road, my dear chauffeur."

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Mother And Son

For the past three weeks, my mum and Harold have been on a Sinetron rampage.

After our renovation works have ended about a month ago, I have subscribed the bundle plan from Singtel so that the three of us are able to get a free home line, surf the internet on a ridiculously fast fibre broadband connection and is at the liberty to watch over 300 channels 24/7, at the tip of our fingers.

I obviously chose the "Desi Pack" which included 11 Hindi channels (that to me is like the entire Ramayana and Mahabharata combined), Harold his sports channels and my mother who chose everything from movies to channels in Chinese, Tagalog, Indonesian, Korean and on top of that, home improvement channels to National Geographic.

Oh, my mum LOVES National Geographic. She finds the act of a lion pouncing on a poor antelope absolutely gratifying and satisfying. I think this highly reflects her personality and inner psyche but then again, I could be wrong.

It could be worse.

So naturally I figured that National geographic would be the channel that she would be glued on to but boy was I wrong. At any given time whenever she is glued in front of the television, it would be an Indonesian Sinetron on the screen.

A Sinetron is the equivalent of a Soap Opera, a Telenovela, only that it is in Indonesian and in true drama serial style, it is filled with scandals, villains, a tortured girl...somewhere, a bit of magic and demonic possession, lots and lots of face close-ups and dramatic slow-mo effects and ridiculously over the top acting.

But what is more baffling to me is that Harold, my fully grown twenty-two year old heterosexual brother is also addicted to it. I am talking about pre-recording, online episode searching kind of addiction! Mother and son is so obsessed with Sinetron that discussion happens even on the dinner table, like yesterday.

"Mum, I recorded the latest episode of Si Kulit Putih (The Fair Skinned) for you already," my brother told my mum in between chews.

"Oh thanks! Please don't tell me what happened to Soraya, don't kill the suspense for me!" my mum excitedly replied.

"They made her drink it, and she drank!" my brother dramatically said.

"Nooooo!! Oh my god, are you serious Harold?!" my mum flipped.

"Yes, stupid right?" my brother rolled his eyes like a middle aged bored housewife talking about her impotent husband.

I  just had to butt in.

"I'm sorry but what are you guys talking about?" I put down my cutleries and looked at them intently.

"It is about this girl in the Sinetron that we are both watching right now. There is this villain, a super bitch, the stepmother of Soraya this orphan, her name is Melly. She asked Soraya to drink a glass filled with rat's poison to prove that poor Soraya is innocent when her necklace was stolen. But Soraya didn't die. Last time when she was stuck in a jungle, a pack of wolves tried to attack her but back down suddenly," my brother explained in great detail.

"I think she might have powers or has a guardian angel," my mum nodded, adding on.

"What kind of hobby are you guys getting yourself into? What kind of twisted story is this?" I shook my head in disbelief.

"You wouldn't understand," my mother said.

Ah, I don't wish to.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

The Yeast Effect

As many of you are well aware, cooking has always been one of my greatest passions. For me, there is no greater joy in this world (apart from seeing Madhuri Dixit dance) than whipping up dishes for my loved ones to enjoy. I have also used my cooking skills to bait my loved ones into doing something for me. Some people call it cunning, I call it "gastronomical blackmail".

Once a month, I would invite Star, Melanie and Steve over to my house and I would cook for them and in return, they give me free haircuts, free car rides and free movies amongst many others. It's like barter trading, without the monetary hassle.

So yesterday as usually planned, the three of them were scheduled to come to my house for home cooked dinner. I made Mac & Cheese, Rosemary Chicken with Garlic Potatoes, Sangria and Homemade Donuts with Blackberry Jam.

Two hours before the dinner, Star called me up saying that she already got off work early because she paid back hours and wanted to help me with the cooking.

"But you don't know how to cook," I told her bluntly over the phone.

"There must be something I can do!" she said over the phone.

"I'm actually done with the cooking, I'm only left with desserts. I'm making the jam and donuts from scratch so I guess you could help me with that..." I explained.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at my doorstep. Straightaway, I gave her an apron to wear. She is a total mess in or out of the kitchen so I am not taking any chances.

"Okay, so what do I do first?" she excitedly asked.

"Add a quarter cup f water to the yeast and let it sit for five minutes while I sieve the flour," I said.

"Yeast? Isn't that an infection or something?" she innocently asked.

"I cannot believe you just said that. You do know that yeast is needed to make bread right?" I asked her.

"All I know is that a yeast is what I will get if I don't take care of my pussy properly. I don't know what it's doing being in breads and donuts and shit," she flicked her hair.

"You know what? You sieve the flour while I handle the yeast," I instructed annoyingly. Useless.

"I'm gonna make a mess, a big mess. You know that. Can I do something else?" she bargained in a cutesy baby voice.

"Make. The. Jam," I rolled my eyes. "And before you ask me how, it's idiot proof. Blackberries, sugar, water. Medium heat. Stir and mash, stir and mash until it thickens. Go," I sternly said.

"Shouldn't you caramelize the sugar first?" she asked.

I glared at her.

"You know what? You're totally of no use to me right now, go in front and watch television, go!" I raised my voice.

"Yeah, I should just let you run the show and be the overbearing control freak that you are," she mumbled softly.

Just then, my mother came into the kitchen and upon seeing Star, hugged her.

"You shouldn't be her," my mum smiled at her, eyebrows hinting at me.

"She thinks the yeast used to make breads is the same one that she gets in her pussy, can you believe the stupidity of this girl?" I complained.

My mum laughed so hard Star actually took a few steps back.

Sweat And Grime

Melanie have been trying to hit the gym for a while now. She claims that she has piled on the pounds and that "there is no self-respecting transsexual in a first world country that has muffin tops for a waist".

I personally think she looks great. yes, she may have gotten slightly pudgy after CNY but nothing a Spanx can't help to conceal. Melanie however is extremely disgusted with herself. But to what extent you may ask?

She wore a kaftan yesterday for dinner.

"I feel like I'm in Saudi, don't you guys think so?" Steve joked when Melanie arrived in a long black kaftan.

"Saudi don't have trannies," Star added fuel to the pudgy fire that is Melanie.

"There are trannies everywhere all over the world; you never know what lies behind those burqas," I said, sniggering.

"This one shows her face. How progressive," Steve laughed.

"Fuck you, fuck you and fuck you. I've gained five kilograms and I have muffin tops for a tummy hence the kaftan," Melanie said.

"You look like one of those Malay girls at those void deck weddings. Unimaginative and boring as hell," I chuckled.

"I need to hit the gym and lose that damned five kilograms. I feel so covered up I'm like a dumpling right now. It must have been all those bingeing during Chinese New Year and the pig out dinners with all of you! You all have a part to play in this!" Melanie cried.

"Look at this tranny. Blaming the world and society but herself," Star mockingly spat.

Fast forward to this morning, Melanie had dragged Steve and myself to California Fitness to sign up for a gym membership. Steve already has a lifetime gym membership at California FItness like the alpha home that he is and Melanie is so desperate for workout company that she has volunteered to pay for a one year gym membership for me.

And why not if it's free?

Star doesn't believe in exercising. "Sex is cardio and I have cardio four times a week so I'm good," she said yesterday.

Right after the membership was settled the three of us made our way into the gym and got onto the treadmill side by side. Five minutes into our jog, Melanie asked in between breathes, ""

"," Steve replied in tandem.

"," I echoed.

By the time the three of us are done with the treadmill (4 kilometres woohoo!), Melanie was already pissed by the incessant grunting of this burly Caucasian man, dragged us both to the step machine for more cardio work "to burn off the annoyance".

Unfortunately, there were only two machines available and it was both being used by these two young girls and they weren't even working out, merely standing on the step machine and talking to each other. Steve said he wanted to get a drink and off he went, leaving Melanie and I waiting by the step machine for our turn.

"Excuse me are you guys done?" Melanie asked visibly annoyed.

"Sorry we're still using it," one of the girls said, not even looking at Melanie, busy chanting away with her friend, body stationary.

Melanie looked at me, mouth wide open. We stood there for a good three minutes just staring at the two girls. Steve came over, fully hydrated and said, "Don't bother Mel. These two cunts don't do any kind of exercise whatsoever. They hog the step machine and just talk and talk. It's been about four? Five weeks?"

I pulled Melanie away slowly and whispered, "This is a gym, not a boxing ring. We will lift weights how about that? Hmm?"

"I'm going to the reception and canceling our memberships immediately. I'm better off exercising at home. And oh my god did that man over there just let his sweat trickle down and wet the bench press? Harry, he didn't even wipe it before leaving! I'm so done, done!" Melanie spat, grabbing her towel and huffing away.


Friendship is a funny thing. It makes you do things that goes beyond your character. It's like a full time relationship, without the sex. Most of you would know that Steve is spending the entire of 2013 going through his Bucket's List. So far he had gone bungee-jumping, stayed in a village in Colombia (don't ask) for one week, sat through the entire Twilight series, river rafted in Brazil, drove all the way from Singapore to Penang and back and recently ate crickets in Bangkok.

Oh and let's not forget the embarrassing massage incident that I went through with him. Why would a ticklish guy like Steve want to subject himself to a full body massage is totally beyond me.

Three days ago he approached me again to accompany him in his quest to carry out one of the things on his Bucket's List.

"So what terrifying adventure are you going to subject yourself to now? After the Colombia trip, I don't think there is anything else that could top it," I said over coffee when he asked me for the favour.

"I want to take the train from Joo Koon to Pasir Ris. One end of Singapore to the other. And I want you there with me," he smiled.

"What the hell?!" I asked, shocked.

Steve? Taking public transportation? We are talking about a boy who have been chauffeured to and fro from home to every destination possible, all his life, in a swanky Mercedes no less. Who doesn't own an ez-link card because he would have no use of it whatsoever. He doesn't even know where to tap the ez-link, let alone know of the horror of being stuck like sardines in a packed train during peak hours.

"That's not true. I have taken a train at least twice in my life," Steve reasoned.

"You were six years old at that point of time and the other time you were drunk and you got lost at Marina Bay Station and called me to pick you up. At six thirty in the morning. Remember that glorious day?" I shook my head.

"It can't be that bad," Steve said.

"I don't think you can last half an hour in the train," I replied.

"Is that a challenge? I can be middle class if I want to you know," Steve rolled his eyes.

"Only rich people would say that. Fine, 6pm, Joo Koon MRT station. You keep a notebook with you and every single time something interesting happens, you write it down along with the station where it took place. I'll read it and see whether you're middle class or not," I said.

That MRT ride was yesterday and he was busy scribbling down notes the entire time. This was what he wrote:

Joo Koon: Is it just me or s the air-conditioning not working? Fuck, the train hasn't even moved and I'm complaining.

Jurong East: Okay seriously where did all of these people come from. There is like twenty thousand people night here in the cabin with me right now. And hell no am I going to give up my seat. Uh huh.

Commonwealth: What the fuck is this smell?! Who didn't bathe today?! I am going to pass out any moment. Someone ate a rat's carcass yesterday, that much I know.

Tiong Bahru: This is not funny I really cannot breathe I am not even aware of what I'm scribbling right now. I don't even know where the BO is coming from.

Raffles City: I don't know what's the dress code for office wear in this country. The rubbish that people wear to work, oh god. Hideous office wear convention nearby maybe?

Bugis: Okay seriously. Where. Is. All. These. People. Coming. From? I'm this close to having a panic attack. So many people in one pathetic cabin?

Paya Lebar: I am reduced to eavesdropping people's conversations. The lady beside me is arguing with her husband and she is asking for a divorce. What fucked up world do we live in where wives asks for divorce over the phone?

Tanah Merah: This is more frustrating than being in a traffic jam. At least there's no 20,000 people stuck in the car with you.

Simei: One more stop. And there is a lady breastfeeding her baby right in front of me. I can't. I just..I can't.

Pasir Ris: I'm so hailing a cab from here. Fuck Harry.

25 Reasons To Not Celebrate Valentine's Day

As a point of reference for 2014.

1) You might have a pollen allergy that you don't know off.

2) Are you a Muslim? Don't even think about it.

3) Inflation of roses. And every other flower there is. (You can try picking flowers at the Botanic Gardens, albeit being crazily risky)

4) Whatever you do, you will never be as romantic as Ryan Gosling.

5) Because it is overrated and you're a fucking hipster.

6) What love song are you going to dedicate to your girlfriend? Boyfriend by Justin Beiber? Don't send the wrong message.

7) It's going to be a weekday.

8) You cannot do a nice romantic home cooked dinner because the last time you tried to fry an egg...let's not even go there.

9) I don't think you would be interested in having a romantic dinner in a crowded restaurant would you?

10) Giving a bouquet of roses doesn't mean you will get laid at the end of the night. Sorry buddy.

11) And what if she's on a no chocolate diet?

12) You don't have a girlfriend to start with.

13) Your Ah Lian girlfriend won't understand the love poem you wrote for her anyways.

14) They're still playing Chinese New Year jingles in shopping centres. Talk about an overkill.

15) It's the middle of the month = no more money.

16) Remember about the poem? Sorry I forgot that you can't write poems. You cannot even write a simple description of yourself in Facebook.

17) Somebody will be late. And you literally, haven't got all day.

18) At this point of time the only "romantic comedy" movie there is, is your life. And not in a good way either.

19) It's Valentines and you're wearing your granny panties.

20) You made a vow that you would never celebrate Valentine's Day until Jennifer Aniston gets married (read: You'll never celebrating it)

21) Your boyfriend is bad in bed so you're not missing out on anything really.

22) Food is always better than sex no matter how much you deny it.

23) You're better off going through a DVD marathon of romantic comedies. At least they have happy endings.

24) The Romance Singapore campaign ended years ago.

25) You're single. Haha.

Off Its Seams

Just this afternoon, I received a call from Star and she was crying on the phone. I was sound asleep when she called (and it was gloriously raining and that too on a public holiday) so hearing her sobbing on the phone was a bit of an overkill. It did woke me up instantly though. She was crying as if someone passed away.

"Did someone pass away?" I asked rubbing my eyes.

"No! My dress tore!" she shrieked on the phone between sobs.

At that point of time I wanted to punch her in the face.

"You woke me up from my sleep and you're crying because your dress tore?" I calmly spoke, through gritted teeth.

"My red sheath Roland Mouret dress is torn and I am stuck in my mother's boyfriend toilet for the past fifteen minutes!" she continued sobbing.

"God, not that dress. I forgot you were going to wear that for Chinese New Year," I said, suddenly remembering.

About a month ago, Star had purchased a red sheath Roland Mouret dress online all the way from New York for Chinese New Year. Star's mum is dating this Chinese businessman and he had invited both mother and daughter to his Chinese New Year party that included his friends and family members. Even though Star is born to an American dad and a Pakistani mother, she was more than happy to attend the party because she heard that her potential stepbrother is quite a catch.

Star is just morally decayed like that.

But that's not the problem. The problem is, three weeks ago when the dress arrived, it was of the wrong size. It came in a size 4 and Star is a size 6.

"There goes your dream of wanting to be like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada," I told her.

"It's too late to change it. I am just going to diet for the next three weeks, Spanx the whole shit up and look fabulous come Chinese New Year," Star said, face full of resolve.

And she did. She first went on a three day detox program and stuck to soups, no fried foods, no carbohydrates. Two days ago she Whatsapped me a picture of her in that dress and well, it fitted her like a glove. She texted, "So I lost three kilograms and dropped a cup size to a 3D but I'm barely breathing and my tits are working extra hard and Scarlett Johansson has got nothing on me!"

Melanie who was also in the group chat said, "WTF?!"

So this distressed call came as a surprise to me.

"How come it tore? It's a Roland Mouret. How much did you eat?"

"I don't know what it was but I think it was the steamboat. I don't know what they put in the soup but I had over four bowls and that's why the dress tore; I was too bloated!" Star helplessly cried on the phone.

"Where is the tear?" I asked her.

"My back, just below my neck where the zip is. I was reaching forward for my fifth bowl and it gave way," she said.

"Is your hair tied up?" I asked.

"Yes..." she replied sounding a little confused.

"Must I teach you everything? Just let your hair down. God, it's so simple, what would you do without me?" I sighed.

"I don't know why I didn't think of that," she said, and then hung up.

You're fucking welcome.

Saturday, February 9, 2013

25 Ways To Come Out To Your Parents

Here at A Son Of A Peach, we never do things the conventional way. So instead of going to your parents and telling them "Mum, Dad, I'm gay", here are 25 other exciting ways to come out to your parents! Gay boys, take note.

1) "Mum, Dad, I am an anal astronaut."

2) "Mum, Dad, I am the biggest Britney Spears fan." *for added effect, tell them this while wearing your Toxic turquoise blue stewardess uniform you wore for Halloween last year.

3) At every dinner, instead of putting pepper and salt to your baked potatoes, add glitter instead while saying, "I need more glitter in my life."

4) Make it a point to watch with them Queer As Folk every single evening for twoo weeks before the big announcement. Trust me, it will take the sting off a bit. For them, not for you.

5) Whatsapp them a picture of your boyfriend and yourself stuffing $5 notes in a go-go boy's underwear in a strip club.

6) At the dinner table, ask your mum abruptly, "How would you like a son-in-law instead?"

7) Play charades with them. You shrieking and screaming all over the place is enough to make them understand.

8) And don't forget to do your Beyonce's impression.

9) "Mum, Dad, I like to take it up the ass."

10) On either one of your parent's birthday, the cake must read: "Happy 50th! P/S: I'm Gay."

11) Make a sudden career change to be a flight steward. Budget also nevermind.

12) Start addressing your mum as "Gurrrrl..."

13) Quote any of Lady Gaga's song lyrics in everyday conversations with them.

14) "Mum, Dad, in your time I would be that boy who knows the lyrics to every song in Funny Girl and thinks he is Barbara Streisand."

15) "Mum, Dad, I'm gay." : Boring.
      "Mum, Dad, I'm gay * sings a show tunes number" : Fabulous.

16) Leave a trail of rainbow coloured frosted cupcakes outside your parent's room where it will end in the kitchen and there is a note that says, "Now that you have enough rainbows to light up your life, here is a little storm for added justification: I am gay."

17) Paste a Post-it on your father's Blackberry charger with the note: I love to BBM, I love to Bare Back Michael.

18) Cut yourself up and write "I am Gay" on a drawing block with the blood and paste it in the living room cause you know, you're dramatic like that.

19) "Mum, Dad, I'm your long lost daughter."

20) Find a picture of Madonna and a picture of you in drag as Madonna. Scan, put it side by side, upload on FB, tag your parents.

21) Have a coming out party. Duh.

22) On your mum's birthday, present to her a pair of gorgeous heels. On the birthday card, write "I want you to know how it feels like to walk in my shoes."

23) "Mum, Dad, I am Dora the Assplorer."

24) Make them watch Prayers For Bobby and threaten them that you're going to jump off a bridge in front of an 18 wheeler too if they don't accept you for who you are.

25) Jump off a bridge in front of an 18 wheeler.

I Want A Bag

After 24 years of living, I have come to realize that parents, and mothers especially, have this gift of making their children go into a state of extreme panic and worry with just a simple utterance. My mum is particularly fond of pulling these kind of stunts. And everytime she does it, Harold and me would literally try not to shit in our pants upon hearing to what she has to say.

Yesterday was no exception.

I was updating my Twitter when she came into my room, took my phone away from me and said, "I want a Loewe Amazona."

"What?" I asked, completely caught off guard and confused.

"I want a Loewe Amazona. In Nero," my mum reiterated.

"Why?" I asked, scrunching up my face.

"I don't have any branded bags to carry at my colleague's wedding this Saturday. So I thought now would be a good time to get one," my mum replied calmly.

"You don't have any branded bags? Really?" I asked sarcastically.

"Really," she replied, face deadpan.

"Let's run through your closet and the bags inside together shall we? You have the Mini Luggage from Celine, the Paraty from Chloe, the Sofia from Ferragamo, the Muse 2 from YSL, the Speedy from LV, the D Bag from Tods, the Knot clutch from Bottega, a couple of Guccis and you are telling me that you have no branded bags?" I asked sweetly.

"None from Loewe," she shrugged her shoulders.

At that point of time I could feel my heart racing and I really wanted to shit. I knew what she meant. She didn't even have to verbalize it. The moment she said, "I want a Loewe Amazona", I knew it actually meant, "I want YOU to get for ME a Loewe Amazona".

"You wat me to get for you the Amazona don't you?" I asked, voice slow and steady to mask my increasing panic.

My mum just smiled.

"That bag costs 3000 dollars. I don't have the money," I said through gritted teeth.

"That's what you said the last time and you still bought for me those bags..." she dramatically trailed off.

"This time I really don't have any," I took a stand (a weak one).

"Don't lie Harry. I saw the amount in your bank account from your bank book and you clearly have enough money to bur for me five Amazonas and still go on a three month trip all over Europe and then still have enough cash to buy yourself a car and a Cartier watch," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"You went through my bankbook?!" I raised my voice.

"I raised you up and washed your underwear, I can go through anything of yours without your permission," my mum calmly said.

"How come you never ask Harold?" I asked, frustrated.

"Don't be silly. Harold is still in university. He doesn't have money, he needs it," my mum said.

"This is bullying," I said, shaking my head.

My mum pursed her lips and gave a facial expression that was a mix of mock sympathy and gloat.

I am going to get ready now to go get her Amazona in Nero with gold accents. I plan on telling the staff that I am getting a bag for my professional emotional blackmailing mother.

Oh like she would feel an ounce of remorse. This is my mother we are talking about and it's not her three grand.

Are You A Shopaholic?

I don't usually make self-realisations or self-discoveris unless something big happens in my life. But when I do, it is usually life changing (and humiliating). And yesterday was one of the days that changed my life (and bought the word "humiliation to a whole new level). It all started with and online questionnaire that Star shared with me over dinner. The questionnaire was titled, "Are You A Shopaholic?"

"You have got to try this! You would be amazed. There's twenty five questions in total and there is four options per question, all carrying different scores, you ready?" Star excitedly asked while waiting for dinner to be served.

"Fine," I replied, disinterested.

"How frequently in a month do you purchase something? A) once a month, B) two to three times a month, C) more than five times a month or D) more than ten times a month," Star started.

"I don't know. I guess everytime when I go out?" I answered.

"Harry, that is like everyday," Star widened up her eyes.

"I don't like where this is going..." I trailed off, suddenly scared.

"Next question. What was your last purchase that you regretted buying and have you used it at least one sine the time the purchase was being made? A) never, B) once, C) more than twice, D) you don't regret the purchase anymore because there is a use to it," Star rattled on.

"You bought an eight man tent last week and you have not used it even once!" Steve answered for me.

I glared at him.

"And that new Zegna perfume three days ago! You never wore it!" Melanie added on.

I kept quiet because I was trying to remember when did I actually bought an eight man tent and the new Zegna perfume.

"Oh my god. You don't remember do you?" Steve barked.

"You ARE a shopaholic!" Melanie concluded.

"I am not!" I tried explaining, slightly irritated.

"Denial. The first attribute of an addict," Melanie squinted her eyes menacingly at me.

"Wow. A cokehead judging me," I smiled sweetly back at her.

"Finish up the questionnaire Harry," Steve said.

And I did. After tabulating the total scores, i scored an astounding 96 percent; I am a hardcore shopaholic. The 4 percent loss was this one question on whether I was in debt and thankfully, I wasn't and am not and hopefully never will be. The rest of the questions? Full marks. And not on a positive note either.

"Are you going to go to a shopaholic anonymous meeting from now on?" Steve asked mockingly.

I showed him the middle finger.

"It says here that the first thing you need to do is to de-clutter your life and your purchases. Give it away, sell it, whatever. But start on a clean slate. And you must have a person close to you to walk you through the whole process. Okay let us start tomorrow. We will start with your wardrobe!"Star excitedly said.

"Why my wardrobe? There is nothing in there that I want to throw," I smiled nervously.

"Harry you have over 200 t-shirts alone," Melanie said.

"Well I am sorry if I keep my weight in check and I can still wear all of my clothes bought years ago," I shook my head.

"Oh my god..." Steve trailed off.

"What?!" I shouted, fully irritated now.

"You are a shopaholic AND a hoarder just like your mother!" Steve said softly (dramatically).

"I resent that last statement," I raised my finger at Steve.

"Boy do you need help," Star held my shoulders, shaking her head, face grim.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

25 Reasons Why I Can Never Be A Teacher

1) I'm not that much of a disciplinarian, even for myself, let alone 35 nine year olds.

2) I still believe in corporal punishment for children.

3) I am very anal about penning down a perfect tick and I am not going to go berserk on a kids jotter book, please.

4) I am treading a thin line between being sane and being a mental nutcase and I don't need a profession that would tip me over to the other side two weeks into it.

5) I hate kids.

6) I probably hate their parents too.

7) I would probably scream "Shut the fuck up!" in front of the kids a bit more often than I should (which is never).

8) I have forgotten what an integer is. Or a prime number for that matter.

9) My report book testimonial would probably read: Rude, attention seeking, smelly, doesn't participate in class, never does his homework and overall fucking useless. I am done with you.

10) I, without a shadow of a doubt, WILL practice favoritism.

11) I can't stand bad handwriting. In fact I have zero tolerance for it. I'd probably set the book on fire, record it and show it to the class the next day.

12) I will take a lot of nap breaks, oh that's for sure.

13) I will have total disregard for my superiors i.e. Head of Departments and the motherfucking Principal. See? I have not even met any and I am already cursing.

14) Every Teacher's Day, I would be the asshole who tells a kid who gave me a cheap notebook, "You know if you're going to give me this, don't bother giving anything to me okay?"

15) I'm going to be super protective of my chalk collection.

16) I cannot handle chalk stains on my clothes. Cannot. Handle. It. At. All.

17) My powerpoint skills is so shitty you have no idea.

18) I won't be able to refrain myself from rolling my eyes every five seconds during every Parent Teacher's Meeting.

19) I would skip chapters like Pythagoras Theorem and Kinesthetics with the reason that "it won't help you when you become an adult".

20) On lazy days, it would be "Video Day". That would be approximately four times weekly.

21) Flying textbooks, erasers, pencils, sharpeners, desks, chairs and crying children.

22) I would purposely ask the kid that I hate the most to be in charge of the Bunsen Burners and...

23) I won't do headcounts during school excursions.

24) The kids would spend more time cleaning the classroom than doing any form of learning whatsoever.

25) During class photos, only the cute kids would be in frame. The ugly ones won't make it.

Technologically Crippled

Harold got a new Samsung Galaxy Note 2 for free. No he didn't win any lucky draw or anything of that sort. It was given to him by my mother, the new phone was my mother's. Here was what went down:

For the longest time, my mum had pestered me to get her a new phone, "the one where I can touch and swipe the screen". So I said to her last week that since her Starhub phone contract have expired, she can go and renew it and also get the latest iPhone 5.

"I don't want the iPhone 5! My friend says it's not good!" she exclaimed when I suggested the idea to her.

"Which friend? You're lying to me," I said.

"My friend Robert. He works at the handphone shop at the interchange," she replied, dignified.

"Since when are you friends with the boy at the handphone shop?" I asked.

"That's besides the point! He recommended me the Samsung Galaxy Note 2 instead," she replied.

"He obviously is a bad handphone seller. And you obviously didn't tell him that you are technologically crippled did you?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I am much better now than before," she said, proud.

"Just last week you asked me to help type for you "Youtube" correctly on the internet, remember? I said and you typed wwwdotyoutubedotcom instead? And you want to use a Samsung Galaxy Note 2 is that it? Just get the iPhone 5, it's idiot proof," I explained.

"Are you calling me, your mother, an idiot?" she mockingly cried.

"Do you really want to go there? Do you?" I asked condescendingly.

"I don't like that condescending tone. Everybody is using an iPhone, I want to be different!" my mum explained.

"So says the woman who goes to the same butcher every weekend where everybody else goes to because she claims that if everybody is buying it, the meat must be good," I rolled my eyes.

"Are you going to buy for me the Samsung Galaxy Note 2 or not?!" she raised her voice.

"Fine. God you sound like a fourteen year old girl," I shook my head.

So the next day, off we went to renew her phone contract and to get a new phone for her, the Samsung Galaxy Note 2. We were sitting down at the counter when the Starhub staff took out the phone from its box and handed it over to my mum, "Ma,am would you like to check the phone first?"

"You check it for me," my mum whispered to me.

"Why should I? You're the one who is going to use the phone and its yours, you check it," I whispered back.

"Ma'am?" the staff asked again, handing over the phone.

My mum took the phone and pretended to know what she's doing. She gave the phone back to the staff in less than five seconds.

"You're done checking ma'am? You don't want to test the sensitivity of the touch screen?" the staff advised. His name was Joseph.

"The phone is a touch screen? Oh. Yes. Of course it is!" my mum laughed uncomfortably.

In my head I did an imaginary face palm. That was last week.

Two days ago, when I was walking outside my brother's room, I saw him swiping away on the same phone.

"Harold, when did you buy the Note 2?" I asked.

"I didn't. Someone gave it to me," he said, eyes still on the phone.

"Did mum gave it to you?" I folded my arms.

"How do you know? She exchanged the phone with my iPhone 4S. She said she would throw the phone because everything is confusing to her," he said.

Just then my mum came out of her room.

"I hope you will reconsider your decision to still be friends with Robert," I said to her and walked back into my room.

"See? I told you he would be bitchy about it," I heard my mum whispered from my back.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

25 Reasons Why I Can Never Be A Drag Queen

1) I cannot seem to come up with a "wow" drag queen name. I have Bianca as my first name and then...that's it. I'm stuck.

2) I have a sensitive scalp so no wigs or weaved for me.

3) I cannot gyrate in six inch hooker heels.

4) My make up skills is beyond help. I once tried to help Star of the smokey-eye makeup effect and it ended up like someone punched her in the eye.

5) I can't hold my liquor.

6) I don't keep abreast with the latest hits from Rihanna.

7) I am uncomfortable with the idea of binding my penis every night. What if i urgently need to pee?

8) Or stuffing the bra with god knows what.

9) I suck at lip synching.

10) I'm allergic to glitter. I get rashes, the worst kind.

11) My legs are too muscular and mannish.

12) I can't imagine myself incorporating a great deal of "Daaaahling" in my everyday conversations.

13) Not really a night person.

14) I find the idea of smacking random men's butts revolting.

15) Fake eyelashes. I just can't. It's like weights for your eyelids.

16) I don't think the lady working at the M.A.C. counter can ever suggest me a great lipstick colour.

17) I accidentally scratch myself silly with normal nails. I can't even imagine the accidental pain with my new nail extentions.

18) I don't do drugs.

19) I cannot imagine the amount of money that is going to be spent on my new drag queen wardrobe.

20) And speaking of which, I don't look good in sequins and leotards.

21) Melanie would be jealous of me and I can't handle that.

22) I'm not interested in waxing my entire body on a weekly basis. No can do.

23) "Fabulous" is not the first word that comes to your head when asked to describe me right?

24) I don't have any drag queen jokes.

25) I would rather jump down a cliff than perform Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive in front of a crowd.

KL Dangerous

So last weekend, Steve, Star, Melanie and me decided to go for a short getaway to Kuala Lumpur. In a matter of minutes, I managed to book a three room apartment and coach tickets so off we went for an impromptu mini holiday and it was possibly the best three days in 2013 so far.

This post is titled KL Dangerous because that was how we lived like for that short three days. it all started when we started drinking the first night in our apartment before heading out to party. I gobbled on a chicken Ramly Burger (which happens to be the most fucking delicious roadside burger you will ever find in this world) in three minutes before washing it down with a bottle of apple cider. This was followed by four shots of Jaegermeister.

I don't know what happened to me but I suddenly got drunk, in like ten minutes. All I could remember was Star laughing at me and Steve repeatedly saying to me, "You're so red and so drunk."

I remembered laughing a lot and trying not to pass out like a wuss and spoil any plans.

So I sat down and started humming quietly until sobered up a little. Who was I kidding right? By this time all four of us have gotten really tipsy and we decided to take a cab to this happening gay club that Melanie have been raving about all afternoon.

We were waiting for our cabs when a child, not older than ten approached us with flowers for sale; RM12 per stalk. At 12 midnight.

"Oh my god are you homeless?" I remembered asking the boy in Malay.

"Harry, stop it that's rude! Of course he is homeless!" Star said. Yes, we were THAT tipsy.

"I don't want your flowers. Take this and go, you're breaking my heart!" I cried, handing him RM10.

The boy took the money and left.

"I think I am going to cry," I said, voice breaking.

My heart suddenly became really heavy and tears welled up in my eyes.

"No fucking way! You're actually crying!" Steve cackled.

"Funny to you," I sobbed, wiping the tears off my face, trying hard to breathe and recompose myself in my drunken stupor.

"Who are you people?" Melanie shook her head.

Fifteen minutes later, the four of us were in a club and had a table reserved for us because we opened two Chivas bottles and tipped the staff very, very handsomely. I believed that we gave him RM200 just to get us a table.

That's what happens when Singaporeans party in Malaysia.

The gay club was amazing. The ambience was great, the music, fantastic. Music in straight clubs make you dance, but music in gay clubs make you DANCE. And boy did we dance. The four of us were on the podium drinking Chivas and tequila shots in between and just busting out moves we never knew we had in us. Star and Melanie were totally groping every random gay dude and Steve was shuffling in the corner...yes shuffling.

An hour into it and our dance was interrupted by a drag queen show and we all squealed in delight. There was this draq queen by the name of Naomi Hayden (don't ask) and she came out in a sari and danced to Chikni Chameli and I literally screamed in excitement.

She saw me and walked towards me and all I could remember saying was, "Shit!"

She took my hand and the entire club went wild and then she brought me up on stage to dance with her. All I could remember doing was that I just giggled like a girl. She thrusted her hips in my groin and then she did the most unimaginable thing ever: she hugged and kissed me on my lips. Yes, you read that right. I was kissed by a drag queen in front of 200 frenzied drunks. I could hear Star screaming, "Oh my fucking god!" repeatedly from our table.

The best part of the night was when Star fell down outside of the club and a lady staff helped her up and she screamed, "Who the fuck are you?! Oh thanks!"

You know, cause we're classy like that.