I had relatives coming in droves yesterday and since someone had to send my youngest brother back to school (which was conveniently located at Kuala Selangor) it was left to me to do it because my mother who initially planned to undertake the task had to stay and play host to the unexpected gush of guests, while my elder brother, well, he’s busy preparing for his wedding this coming July. Oh didn’t I tell you? Yes, he is getting married. I mean, good for him, but not so for me. Y’see, being the second child, I’m next in line and situations aren’t ideal for a guy, who just received the most devastating news in his not-the-least love-aspiring life, to be in. as much as I’d like to share this life-changing piece if revelation but sorry, mates, we will not discuss moopy issues here. It’s a guy thing. Plus, it’ll get me into a whole set of new problems. And (back to my brother’s wedding discussion) to top it all off, he’s marrying to a MAS stewardess. Let me emphasize the word ‘MAS’ here. Not AirAsia, not FireFlyz, but MAS. Wet dreams, hello! I mean, talk about pressure for the second son. A stewardess! Now, how the fuck am I suppose to top that? Hitchin’ a stewardess could only be bettered if I were dating a model or a celebrity. Someone the likes of Natasha Hudson. But I couldn’t even make a move for a girl at a video store! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! A stewardess? You fuckin’ me? Seriously? Fuck, man! Huh, could I just say ‘fuck’, one more time, please? (Robert Downey Jr., Kiss Kiss Bang Bang).
So there, my brother’s getting married to a stewardess and I know, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself to live up to that standard, I mean, it’s all about love, right? It’s all that matters in the end. At least, that’s what people have been saying to me. Couldn’t say I totally believe in that concept. Besides, my brother’s been a ladies’ man since he was 12. I know it since we went to school together. I was 9 then and at that age I have yet to view girls as objects of affection. They were simply the opposite of boys. And boys were cool so go figure my mindset. And now, years later, occasionally I’d look back and made wishful thinking if only I had had that girl’s phone number. You probably remember I wrote something about her for a Valentine’s Day post. 2006, I think. She has blonde hair, blue eyes but she has a Malay persona. I didn’t give much thought about that back then but now, I’m guessin’ mixed parents. At 25, she would most definitely turn out to be one hell of a babe. And we had it good. We were both prefects in those days and on occasions during recess we would get assigned to hold watch in certain parts of the school and we would talk while I sat on the stairs and she played her imaginary hopscotch. It was like a scene direct out of Mukhsin. I’m just saying that even though I have yet to see the movie. I’ve managed to catch Gubra only just recently. But seriously, after 2 movies, I’m beginning to grow tired of Orked. Please, Ms Yasmin, give us something new. Anyway, that’s all I have left. A piece of memory, etched in time. Just me and… oh for fuck’s sake, I couldn’t even remember her name! What a darth prick (Rhys Ifans, Notting Hill). So much for that memory bullshit and I can’t even remember her name.
Wait, how the fuck did we get here? I wanted to talk about the studio and Carmen Electra in a bikini, and somehow I ended going down memory lane. Oh yes, that’s right, my future sister-in-law. Good luck topping that, mate. And if I should consider my ‘brilliant’ cohort’s advice (aka Watai), I should use her as a bridge to her other stewardesses friends. It’s certainly is a bright proposition but I think it’s still too early for that move just yet. I need to bond with her first before I can go say, ‘Oh since my brother has netted you, how about giving the younger brother exclusive access to your other lonely, perfectly shaped, fine-looking, high-flying stewardesses friends?’. Watch this space, people.
Fuck, I did it again. Wait, let me read what I’ve written. Oh yes, Kuala Selangor. Well, it seems irrelevant now. I wanted to talk about Ijok but fuck that, stewardesses are much more interesting. But enough about that. Some other time, perhaps.
Change of scenery: last night.
For the first time in 2007, Aritha called me up out of the blue yesterday evening asking me to join her and Sasa for dinner somewhere decent in a ,as she put it, ‘a Sex and the City like outing’. Except that it’ll involve me and I’m no Chris Noth. We went to Chef & Brew at Bukit Damansara which I must say the ambience is quite nice. And best of all, less crowd. But in hindsight less chikas to look at. Yes, yes, I know. Two ladies and a bloke at a nice restaurant, I was lucky as it was but looks can be so deceiving. Especially in my case. But it is not my place or right to discuss those matters. Maybe some other time. Maybe never. Most probably never. Anyway, Chef & Brew, you couldn’t miss it if you want to try and find it. The neon signage is so huge it would put strip clubs to shame. The food was not bad but the service could be better. One of the waiters actually forgot that I asked him for the bill. I had to do that air signature gesture twice. Like, hello, the place wasn’t even half-full. More like running at 12% occupancy. And get some fuckin’ deodorant. But overall it was okay. Maybe worth a second visit. But then the thousand dollar question looms – with whom the second visit shall be with? Sasa even mentioned another lovely Italian restaurant at Jalan Yap Kwan Seng and sure, I’d love to try it sometime but again, with whom? On top of my head I can think only a list of friends and Jes only eats salads. I explored her fridge the other day and it was so bare even the ice cubes indicated a significant presence. With how things are going, it’s probably only a matter of time before I start borrowing my friends’ girlfriends for decent night out with the opposite sex. And I know I wouldn’t have to deal with all that boyfriend paranoia hullabaloo. If only I can get myself over how stupid the idea actually sounds.
Anyway, back to Bukit Damansara. Everything was cordial and laid back when right after the main course Aritha had this sudden urge to play her version of ‘what if’ and began hounding me with me with these speculative questions about my possible initial attraction to the other females in our circle of friends (and slightly beyond who just happen to fall into the picture). Now, from what I know, there two different types of nightmares. One is the one you get when you are asleep and get chased by monsters or you discover you have a third nipple. The other is a real life situation in which you feverishly hope that you’d never find yourself in that would cause you much shame and anguish and with no direct route of escape. This is the latter. I don’t know if the situation came about because I am about the only straight guy that she could afford to forward these questions to or I just happen to stand too close to the spotlight. Either way, too late to ponder that by now. She mentioned every possible name, one by one, that she know that I’d be familiar of and for each one she asked the question, ‘Let’s say you are strangers and you saw (name) sitting at a table in a nice restaurant not far from you (and not in the middle of a date), as far as attraction goes, would I take the trouble to go and talk to her? If so, why and why not?’ Seriously, I’d rather have another go on the Solero Shot than to endure this at that time. You don’t ask these things to a guy in my position. Why do women need to know about all these? It’s a can of worms. But at the same time it’s not like I wanted to be a spoilsport so reluctantly, I played along. But I knew I was venturing into dangerous territories by doing so because the brain mechanics of a woman differs with that of a man. They decipher things quicker and better with issues pertaining to emotions and feelings. We men don’t bother to decipher them at all. So for every answer I laid I tried to apply as much damage control as I possibly can. But even so, I didn’t think I did pretty well in the end. I did manage to dodge, however, about…. y’know…. Zabrina. Yes, tiny accomplishment for me. But suffice to say, even though Aritha has found my closet of skeletons, I’m relieved she didn’t probe any deeper because there’s plenty more where that came from. That is, until she reads this. You know how women would tell you that they know something new and juicy about someone but they wouldn’t tell you the whole story? Or can’t or whatever bullshit. Well, she did the exact same thing to me last night, repeatedly. And guess whose turn is it, now? Hahah! The tables have turned. How you like me, now, baby? (who am I kidding? I’m so fucked).
Anyway, we left the place about 10.30pm and personally I was just glad that the interrogation has ended. Even though Sasa did manage to swing one at me towards the end on how does a person know if the man/woman he/she is with, is the right person to get married to. I say, Sasa, I don’t watch Oprah nor do I subscribe to Cosmo, so the answer is ‘I wouldn’t know’. Or quite simply, you’re asking the wrong person. For this I know I just happen to stand too close to the spotlight.
So, the ‘berpeleseran’ with the ladies has ended because Aritha has to go to work today. But the night was still young and luckily for me, the con of man, Watai, rang me because if he hadn’t, I would have. It was time to chill with the boys and I headed to Nasi Lemak Ampang. A name we coined for this nasi lemak spot between Ampang Point and the building that houses the CIMB Bank where every night a nasi lemak truck would park there and roll out the tables and plastic stools. It’s not the most flamboyant of places but we have grown to love it ever since the early years of our university days when we would get together during our semester breaks. So, the boys and I were chillin; and I considered it like a cooling down session. From a glass of orange juice which cost RM7 to a RM1 the o ais. We talked about work (or the lack of it), Bulu’s proposed birthday bash and a disgusting but nevertheless funny account that involved a shower head, among other things. We stayed until about 12 when our butts started to get cramps. I was ready to head home thinking there was nothing else to do when Watai invited me to the studio for a little closure.
The studio is the 1st floor of a shop house at Taman Pinggiran Ukay which came with atrocious and filthy ground floor neighbours (it’s a motorcycle workshop, go figure). It’s a project between Cipoi, Watai, Pidot, Kalut and Manjit, to turn this non-chalant place into a photography studio cum bachelor pad. It’s an enticing idea but it’s still in the early process of development. Thankfully though, the inside is quite nice. Lots of empty spaces still but initial cleaning had been done. And the stairway has been carpeted and so is the living room. So, lots of places for lying around and occasional sleepovers. Then there’s this room which I personally call the Kinky Room because of its all black painted wall. All that’s missing is red carpet covering the floor. Put some neon lights and you’re good to go. But the best part was that Manjit was already there with his girlfriend, Shaz, when Watai, Kalut, Pidot and me arrived. And Shaz was has some really nice legs. She has such f
air skin and she was wearing a very short skirt. Manjit’s friends were so happy. That is until Manjit unsportingly began making noises about wanting to leave barely half an hour after our arrival. Based on our experience, it is usually the girlfriend who would initiate the long face and the desire to leave when her boyfriend was hanging at his friends’ place for far too long for her liking. It was the other way around this time. Anyway, we were left downbeated because a woman’s presence is always welcome at a (yet-to-be) bachelor pad and to see one leave just hurts. But they left anyway and the four of us were void of any entertainment. Thankfully there’s an FHM mag lying on the floor and it’s the US version albeit from 2003 and it has a centre spread of Carmen Electra wearing a bikini frolicking on a beach so, yeah, I was happy again. I wonder why Malaysian mags couldn’t be more like this. It’s so refreshing. And then Watai asked me to come along with him to his office at Jalan Pekeliling to return the company van that he borrowed to bring Pidot’s stuff from South City to the studio. He needed some company as the place gets very dark at night and so deserted it’s creepy. Okay, okay, whatever. I’ll go.One thing for sure, traveling around KL in a van is so uncool. We had zero chance of anyone checking us out even though Watai did pretend as if he was driving the BangBus van.
When we arrived at the office it was indeed creepy. I went up with Watai for him to return the keys of the van while I took a leak and later explored the office’s fridge. Why do people always keep the extra chili sauce packets they get from McDonald’s? Classic waste not, want not case. We left the building and took off in Watai’s blue Satria which he had left there earlier when exchanging for the van. And Watai being Watai, we just had to do something before we head back to the studio. It was about 1.30am so we decided to check out Heritage Row hoping for some niceties along the sidewalk. Unfortunately though, all of them were inside. Not surprising since it was about peak time around that hour. So we headed back to the studio.
Back at the studio we talked more about Shaz’s legs, female officemates’ butts, the role of thongs to the ogling eyes of men and Jessica Alba. I was close to dozing off on the oversized pillow when Watai decided to head home and call it a night. Besides, Liverpool vs Chelsea was already starting and the studio lacks a TV set let alone an Astro decoder.
I stopped by at McDonald’s Taman Melati for a take away snack for the football game and I drove like mad to get home as soon as possible, not wanting to miss any more precious minutes.
Needless to say, I was very sleepy the moment I got home but nothing will stop me from watching the game. I went into lapses of sleep countless of time but I managed to held on up to nearly 5 am for the decisive penalty shoot-out. And you know what? Chelsea lost.
Chelsea lost.
Chelsea……lost……
I had a great dinner, I had a good laugh with the boys, I saw Carmen Electra half-naked and to end it all, Chelsea lost. Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?????
I woke up today feeling extremely unhappy. For the moment I have lost my appetite for football. I wonder if Spider-man 3 would cure this. I know a trip to Geylang would but Singapore is just too far.
Lydia? Laila? Layla? Oh God, it has to be one of those. The blonde hair, blue eyes, braided pony tail girl from primary school. Okay, I didn’t mention the braided pony tail because I realized I forgot to mention it earlier. Or was it Nadia? You know what? I think I’ll try to look it up on Friendster. With that bombshell, I’ll see you again next time. Good night.
*picture of me at the studio with an FHM US mag, courtesy of Watai (yes, he has a thing for photography)
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