The Chatter

In my experience, the way it normally goes is we lie there for a while. Make a little awkward chitchat followed by my making up some urgent excuse to leave (eg. early morning tomorrow, early flight, left the gas stove on at home… the list goes on), slip out of the apartment and never call him again.

Unless he turns into a regular. But hey that’s a whole different story.

And then later, at the bar, I will share bits of the trick with my gaggle of faghags and occasional stags; some of which will think, “Who is this sad sad self-loathing idiot who got into bed with Jamie Macintosh?”

Imagine my horror when the last trick I had (technically, not the last latest one, but technically the last one last week!) was a chatter. After a rather intense session, he laid next to me in bed. Both of us were drenched in sweat.

He started talking about his job. How he needs to travel. How he discovered his love for dick. How many boyfriends he had. Why they broke up. His longterm goals in life.

(I was like, do I look interested?)

“AH SHUT UP ALREADY!!!” was what I should have said.

But I just rolled him over. And we went at it again.

Once this was done, I gave him some lame arse excuse and made my exit.

While walking to the MRT station, I took out my celly and deleted The Chatter’s number.

This is one of the reasons why some fucks remain as a one-time experience.

Dorky is the new Hot!

Screw whatever they said about hot hunky jocky studs.

Overrated much! And they are so yesterday, like hey, we are no longer in the Noughties!

We can all understand how captivating a guy can be with those big dreamy eyes, messed up hair, and proper dress sense.

Sexy!

Introducing Paul Iacono! Totally my flavour of the week!

Catch him on MTV's new phenomenal series - The Hard Times of RJ Berger!

sluggard

i feel like a stoned junkie.

in this institution, a 'meeting' is nothing but a glorified way for the administrators to lecture and breathe down your neck with nonsensical crap.

i see no point. and no eye candy.

but nobody listens to me.

so much for a promotion.

FML.

not just another day

Today at lunchtime, I received a call from an unfamiliar number with the prefix +447... I let it ring for a few seconds longer. Ah crap, who could this be?

It was Gary, my Scottish ex.

Such a pleasant surprise!. Last I saw him was about 3 months before I left London.

We ended ages ago. But somehow we managed to remain pretty good friends. My guess is that we probably connected on an intellectual level in addition to the short-lived romance.

Hearing his voice gave me a jolt; a reminder of my life back in London.

Until he told me he was just diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Just yesterday.

It was the cause of his persistent headache for the past year.

Argh! I was so overwhelmed. In my heart, I literally screamed. It was unfair for a sweet decent gentleman like Gary to face this ordeal.

THIS ISN'T FAIR!

"I guess that's why I forgotten about your birthday until yesterday. I am sorry I am over 2 months late, Jamie. Please take care of yourself. I will talk to you another time!"

He hung up before I could respond. Maybe he remembered how incapacitated I get when I get bad news like this.

*****

I walked back to the office. With the busy traffic on the roads and the sun shining right down on me, today felt like any other day.

I strolled along the riverside. It was supposed to be just another day.

I just stopped and sat down by the pier.

My head fell to my hands.

And I wept.

Max stood up, "If you want to know more, call me. You've got my number. Go burn up the dance floor."

"Thanks."

*****

By some odd works of luck, I was paired with Evelyn, the manager from Publications. Chilli red satin dress. Smelled a lot like Prada.

She is famed for amazing footwork. Well, I am known for my nice, shiny shoes.

"Let's do this."

I smiled and nodded. My right arm curved around her waist as my left hand fitted into the spaces in between her dainty manicured fingers.

The lights went down. The music played.

The first song is this song right here.

"Give all my secrets away?"

Maybe not. Particularly not to my dance partner.

Oh well I fucked her husband in the gent's right before the night ended.

That's a secret I better not tell.

it's about time

I am responsible for my own morals and values. Not you, not Tom, not my neighbour.

And for sure, not the censorship board.

"If you don't like it, then don't watch it lah!"

my reputation supercedes me

"Have you done him yet?" Sheralyn, my on-again-off-again faghag said.

She was pointing at Max.

"He is so totally the type you play with, is he not?"

Trying to enjoy the foie gras, I shrugged her off, "Uh maybe."

"Did he offer his teensy cutesy self to you to get the job?"

*****

Max, 22 years old, Malaysian with a Singaporean PR identity card.

He was sitting at the table right opposite ours. We were at this black tie event at the Fullerton Hotel. All dressed to the nines, making inane chatter and dining pretentious food. In the name of society.

I didn't even see him till Sheralyn pointed rather crudely at him.

He got my job. A job I will miss. Arguing with other offices for what I deem as my personal gain. I am pretty good at it. I always get my way.

He got my job.

Because I got promoted.

*****

His eyes met mine.

He then walked right over to my table.

"Gong Xi Jamie! That's Congratulations in Mandarin. You so totally deserved the promotion."

"Thanks. Yeah I know some Mandarin. I took Chinese in high school, Max!"

"Oh really. I didn't know that!"

"Haha never judge a book by its cover, aye?" (corny response, I know)

"Wise words from a stallion! You're going to be jetsetting around a lot!"

"I kind of dread that part. I just got here from the UK and now they are sending me around again. Somebody at the HQ must really hate me."

"It's been such a great month at the office since you got here. You are a cool boss! I am going to miss you. Oh my god, I am such a fanboy of yours!"

"Haha you flatter me too much, Max. You already got my job! What else are you after?"

He inched closer, "Jamie, you are the charming one. There is something about you I can't make out."

"What do you mean?" I am truly confused.

"I have heard great things about you; outside from work. Your reputation precedes you. And now that we are no longer colleagues in the same office......"