GCF. (Good Clean Fun)

Good Clean Fun. Depending on who you ask, this innocuous term may have very different meanings. It is a convenient term that entails activities so varied as to be barely more than a personal barometer of acceptable fun activities. A catch-all phrase that encompasses anything from a puritanical litany of do nots like No sex, No drugs, No drinking, No partying, No swearing (which does cause one to wonder whether there's anything left to do other than sitting around and rotting from boredom after one is through with the said litany) to the decidedly laissez-faire attitude of 'Anything goes long as you don't come back dead, pregnant or escorted by cops.'

After all those years of listening to the same tiresome litany of commandments from the Mother, you can be certain that a lot of my GFC entailed a great number of forbidden activities. Which wasn't very hard at all because anything other than a brief dinner till 8.30pm and a wholesome movie was considered potentially sinful. Like a group of teenagers might suddenly feel inspired at 15 mins to nine to organise a hedonistic orgy of sex and drugs in drunken revelry. Terrible.

I like to think my personal GCF barometer is somewhere in between. Not a restrictive mantra of commandments that would stifle a nun but yet I'd still like to return home conscious, with my pants on. Unless I'm bunking in with some cute delectable dude in which case, I'd rather not have anything on. Sex is to me a grey area of sorts, I'd usually lump it under GFC without much thought because it is Good, Clean (well most of the time) and undeniably Fun. I'd admit there are times when passionate orgasmic sex can be hot & dirty in which case it'd have to go under GHF (Good Hot Fun) which covers almost all other sexcapades including but not limited to sleepovers and dirty sex in decidedly dangerous places. Alright so my GFC does tend to gravitate towards the more hedonistic end of the spectrum.

Clubbing (when i do get round to it these days) and dancing with the boys and girls is certainly GCF in my books. And when I say dancing I mean the kind I'm most accustomed to, good ole jiving preferably with lots of contact to boot. Contact that usually entails a decent amount of hand-on-various parts of the body action. It's something only the straight boys and attached peeps are exempt from, the former because they cannot handle it and the latter out of courtesy unless they initiate it cause their other half dances like a zombie.

Some might call it dirty dancing, I think it's a load of crap. Dirty dancing's restricted to the kind of dance more accurately described as sex, fully clothed on the dance floor. You know the kind where there's more grinding than dancing and the two individuals are so tightly entwined they look like a single sinuous entity of lust. Not that I have anything against dirty dancing which can be perfectly fine if the occasion (and person) calls for it.

Shaking that body and letting your hands do the talking is to me perfectly normal for dancing. Not exactly something I'd call 911 for even if the effect is that Shawty is burning on the dance floor. After all, dancing is in Sean Paul's words, all about getting busy and shaking that thing. Not spasming like a spastic vibrator or flopping about like a dying fish.

Though I'm not too sure about the Gang's plan to haul a rather hawkish almost bestial creature to the perfunctory birthday clubbing session in the hope that there'd be fire burning on the dance floor. Doesn't help that she reminds me of an embalmed mummy and the PM sent a very disturbing youtube link of Shakira's Shewolf. Now this is something I'd call 911 for.

Thanks to JL, this song appears to be a regular repertoire in the gang's list of favourite party songs. Happy whacking, ok JL? haha.