Expensive roses day

You know how girls always say that giving flowers on Valentine's Day won't win you any points?

Well, it's a damn lie.

I returned after lunch time on V-day and there was a bouquet sitting on my messy desk looking at me with baby eyes. Granted it's not my fave species of flora, but hey, bonus points to the sender.

It was from the bassist from the club I went to a few days before Valentine's. Introduced by a mutual friend, we got to talking after the gig and exchanged namecards before we parted ways. I haven't heard anything since.

Buried somewhere in the bouquet was a card. On the card was an address. A restaurant address to be precise. Hmm...

There must be something in the air on V-day that makes people do funny things and I found myself at the restaurant after work. (To be fair, it was just walking distance. Smart dude.)

So the "date" went on, well, like most dates with quotation marks. Like lunching with a colleague -- You learn some interesting things about each other but nothing deep and meaningful. Maybe it's early days.

We said our goodbyes for the 2nd time. No hugs and kisses; just a friendly seeya-later-mate wave.

The drugs don't work

They give me a sexy husky voice too. Yup, I've been sick for the longest time since Christmas. But I like taking meds and pretending to be Rei Ayanami after a massive battle. I'm on my third round of medical prescription now and my doc says I'm recovering. So goodbye my sweet bottle of cough syrup!

Thank goodness that my MCs didn't go to waste as my dad got me a Xbox 360 for Christmas. I'm currently playing Mass Effect and Bioshock at the same time, which could get pretty confusing considering my medical condition. Are you supposed to have alien lesbian sex underwater with mutant divers? Hmm?

Update: I've got tickets to see Club 8!

Post-Halloween trauma

Us Aussies (even those that are half-Aussies), we don't do Halloween like them Yanks. We don't go around parading on the streets in silly costumes and craving pumpkins. We're a civilised lot and yes, sometimes we'll dress up for the helluva it, but we don't go batshit crazy like you Singaporeans in Zouk or other similar clubs.

Anyway, upon receiving an unofficial invite from a friend of a friend, I thought, what the heck. A few costume options bounced around in my head: Goth? Nurse? Japanese High School Student? How about all three? Gothic Japanese Medical Student! Tada!

Armed with emo-makeup, plastic syringes and knee-length socks, I was ready to rock the house. There were anime people, vampire people, etc. All acting very un-Singaporean-like with a Singaporean accent. But this isn't my story.

What was scary was coming home from the party. Despite my countless complains about me wanting to move out, I still live with my parents whom I like to believe that don't know what I do outside the house. And coming home, half drunk and in a creepy costume could be quite a task. It was like playing Metal Gear Solid with Ikea furniture.

I got to my room safely that night.

Few days later, I forgot to do my own laundry. Oops. ("!") I tell you, when my mom picked up that pile of bloodied fetish-looking costume, I could see the 3 words, "Kinky Bondage Sex", flashed on her forehead. One word, however, flashed on my head, "Shit".

The anticipation of it all

I'm easy psyched about things. Especially about things that will make people wonder why the heck I'm so excited about.

On Sundays, I wake up eagerly anticipating the latest episode of Lost which won't be showing until close to midnight (unless they replace it with a movie-of-the-month kind of thing). This week, I'm super-pysched about the release of Foo Fighters' latest album, which can translate in the fact that a possible gig around the corner. (My emo friend Kae was like, "Mmph!" and shrugging her shoulders.) A few days ago, I was eager awaiting the launch of Halo 3 even though I don't own a Xbox 360 and I suck fabulously at FPSes.

Those were just tips of many ice-bergs. I'm constantly thinking of things that I should be excited about. I can't wait till get a place of my own. I can't wait till I tender my registration letter and breath in the smell of freedom (and daylight) for the very first time. I can't wait for the day where I chill out with a good book by the beach, maybe with a cocktail on the side, and by sheer chance, bump into a stranger and the next thing I know, we're having breakfast in bed. Oops, I've got carried away there...

Truth is, I've waiting my whole life for things to get better and you know what it never really does. Every job and every relationship, they're all the same. Just a different kind of suck. I guess if I want things to happen, I should get off my arse and go do it. Now, which good book should I bring?

Vengeance will be mine

So what the heck happened?

But first, let me apologize my lack of update by saying that my job sucks. Yes it really does. I'm now aspired to be write a jingle and earn shitloads of money from royalties.

Anyway...

So what the fuck really happened? Well, after all the waiting, the previously MIA Miller un-MIA-ed himself. He called me, wait, no... He msn-ed me and said he was sorry. Sorry my ass, I told him. Knowing very well that he would rather pissed in his pants than to meet and explain his nonsense, I demanded that he called me instead.

He did and boy, did he feel my wrath. It's akin to summoning a mandatory fire demon in any Final Fantasy series. Then he grew balls and tried to turn things around by saying that I had misinterpreted things! In his dictionary, a date is when you hang out with another person. Full stop. So does that mean for all the office lunches we had, we had already dated?! Oh gee wiz, I didn't know!

Bullcrap I say. But that that was my anger talking. I know that his way of dealing with is to run away from it and hope that it goes away. But knowing that does not mean that it's forgivable. It's selfish and inconsiderate and I won't stand for it.

There's no way we could be friends after this. He wanted to see me again, to be friends like we used to be. Screw you, I said. Um, actually I didn't say that... I did something worse (No, I did not send a box of poo); I ignored him and erased him off my books.

So there you go, another tragedy in my so-called love life...

Crushed crush

It started with a call. It was just like every Sunday, boring as heck, and I was well on way to getting some mackers for dinner in my shorts and flip-flops when my phone rang. It was Miller the ex-freelancer, which was weird for he hardly dial my number.

His tone was sad and with it, he asked if I was free for dinner. Turning away from McDonald's, I said yes and rushed home to get changed.

Miller was already there in the sushi place. I said hi and he said hi. The conversation that followed was much better. We ate and laughed. He was a different Miller for actually he seemed kinda sweet. Then he said, "Try this," and he picked up a piece of salmon and put it in my mouth. Yeah, I think I froze for a second there. Or two.

We went window shopping for while but I was getting tired. While waiting for the train home, I rested my head on his shoulders. Oops?

That was a month ago.

It was only when he went down to the beach to see me that I think I was falling for that bugger. He made all the way down to give me an album for my vacation trip. I had casually mentioned the other day that one of my favourite bands has released a new single. He got a kiss on the cheek for that. Muak!

We met for dinner when I came back, I could tell that he wanted to tell me something that evening but words didn't came out the way he had wanted. Oh well.

That was 3 weeks ago.

Another dinner and after which, we went to a quiet corner to talk. Then Miller switched topic. It wasn't exactly the most charismatic confession in the world but at least he went it. For that effort, I said wouldn't mind going for a date. We would meet up again when he's back from his company trip.

That was 2 weeks ago.

Days passed and there wasn't any calls or messages. Miller was supposed to be back by the weekend but it was Friday already. Still no calls. No bloody messages. I finally gave in and called back and there was no answer.

That was 1 week ago.

Fuck that. I don't know what the hell happened (Cold feet? Have I been punked? He met some skanky ho overseas?) but no, I won't wait forever. The funny thing is that I'm super-angry at his guts and intrigued by the mystery at the same time... Argh!

That was a day ago.

House of me

If there's one thing that still bugs me about living in Singapore is that I can't live by myself. I can't just go out, rent a place and come home late without answering to my mom and dad.

A decent place around here costs a bomb and living in a cheaper HDB flat, or worse, a room, just kills whatever romantic notions you'll have of being independent. You can't just bring your date home without walking past your parents and saying hiya. Well, it's no surprise that Singaporeans propose to each other just to get a flat all for themselves. (It's easier and cheaper for married couples to apply for a place here.) Where's the love?

Look, my mom and dad are the coolest parents in the world. Like Dharma & Greg cool. They've taught me everything I need to know, for example, how to kick boys in the nuts. Okay, that's just my mom. My dad, on the other hand, destroys my ears by reintroducing me bands like Stone Temple Pilots and The Clash. And I thought I've a solid rock cred...

As good as it gets, I still wanna move out. I really do.

I had a taste of it when I was back in Australia during my university days. The freedom of calling my very first pizza was bloody indescribable. Taking a bite of the Super Supreme and watching Rove on my little TV made me feel like I was in control of my own life. I was in charge; the CEO of my destiny.

Perhaps one day I will. Either I do get my own place or I move back home again. I really don't know yet. It would be nice to put my feet on the coffee table again.