Packing.

I love going on trips. It's just the getting up which I hate. Or more specifically, packing. Just the act of cleaning that little mountain of clear bottles/jars and proportioning the necessary toiletries into the said thingamajigs is a fatigue inducing affair. You know how long it takes to wash those damn things, dry them and carefully portion out the 101 toiletries into them before packing it in? Long enough for fatigue to set in.

Don't get me wrong, I still love going on trips. And I'll still end up packing anyway even if it takes me all night to do so, usually cause I'm distracted by any other thing that doesn't relate to packing for the said trip. Finding old cds, downloading porn, on the phone with friends. You name it, I've done it. Well perhaps short of sex. Doubt I was ever distracted by sex while packing but that's mainly cause the opportunity doesn't present itself at 3am in the morning amid a pile of clothes, half of which you can't decide whether to fold, burn or pack.

But I digress. I love trips (in case you didn't know). I love trips which are sponsored even more. There is always something attractive about free stuff (and trips in particular) provided they don't come with too high a price (ie repulsive company which you wouldn't step out of bed for let alone go on a trip with). Work trips are perfectly fine (also depending on the company). I mean what's a bit of work if you get a nice all expenses paid trip (courtesy of client sans shopping of course) with good accommodation and expenses in return? Nothing seriously.

Besides given the rarity of such work trips given the composition of my work (you hardly ever go on any work trips while doing matri), such trips are a welcome change from office work. So I am actually looking forward to the work trip with the ex PM (pupilmast) in Hanoi from Wed to the weekend. That coupled with the saggi bros upcoming bash the following Wed and the Japan trip the following Sat means the next two weeks are jam packed with fun and the need to pack.

I never know what to pack seriously. And more often than not after I'm finally done packing, I always have this nagging feeling that I've forgotten something. Which usually turns out to be true. Not the important stuff of course, passport, money, keys all survive the check before you leave the house checklist. Usually it's random stuff like my shaver, cologne, toothbrush. Nothing that's irreplaceable, just a matter of the cost of replacing those items. Not to mention the annoyance factor.

So it was that I was lamenting to JL about the fatigue-inducing ills of packing over msn and offering her a sum if she'd pack for me. Imagine a neatly packed bag with everything you need without the hassle of worrying what goes in and what stays out. Sheer bliss. I was still on Step 2 of the Packing Toiletries routine which can be summed up as follows:

Packing Toiletries (aelgtoer style)

Step 1: Clean them bottles/jars/thingamajigs

Step 2: Dry the thingamajigs thoroughly. This means quite a few wads of tissue paper.

Step 3: Select necessary toiletries. Proportion sum. Pour into thingamajigs.

Step 4: Paste little neat labels stating the contents of whatever fluid/cream/etc are in that particular thingamajig on the correct thingamajig.

Step 5: Pack toiletries into toiletry bag.

Which was when JL said that I should learn about packing light from her. Good thing I was still at Step 2, else I would have bungled up the proportioning bit from all the laughing. To understand why, I've included a tiny excerpt of our conversation. :)

JL says (12:23 AM):

omgomgomgomgomg
eh pack light ah
hahahaha
must learn from me
HAHAHA OMG SUCH AN IRONY

Aelgtoer- fucking hates ironing...grumbles. says (12:25 AM):

haha u? pack light!

Aelgtoer- fucking hates ironing...grumbles. says (12:26 AM):

u who brought your entire bathroom for a one night stay!!!!
dies of laughter

JL; says (12:26 AM):

go and die la you!
WAH LAO

Yes so if you want an expert in packing your entire house for one trip I'd recommend JL :) Proportioning toiletries into little bottles is so passe and inconvenient when you can just bring the jumbo pack of shampoo/face wash/moisturizer (insert desired toiletry) along. Hahahaha. Nvm stilllll love my crrrazzzy gf anyway. hahaha

Which reminds me. I'm still at Step 2 of the Packing Toiletries Routine. Omfg.

Excuse me while I blast some Pink. I'm not here for your entertainment, you don't really want to mess with me tonight! Not when I'm packing. Hahaha.

U + Ur Hand - Pink

K.

It's been a long time since I've had an engaging and intense 3 hour long conversation with another guy into the wee hours of the morning. In a way, it felt like those old JC days when I'd stay up till 3 gossiping with Annie over the phone or chatting with W over nothing in particular until we'd fall asleep on the phone.

What was supposed to be a 'short' conversation rapidly took on a life of its own so much so that getting off the phone required a very conscious and significant effort. But I guess when you're able to converse and connect with a person on a level such that interaction is spontaneous and enjoyable, neither party wants to end the conversation. Still, it's a little weird that K shares the same name as a close sistah.

The need to disassociate the name from the person you'd usually associate it with becomes apparent when you consider the prospect of sex. Saying the name of the person you're fucking with and conjuring the mental image of the other person whom you'd never consider sex with is just... disturbing.

It's funny how attractive the ability to form an intellectual and engaging connection with another person can be. Unlike a purely physical attraction which flares up with ferocious intensity but dissipates like chaff in the wind if unsupported by anything else, an intellectual attraction and the ability to communicate is like a slow burning fire that builds up to a sustained inferno with regular interaction. Of course being gay and male, there are always certain physical pre-requisites, certain preferences which must be satisfied before one would consider the other party for something more than a tete a tet at Starbucks.

Meeting up with K. proved to be a good decision after all. And as you know, the devil is in the details so I'll just spare you peeps the pain and I'll leave it at that. Otherwise I'd never hear the end of rivulets of cum that coagulate on the abs from the Gang. Mmmm cum hahahah.




P/S: Actually I'm just lazy, did u seriously think I'd give a damn bout what they think of my sexcapades or lack thereof?

Bad Romance.

Lady Gaga, you either Love her or you Hate her. Her music, her videos, her fashion sense, her eccentricity, her everything. She so totally personifies Gaga-ness. I still remember back when I gave a friend who was raving about Lady Gaga, a very blank look, and he went 'OMFG how can you not know about Lady Gaga? I mean are you like 70 or what?'

So well, yes now I do know about her. Stumbling on the music video of her latest single, Bad Romance, thanks to Tom Wright's tweet was a pleasant surprise. I couldn't help but be enthralled by the bizarreness of the MV so much so that I watched it 5 times in a row, possibly much to the yakky roomie's consternation. At the end of it all, I still couldn't say with certainty whether I was repulsed by the whole video but remained inexplicably drawn in rapt horror or I really loved it to bits, eccentricity, in-your-face outrageousness and all. What I did know was that I was fascinated. Inexplicably so.

Now I'm pretty certain it's the latter. As Tom tweeted, Lady Gaga - music and all, is the kind that grows on you once you allow it to. Bad Romance is no different. The moment at the end with sparks flying out from her madonna style conical bra beside a charred lover was brilliant.

Simply Gaga-tastic! Say it now, I'm a freak bitch baby!



Bad Romance - Lady Gaga

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

I want your ugly
I want your disease
I want your everything
As long as it’s free
I want your love
(Love-love-love I want your love)

I want your drama
The touch of your hand
I want your leather-studded kiss in the sand
I want your love
Love-love-love
I want your love
(Love-love-love I want your love)

You know that I want you
And you know that I need you
I want it bad, your bad romance

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
(Oh-oh-oh--oh-oooh!)
I want your love and
All your lovers' revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

I want your horror
I want your design
‘Cause you’re a criminal
As long as your mine
I want your love
(Love-love-love I want your love-uuhh)

I want your psycho
Your vertigo stick
Want you in my rear window
Baby you're sick
I want your love
Love-love-love
I want your love
(Love-love-love I want your love)

You know that I want you
('Cause I'm a freak bitch baby!)
And you know that I need you
I want a bad, bad romance

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
(Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!)
I want your love and
All your lovers' revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Caught in a bad romance

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

Walk, walk fashion baby
Work it
Move that bitch crazy

Walk, walk fashion baby
Work it
Move that bitch crazy

Walk, walk fashion baby
Work it
Move that bitch crazy

Walk, walk fashion baby
Work it
I'm a freak bitch, baby

I want your love and
I want your revenge
I want your love
I don’t wanna be friends

Je veux ton amour
Et je veux t'en revendre
Je veux ton amour
I don’t wanna be friends
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!
I don’t wanna be friends
(Caught in a bad romance)
I don’t wanna be friends
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!
Want your bad romance
(Caught in a bad romance)
Want your bad romance!

I want your love and
I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!
I want your love and
All your lovers' revenge
You and me could write a bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Want your bad romance
(Caught in a bad romance)
Want your bad romance

Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh-oh-oh!
Want your bad romance
(Caught in a bad romance)

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Roma-roma-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance

Boy Bands & Boyfriends.

Funny how common the two were in the past, the proliferation of boy bands and boyfriends ( though flings would be a more apt description), now nothing more than quirky memories which leave behind a bittersweet taste in the mouth. And no, I'm not referring to any bodily fluids if that's what you're wondering.

Like a strange dream you can't quite recall, the retrieved fragments of time a jumbled mosaic of competing sensations and emotions. Cemented by specific memories and that indescribable feeling of unassailable emotions entrenched with every single fragment. For Boybands, that sense of exasperation when trying to rip off the plastic wrapped discs, a kitschy mix of mushy sentimentalism and corny affirmation, angsty love. For boyfriends...well let's just say it depended on the individual in question and leave it at that.

Both now a thing of the past... for the foreseeable future. Though the latter resurfaced from the deep recesses of the mind when the Ex suddenly re-established contact on Sat to wish me a happy birthday. Strange but true. Though it's not something I'll be losing any sleep over.

Listening to Take That's Back For Good, I still remember when I thought Gary Barlow was hot. Those were the days, gone forever.

Take That- Back For Good

The Birthday Bash

Although the shewolf didn't turn up (phew) due to a sudden and virulent bout of flu and sore throat, the night still turned out to be damn havoc, certainly one of the wilder ones I've had in a while.

To begin with, the Underworld theme which required us to come dressed (somewhat) as either vampires or werewolves set the tone for the rest of the night. Shopping with A. the night before for accessories and what not helped to put me in the mood. Nothing like some proper accessories and a sense of satisfaction with one's outfit to get one prepped and happy.

I went with the slightly campy, vamp in paris look though for some reason the Gang seemed to be fixated on the metallic gothic sword pendant which they claimed was a crucifix and highly inappropriate for a vampire. Which is pure bosh because it's a sword, looks like one and the only similarity between it and a crucifix is its proportions. But we all had fun, even A. as Fluffy, the failed vampire slayer. A role specially invented for her cause she looked like neither a vampire nor a werewolf.

Dinner wasn't bad. I liked my cod though I remember being hampered by the jungle of wine glasses that obstructed easy access to the starters. It was the after dinner party at the Pump Room (Zirca sadly was closed for a private, lesbian party event) though that was damn havoc. Sufficiently sloshed with booze by the time we reached, the ex-PM's Flaming Lambo pushed me to a dangerous high. Another waterfall and I would have undoubtedly crashed, with an almost inevitable trip to the toilet to puke.

As it turns out, I didn't but suffered selective amnesia on the dance floor. Which is probably a good thing on hind sight. Apparently, I danced with half the people on the dance floor, did a lot of acrobatic moves which resulted in a serious wardrobe malfunction, pants that ripped along the ass seams. On the day when I chose to wear my jock straps.

Groped a lot, got groped a lot. Had my most 'private of parts' groped by a particular ahem, vampy, individual in the Gang who apparently leapt on the platform to engage in some serious dirty dancing with your truly. Thankfully, I have no recollection at all of the latter. The Gang got a full view of my naked butt cheeks which incidentally got groped by that same individual.

It is vaguely disturbing to know that she's the only other woman (other than the Mother) to have ever touched my bare ass. Which might explain why I simply cannot recall that part.

But all in all, a pretty damn havoc night. Certainly the first time my pants ever split along the seams from dancing. Which I have to admit was more than vigorous. Thanks for the night though guys, lurve ya!

Let's aim for Zirca for the Saggi - bros' upcoming birthday bash. This time I'll wear jeans.

Tik Tok goes the cock erm clock!



Tik Tok by Ke$ha

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, Im out the door - Im gonna hit this city (Lets go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I aint coming back
Im talkin' pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-toping, playing our favorite cd's
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tips-eeerw

[CHORUS]
Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh


Aint got a care in world, but got plenty of beer
Aint got no money in my pocket, but Im already here
Now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger
Im talkin' bout - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryna touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk
Now, now - we goin til they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us - down/deerw

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Ima fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
You got me now
You got that sound
Yeah, you got me

DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
Put your hands up
Put your hands uh-a-a-a-a-a-a

No, the party dont start till I walk in

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Insomnia

Of three kinds.

The first induced by the post-Paranormal Activity trauma. Save for a couple of peeps who appear to think that the show was more stupid than scary, the general consensus from those who've watched the show so far is that it's pretty freaky, scary shit.

While it's true that the first 30 mins or so wasn't exactly hair-raising, after all we've all heard things that go bump in the night and more often than not attribute it to some errant rodent, the rest of the show upped the ante (and scare factor) and ensured a lot of bicep grabbing, profanity strewn invectives from yours truly. I have never blasphemed so much in the span of an hour. A quick scan around the cinema confirmed that this was the norm and not the exception.

The impact of the show on the psyche of the audience is also affected in some ways I feel by the composition of the audience. Couples or singles who have their own places and stay alone would be better able to relate to the context which the movie was set in and possibly envisage the same happening to them than say families or youngsters still living with their families.

After all, one of the things which added to the scream and scare factor was the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that was conveyed: of not having anyone to turn to, of not being in control. A perversity when one's house, usually your sanctuary and bastion of refuge suddenly becomes your jail and torture chamber all rolled into one. So for those who haven't watched it (and diss it on the account that it's over hyped and dumb), do go watch it and see whether you're still of the same opinion after the movie.

Suffice to say, if only half of whatever screened on Paranormal Activity happened to me in my house, I'd move out in an instant, sell the house and leave the possessed other half faster than you can say 'fuck'.

The second, a whole load more pleasurable. Insomnia, preoccupied by the feeling of his body moving under mine. The good thing about people who cant' drink much is that it doesn't require much to set them off, to send them into that desired and elusive 'high'. It took just one bottle of Vodka Grape for Jh. The bad thing is you aren't high (unless you're one of the aforesaid, in which like they say, Oh Happy Day). That foul bottle of small (thank god) 'french' wine from 7-11 barely had any effect other than leaving a vinegary- bitter aftertaste in the mouth.

It's been a long long while since I've played Devil's advocate and seductor in one night. As the guys I've been with have by and far been knowledgeable in the art of man-on-man action (albeit to differing degrees), I can barely recall the last time I slept with a greenhorn. Though there is always something refreshing about taking the lead and teaching without dominating, showing without directing. Not to mention that added cocktail of tenderness and teasing seduction.

And when the long dormant fire is relit, the intensity of passion that ensues and the feeling of his body moving under mine was sufficient to induce for both of us a very pleasurable insomnia, while it lasted.

The third, Insomnia the song by Craig David. One of the favourites at the moment and a hit I'd always be able to dance to. Trust the man to come up with an infectious emo-ish song, simple lyrics and a viral beat.



Insomnia by Craig David

I never thought that I'd fall in love, love, love, love
But it grew from a simple crush, crush, crush, crush
Being without you girl, I was all messed up, up, up, up
When you walked out, said that you'd had enough-nough-nough-nough

Been a fool, girl I know
Didn't expect this is how things would go
Maybe in time, you'll change your mind
Now looking back i wish i could rewind

Because i can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more
Oh i stay up til you're next to me
Til this house feels like it did before
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah

Remember telling my boys that I'd never fall in love, love, love, love
You used to think I'd never find a girl I could trust, trust, trust, trust
And then you walked into my life and it was all about us, us, us, us
But now I'm sitting here thinking I messed the whole thing up, up, up, up

Been a fool (fool), girl I know (know)
Didn't expect this is how things would go
Maybe in time (time), you'll change your mind (mind)
Now looking back i wish i could rewind

Because i can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more (without you no more)
Oh i stay up til you're next to me (to me)
Til this house feels like it did before (Because it)
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah (Ah), Feels like insomnia ah ah

Ah, i just can't go to sleep
Cause it feels like I've fallen for you
It's getting way too deep
And i know that it's love because

I can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more (without you no more)
Oh i stay up til you're next to me (to me)
Til this house feels like it did before
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah

Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah
Feels like insomnia ah ah, Feels like insomnia ah ah


Though after watching Paranormal Activity yesterday, I can almost imagine it being applied to the context of the movie in a perverse manner.

" Because i can't sleep til you're next to me
No i can't live without you no more
Oh i stay up til you're next to me
Til this house feels like it did before"

Pity for some, the house will never feel like it did before. shudders.

Tweet a Twit.

After holding out for the past few months, I finally succumbed (something I seem to be doing a lot of these days) and registered for Twitter today. The main motivation being the ability to say anything, anywhere, in hopefully intelligibly bite-sized portions without the need to compose one's thoughts and write in prose. Mental Diarrhoea if you will.

Registration was fast and painless, an extension of the twittering culture of instantaneous public communication and within 2 mins, Aelgtoer was officially on twitter. Browsing through some twits tweets, it soon became apparent how potentially facile and superficial twitter could be.

Here we have an essentially public SMS service that allows you to broadcast anything, anytime with the knowledge that your friends would be updated on whatever you posted and that anyone else on the net might potentially stumble on your tweet. And let's face it, how often would one have something witty or noteworthy to share? I'd bet it doesn't happen on an hourly basis, let alone every 5 mins unless you're in the Artic being chased by a rabid polar bear in a leopaaard preen outfit that says BOOMZ. In which case maybe you should tweet Riz Low to join you on your Artic amazing race.

So most of the time, people end up posting banal crap like ' Oh had dinner already. Not bad. Going to watch TV now.' or 'Watching the world go by in my underwear.' knowing fully that friends and followers would be kept fully abreast of their every move should they choose so. Not one tweety shriek about bloodsuckers and a horde of mozzies goes unnoticed in the great world wide web.

Given some people's propensity to spew copious amounts of barely intelligible dross on their facebook pages and 'like' comments by the millions just to mark their virtual presence, the transition to twitter, a more viral and public version of the 'phenomenon' that is facebooking, would be like water on a duck's back. The joy at this new found freedom of cyber voyeurism where individuals ironically sacrifice privacy in exchange for the empowerment derived from disclosing knowledge of dubious usefulness at any given time while knowing that people would be forced to read the same, would inevitably lead to an explosion of tweets and frivolous comments.

Like I mentioned to CS, what's to stop anyone from intimately describing their toiletry habits or recounting banal daily events that are an abysmal bore? There isn't. Which is why you find tweets like "Pang sai-ing in toilet.. it's going to be a long day.." It's going to be a longer day for whatever unfortunate soul who has to be updated on your shitting habits at an inconvenient time (say lunch).

So while I do understand the allure of tweeting over blogging, in that it's short, sweet, convenient and something you'd be forcibly updating your followers on (though I can imagine if all you do is to tweet about eating and shitting, you won't have many followers left, I'd be the first to leave for sure); there are times when blogging just cannot be replaced. After all there is a limit to how much you can elucidate in 140 characters and such a spartan mode of expression can be inadequate for conveying certain ideas / rants. Not to mention the fact that you can't really bitch as much as you'd like in a tweet and 1000 tweets do not make a single blog post.

Though you know what they say la, when in Rome do what the Romans do. Now wouldn't you like to know what porn clip I'm wanking off to? *Sweet Smile*