chaka chaka

a couple of nights ago, pickway was relaying some random trivia over our weekly kim gary dinner.

“did you know, grasshoppers and other performers like aaron kwok tape their dicks down?”

i choked on a spoonful of shredded pork and chinese mushroom rice. “to avoid wardrobe malfunction?” i wondered, thinking of the shiny tiny hot pants favoured by mr kwok.

“it’s because they will, y’know, ’stand’.”

i sputtered a few grains of rice onto the table.

“you mean you’ve never heard before meh?”

do enlighten me on the hong kong entertainment scene, dear pickway.

“guys,” she said knowingly, smugly and triumphantly, “get hard when they’re tired.”

my whole life flashed (heh) before my eyes. i felt like a high school-er again.

“my boyfriend runs marathons, and he told me that when he and his friends finish running all tired like that, it gets awkward… cos you know.”

boy, was i confused. was i sorely lacking in the sex ed department? was she pulling my leg? was this something everyone knew? was this a rawang thing? i mean if only exhaustion caused erections. pfizer would go out of business.

*conversations originally in canto, yo. which makes it that much more hilarious.

does this mean my photos will be all award-winning picture perfect? hardly. it just means i don’t have to mooch off JT’s yummy lens (which has spoilt me for life) and i can also now peek into my neighbour’s house from the comfort of my room.

p/s nothing interesting has happened so far.

was stuffing my face today, more than a little distraught after some heated erm discussion with ma. then my loveliest gives me this:

he warned me that it isn’t a terribly expensive lens. like, who’s care, hon? it’s a lovely present. i love it, and i love you. <3

nikkor 70-300mm AF G. i just took a few photos of the moon tonight. i like.

tomorrow, 62mm filter!

an innocent browsing of photos. his girlfriend’s new baby niece links you back to a past you try, but can never forget.

a harem of girls who serendipitously gather at the same smoke-filled club each week, reveling in a drunken exchange of air kisses and bodily fluids.

some cocky attention whore is random online friend to your sifu…

…while sifu is cute younger brother to an adorable girl whom was supposed to make a friendly acquaintance. well, shit, that went totally awry.

someone close studied under someone closer. someone i can’t stand fucked someone else whose guts i hate.

your friends and my friend and his friend are all connected by brief, somewhat dodgy, interludes. already hazy pictures dog-eared by another year of parties and short-term memories, culminating in an unholy epiphany at the lorong mesui carpark.

a pretty girl with unbelievably long legs that stretch all the way to someone who turned green screen magic tricks. did you really ask him to show you his ink? here’s another Do Not Collect $200, Go Directly To Screaming In The Shower.

forget the phenomena: six degrees of kevin bacon bullshit; you’re living the three degrees of oh, for fuck’s sake.

photos from an impromptu session.

they look like stills from some chinese horror movie. i like very much.

conflict, strife and misery equals a recipe for heart-stopping, tear-jerking, wrist-slitting drama; my life as i know it is a lovely double chocolate cake, accompanied with a glass of cold milk.

absolutely delish.

a new day, a new year.  as usual my discomfiture in releasing details about private stuff (to an extent) stems from the fact that the great internetz is anything but. oh, hello spiders. did you know that bots contribute more than 80% of my traffic at any odd day of the week? yup, that’s right.

the birthday and the week leading up to it was Cowabunga! simply because there are no other words to describe it. a daily surprise countdown: little (and not-so-little) things from the person i love most in the world; the finale: a super-pariah, uber-mabuk, 我像 lambie/please speak english, drinking session with my new and old friends. no, seriously, to all those who called me lightweight, you try downing 2 pints of hoegaarden + 1 graveyard + 1 flaming lambo + 4 random shots then you walk a tightrope in your Jimmy Choos while balancing seal pups on your face. so from my vantage point, which was face-first in a puddle full of stomach acid, i saw (or rather, i would have seen it if i stayed conscious) those whom i should continue hold close. i love you guys. thanks for taking care of ‘lil ‘ol smashed me. :)

new year’s eve was bloody beetroots at life centre. @khairulnz blew us off because of the traffic that existed in his head. @hailat was probably not feeling well. and despite retiring my aching feet by 2am like an aunty, my day & night ’twas fun you obviously didn’t have on new year’s. because i’m a snob like that and the world revolves around me, not you.

and that’s all i have to say about that. that, and wannabe writers should do less writing and more salsa-ing or leg-spreading or refine their cock-sucking techniques and shut the flying fuck up.

danke, 2009. you were very good to me. /hugs

the first part of the long leave commenced with a road trip to malacca. yes, we all roll our eyes at the little town that spawned, since the last count, 2,134,518 lomo photos and even more artsy fartsy DSLR shots. post-worked and posted to death. which is why the posse road trip was sorely missing one mr music and one miss rabbit (who scurried off to the less-travelled pulau ketam instead).

so malacca is, in the loosest sense, a home town of sorts. sketchy family history about supposed baba nyonya heritage, teochew wanderers touching points along the west coast, and the annual ching bing (qing ming to you) trip which i’ve never participated in, all tie me back to the state. plus i am head-over-heels for the lard-soaked chicken rice balls. probably the strongest proof of my heritage, methinks.

closed my eyes and picked two cameras to accompany me on the trip: the beloved LC-A+ and the paradoxically under- and over-rated golden half.

expired centuria dnp lends a rather strong purple haze to all photos (tested in a few trial rolls) which i’m not particularly fond of. i guess despite my occasionally pink hair, i’m a conventional girl at heart.

the weather was blazing, which just screamed for a fixed-speed toy cam and a tribe toyota brolley.

how obliging.

overpriced baubles and the throngs of KLites aside, the town has also fascinated me with that delicious creepiness old abandoned buildings have. as you peek through a crack in a mildewed door, you start pondering the “whys” “hows” and especially the “whos” of this dilapidated shell of a house, even expecting to be greeted by an unblinking otherwordly eye (because that’s what always happens in the movies, ok).

these place are supposedly unclean but with my starbucks-numbed senses i couldn’t and haven’t felt a thing. maybe just a little imagined loss and despair which in all probability stems from me trying to inject some romanticism into my yuppie life.

still, annual pilgrimages to the place has made me a little sick (though we could pin that on the horrid horrid satay celup).

chicken rice balls. check. st paul’s church. check. techni trishaws. double and triple checked. eye on malaysia. maybe not. baba house. hmm. cendol. check. geographer. limau limau. jonker after 8pm. it’s as if time elbowed its way forward just to stand still.

a sparkling, gleaming white tomb of a 500-years dead and gone and forgotten malay warrior. i dare you to make sense of that.

but then again, i’m merely rambling, waiting for my hair to set. which it just has.  i wish i were a peranakan princess.