A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.

Getting to know a new group of friends is like buying a new cell phone. At first, it is filled with wonder and intrigue, but as time goes by, it starts to lag, applications gets boring, functions become redundant. Familiarity breeds contempt- I know it is the most cliché of all clichés, but I am sure you guys know what I am talking about. Plus, this time round, it is such a big group of friends, each with their own limitations and agendas, things can get real messy at times, or rather, most of the time. I choose my friends, my friends choose me. Whether they are friends with me because of my dad’s car or my camera, only time will tell.

Rule number one to being my friend- I must feel comfortable being with you. In order words, I can be myself when I am with you, both the card-carrying cynic of love and the dreamer who emo-s and cries himself to sleep reminiscing about the one that got away. Yes, I admit I can be kind of bipolar at times, but it is not like I am deluded or paedophilic, am I now? Rule number two- sincerity and honesty. Sweet words and fake compliments have no effect on me- I am not one of those weak motherf*ckers who bend with the wind and live on others’ word of approval and endorsement. I am Tan GuangHui- I know who I am and what I want, so just speak your mind and do not patronise me.

To all my (old) friends out there- you are never forgotten. I may have different priorities now, but I am still me, still always here, still just a phone call away. And I know many of you are silently reading my blog, zero comments whatsoever, but when I run into one of you guys on the street you go “so, how’s things with Miss Y?”. It has come to my understanding that a lot of people I do not expect to be reading my blog are reading my blog, so I got to watch what I say more often now, lest my words get misinterpreted and unintentionally hurt a few egos. Well, even my two sisters read my blog these days, and they related to my mum about the adventures I had in New York, getting her all excited about being a grandmother and sh*t. So, dear sisters, (I know you sluts are reading this), please read and keep your mouths shut, if not somebody’s favourite teddy bear is going to be dick-rubbed by yours truly tonight.

Well, I was saying things can get messy, and guess what? It already has. So, my crush on Red Panties is officially over, no hearts were broken, I shed a few tears, masturbated to some Megan Fox’s photos and life goes on. I still see her (Red Panties, not Megan Fox) everyday in the library, but when I look at her, I feel nothing, I see nothing, save for all the gossips and rumours that threatened to derail my friendship with CB, which I can gladly do without. I mean at first, I thought it would be all fun and stuff blogging and Facebooking about this girl I study with, letting her be my muse, creating wild fantasies for my male friends to have wet dreams of in their sad lonely lives.

But once again, I was wrong, wrong to assume that everyone treats Facebook status updates as lightly as me, and people who do not know me actually judge me on some words we type onto a social networking website. Frankly speaking, this is the 21^st century, and I am just embracing the technology that comes with it. You and I both know that Facebook is nothing more than an opportunity for one to get some attention, and based on my explicit research, status updates on love and chicks get the most attention. Throw in the fact that I am a new friend to Red Panties and her clique, the result can be somewhat explosive.

I mean, Red Panties is a nice girl and everything, but she is just not worth my friendship with CB. No disrespect, but she is no Megan Fox, not even close. Lately, I started talking to her and like so many girls before, I somehow always manage to discover a tiny flaw in her to like her a little less. I remembered Jackass telling me on the plane (to Bangkok) that the problem was not with the girl, but with my head. If I keep thinking she is not the one, then she never will be, even if she is the one. If Edward keeps pushing Bella away, it is only natural she turns to Jacob, isn’t it?

And just so you know, CB is a really good friend who shares many similar traits with me, but she is like chick with a dick, a little brother I never had, a girl who curses in Hokkien and walks/talks/eats like a man. I have absolutely no interest in her (her boyfriend’s number on my mobile phone is saved as ‘unluckiest guy ever’), and she is just someone I feel real comfortable hanging out with. Then again, like Red Panties, she does not belong in my world. Our only common ground is SIM and come this June, once our examinations are over, our lives will be like two parallel lines, never crossing again.

I am sure when the day comes, I will shed more than just a few tears and no amount of Megan Fox photos would suffice.

I know I promised you nice people an entry a week, but you know, the thing is during the past month, when I had the time to blog, I was not in the mood to, and when I desperately wanted to relate to you the hot passion I felt towards my latest crush, I was occupied with sh*t all day. And it is not like there isn’t anything happening in my life (my Facebook status should be quite informational in that aspect), but I do have to admit my friends have not been confiding in me as much, and I am glad that they have nothing to MSN/Facebook/text me. Well, it means their relationship is going well, they are having great sex and Liverpool is still awaiting their first win in a month. But, on the other hand, it means I have pretty much nothing to b*tch about and to use to reinforce my valuable theories on singlehood and its benefits.

So, surprise, surprise, I have a new crush, also known as Red Panties. Okay, it is not exactly as kinky as the name suggests, but it runs pretty close. Typical girl (read: long hair, long legs) I have been spending a lot of time with in the library, and as the Chinese saying goes, “day long grow feeling”, or something to the effect. Thing is, she is attached to some rich son of a b*tch, but apparently, despite her status, she has been eyeball-f*cking me pretty much every day we meet. She sat across me this one time while we were studying, and she started playing with her hair, and I am like, this chick wants to play, and being the gentleman that I am, I can only return the favour.

To be perfectly honest, I know more about the American healthcare system than her character, but only because most of the time we are in the library (never a good place to get to know someone better), plus she is the quiet type who prefers to let her eyes do the f*cking talking. Nevertheless, I will keep you guys updated about Red Panties, because she is a truly rare specimen- most of the time, I tempt girls, girls do not tempt me. I am the master of mind-f*ck.

Okay, back to more mundane sh*t about my life, I caught Paranormal Activity with CB (the piece between Red Panties and I), and then I went home and tried to re-enact a couple of scenes in my sister’s bedroom and frankly, dad was not the least bit amused. Speaking of CB, I have been studying with her literally every day, and she is like my new best friend in school now that Shrek has found a full-time job and is hardly ever around when I need him. A new friend, a new opportunity to share our respective life experiences, and of course along the way I discover new things about myself.

I am only single because I cannot bear to have my heart broken again I know I have no time for love. Like I have said so many times before, we Aquarians, when we do sh*t, we only want to do it giving our best. Right now, I know I cannot manage having another person in my life, so why attempt to fit Robbie Keane into Liverpool starting XI? The right girl is one thing, the right timing is another. I have been asked a million times what exactly is my type of girl (besides the obvious long hair and long legs), but the fact is, I can only give an answer when I have met her.

I have considered the possibility that I will never find her my entire life, and in all probability, when the time comes to settle down and have a family, I will have to settle for someone I love, but not the one. But this is life, isn’t it? How many of you who are in a relationship or marriage and can honestly put your hand up and say, yes, he/she is the one and only one I want to spend the rest of my life with? If everyone feels that same way towards their other halves, then Monica Lewinsky and Red Panties would not have existed, would they?

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot.

I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defences, you build up a whole suit of armour, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They did not ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life is not your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It is a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

As many of you have known by now, I missed my flight back from Bangkok. Besides that and the fact that I was sick prior to the trip, everything about it exceeded my expectations. Being in an unfamiliar place seeing the local people going on about their daily lives reminded me of New York, and looking at the Thais working hard at their rice fields brought back a familiar surreal feeling. I realised that by being detached from the outside world, I find my inner peace, a certain calmness and tranquillity that I find hard to explain.

Anyway, it was Fat Bastard’s wedding, and he is marrying this Thai chick (obviously). Let me just say that in the first place, I was not very keen to go but one supper later (“you can have class any day, but my wedding is once in a f*cking lifetime”), Fat Bastard and Jackass left me with little choice. That is why I was not expecting much from the trip, and that is why I am now thankful my two college pals convinced me to go. Believe it or not, I have been to many places in my life, but this was actually my first trip to Thailand, and now I know why Singaporeans love the place- you can live like a king there. Stuff is seriously dirt-cheap over there, and people are so warm and friendly that I find it hard to believe that these are the very same ones who invaded the airport for a week.

So, Mrs Fat Bastard is from this village three hours from Bangkok, and her family grew up planting rice, the same sh*t we Singaporean see on the table everyday, the same sh*t we Singaporeans take for granted everyday at the table. Anyway, it was a traditional Thai wedding and stuff, so at three in the morning, Fat Bastard had a bus waiting for us outside our hotel in Bangkok to drive us to the village. Let me just say for the record that everything was supremely well planned by Fat Bastard’s usual sloppy standard.

At six in the, we arrived and were basically treated like VIPs by the villagers. One thing about the Thais- their English is f*cking horrible. Well, if their English were better, I would seriously consider marrying a hot Thai girl. In ten years’ time, I mean. Honestly, those village girls are slim, hot and fair- perhaps those hours at the fields helped them retain their slender frames, but as for their fairness of skin, I can only assume they must have applied SPF 100-sunscreen lotion religiously.

Now you can understand why Fat Bastard married who he married. Then again, Singapore is not short of its share of beauties (look only as far as this year’s Miss Singapore Universe), but I guess the main reason Thai chicks appeal to him is because of their simple-mindedness. They do not ask for much in love (and in life), plus they have been through the hard life before so they understand the value of money. They stay at home and do the housework with no complaints, take care of the kids and make delicious Thai dishes. In summary, they have all the qualities to be a good wife and mother to my kids, but for me, marrying them would be too 1978, too boring, too predictable.

Perhaps that is me, but I find myself more inclined to love the materialistic Singaporean girl who loves Coach, iPhone and Facebook. Just kidding. I mean to say that I cannot love a girl who always says yes, who always agree with what I say, who walks behind me (think: my ‘same height on the mountain’ theory). I want my future wife to be someone who challenges what I say, what I think, what I feel (not all the time, and not just for the sake for it). She is one who throws a tantrum when she finds out I am texting my ex- kind of a b*tch behaviour actually, but then we will have a huge fight over it and after that we will kiss and make up and have great sex. She is one whom I do the dishes and mop the floor with together after work on weekday nights and then have great sex. She is one who will lie in bed and share with me her workplace gossips while doing her nails and then have great sex. She is one who holds my hand and walks beside me into the sunset. She is one who does not exist.

Okay, enough about me, I am sure Fat Bastard loves his wife for who she is. Anyway, the monks arrived and there were rituals and stuff while Jackass and I used the toilet to freshen ourselves up- it was certainly an experience brushing your teeth with water from the well in this tiny little hut these Thais call a toilet. I really learn to appreciate my toilet bowl a lot more nowadays. We were served some traditional Thai breakfast amidst weird stares from the villagers around us (I honestly felt like Cristiano Ronaldo). After that, there were more rituals and more uneasy smiles and sign languages exchanged with the locals before it was over and Fat Bastard brought us to this resort in another town to rest and prepare for dinner later.

Dinner was held in the courtyard of the local village school, an open-air sort of affair with at least thirty tables (the whole village was invited). There were like a hundred motorcycles around the compound, and two hundred times more insects, attracted by the bright lights and all. Our group of Singaporeans (about twenty plus of us including his parents and siblings) were certainly overdressed, as the villagers turned up in shorts and slippers like they were going to the rice fields or something. Once again, we were the centre of attention as we were late yet got the best seats in the house.

There was a huge stage at the front complete with Thai singers and dancers in skimpy clothing ala those you see at Thai discos in Singapore. Then the bride and groom were invited on stage to say a few words and I have to say Fat Bastard’s Thai was pretty impressive because he spoke for like thirty minutes, and the whole time my head was screaming ‘subtitles subtitles’. Seeing Fat Bastard on stage, I find it totally unreal that here he is, my friend of so many years, actually tying the knot, and I cannot help but wonder if I would ever have the courage to take such a leap of faith.

Well, the wedding was all over by ten o’clock and we said farewell to the lovebirds before taking the bus back to Bangkok. As for the rest of my time in Bangkok, it was simply arriving at the airport with Jackass the next morning, realising we got our departure times mixed up, me taking my cold medication and a six-hour nap outside Starbucks before we boarded the five o’clock flight out of Thailand.

The whole thing was memorable because if not for Fat Bastard, I would never have got the chance to visit a Thai village or take part in a traditional Thai wedding. Watching those Thais going about their simple day-to-day lives while having a smile on their faces the whole time, it made me realise that there is actually life outside Facebook and Twitter and Blogspot. I take too many things in my life for granted, and I learnt from the trip that those things that matter most to me actually do not cost a cent, and they have been by my side the whole time. So, it was supposed to be only a friend’s wedding, but at the end of it, I felt I gained so much more than that.

Like Jackass love to say: life experiences, those are things money can never buy.

I just want to clarify a point. To me, there is no such thing as enemies or nemesis or people on my hate list, there are just a handful of people I choose to ignore, and ignore completely. See, I am firm believer of this- fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. It is like if we get to know each other, we become fast friends and everything is going smooth and God loves us all. Then, one day we have a dispute or argument or something, and through it I saw the person you truly are, and I realise that there is no way our friendship can continue with the differences in character. So, I will try to accommodate and be nice about it, but at the same time, I will keep my distance as well, and if the day should come that such an incident ever repeat itself, you leave me no choice but to walk away and never look back.

I mean, I am not a picky person and you can see for yourself the sort of friends I have- paedophiles, sluts, sons of b*tches, motherf*ckers, deluded Liverpool fans et al. The most important quality I look for in my friend is sincerity, and that is all. But well, like Robbie Keane and Liverpool, not everything in life is compatible. As the saying goes, when two elephants fight, the grass suffer, and hence in order not to affect our common friends, I rather choose to ignore the person completely than kick up a big fuss about it. The same goes for those stalkers (who are not even my friends to begin with, for the record) who read my entries from two years ago and commented and asked a ton of questions thinking I actually gave a sh*t about what they think. I don’t, period. I never give insignificant people significant amount if my attention.

Personally, I do not hate people, because to hate, you got to remember their faces and tell yourself everyday I hate him, I despise her and sh*t. It really wears one down and instead I choose to give the person my South Pole of a shoulder, and I promise you it is not a place you want to be. Therefore, treasure my friendship while you still have it, let us laugh and cry together but never allow yourself to take me for granted, that is all I ask of you. If not, get ready your fur coat, it is going to get chilly.

Last Friday, K-Fad (my tuition kid, if you do not already know) was caught smoking in school. Last night, he dyed his hair blonde and stole a can of black hair spray after that to undo his moment of madness. Needless to say, he was caught but fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), the shop owner chose not to press charges and the police officer sent him home to his parents.

He is the very reason why I always f*ck with a rubber on- honestly, having a kid like him is worse than having AIDS.

I think something is seriously wrong with me. See the thing is, before I left for New York, I have been nicotine-free for a long, long time, totally over it like I am over all my exes. So, the first couple of months were okay, but come the last month, when the dozen or so farewell parties started getting crazier and crazier, that was when I totally lost it. And then there was weed. I mean, I am old enough to know that it was not peer pressure or anything, it was kind of like something I wanted to try before I die, but more importantly because I felt that since quitting smoking was like a f*cking stroll in the park for me, I wanted to give myself a challenge, hence weed. I know it sounds crazy (and that is why I am telling you there is something very wrong with me), but I find myself living my life in such a manner sometimes and it is insane I tell you. It is not unlike Summer Finn (from 500 Days of Summer)- she only loves two things in her life ever since her parent’s divorce, the first was her long, black hair, and second was how easily she could cut if off and not feel a thing.

I am sure I have told a couple of you this before, that to know the how much a person means to me, I need to be away from him/her for an extended period of time. Well, more often than not, I find myself first coping, then adapting and finally forgetting that particular person. That is why a long-distance relationship will never work for me- I am one who believes that out of sight is out of mind. And that is why I will never be one who takes years to move on from his past relationships. It is almost as if there is an “empty recycle bin” icon in my brain. Scary but true.

Okay, I am not saying I am courageous, or anyone of you out there is weak or anything, but it does take a certain degree of strength to walk away from someone you love. That is why I admired SC when she walked away from that piece of sh*t, because that is something I would have done, and done with ease. On the other hand, having watched countless romance films (The Notebook particularly), I can also appreciate how difficult it is for your mind to conquer your heart, and that is why I understand Es when she tells me she still loves Ong Bak even after all that had happened.

In some related news, me and the boys hosted a K-Box birthday party for Ong Bak on Sunday, and I secretly invited Es. To say I shocked the sh*t out of Ong Bak would be a major understatement, and afterwards on our way home alone, he expressed his astonishment at how well I kept everything under wraps. Well, deceit is an acquired skill, and I reminded him that he of all people should know I have had vast experience in this particular field.

Which brings me to SY, my ex (since Es was technically speaking his ex as well). I remarked that what he did to Es was not much different from what I did to SY, but I bet my life (and my dog’s) that SY would never come to my birthday party with a cake and a Louis Vuitton wallet. In all probability she would show up with half a dozen Ah Beng friends wielding parangs- and even then that would still represent an underestimation of what she would have done, I sh*t you not. And that is why Es is a keeper and Ong Bak is one lucky son of a b*tch, and I let him know as much.

Before we parted ways, I added that it has been over six years now and it is about time I ran into SY or something. I miss the beauty of her face, the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips. I mean, by the law of probability, it is only a matter of time before we come face-to-face, and I pray to God when that happens, she is not anywhere near a Home-Fix store and I am wearing my Nike Air Force One. Vengeful exes are not unlike death-seeking Malay motorcyclists who cut into your path at eighty an hour without signalling- we all had run over into a few.

And guess what? It just started raining- what a way to kick of a brand new day! It has been so long since I last saw raindrops falling against the backdrop of orange streetlights, and I know it sounds stupid but I can just stand there by the window for like fifteen minutes, starring at the tiny droplets. And of course, I will start reminiscing about that girl I sent home in the pouring rain, dashing across the road shielding our heads with our schoolbags, our hands firmly grasped together, two young lovebirds in their own little paradise. Such memories we all had a few, I am sure.

Memories…they keep us alive, don’t they?

The moon is out tonight, and I can see punks starting a fire with candles, matches and dried leaves in the middle of the park my window overlooks. Lantern festival, mooncake festival, whatever the name, I am getting too old for both lanterns and mooncakes. So, after a full of sh*t, guys treat gals like pieces of meat, attempt at American humour entry, you know what usually follows is always a thought-provoking, emotion-inducing, sh*t-stirring one.

So, girls, girls, girls, they will always be around, and guess what, for the third (and final year, fingers crossed) running, I share the same class as Miss f*cking Y. Totally unbelievable, it surely has to be another sign from God (for the third year running), and like always, I can only wish her happiness with her current boyfriend (aka Donut Boy). So, I have five classes this year- one with Tattoo Girl, one with Miss Y, ZZZ and f*ck-face, another one with my part-time friends, one with a newfound friend and one alone. It is fair to say I am exposed to all genres of the opposite sex with the timetable I have got. A little update on my newfound friend- her name is Georgia (no sh*t that is her name, the country that went to war with mother Russia) and she has two eyes and a mouth. I spotted a ring on her index finger for two consecutive weeks, but like my great mentor Ong Bak has inculcated in me, a ring does not represent an obstacle, but merely a challenge to prove one’s ability to entrap one’s prey given the circumstances.

So, I am back and I have got so many things to do, so many people to meet, so many problems to listen to. Where do I even begin? All right, let us start with the guy with the most interesting quotes, Ong Bak. Well, at long last, his unfaithful ways can no longer be termed as two-timing anymore, because, no, he did not break it off with the slut, but rather, his girlfriend of three years (Es) dumped him. Yes, I know, what the f*ck right? He is totally following in my footsteps from six years ago, but what can I say? Certain things one can only learn the hard way, only when it is gone does one realise its importance.

I can still remember shopping for Valentine’s Day present with Ong Bak a couple of years back for Es. He was like, buying this sh*tload of material and making her a card/booklet thing with photos and stuff like the ticket to the first movie they caught together and the receipt from the restaurant they spent their first anniversary and sh*t, and you know, I just thought, she was the one Ong Bak was going to marry. But fast-forward three years and one slut’s entrance into Ong Bak’s life later, here they are, at the junction of their lives. Will their paths ever cross again? Only God knows. Perhaps Cupid too.

Matters of the heart are so f*cking unpredictable sometimes, you never know when one is going to change. People do crazy things in the name of love, and the crazy things here sound beautiful and sweet, provided it is not something like leaving you, his girlfriend-of-three-years, for the ‘love’ of some slut he barely knows. So obviously, Es is hurting and at a lost what to do and all I have are words of comfort, meaningless little words compared to the turmoil she is going through, wondering if Ong Bak can be trusted again, the battle between her heart and mind raging.

Then there is this friend I got to know recently (SC), who had her engagement called off because after five long years, the dickhead finally decided to venture over the other side to check on the colour of the grass. Here is the part where I tell you it is a f*cking small world because coincidentally, the girl this jackass was going out with happens to be my college classmate. What the f*ck, right? Ten bucks say I know the next girl he f*cks. Anyway, the sh*t here is the f*cktard was lying to both parties, and neither knew of each other’s existence, his out-of-control pencil-dick rising as fast as his Pinocchio’s nose.

Come on, seriously, what a dumbf*ck douchebag! Which brainless cunt tells his fiancée that he does not love her anymore and leave to be with a girl he is dating for one month? Yes, one f*cking month. All right, no disrespect, but if the chick in question was Megan Fox or Kate Beckinsale, then hell yeah, I would leave my wives for one night with either of them. In the end, the sack of sh*t confessed to my classmate and she told him to GTFO, so he went crawling on his hands and knees back to SC, who in turn kicked the dipsh*t in the balls before telling him to GTFO too, and oh, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out, you lying son of a b*tch.

Pardon my antagonism, but I do despise two-timers, despite what my friends have to say. Well, as we get older (as in really, older, not eighteen or something), infidelity and messy breakups are becoming the norm rather than the exception. We used to pretend each new sexual experience was some life-altering event, but now, a condom is the glass slipper for our generation- you slip on when you meet a stranger and you dance all night.  Things are getting more and more complicated, and it is as if our problems have evolved from Gossip Girl level to Californication standard, and perhaps in another ten years, we will be talking about ugly divorces and who get the kids.

Lastly, remember the childhood friend of mine who ended his five-year-old relationship while I was away? Yeah, he was right, his (ex) girlfriend really did cheat on him (with her forty-year-old manager). Unless that manager in question is Jose Mourinho, I cannot understand why one choose to stray after five years, five f*cking years. See, this friend of mine has been working hard, mostly seven days a week doing his family business of selling second-hand cars, saving all his money for the big wedding next year. To him, that girl was definitely ‘wife-material’, and in his own words, ‘those dreams we had, all remained just that- dreams’. He was kind of emotional relating to me his story, and you know me, I am never comfortable with tears (be it from the ladies or the gentlemen), and although I am very much a card-carrying cynic of love, a part of me really wanted to grant him his happy ending with the girl.

Just so you know, he and I may be friends for seventeen years, but we cannot be any more different. I have always been the thrill-seeker, the one who does all the crazy things mothers never wanted their sons do, the kind of boy mothers never want to see leaving their daughters’ rooms in the morning, the type who live (and die) by his own rules. But him, he is the homely, obedient mummy’s boy, the one who believes in happily-ever-afters, the one whose dictionary never contained whiskey, women and weed until his breakup this August. See, one can never hurt deeply unless one has loved deeply, and he is the type who is willing to walk on charcoal to the end of the world just for some Hello Kitty hand-phone pouch the love of his life desires, and that is why he cried her rivers, lakes and the whole f*cking Indian Ocean.

So to put things in perspective, for the past five years, he has had a grand total of one pussy and as a bonus, his heart is now broken. Me, I violated a couple of dozens of hairy donuts the past half a decade but most importantly, my heart is still in one piece, albeit one big, frosty piece. But hey, in hindsight, what would you have had? Well, the saying goes that when we were younger, we were more insecure, but when we are now older, our problems are deeper, but we are more equipped to handle them.

Or are we?

A few random extracts from my day.

#SIM seriously need to do something about its lack of parking lot urgently. Thank God, I am graduating soon. Or maybe not.

#Georgia is just like another typical Singaporean girl who never fails to bore the sh*t out of me. Which makes me realise that at the end of the day, I am still very much in love with Ah Lians who have multiple tattoos on their bodies, converse in Hokkien and smoke a pack a day. But what I cannot stand is their overall simple-mindedness, their inability to collect themselves when faced with hostility and a general lack of concern for current affairs.

#Hence, my theory still holds- in order to see as far as me, the girl beside must be standing on the same level. In other words, my foolish heart ultimately longs for an Ah Lian who has long blonde hair, a dragon tattoo on her right tit and sufficient knowledge to carry out an objective discussion about the United States healthcare reform (in Spanish preferably).

#Which means I am 99.99% sure to die single.

#I was just asked why is my MSN status forever “我很忙”. That is because I hate the sight of seeing “available” next to my name.

#Lately, I have been actively testing out my mentor’s philosophy of challenging yourself to overcome your own mental block, that is, to court a girl you would never court in your lifetime. And in my books, that means courting a girl who looks like Peter Crouch, spots a moustache, tips the scale at two hundred pounds and has HOB (hair on back). And in order to do so, I have been passionately eyeball-raping any female specimen who crosses my eyes, in hope of spotting ‘the one’.

#Unfortunately, she has yet to appear, but on totally unrelated news, I did notice a few rather more intriguing specimen.

#I just had a wonderful dinner with MQ at Lot 1 and I lost court of the number of slutty OL (office ladies) in heels with CFM (come f*ck me) faces.

#MQ asked when I was going to settle down and get myself a nice, decent girl (she just registered her marriage recently while I was in New York).

#My answer: how can I settle down when I have yet to meet that nice, decent girl? And how am I supposed to meet that nice, decent girl when I am not actually looking for her?

#I just got out of my car when I ran into my childhood friend of seventeen years. We last met up before my examinations and we chatted for like five minutes and he told me he just ended his five-year relationship. Apparently, the girl was cheating on him. This is like the third incident I have heard of since I came back from New York.

#Seriously, f*ck the nice, decent girl. She doesn’t f*cking exist.

#Give me Ris Low any day.

At what point does enduring love turn into an inability to let go of the past?