Halloween Horror Night

To be honest, I've never thought highly of the Halloween Horror Night in Sentosa's Universal Studios (3rd year running now) and was more than ready to dismiss it as another run of the mill costume party, albeit with a giganormous budget and an elaborate publicity campaign.

So off I went, on the 12th of October 2013 (and that too upon much coercing and incessant begging from Star, Melanie and Steve) to the Halloween Horror Night 2013 at the Universal Studios, Singapore (armed with an express ticket of course at an additional sixty bucks because I wasn't interested to wait for hours to get inside a fucking haunted house).

Let's talk about the Haunted Trails. This area is filled with talents (and not so talented) dressed up as ghosts and ghouls and their main job is to scare the crap out of visitors and to indiscriminately be in hundreds of photos taken from and with ticket buyers.

Some were really into character and tried their level best to scare people and some are generally bad "actors", just writhing meekly in corners.

"In five minutes, I can writhe better while being tied up in bed and with my eyes closed than these girls can in their entire lives," Star said at one point, loudly to one of the poor girls at the entrance of the first Haunted Trail. She was dressed as this bloodied Victorian vampire.

First up was Vampires and I groaned and rolled my eyes. See, I grew up with an insufferable fear for Pocongs, Pontianaks, Toyols, Hantu Teteks, Hantu Galas, Pelesits, Penunggus, Hantu Rayas, Penanggals and the likes of it.

Vampires? Not so much. It has and will always be a Western concept for me. And in truth, they don't scare me at all. Show me a bloodsucking vampire and I'll show you a Malay housewife who sucks more than her husband's blood; and that too on a daily basis.

The next trail was The Covenant Of Evil, or something like that and it was filled with witches and shamans and again, boring. The only way I can be reduced to tears is if there is a Bomoh somewhere performing a real exorcism right there in front of everyone. Hey, go big or go home.

There was also a Haunted Jungle trail filled with sweaty bare bodied men posing as some kind of animal spirit and Steve was like, "Oooh, I would lick that sweaty body dry" and that that pretty much sums up the level of sex, I mean, scariness that trail had to offer.

Never change Steve, never change.

The last trail we went was filled with Pocongs (wrapped corpse ghosts) and Pontianaks (female ghosts who dies during childbirth) and it was a feeble homage to the Asian folklore and I was like, "Okay, now we're talking". There is something about coming face to face with the horror that you grew up with that really hits home.

I've always been terrified (and make no qualms or effort to conceal that fact) of Pocongs. It is possibly the only type of ghost that I am terrified of. I have no idea why but for some reason, it just scares the shit out of me.

And so Steve and I, hand in hand (please bear in mind that these are tow fully grown man holding each other's hands in public), walked slowly into the trail.

There were about 8 to 10 of these Pocongs lined by the side of the bridge and in the darkness of the night, we couldn't tell which is real and which is just a mannequin. About 20 people have walked past them in front of us and after three minutes to no movement, we both concluded that those were in fact, just mannequins. I mean, which talent in their right mind would want to be wrapped from head to toe throughout the entire night?

And then three of the Pocongs hopped.

"Fuccccccccckkkkkkk!!!!!! It moved! It moved! It moved! It moved!" I kept screaming and running; Steve equally hysterical. Star and Melissa were nowhere to be found and when we stumbled upon them about 50 metres ahead, hand in hand, Star sharply said, "You look like to gay men running away from a Catholic clergyman with a machete in his hand. Stop embarrassing me!"

"The Pocongs moved, it hopped! It was real!" Steve spoke between breaths, still clutching my hand.

"Shut up faggots," Melanie hushed.

The rest of the night was more fun because after that damn Pocong incident, Steve and I became jumpy with every passing moment and the Haunted House became an abyss of "Stop it!", "Oh my god!", "Fuck you!", "No!" and god knows how many shrieks and screams. Many times I found myself screaming at random staffs just working there as ushers in The Haunted Houses.

All while holding Steve's hands.

Halfway through the third Haunted House Melanie said, "Let's just go for the rides. I'm tired of you two ass lickers screaming at everything and anything!"

A Vibrating Issue

Have I told you that my mum found a vibrator in Harold's room yesterday? Yes you read that right.

My mum, God bless her poor worrying soul, found a vibrator in Harold's room. Of course the vibrator wasn't his but come on, any mother would flip out if they found a vibrator in their son's room.

It was for Alice, his primary school friend. Harold and his group of friends decided to buy something wacky for Alice as an engagement gift. So all of them bought for her a really nice vibrator (apparently it is in built with four different massaging styles) and Harold was to keep until her engagement next weekend.

What was hilarious wasn't the act of finding out about the vibrator but the way my mum approached the "discovery".

We were having dinner yesterday at home and midway through dinner, my mum asked Harold, "Do you have anything to confess to me?"

Harold scrunched up his face, shook his head and muttered a curt, "No".

"Are you sure?" my mum probed further.

"Why did you found out something?" Harold asked back.

"Maybe," my mum answered.

"What..." harold sighed.

"Are you gay?" my mum abruptly said.

I chocked on my rice and broke into a giggle fit.

"No!" Harold shouted.

"Then why do you have a vibrator in your room?!" my mum shouted back, putting the vibrator on the dinner table. She apparently had it taped underneath our dinner table and wanted to present it to my brother. Oh I know my mother too well.

"It's not mine! It's for Alice!" Harold said.

"Don't lie! If you're gay just say it, don't lie to me I'm your mother!" my mum dramatically cried.

By this time I had already excused myself from the table and was listening to all the action and drama from the kitchen.

"Do you want to talk to Sean? he will explain to you since you don't believe me!" Harold cried.

"Is Sean (Harold's best friend) your boyfriend? Be honest! He is a great kid I don't mind...," my mum kept badgering on.

"Mum! Stop!" Harold shouted.

I actually laughed so hard in the kitchen my mum screamed from the dining table, "Harry it's not funny! Stop!"

After showing my mum the messages inside the group chat containing evidence of them discussing about buying the vibrator then my mum relented. But not before saying something ridiculously epic, like how she is.

"For a moment I thought it really was yours. You scared me. I actually told Aunt Meg about it."

Cue blood curling "What!!" Harold style.

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, "Am...I...the...only...one...hearing...someone...grunt...since...just...now?"

"Welcome...to...the...fucking...gym," Steve replied in tandem.

"It...is...damn...distracting," 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.

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.

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.

Chocolate Bearing Roy(ce)

There is no greater validation in a girl's existence much like a compliment of the physical kind. A simple "You look pretty today" is the greatest stamp of success for a girl; all those hours and money spent to make themselves look beautiful has finally, finally paid off.

In fact there is an urban legend that the words "You look pretty today" can soothe even a pre menstruating girl.

Hah, kidding. I'm just fucking with you. There is nothing you can do to soothe a pre menstruating bitch in heat. We all know that.

Where was I? Yes, validation and compliments. See the reason I'm writing this post because there seems to be a shift in balance in Melanie's life. We all know the adage, "Too much of anything is not good, even the good things." So what happens when you get too much of validation and compliments? What if that adoration from someone turns into an obsession? And the person receiving it is at a constant state of worry, panic and fear?

That's right peaches. Melanie, my dear tranny Melanie, has a stalker. Legit. And it's a butch who frequents her salon, one of her regular customers actually.

"I am terrified guys," Melanie shared yesterday during dinner.

"Why? Isn't it awesome to have a stalker? I think it's cute. I've never had anybody stalk me before, even when I asked them to," Star said, flipping her hair.

"I wouldn't say that if I were you," Steve laughed.

"So I've been cutting her...his hair for the past two years and she...he always brings me chocolates and stuff and I knew this butch likes me but I never once talked about it with her. But lately things are getting a tad, if not very, very creepy. Two weeks ago I received this from my colleague," Melanie explained, taking out a folded A3 sized card from her bag.

Steve took the card, opened it and went,  "No fucking way in lesbian hell, oh my fucking god."

Inside the card is a collage of over twenty pictures of Melanie. but that's not the creepy part. those pictures were printed from Melanie's Facebook account. That means the stalker actually stalked Melanie's profile and printed all of the pictures from there. On the card it read, "To the most beautiful girl in the world."

"That's what happens when you don't make your profile private," I said, scanning the card. It smelled of lemon citrus and vanilla.

"Aww, I think that's adorable!" Star exclaimed, taking the card away from me.

Melanie pinched Star's left arm and Star scowled loudly.

"For the past two weeks, every single day after work you can find her...him waiting for me outside with a small gift in hand. Ferrero Rocher chocolates, Garrett's Popcorn, Famous Amos cookies, anything. When I asked her, her name is Roy by the way, how come she has the time to wait for me everyday she says she rushes from work everyday just to meet me. I know right?" Melanie said, a worried look on her face.

"Roy. That's so masculine than I can ever be in my entire life and I'm straight acting," Steve laughed.

"It's not funny! I already warned my colleagues to NOT give this Roy my email and god forbid, home address! She has my namecard from work and unfortunately my mobile is printed on that and she wouldn't stop texting me. Like twenty messages in a day," Melanie exhaled tiredly.

"That's freaky," I said.

"What does Roy want form you anyways?" Star asked.

"She says she wants to get to know me better. Date me out. But I don't wish to. At. All," Melanie answered.

"So why don't you? I would give it a chance if I were you," Star pursed her lips.

"I am a man to woman transexual and you want me to date a butch who in actual fact is a man trapped in a woman's body. What kind of sick fucked up gender dysphoria shit you think I am into?" Melanie replied angrily.

School Of Bullies

The repercussions of bullying is much more severe than we think it is. "Bullying" and "Death", in this day and age is not much of a stretch and this fact by itself is sickening and alarming. There are hundreds of kids who commit suicide because of bullying. In some cases, bullies physically harm these poor children, sometimes to the point of death. For me it all boils down to education.

The lack of education breeds ignorance and ignorance is the very foundation of bullies and the act of bullying. Let's face it, acceptance is much harder than ignorance. So kids who are different, in the slightest bit becomes the subject of bullying.

But all seriousness aside, bullying can give birth to two things: insecurity or self confidence, and in abundance for both. The reason why I'm talking about bullying in this post is because Melanie's nephew have been the subject of bullying, all because of his water bottle.

Melanie bought for him a pink water bottle and the poor kid barely made it into the second period when the other boys in his class started teasing him and calling him a girl. That was two months ago and the situation has worsened. Yesterday one of the boys called him a "fag". The boy has been taken into disciplinary action but Melanie's nephew has started to dread school as of two weeks ago, before the shocking utterance.

"I hope that boy gets touched by a pedophile," Melanie said, recollecting the incident to us.

Steve chocked on his latte.

"As a victim of child molestation fifteen years ago, I find that oddly...amusing," Steve laughed. When he was ten, he was molested regularly by his uncle who was also a drug addict.

"Pedophile crackhead" as Steve would always say.

"I think parents have a moral duty to impart proper values and lead by example, at least until the kid is big enough to know the difference between tolerance and ignorance," Melanie said, flipping her legendary weave.

"That is why I don't wish to have any children, simply because I would make a very bad parent. By twelve my child would probably use the word "cunt" to spit at a female classmate as a joke because "My daddy uses the word "cunt" to joke with my tranny godmum!" Very likely," I bemused.

Steve chocked on his late again.

"That is wrong on so many levels!" Steve laughed throatily.

"Where do you think the boy learned the word "fag"? Star suddenly chirped in, her mind finally shifting into the gear three minutes after a topic of discussion has ended. That's Star for you.

"God knows. Maybe he was watching his father's stash of Brent Everett gay porn?" Melanie said.

Steve chocked on his latte for the third time.

"Guys! I'm trying to drink my soy latte stop it!" Steve continued laughing.

All four of us have been bullied during our school years. Steve suffered from a case of money extortion, mainly due to the fact that he was a rich kid. Star would be taunted back in school for being the only eleven year old in fifth grade who developed breasts. Star, being Star retaliated by taunting the boys to see their mother's tits for the same thing (at eleven, and already a bitch). I myself was the subject of bullying for being the tallest in class. They called me "bamboo pole".

Melanie's bullying was the best. When Melanie was still Melvin, the boys would call her a faggot, gay, cocksucker and the likes of it. Her retort?

"Pull down your pants and let me suck it then."

Silence. Good one Mel.

Tell Tale Signs

Star's colleague, this 47 year old mother (let's just call her Lynn) got the biggest shock of her life when her 17 year old son came out to her last week. Lynn was surprised, she didn't suspect anything remotely queer about him at all.

"Mothers and their delusion. Once that boy came to our office to visit his master and I could smell the gay scent from a mile away. For fucks sake Harry he was wearing a low neck leopard print top. The only straight man who would wear that is if he is Crocodile Dundee. I mean, he walked past my office and said "Nice Louboutins!" Harry, that boy was gayer than Adam Lambert's eyeliner," Star shared with me yesterday.

So Star and I came up with a list of tell-tale signs to figure out if your son is gay. We plan to publish it as a little booklet with illustrations and sell it at Mothercare. We predict a little fortune befalling us thereafter.

And before any of you think this list is decretory, stereotypical or homophobic, a) you don't have a sense of humour to laugh at yourself and b) my best friend is an anal bleaching gay man and my other best friend is a transexual so screw you.

Are you ready mothers. Here are 20 tell-tale signs that your son is probably gay:

1. He is always flipping his imaginary extended hair, like it's long and he's in a Head and Shoulders shampoo commercial.

2. He loves to hand out at his cousin's place. Rita because she has an extensive Barbie Doll collection and Jake, because he is cute.

3. He owns the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. And make no apologies about it.

4. His wardrobe is more extensive and bigger than his sister.

5. He has a penchant for animal prints. Leopard, zebra, whatever.

6. His skincare regime takes a full hour.

7. Whenever you go shopping for clothes with him, he always tells you, "Mum, no."

8. You accidentally saw the contents of his phone and his wallpaper is a shirtless David Gandy.

9. Whenever he is on the phone with his best friend, he goes "Gurrrl" every two minutes.

10. He is pretty.

11. You never have to clean his room. It is spotless, like his pretty face.

12. Joins the gym.

13. Tells your husband, "Dad, I will not be seen in public with you wearing Crocs!"

14. With his first paycheck he bought for you a YSL mascara because his "friends" tell him that they're awesome.

15. His hair is always perfectly coiffed.

16. He brings a cute guy home and introduces him to you as, "My friend". Straight boys say, "My bud". True story.

17. Knows the name of every of the Victoria Secret's Angels.

18. Listens to Mariah Carey on loop.

19. Always asks you, "Mum, would you still love me if I'm different?"

20. Dildo in the closet.

Harry

Prayers For Bobby

I am possibly the last person on the face of the earth that has not watched the Emmy nominated Lifetime movie Prayers For Bobby. Well I was, until yesterday. And it totally changed my life.

Steve got back early yesterday from work and he had no plans after that so we stayed at home and ordered pizza. I wasn't ready to be assaulted with another viewing of Burlesque and thankfully, so was Steve. So there we were, three large pizzas (pepperoni, meat lovers and spicy chicken) in front of us, a large bottle of coke, chips and we have nothing to watch. We stared at each other.

"Come on Steve, make a decision on what movie to watch," I said, munching on Lays sour cream and onion chips.

"I'm a bad decision maker," Steve replied flatly.

"We've watched your entire DVD collection. Let's go on YouTube and see what five movies are there to watch," I suggested.

"That's so middle class, always up for a free movie," Steve mocked jokingly.

"You got a better higher upper class suggestion?"

"Fine!" Steve rolled his eyes and switched on his Macbook and attached a cable from the Macbook to this gigantic flat screen HD television.

"Okay now what?" Steve said after logging in on YouTube.

"Hmm, let's work something sad, I'm in the mood for it," I recommended.

"Please don't cry and wipe your middle class tears on my Lanvin pillowcase," Steve laughed.

"That's like asking Steve to fly economy. Highly impossible. I WILL cry. And I WILL wipe my middle class tears on your Lanvin pillowcase, unfortunately. If it is a really sad movie, mucous included," I curtly replied.

Steve suggested that we watch Prayers For Bobby because one of his friends recommended the movie to him a couple of years ago but he never got around to watching the film because, oh I don't know, he was probably busy watching Miss Aguilera howling in her underwear all these while. I immediately agreed because I too have been busy (doing what I can't think of) and have never gotten the opportunity to watch it.

And thankfully for us, Prayers For Bobby is in youTube, in HD no less.

FOr those of you readers who have not watched it, I urge you to. I think it is one of the defining movies one can experience in his/her lifetime. Prayers For Bobby is a story about Mary Griffith, a staunch and devout Christian whose son Bobby, is gay. She tries to change him and in turn he became depressed and jumped off a bridge and got hit by an 18 wheeler truck and died instantly. The movie also shows how Mary came to terms with her son's homosexuality and thus came the famous quote, "I now know why God didn't heal Bobby. It is because...there was nothing wrong with him!"

Let's just put it out there. I am a wuss. The biggest kind there is. I think all of you definitely knows that face. I mean, I've possibly seen the worst sappy movies and when I think there is no more tears left in my eye ducts, they wring it all out of my eyes.

When Prayers For Bobby was at the final scene, and Sigourney Weaver, who played Mary was in a court and breaking down and talking about her lack of understanding of the LGBT community and how her ignorance caused her son's death, Steve turned to me and screamed, "Shut up! You're wheezing it's fucking irritating!"

I really couldn't help it. And yes, just for asking me to shut up, I did what he has always hated me doing; I wiped my tears on his Lanvin pillowcase, mucous included.

Labels And Slangs

I am the last person you should ask for to rectify a certain slang, code name, abbreviation and more often than not, a stereotypical and damaging label. I was the last boy in school to know what is the real meaning of MILF. I was already seventeen. A shame much more deeper than being caught naked in the boys changing room listening to Samantha Mumba on loudspeaker.

The boys kept talking about it for a good portion of my secondary school life and I thought they were just making fun of people with a lisp who cannot pronounce milk properly. I was seventeen when my curiosity got the better of me and I typed out the word "MILF" on google. I will never forget that day. A week after that I would also find out the meaning of DILF and GILF (let's not even go there).

So naturally in conversations, you would mostly find me asking, "Wait, what does that mean?" And yesterday was no exception. The usual four (Steve, Melanie, Star and I) were out for lunch and listening to Melanie's seemingly endless stories about her customers. Apparently you tend to share a lot more problems with your hairdresser than your own spouse, or psychiatrist for that matter, judging from the loopy confessions and conversations that Melanie's customers share with her while getting their hair done.

"I'm telling you guys, relationship nowadays, be it straight ones or gay ones are all filled and plagues with the same problems. I have this customer, this cute British expat who is a total rice queen, always comes in with one problem or the other and all involving his various boyfriends. i lost count as to how many infidelity stories he has shared with me over these past few months," Melanie shared.

"Wait, what does the mean?" I asked, naturally.

"What?" Melanie asked back.

"Rice..something," I muttered.

"Oh rice queen! That's a term used to describe a Caucasian man who likes and goes after Asian boys. You mean you don't know?" Melanie laughed.

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," I rolled my eyes.

"It's a gay slang and I'm surprised Steve and you never talk about this," Melanie said, looking at Steve who in turn dropped his jaws dramatically.

"Steve and I talk about other things that does not necessarily revolve around Caucasian men who lusts after Asian men. But why "Rice Queen", since we're at it," I asked.

"Because the staple food of most Asians is rice. And any self respecting gay man is a queen," Melanie shrugged.

"What if the Asian dude is on a no carb diet?" I asked again.

Steve snorted and broke out in a soft giggle.

"What?" Melanie shook her head.

"What if the Asian dude is on a no carb diet? Does that still make the white dude a "Rice Queen"? As if being homosexual itself and its many degrading and alienating tags and slangs is not enough, now it needs to get racial too?" I said.

There was an awkward silence at the lunch table.

"Relax, I am just asking. You didn't invent the slang so why the awkward silence?" I laughed.

"Rice queen has got a nice ring to it I must say. Imagine if it's something else. Like "Kway Teow Princess" or "Bee Hoon Duchess", how?" Star suddenly quipped.

I am thankful for friends like STar. And Bee Hoon Duchess is so going to be my new Skype nickname.

Live In Problems

They say you never really know someone until you move in and stay with them. "They", whoever they are cannot be more right. You know how some couples are so in love with each other and they get married and move in together and then suddenly they drive each other crazy with their habits?

Toilet seat always up, wet towels on the bed, shoes inside the house, ashtray all over the place, whites are not separated from the coloreds, sink is not wiped dry, legs on table, smoking on the sofa, wrong hangers for the wrong clothes and the list goes on and on until someone screams, "You're a pig!"

I am not trying to say that Steve is driving me crazy but rather it has been the exact opposite. Living with him for the past three days have been nothing short of a revelation. Or maybe he is just on his best behaviour to get into my good books. But whatever it is, it's good. And come to think of it, Steve is too honest of a person to even try to lie his way through life, even for a mere three days.

Being Steve's guest instantly made me a mini celebrity in his house. Everything is being fussed to suit my needs, right from head to toe. I wake up to a breakfast spread every single morning without fail for the past three mornings. In my house, breakfast is bread, butter, jam and plain water. Orange juice if you are lucky. And you have my mother pointing out her fingers at me menacingly saying, "I have wiped the tables twice this morning so I don't want to see any breadcrumbs on the table!"

"Then why serve breads in the first place?" I said.

And as of one year ago, I altogether stopped having breakfast for that very same reason. At Steve's house, breakfast is orange juice, hot coffee and tea, bread, peanut butter, croissants (from god knows where), scrambled eggs, jams and marmalades, sausages, ham, cereal (plain and frosted) and a maid standing by the table at your service. That is breakfast...for two.

"Who is going to finish this all up? I can't finish it all, it's too much," I whispered.

"My helpers need to eat breakfast too, no?" Steve said.

"Right," I said, biting into my toast.

The thing that I found out about Steve that as a friend, I find heartwarming is that he sees himself as an equal to others, even his helpers. Especially his helpers if I may add. He washes his own dishes, makes his won bed and even washes his own clothes. He says it is because he doesn't trust anybody with his clothes but I think he just doesn't want to further tire his helpers.

Many a times he would tell his three Indonesian helpers, "It's okay Bibik, I'll do it, you go upstairs and rest." This would be followed by a little scuffle between maid and young master (he hates it when I tease and call him that) to complete the task and he would always win, with hard insistence.

"They are here to help me with the household chores, not take care of me. I can take care of myself," Steve said yesterday over dinner. Steve felt like eating KFC so he ordered for everyone in the house.

The only thing that bothers me about living with Steve is his dangerous obsession with Christina Aguilera. He blasts Ms Aguilera all night long. That is one whole night of shrills and growls and screams and it does not help that my room is supposedly haunted. I mean that is just down right inviting them to come in.

Just now, Melanie and Star came over after work with 5 boxes of pizzas. It is our monthly ritual, movie night at Steve's because a) he has a huge room that he converted into a mini theater, complete with cushions and sofas and beanie bags and an overhead projector and a state of the art sound system and b) because of reason a).

Steve promptly took out a Burlesque DVD and Melanie said, "We've watched that before remember? And if you want to see Cher in tights, I can do it for you, same thing."

Steve said that he would treat all of us dinner the next day and suddenly Burlesque was playing on the screen. I know, I have cheap friends.

"Noooo," I cried helplessly. The past three days have been hours and hours of Christina Aguilera screaming her poor little lungs out in the house and I wasn't prepared to have her (bless her soul) violate my eardrums on our monthly movie night.

"She's so goo," Steve said staring at the screen, fanboy mode on. Ms Aguilera was in this black bra and fishnet stockings and gyrating and screaming away as usual.

"Whoever whose loved ones are in a comatose right now should pay Christina to sing beside them. They will wake up even before she starts the chorus. Trust me, it'll work," I rolled my eyes and lied down on the beanie bag, intending to snooze than watching Burlesque.

Bungalow Dreams

The day has finally arrived. Tomorrow onwards, my house is going to be in shambles and rebuilt again with a quarter of my mum's life savings all in over a month. My mum is going to Aunt Sally's place, Harold will be putting up at his best friend's (Sean, his cocksucking buddy as I would always tease him) extra guest bedroom and yes, I have decided to stay over at Steve's nearly vacant bungalow. I actually told my mum that I intend to take out the thrash every morning into the porch and pretend that I am the new owner of the gigantic bungalow.

"Rich people don't take out the thrash every morning. That's why they have maids. Forget it, you can never be a rich person. You're too middle class in soul Harry," was my mum's reply.

Shit, I hate it when she's right.

So the entire morning I was busy packing my entire wardrobe into eight different duffel bags and luggages. But that was only three quarters of the entire wardrobe. So I had to unpack everything and re-pack the clothes that I would probably want to hear. Harold walked past by my room this morning and stopped in his tracks.

"What the hell is this? You're only going to stay over Steve's place for a month, you're not migrating for good," Harold said.

"Well unlike you I have to bring a lot more clothes than you probably would because I change my clothes everyday, cause you know... I bathe," I replied sarcastically.

He kicked the pile of clothes at the door and scurried off.

"Asshole!" I shouted from inside the room.

I was the last person to leave the house because I had to be home when the packers come to pack our cutleries and plates and stuff. The rest of the household items are going to be packed and donated to an orphanage that my mum used to volunteer at a couple of years ago. Yes, you read that right. Everything currently in my house is going to be given away as charity. The newly renovated house would be furnished with everything new; new beds, wardrobes, sofa, dining table, sound system, lamps etc. My mum takes the adage "charity starts at home" rather literally.

She is also not present when the packers are doing their job simply because she is a mild hoarder and I am not going to pull away a hysterical woman away from her collection of fridge magnets. I don't have the time for that. Or the strength.

Everything ended at around six in the afternoon just now and as I locked the door, I felt a sense of excitement and nervousness. Excited to see what my new house would turn out to be and nervous, because it is going to be one month with Steve, just the two of us (five, if you count the maids) in a big bungalow. I hope I don't get lost in there on the first night trying to navigate my way back to my room.

When I arrived at Steven's place this evening, he was amused that I unloaded eight bags out of the maxi cab.

"Hello Miss Kardashian," he laughed as he opened his gate (see? rich people open their own gates!) to welcome me in.

We took all of my bags into my room upstairs that he has graciously allowed me to bunk in for a month and the room...is nothing short of amazing. I just can't bring myself to describe it.

"Oh don't worry. There is Wifi in the house, I'll give you the password later. And if you feel like eating anything, anything, just tell Bibik okay? She is a fantastic cook. (I wanted to ask which Bibik but I have a month to figure that one out) Yeah so everything that is in the house, is on the house. Oh and I need you downstairs after you've unpacked everything. I've downloaded the latest season of Modern Family. let's watch it together alright? And oh, remember to close the windows at night when you sleep?"

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. I looked outside of the window. Trees. Nothing but trees. I swallowed my saliva. I'm a wuss. There, I said it.

"Oh you know, things might come in at night," Steve said.

"What things?!" I asked, voice slightly shaking.

"You know, bats?" he replied.

I didn't know whether he was joking or serious so I just nodded. That was forty five minutes ago. I have finished unpacking my clothes and am typing this right now on my laptop, feet resting on the faux lamb wool carpet below me. Star just messaged me:

"How's the first night at your husband's place? And don't tell me Harry, he has liked you for the longest time, everybody knows that. <3 Have fun and don't get raped! Oh do you know that Melanie told me once that the same room you're going to be staying in is haunted? Have fun!"

Fucking bitch.

Stripey Prom Clown

You know how Facebook has a way of momentarily turning your life upside down with nothing but just an old picture of you during prom? Well, my life was momentarily turned upside down last week when an ex secondary school mate uploaded an old photo of me during prom some eight years ago. He tagged 24 other people and the incriminating photo was uploaded with the caption: "Look what I found!"

There are some things in this world that are better off lost and perished. Like Nicki Minaj, Crocs, the entire Kardashian clan and that damned prom photo. This is not some past regression that made me unable to accept my past. With every mistake, comes a lesson. That much I accept. But I can't accept the getup that I was in during prom. I just...can't.

Each and every one of us have gone through the painful and scarring years of adolescence but not everyone looked like a clown during prom. I was like the male version of carrie with the same emotional state, only with worst clothes. I was fat and much better off splashed with pigs blood like Carrie. I may be utterly exaggerating but that was prom to me. I wore this hideous striped shirt and almost matching striped pants (the horror!) and I looked like a discounted set of curtains in Carrefour. Oh but that is not all. I wore white shoes that Barry Manilow would set fire on and a belt with a blingy (go on, judge me) buckle.

Talking about it now is enough to send shivers down my spine and that is possibly the ONLY "What the hell were you thinking?!" moment that I have in my life. For years after that horrific episode, I would be seen buying men's fashion magazine from GQ to Men's Folio and it has somewhat become a reading material for me. I read everything that is required for a man to look good and socially accepted. I vouched from that day onwards that I would never, ever be caught on camera or seen in public for that matter wearing anything that would arouse the feeling of shame and disgust if I ever look back at it in the future.

And as if life couldn't get anymore unfair, the conversation that I had with Steve, Star and Melanie yesterday afternoon made me feel worse that I was last week looking at that damn prom photo. We were having a conversation about prom and how awful we looked back then but apparently I am alone in the "What the hell were you thinking?!" category. Star showed us a photo of her during prom back when she was in the States and she looked...the same.

"You looked the same. Better make up now of course, but you looked the same. You've had the same tits since you were 16," Steven said, staring at the picture.

"Girls enter puberty much earlier than boys. It's normal," Star shrugged.

"Yeah, but the other girls didn't have tits like yours," I added.

"That's because no boys touched their breasts," Melanie joked.

"Shut up Mel, you didn't even go to prom," Star snapped.

"That is because I wanted to wear a gown for prom. And I can't bear to go to prom and NOT win the prom queen title," Melanie said.

"Oh dear god, don't remind me," Steve exhaled loudly, rubbing his temples.

"What did you wore for your prom Stevieboy?" I asked.

Steve took out his phone and logged in on Facebook, scrolled for a couple of minutes and handed to me his phone. I looked at the screen and my jaws dropped. he looked like Keanu Reeves twenty five years ago, hair coiffed perfectly and he had a sash over his suit that read: "Prom King".

"You were Prom King," I said matter-of-factly. My heart stopped beating.

"And he wore a Gucci suit. And all the girls were all over him but he only had eyes for the guest DJ and I know this for a fact because we were from the same school and he told me everything. And he was caught in the school toilet later in the evening french kissing the much, much older DJ," Melanie shared.

I wanted to cry. Not because I wasn't prom king or because I wore a Gucci suit but because of the choices that I have made for my own prom. Choices that I couldn't change now. All I have now is a horror of a memory and a company of a girl who looks as fantastic as she was when she was sixteen, a Gucci wearing Prom King and a transsexual who skipped prom altogether because she stood by her beliefs.

Fuck me.

Diwali Competitive Eater

My neighbour Arjun is a first generation Singaporean. His parents come from Pune, North India to our shores 30 years ago before this country was an incubus of foreign talent and known as Little China; dad is a computer engineer (as typical as it gets) and mum works in a bank. Every Deepavali, or Diwali as the Northern Indians call it, his parents would invite everybody from back home to their humble abode (apparently it is cheaper for them to come to Singapore than them going there).

So for the past 26 years, over 20 odd family members from Pune, India from both father and mother's side, would be present to celebrate the Festival Of Light with them. A little short holiday for them, and I am sure it is a novelty for them to celebrate Diwali elsewhere instead of India. Besides, they still have the time to celebrate Diwali back home; in India, it is celebrated for weeks. Along with the family members, friends, colleagues, society members in the Marathi Association in Singapore would also be present. It is one whole day of thumping music and a cacophony of scents ranging from curries to freshly baked naan. My family, or me especially don't mind it at all. It is only once a year and Chinese funerals and Malay weddings make as much or more noise than my ears could take so this is really just my part in practicing racial tolerance (truth is I fucking enjoy the Bollywood music cranked up for the entire day).

And every year for the past 26 years, my family have always been invited to come over their place and celebrate Diwali with them. We enjoy it thoroughly and it has somewhat become a family tradition for us to be in their house and mingle around with their family members and friends and being given food to bring back home at the end of the day in quantity that can last us for a week. This year was no different. Arjun came over the night before and told us to come early and savour the naan and mutton masala while it is still hot. My mum shook her head and said, "Okay we will Arjun."

"Why do you have to shake your head like an Indian when you talk to them?" my brother Harold asked, lying down on the sofa in the living room.

"No I don't. Do I? I don't notice such things!" my mum said.

"Whatever you say," Harold answered, shaking his head and mimicking my mother.

That night, Arjun also texted me to ask Steve, Star and Melanie along for the Diwali celebration the next day. As luck would have it, Arjun is a computer engineer like dad, and he is working as a technical officer in Star's company and yes, he has a crush on Star and sometimes, he hangs around with us for coffee. It's a win-win situation for him. He gets to spend more time ogling at Star and is in my company so he won't be awkward. Besides, he stays in the house beside mine, so we always have each other's company on the way back home.

"Why would you like someone like Star? Indian girls are one of the most beautiful girls in the world and you want her? That is like choosing Jenny McCarthy over Aishwarya Rai, before she was fat," I said when he confessed his liking for Star three weeks ago.

That didn't stop him from liking Star and so with his insistence, I have invited Steve, Melanie and Star herself to his house. Star, because he likes her, Melanie and Steven because, he wants her to feel comfortable at his place. "What about me?" I asked. He said I will be busy choosing the Bollywood tracks by the sound system to even bother. Well, that's true.

So at 11 am yesterday morning, Star, Melanie and Steven arrived at my door, fresh and hungry. I asked them to come to my place first before we all head next door and my mum was genuinely surprised when she opened the door.

"What are you all doing here? Sorry, we don't give alms!" my mother joked.

Steven was wearing this brocade long sleeved mandarin collared top (Etro, like he would settle for anything less), Melanie was looking ravishing in a tangerine chiffon sari with gold trimmings and Star was looking...demure in a light grey anarkali with black and gold embellishments, complete with a dupatta (scarf) over her shoulders.

"That is the most modest I have seen you in Star. And you all look like extras in a Bollywood music video. Come in," I said, opening the gate.

"Fuck you," Star whispered at the door, whispering because my mum was behind me.

"And....there goes your modesty," I replied.

"What time does the party start? From what I'm hearing right now, it has already started," Steve said.

The music had been blasting since 10 in the morning and the 20 odd family members have started to trickle in since morning from the hotel where they are staying at. The familiar smell of curry and freshly baked naan have been wafting in the air for a good four hours now.

"And today I just found out that I can just pronounce it as Diwali. Deepavali is too much of a syllable for me to bother pronouncing," Star joked.

"I am so hungry I will literally eat the buffet table itself. Then Arjun's family members can see my true colours. Wait, they are not going to stone me to death if they know I am not a biological female right?" Melanie asked, sitting down on my couch.

"Don't worry Melanie. In India, transvestism has been around since forever. Hijras if what they call them, and they are known to bring good luck and they will entertain and dance and give blessings at for example, baby showers, or any form of celebration whatsoever. So your presence is more than welcomed. The Indians are more forward than the rest of the world when it comes to transvestism. Don't worry honey," my mum smiled.

"I am not dancing around babies if that's what you are saying aunty," Melanie says, deadpan.

My mum laughed so hard she had to hold the dining table so that she didn't fall.

"You're right Harry, she is more funny as a woman," my mum told me, running her chest from too much laughing.

Harold, who we were all waiting for (because he spends way too much time styling is hair) finally went out of his room and shook hands with all my three friends and said, "Okay I am done. Shall we?"

Melanie looked at my brother and said, "My you have grown so much and so fast Harold!"

Harold smiled and I told Melanie to quit it because he likes woman with God given pussy, not a plastic surgeon.

The party was a blast. Melanie was a hit with Arjun's relatives, Arjun was busy hitting on Star. Steve was hit many times by a flying hand; he was sitting near the dancing area and I was busy hitting the play button of the Bollywood songs list.

"You look like a prettier version of Preity Zinta!" one of the ladies told Melanie.

"Don't insult Preity Zinta like that!" I shouted across the room. Everybody was laughing and dancing and everybody had fun; just like how one should be in a celebration. My mum was at the balcony chatting with the elder women in the family and marveling at the intricate bead work of their saris.

Melanie was eating curry like nobody's business. By the fifth serving, Star went to her and said, "You are going to die of curry contamination!"

"I have never tasted curry like this before! This is the best curry I have ever tasted in my life!" Melanie said, mouth full of rice and curry.

"But that doesn't mean you should eat like a competitive eater," Steve added.

"And you are supposed to bring them good luck! You're supposed to be busy blessing random babies," I joked.

"I don't see any babies around. I see curries, curries, curries everywhere!" Melanie said, almost choking on her food.

"You are a disgusting Hijra," Star said, pained look on her face.

The very same night Arjun texted me to say thank you for inviting Star and the gang along and that he really enjoyed himself. He even managed to ask Star out on a date next week.

"Why not? He is cute! He looks like one of those Bollywood pretty boys. His eyelashes are really long and I bet that is not the only long time about him, or so I've heard," Star said over the phone in a conference call with Melanie and Steve.

"I am not going to work tomorrow. I have been shitting like nobody's business since I got back," Melanie complained over the phone.

'That's what you get for being a pig," Steve said laughing.

Work In Progress

By mid next month, I will have to find a place to stay for three months. The reason behind this is because my mum intends to renovate the entire house, and that too without informing me until yesterday over dinner. She is going to stay at Aunt Sally's place for the time being since Rick has gotten married and there is an extra room. Harold is going to stay at his best friend's place, which is honestly, like his second home. His best friend, Sean, and his mother treats Harold like family. Which leaves me to being the person without a place to stay for three months while the house is in shambles, undergoing a makeover.

"I called Steve and told him I would want only him to be the interior designer for our house renovation," my mum told me over dinner yesterday after dropping the last minute news about the three month homeless renovation story.

"And what did he say?" I asked.

"Oh he was more than happy to help. He even sounded more excited than I am! He said he would do anything, for Harry's sake. You sure you have nothing going on with him? I mean, whatever boys, I don't mind, he is rich, go for it I say," my mum replied.

"That is just morally wrong, on so many levels mum," I shook my head.

"He is coming over tomorrow morning to discuss about the renovation details at around ten. You both better be present and decide about the design of your own rooms. If it was up to me, I don't think you boys would like it," my mum said, clearing the dishes on the table away.

So this morning, Steve came over and the four of us had a discussion about the concept of the house and its design sensibilities, costs, budget, the whole thing.

"Well you know Steve, ever since aunty got divorced five years ago, aunty have been wanting to renovate this house and change things so that you know, aunty won't be reminded of the painful memories because this house was decorated and designed by both me and my ex husband. Aunty wants to move on and this renovation would help me a lot," my mum said, with a sad face.

"Oh god you are such a lying emotional blackmailer! The only reason why you want a renovation is because you have always wanted a walk in wardrobe for the longest time!" Harold outed her.

I laughed manically.

"Fine! I want a walk in wardrobe too using the space from the storeroom beside my master bedroom! You can do that right Steve?" my mum cooed. Harold rolled his eyes.

"Of course I can! How much is your budget aunty?" Steven asked, scribbling away in his notebook.

"Forty thousand? Is that enough?"

"What the hell? Since when did you have that much money to spend? Oh and you scoff at Rick's wedding a week ago? Who is the one NOT acting like a middle class person should here?" I asked condescendingly.

"I've been saving for years. And Steven is going to handle everything from start to finish. We just move out, and come back three months later to a new home. No hassle, no fuss. Thank you Steven!" my mum cooed again.

"Speaking of which, I have yet to find a place to rent for three months because SOMEONE told me only at the very last minute," I said.

"Oh you can stay at my place. I've got three empty fully furnished bedrooms and my parents are rarely in town anyways and I don't think they would mind. In fact I think they would love it if I have some company and guests in the house," Stave offered, with a twinkle in his eyes.

I told him I would think about the generous offer and my mum tested me later on in the afternoon that I am stupid for even thinking of considering the offer. "U cn ask him 2 gv us e red satin couch in his living rm! Pls! Or I won't do e laundry 4 u animre!"

Harold is right. My mum is a lying emotional blackmailer.

Mrs Lee And A Sofia

Stevieboy had invited us over to his place last weekend so Star, Melanie and I put on our best brunch outfits and the three of us came over for a free meal (screw shyness). Apparently Steve parents (mum actually) wanted to see us and was very excited about having guests over; a rarity considering that his parents are almost never in Singapore all year round. Steve have been regaling to his parents about the insanity that is our company and his parents are very happy apparently that Stevieboy's closest friends is made up of a transexual, a slut and a full grown man who has a compulsive disorder.

"Wait, you have three million houses around the world. But you are now staying in the penthouse at that condominium at Orchard Road right?" Melanie reconfirmed with Steve over a group chat in Skype the night before.

"No Mel, I've rented that one out. I am staying with my parents now in Bukit Timah. One of the houses there," Steve typed.

"You own a colony of houses there, which one are we talking about here love?" Star joked.

"Call me when you guys are all at Mel's place tomorrow. I'll pick you guys up from there," Steve confirmed.

So here we are, sitting down in the living room, well I really don't know what it is or how to describe it; I am basically sitting in a room that is half the size of a football field. There is a giant chandelier and the sofa we are all siting on feels like, I don't know how to describe it again; it feels expensive. Oh screw Steve. Why must some people be so rich?

"Does this entire mansion have its own postal code?" Star whispered.

"What do you think?" I whispered back.

"Hello all!" a friendly voice echoed through the room. And there she was, Mrs Lee, standing at the top of the staircase right smack in the middle of the living room. She was wearing a knee length printed dress with cap sleeves and her hair was tied in a bun, diamond stud earrings competed her look.

"That dress is a Cavalli. And isn't she supposed to be in her fifties? She doesn't look a day above 45! I want her surgeon!" Star whispered.

"If she is a bitch, oh, the things I would say later on," Melanie muttered under her breath.

"Mum this is Star (Star? What a lovely sexy name!), Harry (Is this your boyfriend Steve?), and Melanie (Oh my god. You used to be so handsome! ). Guys, meet my mum," Steve introduced.

"You haven't answered my question Steve. Is Harry your boyfriend? Are you Harry?" his mother asked holding my right arm and slightly swaying it. Star and Melanie laughed, Steven was clearly embarrassed, his red cheeks giving it away.

"No mum, he is not and stop harassing him," Steve finally said.

"Oh what a shame. Don't worry Harry he is still single and he has never brought any guys home yet. At least not that I know of. There was this one time though, about three years ago when I accidentally opened his room door and I..."

"Mum! Stop!" Steven hushed. We have the same mother apparently.

"Are you guys hungry? Let's have something to eat. And no, I can't be one of those mother who cooks for my son's friends, I don't have the time. What are domestic helpers for right? Is Italian okay?" Mrs Lee joked. We nodded our heads in unison, like dumb a-holes.

Apparently lunch is not ready yet and will only be so in about another twenty minutes so Mrs Lee invited us to sit in her walk-in wardrobe because "It is the only place I feel safe, and it smells of mandarin and cloves and all of you can sprawl on my floor. Screw formalities."

The moment we entered her walk-in wardrobe (which is another room altogether, about the size of a one room HDB flat), Star accidentally said, "Oh my god fuck me."

Mrs Lee laughed, "It's okay, I say that whenever I walk in here too."

The wardrobe was, wel, it was like a mini shopping centre. There is an entire shelf filled with shoes, easily over a hundred, and three wardrobes filled to the brim with all the clothes you can think off. there is two small shelfs filled with all her accessories and a giant closet which she describes as "Bags In Heaven". And when she opened the closet door, what greeted us was rows and rows of all the designer bags you can think off, literally from every single brand. Melanie and Star just stood there, mouths open. Star said, "You have the pink Celine tote? Mrs Lee I have been wanting to buy it for months but couldn't get it!"

"You like it? Take it then," Mrs Lee smiled, taking the bag from the closet and handing it over to Star.

"What?" Star said, eyes widened.

"I have way too many bags, you can have it. Take a couple if you want to, I have a lot and I don't think I would stop buying, much to Steve's father discontent. But screw him, I buy these with my own money. Melanie, do you like anything you see? Tell me, take two or three bags you both! I am serious," Mrs Lee continued.

"Oh my god Mrs Lee, thanks! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! You're like a mother I never had!" Star shrieked. I rolled my eyes.

Melanie was pretty calm though but you know she was screaming inside. She confidently said, "If you insist Mrs Lee, I want the Bottega Roma and the Ferragamo Sofia."

"Good choice, take, take. I don't know where to keep it anyways. I have never worn the Sofia though. So it is as good as new. Take it. Harry you want anything? Are you into women bags too?" Mrs Lee laughed.

I look at Steve and back at her and just smiled and shook my head.

"You can ransack Steve's closet though. He has came out of it so there is enough space for his designer clothes to be fitted in. Haha!"

"Mum, not funny," Steve said.

A helper went inside the room (sorry, walk in closet) and told us that lunch is ready. But I don't think, the girls are that hungry anymore.

Marry This

The entire morning, my mum was sniffing the wedding invitation card she got from Aunt Sally's eldest son Rick, who is marrying his girlfriend of four years Liz. This is my mum's first wedding invitation of the year and she was very excited, and critical about it. She is sniffing the card harder than a K9 raiding Lindsay Lohan's home.

"This smells so familiar. It smells of Enchanted body talcum, but it also smells of my vaginal wash," my mum said after smelling the wedding invitation card for what seemed like hours.

"Mummy, can you stop being so disgusting?" my brother shook his head.

"What is so disgusting about vaginal hygiene and vaginal wash? You want to lick a lady and taste rotten oysters is it?"

"MUM!!" my brother and I screamed in unison.

"And look, they even have an emblem on the card, like they are royalty of some sort. It's a garden wedding apparently boys, and the dress code is smart casual," my mum continued, scanning the wedding card intently.

I strongly advise everyone who is getting married to be explicit about the dress code on your wedding day, complete with a footnote saying: "Failure to turn up at this wedding in adherence to the dress code will result in, well, you can't attend my wedding." I have seen assholes wearing slippers to attend a wedding. That is firstly, not respecting the bride and groom on their joyous day, and secondly, in what parallel universe do you live in where it is acceptable to look like a homeless person at someone's wedding? Does it hurt to wear a shoe for a couple of hours? And I have seen girls wearing jeans to weddings. Jeans. JEANS.

I don't think a lack of fashion sense is a good enough reason to dress like an asshole at someone's wedding. It is not about being fashionable. It is about being proper and respectful. You wouldn't want someone to wear a two piece bikini to your father's funeral do you? What is so wrong about wearing a shirt and pants combo, even if it is ill fitting? Or a dress/skirt and blouse? Even if the print is like someone's tablecloth in 1978?

"I wonder who their caterer is?" my mum asked.

"Why are you so critical? I thought you and Aunt Sally are very close? Why the sudden bitchiness?" my brother Harold asked back.

"I'm not being bitchy. Hello, I am too old to be bitchy. I am just concerned that's all!"

My brother laughed. My mum stared at him. "What?" my brother asked.

"When are you going to get married?" my mum asked me, eyes still staring at my brother who is not even paying attention to her, reading his comic book.

"Are you asking me?" I answered.

"Duh, you're the eldest."

"So?"

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" my mum enquired further.

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Can you stop it? I am not going to get married just because your nephew is getting married," I answered, annoyed.

"You haven't been looking for a girlfriend?"

"And where do you suggest I find one?" I asked.

"I don't know. A bar? Or are you interested in that Steve? Melanie told me that he likes you. I don't mind, marry that rich dude, I want all the Pradas that I can get," my mum said.

"What?!"

"Don't you want a garden wedding?" My brother laughed, harder this time. My mum pinched him so hard he fell off the chair.

There are so many things I want to tell her. But I just kept quiet. From the sanctity of marriage becoming a joke to many people, and the amount of money used, I don't know where to start. Marriage, is not for me. I can't seem to find the idea of marriage appealing too. Ask me again in five years, maybe my outlook on it will change, but as of right now? I am more interested to find the getup for my cousin's garden wedding beyond anything else. Yes, I enjoy going to weddings of other people but don't even spare a minute to ponder and think about my own.

And for what? If all else fails, I only need fifty bucks and I can have a wedding with that budget. Right Amy?

A Bash-ful Affair (Part 3)

Steven really knows how to throw a birthday bash. The party is filled with magnates and socialites (friends of mummy and daddy) but mostly gorgeous looking people, some ex classmates, primary, secondary, college, interior design school, but mostly from his expanse circle of model friends, and their model friends, and everybody is dressed to kill.

I am sitting down drinking my fifth (sixth?) glass of champagne and just enjoying myself she Melanie came and sat beside me and held my hands while whispering in my ear, "Harry, three o'clock, six feet tall, slightly scruffy, standing to the left of the girl in green." I nodded, eyes fixed. "Stop staring! God you're such a high school girl!" Melanie pinched my right thigh. "Ow! What about him?"

"We were talking just now. And we were laughing t that old socialite there wearing something even Bjork wouldn't wear. We were totally hitting it off and then he told me, "I saw you came with your guy friend sitting over there, he's cute.""

I stared at melanie and asked, "And?"

"Harry, he is talking about you! He likes you, not me! I am showing him half of my tits and I keep flicking my hair and all he wants is someone with a dick. When I used to have a dick, everyone wanted a pussy. And now when I have one, all the guys want someone with a dick!"

"Melanie, are you high? Are you gonna flash yourself again like last time?"

At that very moment Star came rushing to our table. "Oh my god, guess who I saw? Bernard!"

"Who the fuck is Bernard?" Melanie spat, obviously pissed about her lack of proper genitals at the right time.

"I was 15 years old when Bernard took my virginity. Don't you guys remember? Apparently Stevieboy used to design his house back in the states, when Stevieboy was based there for a year two years ago!"

To which Melanie asked, "And this is news to us because...?"

"Because he just gave me his room number and we are going to possibly recreate 2003 all over again." Star smiled. "He is staying at the room right above ours, four floors up. And he is waiting for me so may I..."

"Go Star. But I will always remember this night; when you choose a lousy screw over us." I said.

"Harry, I have shoved my tits into this, do you know how painful it is for me to walk around in this? I want to take it off..."

"In front of Bernard. Where is Steven?" Melanie asked.

Steven, as we are talking is on the dance floor dancing to a remix of Rihanna's Where Have You Been. Let's just say, money can't buy you dancing skills. But hey, I have a Tom Ford tux. Yay to me.

A Bash-ful Affair (Part One)

Star, Melanie and I are sitting at Starbucks discussing on what to wear for an upcoming birthday party organized by Steven. Steven is Melanie's best friend from secondary school they were in the National Cadet Corps together back in school, when you know, Melanie was still melvin. Surprisingly, Steven fully accepts the transformation of his best buddy from man, to woah-man. He even paid for a couple of Melanie's surgery procedures.

Ah, Steven, before I forget, is rich. Like really, really rich. We are talking about a mini empire here. His father owns 46 branches of upscale Italian restaurants around the world and 7 nightclubs in both L.A. and Amsterdam. Mother owns a chain of spas in Asia Pacific. Last count? 14 branches. Steven is an interior designer by profession, so basically he is the one responsible for making daddy and mummy's shops look pretty and chic. They say luck and nepotism go hand in hand and boy is Steven a prime example of that.

He is the only son. A supremely eligible bachelor even by the highest standards. But here's the catch; He likes men. So basically there won't be any ground wedding, and a custom made Vera Wang wedding dress. Steven, or Stevieboy as we call him, has a lot of money to spend, but obviously not on diamonds for a random money grabbing tramp.

So since there is no wedding party, Steven puts it upon himself to throw one of the biggest birthday parties in Singapore. he books a ballroom at a 5 star hotel and invites everybody he knows. There's booze, music, more booze, spa vouchers (courtesy of mummy) as door gifts and food is always posh nosh Italian (daddy's obviously). And for the past four years, we have been regularly attending his birthday party, VIP seats no less. Melanie says it is because Steven has a crush on me and I...sort of love it. I know, the lines of morality can always be blurred, at least when I feel like it. This year's birthday party theme is "The Oscars". Steven emailed Melanie yesterday saying that he will buy a gown for each of them, any label, because "You are the only two girls who deserve it."

Right now Star is deciding between a plum Zac Posen empire cut dress or a white one shouldered tulle gown from Valentino. Melanie, in all her tranny fabulousness, have decided on Gucci, lamé gold with a plunging neckline and a little dramatic train. Can you blame her?

"Harry, Steven also said that he has custom made a Tom Ford suit for you. It's arriving tomorrow!" Melanie gushed.

"How does he know my measurements?" I asked, suspicious.

"I...gave it to him", Melanie whispered, looking away.

"Mel! You could have asked me first!" I fumed.

"Honey, you're getting a Tom Ford suit for free, so shut it. Aww...how sweet. You should just date him  Harry. All the Armani and Zegna in the world. Think!" Star interrupted.

I glared at her. I can well afford my own Armani and Zegna, but then again, what is wrong about getting a free tux right? Blurred morals, so I kept quiet.

Star finally decided to opt for the white Valentino because she wants to be Anne Hathaway and "we will come into the ballroom in black, gold and white and blow off everyone's head, no pun intended."

"Oh Steven has also booked a suite for the three of us at St. Regis, where the party is going to be at. Well four cause Steven is going to overnight together with us in the room the night before. Star and I have forked out money to get him a Dunhill cigarette case. That man has everything but he keeps his cigarettes all over. And yes before you ask, you are going to be sharing the master bedroom with him and give him a priceless birthday gift while you're at it." Melanie winked.

2 Birds And A Shadobee

The topic about sex is a regular fixture in our conversations, be it in public or in private. Melanie prides herself for being absolutely adept in the knowledge of anything remotely sexual. And why shouldn't he? I mean, she. So it is to no one's surprise when the topic of pornography was discussed just now during our ritual Sunday brunch.

"I love gay porn", Star said, egg benedict in mouth. "I love it. I once chanced upon a gay porn video involving fisting and from then on I'm hooked. Those men are gorgeous."

I chocked on my cranberry juice. It felt as if one of those gay porn stars fisted me, right in the throat. I told Star that she is disgusting and she kicked my legs from under the table and mouthed, "Fucker." Melanie on the other hand was just staring at one of the boys sitting at a table opposite of ours. There was a long silence. And then Melanie said, "That guy in that blue shirt looks very familiar. I think I've seen him somewhere."

"Oh, such a hottie!" Star exclaimed.

"I think he was in this amateur gay video that I saw on Xtube", Melanie whispered, squinting her eyes for a clearer view.

"He is gay?! Oh my that's hotter! I totally dig man on man action. Show me the video!" Star said, getting all excited. I growled, "You are NOT watching gay porn in here during brunch! Everybody can see!"

"Nobody can Harry. And if they can, then they deserve to watch gay porn for being such a nosey motherfucker", Melanie said, fingers typing away.

The next ten minutes was me eating my chicken avocado sandwich, head down and across the table, Melanie and Star hunched over the phone with headphones on (on my insistence) and Star going, "Oh my. Shit. Yes. Okay that IS him! Oh. My. God. Wow. Wow. NICE! Shit that's a lot!"

"Do you want to see the video Harry?" Melanie teased. I told her that I'm still not down with my sandwich and that, no, I wasn't interested in watching the guy on the opposite table naked and jacking off. "I'll send you the link later!" Melanie guffawed. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to be a prude or anything; I never was and never will be. I enjoy porn as much as any regular dude but I guess you have to draw the line when it comes to brunch and gay mobile porn. And these two, they have no line of barrier in reservedness whatsoever.

We were waiting for our bill to be transacted when Star asks, in a rather audible tone (very loudly), "Have you guys seen the 2 girls 1 cup video?" Half of the patrons in the restaurant looked at our table. I mean, fuck me right?

"I have. But I don't think Harry has. Have you Harry?" Melanie asked.

I shook my head.

"Let's all go back to my place and watch it together! It'll be fun!" Melanie chirped. But honestly though, I've never seen this 2 girls 1 cup video. From what people said, it is a video about two girls defecating into a cup and then eating each other's shadobee. I mean the thought of it is disgusting, yes, but I have seen my share of disgusting acts caught on tape, so crazily I said okay.

So here we are now, me, notebook on my lap, trying my level best to be cool and nonchalant about it. I mean, how bad can it be right? Okay it's playing now. Star is fast forwarding to the "nasty part", according to her and I'm...fuck. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Okay I need to gag it all out. Later.