Reason For Coming Back

The one about The 50-Word Newspaper Advert

2005-08-24T06:29:00.000+08:00

It must be the rush of marketing assignments lately.

I was brushing my teeth this morning when this thought hit me: If I were to place a fifty-word column advert in the newspaper for myself, it will probably go something like this:

Single, male, twenty-something;
Non-smoking, non-drinking, non-clubbing;
Boring-as-hell kind of guy,

Seeks companionship of a:

Single, female, twenty-something;
Non-smoking, non-drinking, non-clubbing;
Boring-as-hell kind of gal.

Where we will spend days,
Doing pretty much about nothing.
Waste our weekends in front of the TV screen,
But still feel happy about it.

P.S. Ability to crack lame jokes is a big plus.

What would your advert be like?

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about The Days of Being Beng

2005-08-22T06:25:00.000+08:00

Warning: If you can understand what I am talking about in this entry, congratulations: You’re as Jurassic as I am. Muahaha!

Was chatting with a friend over dinner the other day, and we started talking about how different the Ah Bengs of yesteryears (meaning our generation) are compared to the Ah Bengs of today. The following are our very stereotypical and utterly biased opinions:

Bengs of today, they got their Nokias with psychedelic neon flashes. Bengs of my days, they took pride in their ‘stylo-milo’ black Motorola pagers.

Bengs of today, they have bleached blond hair. Bengs of my days, the preferred hairstyle was Aaron Kwok’s.

对你爱，爱，爱不完。。。。 (爱你的头啦，爱爱爱。。。。)

Bengs of today, they shop at the Heeren and Far East Plaza. Bengs of my days, they hang out at Marina Square and, eh, also Far East Plaza.

Bengs of today, they boogie their Wednesdays away at Zouk. Bengs of my days, they had ‘tea dances’ at Fire and made pilgrims to, eh, Sparks and CANTO. *Shudders

Bengs of today, they dig that Korean siao char bor from My Sassy Girl. Bengs of my days, we watched Jap dramas faithfully because of Noriko Sakai.

I know I could have used a better picture, but I swear she looked much better in Heaven’s Coins

Bengs of today, they earn extra bucks as MLM salesmen. Bengs of my days, they slogged away as banquet waiters.

Bengs of today, they get their caffeine fix from $5 ang mo coffee. Bengs of my days, they drank kopi and gets chased away from the kopitiam auntie from playing dai-di.

Bengs of today, they play CS and WarCraft at LAN centers. Bengs of my days, they found Street Fighter the coolest game at Funland.

Bengs of today, they idolize Jolin Tsai and Cyndi Wang. Bengs of my days, we worshipped the one and only Vivian Chow.

I will ban anyone who dares to say she looks auntie

“Walau, I miss the days of being Beng sia,” lamented my friend who now holds a BSc (Hon) in Physics and works in the most un-Beng profession as a researcher.

“Well,” I offered helpfully, “You can always have that Aaron Kwok hairdo again.”

It is not difficult to see why my friends don’t find me very useful.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about I Have Nothing Against Gays But I Wish They Will Just Leave Me Alone Part II

2005-08-19T00:50:00.000+08:00

I have nothing against gays. Really. I love the t-shirts they make. I had a great time working with an ex-professor who professed that he was gay to a classmate (who was not). The only thing I can recall getting pissed about is this effeminate ex-colleague who is always surrounded by the hottest babes when I bump into him in Orchard.

So I blame the recent spate of encounters that sparked off this and the previous entry. Damn.

Incident Number #1:

I was on my way to my friend’s post-wedding celebration at Marina South sometime late last month. I boarded the train from City Hall, and sitting opposite me, was this beefcake with enormous shoulders, enormous chest, enormous biceps and just about enormous everything (actually, I don’t want to know about any other enormous thing he might have.)

He was in gym attire, and had on a pair of very brief shorts. I would have been okay with all that, if not for the fact that he was looking at me funny. When he realized I caught his gaze, he started smiling at me.

Damn.

Maybe I was just being paranoid, and he was just your typical friendly Singaporean caught up with the good cheer of the coming National Day.

But when I exited the train and took a look back while riding up the escalator, I saw Mr Beefcake-In-Short-Shorts smiling at me again.

Then when I took a look back while walking that dark and ulu path from the train station to the dark and ulu bus stop, I saw Mr Beefcake-In-Short-Shorts smiling at me again.

Then when I took a break from swapping mosquitoes at the dark and ulu bus stop, I saw Mr Beefcake-In-Short-Shorts smiling at me again.

So I avoided his gaze, boarded the damn bus which took too long to come, and prayed that I won’t be the subject of future Crime Watch episodes. It was an uncomfortable fifteen minute ride because it is rather difficult to avoid looking at somebody who was sitting directly opposite you on the bus.

The temptation was too much though, and I looked at Mr Beefcake-In-Short-Shorts just before I exited the bus. Fortunately, he didn’t alight at the same stop.

But he was still smiling at me.

Damn.

Incident Number #2:

Kinokuniya held their anniversary sale recently, and being the ~~cheapo~~ book-lover I am, I couldn’t give it a miss. I was browsing through the latest arrivals when this fellow came up to me.

Mr Unknown: Excuse me, do you know of any other major bookstores that’s located nearby?

Me: You can try Borders, it’s in the area.

Mr Unknown: Oh! Thanks! Say, have you ever been to Malaysia?

Me: (Feeling very huh?!?!?) Huh?!?!?

Mr Unknown: I meant, have you ever been to Malaysia? I’m from KL.

Me: Nope, I don’t really like traveling. See you! (Hurries off to another section because my gaydar went into overdrive)

A few minutes later, at another section in Kinokuniya:

Mr Unknown: Are you still schooling?

Me: (Feels pissed because I hate getting startled) No. (Yes, I know I lied)

Mr Unknown: Oh is it? You look like a student! What are you working as? I’m a banker in KL. You really should come visiting, it’s a beautiful city.

Me: I’m not working now. See you! (Hurries off to another section at Kinokuniya)

Half an hour later, at the check-out counter:

Mr Unknown: Are you sure you don’t want to come visit KL?

Me: (Feels doubly pissed because I just got startled twice) . . . . I don’t like KL ok?

I didn’t bother to say ‘See you!’ again because I think my mouth is quite suay. I also decided to give Borders a miss that day.

Incident Number #3:

I went to the washroom at Boon Lay MRT station yesterday, and guess who I saw?

The smiling beefcake of Marina South.

I decided to beat a hasty retreat before he notices me. My pee have to wait.

I’m now keeping my fingers crossed for two things: firstly, that I’ve recognized the wrong guy, and secondly, that the said beefcake doesn’t study at NTU. Or lecture there.

. . . .

“You know, I think it’s your fault.” Remarked my friend when I related the incidents over dinner. “You can’t blame them because you look gay lah, that’s why.”

Most of my friends are usually not very helpful people in times of need, and this one is no exception. But for once, I think she might be right. I resolve to stop wearing t-shirts with sexually ambiguous messages.

And this was one of my fav tees too. Damn.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about I Have Nothing Against Gays But I Wish They Will Just Leave Me Alone

2005-08-17T09:50:00.000+08:00

.
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. . . . Argh, just leave me alone lah.

Cheers, Hisreason.

The one about That Unfortunate Ride On The MRT

2005-08-15T15:29:00.000+08:00

Before we start, I need to stress that the following entry is not written by me. It is written by Eddy Neo Chee Beng. As such, the incident described may or may not have happened, and the views expressed may or may not be representative of what I feel personally. Or something like that.

No wonder some readers think I’m schizophrenic. MuAuAHUHUA!!!

. . . .

Eddy Neo’s Unfortunate Ride On The MRT

~~The only thing~~ One of the many things that differentiates me from my friends, is that I don’t own a car. Ah Sai has her sparkling new Vios, Yang2 has his gigantic MPV, while Ah Hock has his very Bengish WRX.

Poor me, I have nothing. The only car I’ve drove before is Daytona. Kanina.

Of course, I could simply have said that it is a matter of choice. As we all know, owning a car in Singapore is goddamn expensive. The money I can save from not getting a car can easily get me a bungalow on a private island in somewhere-else-that-is-not-Singapore. With maids. And probably a harem.

But I chose to be honest: the reason why I am not getting a car is because I am very very poor, and very very cheapo. I am the type who forces depressed friends to pay for dinner before I agree to meet up. I was also once shamed by the MRT staff after getting caught using a primary school kid’s concessionary pass (don’t ask me how I managed to get hold of one in the first place).

Nonetheless, traveling by public transport can be quite a good experience. In the bus, you can enjoy the beautiful scenery we have here in Singapore, namely the rows and rows and endless rolls of HDB flats. Sometimes, you can also get lucky and strike a windfall after getting some lucky numbers from a fallen car plate whose owner was not as lucky.

And on very fortunate days, you might end up getting a seat next to a Sweet Young Thing. Such incidents are the highlights of my not-so-exciting life, which unfortunately, doesn’t happen that often because you don’t bump into Sweet Young Things every other day. And even when you do encounter a Sweet Young Thing on the train, chances are the seats beside her, and the standing space in front, are taken.

I can’t stand it. People are so superficial. I never see people rushing to get a seat next to sweaty/ oily/ smelly people. The fact that I am one of those who clamor to get a seat next to Sweet Young Things, is irrelevant.

So when I took the train this morning, I was keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll get to sit beside the resident Sweet Young Thing who lives in Sembawang, who makes me feel hot and bothered with her perfume and Shenton Way power suits. I think I have been accumulating good karma lately because lo and behold! She was there at the train platform when I arrived.

You might think I’ll do the gentleman thingy and let her into the train first, but no, Eddy Neo is different ok? Eyeing my fellow cheekopeks at the station who had their eyeballs fixed on the Sweet Young Thing, I figured I will never get a seat if I am slow. So the smart thing to do is actually to snatch a seat first. The vacant seat next to you will then be taken by the Sweet Young Thing because the other cheekopeks won’t snatch it from her.

So I barged into the carriage the moment the train door opened, ~~in the process knocking over an elderly, a pregnant women, and a pregnant elderly~~.

With all the skills I could muster from my experience as a veteran Kiasu, I managed to secure a seat with an empty seat next to mine. I cried a silent cry of victory in my moment of triumph. “Losers,” I thought to myself as I looked at the other cheekopeks who looked at me dirty. Then I turned to look at Sweet Young Thing expectedly.

Sweet Young Thing looked at me.

Then she looked at the empty seat.

Then she looked at me again.

And she remained standing.

Damn.

Love, Eddy Neo

P.S. The seat was eventually taken by this sweaty, oily and very smelly fellow with bushy hair too. Kanina.

The one about Balances

2005-08-13T01:03:00.000+08:00

Some people, they like to say that wisdom comes with age. While I totally disagree with that statement, I don’t deny that old age does bring with it a lot of things. Such as dentures.

However, I can confirm at least one thing that doesn’t come with old age: an improved sense of balance. I discovered that the hard way after trying my hand at ice-skating just now.

I never had a good sense of balance. For example, the mysterious art of Bicycle Riding has remained mysterious to me to this day. I’ve also hurt my ankle on more than one occasion after falling off the high obstacles back in the army. It was thus no surprise when my butt discovered its fondness for the ice cold flooring of the skating rink. The four seniors who had been so patient in coaching me also had to face the inevitable and give up after a while.

In the mean time, my tailbone hurts like hell after all the falling, and my wrist has now swelled into unsightly proportions after my poor attempts at breaking the falls. I have no idea why I’m still typing.

More crucially, I’m now at an impasse: should I or should I not go for the ice-skating session scheduled next Thursday? Being a business student, I decided to conduct a cost-benefit analysis by listing the pros and cons of staying in the ice-skating club.

Reasons Why I Should Stay In The Ice-Skating Club:

1) There are lots of babes in the ice-skating club.

2) If I practice hard enough, I’ll have a whale of a time ice-skating with the said babes.

3) If I practice really hard enough, I might become as slick as those seniors who looked really stylo-milo while executing their stylo-milo stunts.

4) I can even teach ice-skating to other babes who want to learn ice-skating.

5) Heck, I might even become goddamn good and become a millionaire after winning an Olympic. Or join Disney On Ice.

Reasons Why I Should Not Stay In The Ice-Skating Club:

1) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
2) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
3) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
4) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
5) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
6) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
7) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
8) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
9) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.
10) My wrist and tailbone hurts like fuck.

Since I can come up with twice as many good reasons for not staying in the ice-skating club, I’ve decided: I shall not stay in the ice-skating club.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about A Free Sundae & Salty Curly Fries

2005-08-11T19:23:00.000+08:00

As far as friends go, I am a horrible one.

A good friend of mine has been feeling depressed lately. Instead of saying soothing words of comfort, I made her drive all the way to ulu Sembawang for, of all things, McDonald’s. Then I almost got the two of us lost when I tried leading the way to Sun Plaza. Bad in directions, I am.

When you meet up with old friends, the conversation usually revolves around colleagues/bosses you feel like strangling, the stupid things you did seven or eight years ago, and how old we’ve all become. You’ll probably also bitch about mutual acquaintances you ~~feel like bitch-slapping~~ don’t quite like, and sometimes even sex, or rather the lack of it.

Other times, you talk about more serious stuff such as the demise of a kindred, plans for the future, and the life philosophies of Barney. The conversation I had last night fell right smack into this category.

As I learnt in communication lessons past and present, sometimes what depressed people need is simply a pair of willing ears. I also try to refrain from offering advices because advices are, more often than not, highly sucky in nature. What’s more, my personal life is screwed up enough as it is, so anything I have to offer might very well turn out to be dubious.

But for my friend, I’ll make an exception:

To You-Know-Who-You-Are-Who-Is-Reading-This:
All I can offer are my observations. You looked so happy when you are talking about T. You looked so sad when you are talking about him. So, to me at least, the obvious choice is oh so painfully obvious.

Don’t let happiness slip through your fingers ok?

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. If I knew you were treating last night, I would have asked for nuggets and iced tea to go along with the sundae. Damn.

The one about How I Used To Celebrate National Day

2005-08-09T22:18:00.000+08:00

I was filled with nostalgia while watching the NDP on TV just now. I don’t know about kids today, but as a child of the 80s, I always get damn excited come National Day. Here are the reasons why:

National day is a holiday.
And needless to say, any holiday is a good day. You also do nothing much in school on the eve of National Day, and there are actually lots of things to look forward to, such as. . . .

Free packet drinks.
Now this was a really big deal to me because I couldn’t afford them on my own. Yeo’s was a treat that happens only on special occasions such as National Day, weddings, funerals, and Chinese New Year. I tried to convince my more well-to-do classmates to give me theirs, but learnt my first few lessons in futility fast enough. Oh, just in case you’re feeling generous, my fav flavor is soya bean.

You get other freebies too.
Besides drinks, we get ‘collectibles’ such as cups, towels and stationery, all with the Singapore emblem printed on them. I love them all, except for that pink raincoat they distributed one year because I find it totally sissy.

You get to sing national songs in assembly.
Sad to say this, but the newer national songs cannot be compared to classics such as Count On Me Singapore. I would be overcome by, ahem, patriotic fervor as the whole hall sing them loud and with gusto, and I can still remember the lyrics today. I never viewed Stand Up For Singapore in the same light after hearing a dirty joke about it though.

You get to collect book prizes in front of the entire school assembly if you have done well in sports or exams.
Damn, why the hell am I supposed to be happy about this?!?! I never won any book prize in primary school before. Bah, show-offs, haha. . . .

You get to watch Men In Uniform on TV.
No, I’m not gay. I enjoyed watching them because I was fascinated by the shiny badges, medals and swords they wore. I also found the ‘flag bearers’ (the correct term is Colors), incredibly cool when they marched in, and had wished that I could be part of them when I grow up. I had no idea I would find myself cursing, swearing, and sweating some 15 years later when I’m rehearsing for the exact same thing in national stadium.

Happy birthday, Singapore.

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. Although it didn’t happen on National Day, Ang Ku Kueh had possibly the sweetest encounter with it ever. Read about it here. AKK, you go girl!

The one about How Happy I Am

2005-08-08T06:35:00.000+08:00

This is another one of my posts that doesn’t make much sense. But I’m still posting it because I am so happy today. I am happy because....

I ran 6.5km under 30 minutes yesterday.

I finally managed to touch the basketball board. After trying for the past 26 years.

I had my goreng pisang and sugar cane drink from my fav goreng pisang and sugar cane stall in Bugis.

I found a bag I really like. After months of searching. And I bought it. At a bargain.

I received the parcel I’ve been waiting for from Japan.

I caught the show I’ve been meaning to watch for ages.

I woke up this morning to the fresh scent of cascading rain falling down in sheets.

I am so happy.

I ought to be happy.

I’m not.

But I’m good at pretending. Haha.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Pets

2005-08-06T02:22:00.000+08:00

Recently, a friend of mine has been toying with the idea of getting a pet. Because of, in her words, ‘maternal instinct’.

I am not too sure about her, but I have zero affinity with pets since young. I have been chased by dogs before, and my cousin’s try (unsuccessfully) to make love to my leg every time I go visiting her place come Chinese New Year.

I also had a phobia of cats when I was younger. I am now fortunately cured, but I still dislike cats (sorry, AKK!) because of the following discoveries I made when I was still living in Toa Payoh:

1) They make me sneeze. Badly.

2) They disturb my sleep when mating session comes. Which means almost every other day.

3) They make me feel jealous and pathetic when they mate. Because the felines are getting more action that I had in my entire life.

4) I read somewhere that cats are supposed to clean up after themselves. I silently curse the person who made that bold claim, every single time when I clean up the shit left strategically at my doorstep.

The only cat I like in the world is Garfield. Because he is fake.

Having said all that, I kept pets before. As a youthful idealistic eleven year-old, I made my mum buy me a pair of terrapins during the height of the Ninja Turtle craze. I even named them Donatello and Michaelangelo, after my favorite characters. I’m not joking.

I absolutely adored Donatello and Michaelangelo. I housed them in a Magnolia ice cream tub, and fed them diligently even though their stinky food made me feel sick. As part of the nation’s health drive, I also tried to keep my terrapins fit by making them race against each other from time to time. We even caught the latest episodes of Ninja Turtles together on channel five.

I would even have gone as far as to say we were in love, but that would be lying because it was a one-sided affair: my terrapins respond positively only when it’s feeding time.

Alas, the expiry date of my enthusiasm arrived earlier than expected. After a while, I stopped cleaning the ice cream tub. Their stinky fed did made me sick, in the form of diarrhea (no, I didn’t try eating them you nincompoop). And there was only so much satisfaction one can derive from watching a 5min, 10cm terrapin race.

Before I know it, I was watching Ninja Turtles on channel five alone.

I contemplated about releasing them into the Toa Payoh garden ponds where they can roam freely with their brethren. But my poor terrapins, they didn’t even make it that far. I woke up one fine morning, and saw fungi developing on their shells. I was grossed out, and threw them down the rubbish chute together with the Magnolia ice cream tub.

In other words, I killed innocent little Donatello and Michaelangelo. I am a freaking murderer.

When I grew a little bit older and realized the enormity of the crime I committed, I was guilt-stricken. I’m a free thinker, but I prayed that there will be a turtle deity out there who will take good care of poor Donatello and Michaelangelo. I also told myself that I will never keep another pet again unless I am sure I can give it the attention it so rightfully deserves.

I never had a pet again after that.

If you think about it, keeping pets is a lot like sustaining a relationship. You need to show care, concern, and long term commitment. You will have your heart shattered if they depart one day. You should not get into a relationship on the spur of the moment, nor should you force your Significant Other to watch Ninja Turtle cartoons with you because she may not really enjoy it as much as you do.

No wonder I have no luck with relationships. My zero affinity with pets has been proven since young.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about My First Day At School

2005-08-03T22:13:00.000+08:00

366 days ago, I attended my first lesson at the uni.

It was a Monday afternoon marketing tutorial, and I can remember it well because I was a bundle of nerves before that. I was keeping my fingers crossed that I won’t be ostracized by a classroom full of Chao Ah Lians and Chao Ah Bengs with bleached blond hair because of my age.

Despite my irrational fears, I was optimistic. After five years of work, I am finally stepping back into The Classroom. It was what I’ve been praying for since eons ago. It was what made me lose sleep the previous night before. It was what I’ve been waiting impatiently for the past year ever since my boss dropped that bombshell on me.

It was a momentous occasion indeed. Nirvana awaits.

All that was left to be done was to find the goddamn tutorial room first.

I was never good in directions, and had even managed to get myself lost in *cough*Orchard Road*cough* before. I also volunteered to carry the heavier backpack and leave the navigation to my army buddy because I didn’t want us to get stranded in the jungles of Brunei.

But NTU has got to be the ultimate nightmare. What appears to be the third level, they call it Basement 2 instead. There is a difference between the Administration Building and the Administration Annexe, namely ten minutes of walking in the wrong direction. And I’ve never step foot into the elusive Library 2 until semester 2, because I couldn’t find it.

I finally made my way to the tutorial room after a kind hearted senior pointed out the way to me.

Me: May I know where can I find tutorial room 125A?

Senior: (points behind impatiently) There lah there lah, just behind you only what.

So I hurriedly stepped into the class. And shit, the first thing I saw was this Chao Ah Lian with bleached blond hair sitting cross-armed and with a pissed look on her face.

“Walau!” I thought to myself. “I can’t really be that suay lah.”

So I hurriedly took a seat far behind the Ah-Lian-With-Blond-Hair. And that’s when I saw a Chao Ah Beng with bleached blond hair strolling into the classroom.

I fell onto my knees and sobbed (nay, I’m just kidding), while thinking to myself, “This is not happening.”

Thankfully, the rest of my classmates were not as weird. Except maybe for one who, till today, still reminds me of a monkey. There was even a Sweet-Young-Thing in the class, but she looks kind of fierce with her icy stare.

As with every first class of the term, we were made to do self-introductions. The first thing the Ah-Beng-With-Blond-Hair said was to state that he is not an Ah Beng. And his counterpart said, “I like to eat meat and not veggies.”

What the?!?

Then came my turn.

“Hi, my name is Hisreason, and I’m hitting 26 this year.”

Audible gasps were heard. Oh well.

But I guess I really must be getting old because the rest of the tutorial was spent with me not really understanding what the hell the tutor was talking about. When the tutorial ended, I attended a lecture where I don’t really understand what the hell the lecturer was talking about. And that’s when I started to wonder what kind of shit I got myself into by coming back for studies. Damn.

I saw the girl with that icy stare when I boarded the bus back home. I thought about taking the empty seat beside her, but thought the better of it.

Not a very good way of starting my university education. I miss work already.

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. To Lion Queen and JK, if you’re reading this: Of course I’m talking about you! Thankfully, you folks have outgrown that bleached blond hair thingy already. Surely credit is due to my good influence? Muahaha!!!

The one about A Quick Entry About A Quick Encounter At The Hair-Dresser’s

2005-07-31T21:14:00.000+08:00

I had a most interesting lecture last Friday. The lecturer made us fill up some consumer survey, at the end of which three respondents stand to win, get this: Apple products ranging from the Shuffle to an iPod Mini.

I didn’t win anything.

Which is not surprising, because discounting a lousy alarm clock, I have never won anything from lucky draws before. Likewise for Big Sweep tickets, which I had faithfully bought for two years until they raised it to $3 per tix (I know, I’m stingy).

So you can understand my lack of enthusiasm when an auntie at a certain quick-cut salon urged me to fill up this lucky draw coupon.

Hair-dressing Auntie: You hair short enough or not?

Me: Can! Thank you!

Hair-dressing Auntie: Good! Come come, I give you this lucky draw coupon!

Me: Huh? Eh, never mind, it’s ok lah.

Hair-dressing Auntie: Aiyoh! Why not? Can win Levi’s jeans and air tickets leh!

Me: I never win anything from lucky draws one.

Hair-dressing Auntie: Don’t worry! This time sure win one! Come come, faster fill up!

Me: . . . .

A few minutes later, after I was done filling up the coupon:

Hair-dressing Auntie: What a good boy! Come come, I give you another two coupon! Like that higher chance to win ah!

Me: . . . .

I realized that hair-dressing aunties can be quite assertive.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Why I Took Such A Long Time To Enter Uni

2005-07-28T11:17:00.000+08:00

I’ve been asked the above question many times before because I’m 26 hitting 27 this year, and I’m only embarking on my second year of study. There’s obviously something wrong here because most guys enter the local unis when they are 22.

What the hell happened to my ‘missing’ years?!?!?

My long hard journey began at a certain local primary school which was famous for producing scholars and precocious ~~smart assed brats~~ geniuses who gets a good shot at those ‘Brainiest Kids’ competitions. Unfortunately, I was born dumb, so while the rest went to their respective Raffles and Victorias after their PSLE, I barely scrapped through and ended up in Normal stream, Thomson Secondary, where I had to spend an additional year if I want to sit for my ‘O’s.

My teacher refused to look me in the eye when I received my grand PSLE score of 180 because I was just one mark short of failing. Ha!

I love Thomson. I met my best friend there and had a whale of a time hanging out at the video arcades with my fellow ah bengs. We would obsess over the latest games, the gaudy purple jeans from Versace (what the?!?), and the lovely babes from the nearby CHIJ Toa Payoh.

In short, we did everything but study.

In the midst of my ‘N’ level exam preparations, I decided to try for ITE, which is not really easy to get in. So I studied hard. Then I did rather well for my ‘N’s, and decided to spend the extra year taking my ‘O’s so that I can make it into the engine fac in poly. Then I went to their open house, took a look at the gigantic machines, and concluded that engineering is so not for me.

So I decided to study a little bit harder again so I can enter the business courses which ~~has lots of babes~~ doesn’t have gigantic machines that freaks me out.

I mugged and mugged, and ended up qualifying for both JC and poly. I chose the latter because my Chinese sucked so much I doubt I can make it at ‘A’ levels, in effect canceling my chances at a shot at the local unis.

So I spent the next three years of my life in poly, and had one of the greatest time of my life because I met like-minded slackers like ~~Adrienne~~ Ah Sai, Yang2, Linx, Tine and David. Not forgetting poor Peter, who is now in the process of becoming Dr Peter in down under, who suffered a most, eh, traumatic experience while we were interning at the airport (muahhaha!)

Good times passed fast, and before I know it, I found myself celebrating my 21st birthday in the jungles of Pasir Labar while serving my NS. I also failed to gain admission for the local unis for three years straight.

I was rather hesitant about re-applying for uni the fourth time round because I ~~was too stingy to pay for the $10 registration fee~~ was already comfortably settled in my job, and kind of dread the idea of studying with folks four to six years my junior. But heck, this was something I dreamt about since my childhood, so I followed my heart and applied.

I got in.

Then my boss dropped a bombshell on me by saying, “Hisreason, we are really short on manpower here. Do you mind staying back for a year?”

It was a request I couldn’t say ‘no’ to because they were paying for my studies.

And that is the grand old story of how I entered uni at the grand old age of 25.

I’m loving every minute of it.

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. In the mean time, my beloved Thomson was closed down following, eh, diminishing student intakes. The campus grounds are now occupied by the babes from CHIJ Toa Payoh. Man, the irony of it.

The one about Career Options WIthout That Uni Degree

2005-07-27T00:01:00.000+08:00

Ok folks! School has finally started, and I've been so busy the past few days registering for subjects I hardly have enough time to shit (literally, but let's not go into details).

That also explains why I've not been blogging the past few days, and why I'm dragging up this old post from my Bubblemunche archives. Cheers!

. . . .

I’m so semi deep in shit right now.

Ms Tan summoned me for a ‘chat’ this morning. Apparently, she’s not very happy with the fact that I’ve been taking so many MCs recently, and she thinks I’m malingering because I don’t look that sick to her. The fact that she caught me smuggling that stack of A4 copier paper and that bag of 3-in-1 Milo sachets home the other day, didn’t help things a bit.

I tried to score some sympathy points by telling her my dog died recently (I was just shitting her of course), but that didn’t work too well because she thinks it’s none of her fucking business (yes, she used the F word on me).

In a nutshell, she told me to buck up, if not she’ll be forced to exercise her ‘executive powers’.

But I think I managed to prove a point when I promptly sneezed in her face (yes, I have the uncanny ability to sneeze at will, envy me). She didn’t like it, but I think at least she left thinking that maybe I am really sick after all.

Damn. Just who am I kidding. To be frank, I’m scared shitless now because I have no idea what I can do if I get retrenched. I’m hitting 27 soon, have no real savings to speak of, and I’m only armed with a diploma and two years' worth of working experience. I know the economy is recovering, but it’s still freaking hard to get a decent job nowadays if you don’t have at least a degree.

Well, as some wise dead man whose name I can't immediately recall once said, “If you fail to plan, you’re planning to fail”. So I've drawn up a list of the possible jobs I can go for if I really do get fired.

Hey, if you stumble upon this list and benefit from it, do show some appreciation by donating some funds to me can?

Eddy Neo’s Top 10 5 List of Jobs That Doesn’t Need a Stinking Degree (in order of descending priority):

1) Kindergarten Teacher.
Pros: I’ve always loved kids, so I can picture myself teaching them the ABCs and the 123s already. And if they get on my nerves, I can slap them around, which will be fun.
Cons: I’ve never seen a male kindergarten teacher before, ever. Talk about gender biases.

2) MLM Salesman / Telemarketer / ‘Financial Planner’.
Pros: I can potentially earn some big bucks from suckers.
Cons: I really don’t want to exhaust my already tiny circle of friends.

3) Chicken Rice / Char Kway Teow / Rojak Seller.
Pros: I can eat my favorite hawker food everyday.
Cons: I can’t cook, I can’t stand grease, and my hygiene standard is on the wrong side of the alphabetical scale. I might just end up in jail for causing food poisoning.

4) Fast Food Crew.
Pros: Free fries, soft drinks and burgers!
Cons: I’ll get sick of myself asking “Would you like an upsize?” a zillion times a day

5) Taxi Driver.
Pros: I might just pick up a shu nu who have a penchant for young taxi drivers. Cons: I’m bad in directions, and I get car sick. But more crucially, I don’t have a freaking driving license.

Damn. I can’t think of anymore jobs, at least those that are legal, that is.

Forget it. Worse come to worse, I’ll just sacrifice my body to Ms Tan. I bet beneath that tough, butchy façade, she’s actually lusting after my nubile, virginal body.

Shudders.

Love, Eddy Neo

The one about Why I Laughed When I Heard He Gave Up His Car Because of Defaulted Installments

2005-07-23T14:25:00.000+08:00

Some people, you know from the moment you meet that you can never be true friends with them.

Someone from the above category sent me this SMS last night after I finally fall asleep after a long hard battle with insomnia.

“Are you out? I thought I saw you just now!”

“No, I’m in bed.”

So I spent the next half an hour or so tossing and turning. Just when I was about to drift back into dreamland, I was jolted into consciousness by another SMS alert.

“Sorry for waking you up just now!”

Fuck.

. . . .

Miscellaneous faux pas committed by the same ~~friend~~ irritant over the past few years:

At a class gathering a few years back: “I’m the only one who owns a car here? You guys are quite pathetic sia.”

At a more recent class gathering: (To a friend who drove) “I bet your parents paid for your car right?”

At an ex-classmate’s mum’s wake: “Huh? You only have mineral water here huh?”

At an ex-classmate’s wedding reception table: “Eh! Same type of candy we had at *****’s mum’s funeral leh!”

Later, at the same wedding: (loud enough for everyone to hear) “Walau, the bride damn fat sia.”

I wish my friends won’t invite him along for future social outings.

I know I won’t.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about The Things I’ve Not Done In Ages

2005-07-21T10:11:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, I did two things that I’ve not done in ages.

Firstly, I went hiking. In urban Singapore. I spent an hour trekking from Sembawang to Woodlands under the hot afternoon sun, and as a consequence I’m suffering a splitting headache right now.

I could have pretended to be melodramatic and say that the reason why I did so was because I have been feeling lost lately, and long walks into nowhere had always helped sort out the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. But the real reason is because I am too stingy to pay for the bus fare. A student needs to save every single cent he’s got. I think.

The reason why I made the holy pilgrim to Woodlands is related to the second thing I did which I had not done in eons. There was this show that I’ve been meaning to catch, and it was ending its run yesterday. It was only showing in Woodlands and Orchard, and I was too lazy to walk to the latter. Not that I’ve not watched a show in Woodlands before, but this time, I watched it alone. I was alone because there was no one who wanted to watch it with me. *laughs

Watching a show alone has its pros and cons. For starters, you don’t have to share your popcorn. And you won’t get distracted. For the record, I don’t like to talk in the movies. Discussions can always wait till after the show, over a piece of cake, coffee or tea. My ex used to get upset with me because she loves to talk in movies. Oh well.

Being alone in the theatre however, can be quite an experience at loneliness. Especially if you are there on a weekday afternoon. It starts from the minute you say “One ticket please” at the counter, all the way till you drag yourself from your seat, unwilling to go until all the ending credits have rolled. I used to do this really often a long, long time ago. I think I better start getting used to this feeling. Not to mention, I now have a rough idea how those dirty old men at those R21 theatres feel.

But I digressed.

Back to the movie: It was worth the hour-long walk, the $6.50 ticket and much more. But the opening got me wondering if I’ve walked into the wrong theatre because it was exactly like those Jap horror shows such as The Ring, Dark Water, and Daredevil. Ok, I know, bad example because the latter is neither a horror show nor Jap. But it was horrible enough.

Thankfully it wasn’t. It was one of the most beautiful love stories I have ever seen, and it made me feel ashamed because my affections seem so shallow and immature in comparison. I know this is just a movie, but hey, I’m a sucker for fairy tales. The unfortunate fact that I couldn’t encounter it in Real Life is immaterial. I think.

And yah, the show is Be With You. You can still catch it at the Orchard Cathy. Don’t miss it. If you don’t like it I’ll give you a full refund plus a free packet of ~~expired~~ maggi mee.

I’m just shitting you about the previous sentence of course. Who the hell would like expired mee?

In the mean time, I need to grab a nap now. Headache is killing me. And. Long shot, but I’m hoping the cow will moo. *laughs

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Eddy Neo’s Jogging Trip II

2005-07-20T01:17:00.000+08:00

~~Ah Sai~~ A good friend (who doesn’t like her name revealed), was just complaining to me yesterday that she misses my Eddy “The Loser” Neo entries.

“But!” I complained, “I’m not blogging as Eddy Neo anymore. I’m blogging as myself.”

“Rubbish!” Even though we were on MSN, I can imagine her waving away my protest with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You are Eddy Neo. You are a loser. Muahahah!”

Thank you so much for saying that when I am in a state of depression, ~~Ah Sai~~ friend.

Anyway, ~~Ah Sai~~ the good friend (who doesn’t like her name revealed) is also in a state of depression, so I’ve decided to write an Eddy Neo style entry just to cheer her up. To A* S**: stop trying to hao lian to me about your new car ok? You should be saving hard for your wedding instead you idiot.

. . . .

Eddy Neo’s Misadventure At The Tracks

Ever since that unfortunate incident a month back, I’ve been jogging religiously every single day. Ok, maybe not every single day, but close enough. In fact, I’m so good now I actually cleared my 2.4km run with, ahem, Gold timing.

Unfortunately, I still need to retake the accursed fitness test because I failed my pull-ups miserably. Damn.

Anyway, I am all ready to have my revenge on The-Babe-In-Pink-Shorts. I have it all mapped out on my mind already: I shall dazzle her with my long striding, eh, strides; impress her when I outpace her without nary a huff or puff; have her swooning over me when I strip off my sweat-drenched singlet to reveal a now paunch-less body.

Man, she is so going to fall totally in lust with me :)

Besides the intensified jogging, I have also been doing a bit of detective work with regards to The-Babe-In-Pink-Shorts: She lives with her parents and a younger brother in the opposite block on the tenth level, just graduated from the local uni, and only goes jogging on Sunday mornings. She also likes to have fried bee hoon for breakfast.

Just in case you’re wondering, I am not a stalker. I just happen to have a kaypo mum who happens to be close friends with the equally kaypo fried bee hoon-selling auntie.

So there I was at the tracks on Sunday morning, cutting a dashing figure with my yellowed singlet, my pair of six years old New Balance, and my very short pair of SAF jogging shorts that showed off my hairy legs.

The Babe-In-Pink-Shorts appeared while I was doing my warm-ups, except that she isn’t really a babe in pink shorts today because she was in, eh, blue shorts. I think she recognized me because she looked away haughtily when I smiled at her. “Ha!” I thought to myself as I stretched my hamstrings, “Just you wait!”

Although she was already half way through the tracks when I finally started, I had settled myself into a comfortable pace, and it took me only a short while to catch up with her. Once again, I couldn’t resist flashing her the ‘V’ sign when I overtook her, and once again, she looked way pissed with me.

The-Babe-In-Blue-Shorts picked up her pace. Not to be outdone, so did I. This continued for a while, and it wasn’t long before the two of us were sprinting neck-to-neck with each other again.

After one lap of this, it was apparent that the month-long worth of training has done me good. She eventually lagged behind me, and before I know it, I was ahead of her by half a lap.

Damn, did I felt good! For once in my life, I’ve finally succeeded in doing something right. I was a Winner. I saw it as a sign of better things to come, such as improved self-esteem, that long-awaited promotion, and hopefully some sex for virginally little me.

To make my victory complete, I decided to overtake Babe-In-Blue-Shorts by a lap, which wasn’t difficult because I was already near enough to hear her panting. So I sprinted a little, overtook her, and turned around to flash her the ‘V’ sign again.

Alas, disasters often chose the most inappropriate of times to strike. The sole of my trusty pair of New Balance decided at the moment to give way, and I tripped and fell rather badly. In fact, I twisted my right ankle, and I guess it will be quite awhile before I can jog again.

Babe-In-Blue-Shorts smiled at me while I writhed in pain. She then flashed me the finger before making her way off the tracks.

Girls nowadays. They can be so cruel.

Rest well in the rubbish bin, my friend

Love, Eddy Neo

The one about Expiry Dates

2005-07-18T00:02:00.000+08:00

Everything has an expiry date.

May it be love, friendships, or parking coupons, everything has to expire one day.

And expiry dates, much like everything else in life, carries different meaning for different people. My colleague was delirious with joy when his mother-in-law ‘expired’. Another was devastated when she received an SMS that went “Sorry, but this relationship has expired”.

More often than not, I’m at the losing end when it comes to expiry dates. Take for example the particularly bad case of diarrhea I suffered the other day, after I stubbornly ignored the foul smell emitting from my open packet of maggi mee. Or the time when I was shamed at Burger King after trying to pull a fast one with expired discount coupons.

Hunger, it sometimes clouds your judgment in more ways than anger or alcohol could.

“You know what? The problem with you is not with expiry dates,” deadpanned my friend when we were discussing the topic over our utterly exciting Chicken + Vegs + Soup lunch at the canteen. “The problem lies with the fact that you are cheap.”

My friend is brutally honest. I think he is also very smart because I haven’t even tell him about the time when I got my left eye infected after wearing contacts that should have gone to the bin six months earlier.

“You know, expiry dates isn’t necessarily bad all the time,” he continued after a few bites of bean sprouts. “Stuff like pain, sadness, and lousy Channel 5 dramas, they all come with ‘sell-by’ dates too.”

His statement came as a pleasant surprise because it meant he was finally coming to terms with a recently concluded relationship.

“You know, you managed to sound both optimistic and pessimistic at the same time.”

“How so?”

“The optimistic part is obviously about sadness having to end someday. The pessimistic part is that if everything has to expire one day, then what are we to do when stuff like love and dreams expire?”

“Simple,” my friend shrugged, “You just have to try ways and means to request for a delay in expiry date.”

“And if the product can’t be extended?”

“Then you send it for servicing and ask for extended warranty.”

“And if that fails again?”

“Then I guess you have no choice but to scrap it.”

The saddest thing about my last day of work is that it will be a while before I get to have such lunch conversations with my friend. Promises to meet up after work and on the weekends are getting harder to fulfill with every passing year.

I couldn’t resist this as a parting shot.

“If you have to fix an expiry date between you and her, what will the date be?”

My friend pondered for quite a while, which is unusual because he usually has a quick answer for everything.

“Why, a hundred million years of course. Just like what Stephen Chow said in that movie."

Then he added this, almost as an afterthought.

“Nay. Oh second thoughts, preferably an eternity.

"Because even expiry dates have expiry dates."

My friend loves to have the last word in everything.

Cheers, Hisreason.

The one about Why The World Seems Like A Better Place Today

2005-07-15T23:57:00.000+08:00

The air feels fresher when I woke up this morning. Maybe it’s the aftereffects of rain.

Birds seem to be chirping for me today. They also didn’t shit on me.

My coffee’s more aromatic than usual. Actually, I didn’t had coffee, but wrote that anyway because ‘aromatic’ doesn’t sound really right with ‘milo’.

My bus didn’t ran away from me today. The second bus didn’t too. I couldn’t be late even if I wanted to.

I didn’t had the Chicken + Vegs + Soup combo for lunch today. I had Chicken + Vegs + Soup + Bean Sprouts combo instead. Variety is the spice of life.

My usually anal-retentive boss smiled at everyone she met today. Sorry, I just lied.

The world seems like a better place today.

Because today is my last working day.

I am so going to enjoy my twelve-hour ‘naps’. Envy me, people! *Evil laughter.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about My Last Day At Work

2005-07-12T06:21:00.000+08:00

This entry’s title is a misnomer because my last day at work only falls on this Friday. I have been eagerly counting down since I started two months ago because my work place is shitty, the aircon is too cold, and the toilet stinks rather badly.

I thus have no idea why I’m kind of missing the place already.

People and places, you sort of form an attachment to them when you stick around long enough.

. . . .

The miscellaneous stuff I learnt at work over the past two months:

You can get sick of free food. Chicken + Vegs + Rice combo. Almost every single day. Not to sound ungrateful, but E n o u g h!

It pays to exercise regularly. Literally. The fast growing pool of ~~horizontally-challenged~~ well-fed colleagues also reminds of what will happen if I don’t. Ha!

It pays to have many buddies at the work place because you need partners when you’re late for work/ have self-declared ‘extended lunch breaks’/ sneak off early. I also hope my boss is not reading this.

Extended lunch breaks are good for relationship building because my colleagues need ample time to fill me in on the juicy gossips that I’ve missed.

Breakups are infectious. Four of my colleagues, one of whom was on the verge of getting hitched, ended their relationships recently. I bet it’s the Chicken + Vegs + Rice combo we eat (almost) everyday. Coincidentally freaky, but it makes for a good excuse to get sloshed on our Singles’ Only nights out. Wait a minute, I don’t even like drinking!

My favorite day of the week is any day that happens to be Pay Day.

I am still damn good at what I do for a living. My year-long hiatus? What hiatus? It’s like I’ve never left. *Laughs

To my dear colleagues (though I hope you won’t be reading this):

Take care guys! I’ll be back in November.

Just don’t make me work on Christmas.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about What Happened That Day

2005-07-09T12:20:00.000+08:00

7th of July.

Ice Ice Ice.

Barney, Minnie, and lots of Mickeys.

White, ~~Black~~ Brown, and Green.

Come What May, Kissing A Fool, Kai Fang Shou.

Cheap slippers, green scrubs, my hometown.

Three cards with purple ink.

Baby photos. Childhood photos. Banned photos. *laughs

An Angel.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

I’m willing to wait because she’s my reason for coming back.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about MCs

2005-07-07T10:24:00.000+08:00

I’m bushed. Worked till midnight last night. Throat feels funny. I think I need an MC.

Incoherent as the above points are, they string perfectly well together in this old entry from my Bubblemunche archives. Darn, I’m a lazy slob.

I was on MC for the past three days.

No no, I was not sick or anything. One of the most important lessons that I learned, having experienced first hand the perils of School and Working Life, is that getting sick and getting an MC, are usually mutually exclusive events.

Case in point: I had this terrible case of stomachache when I was ten, but the doctor just blatantly refused to give me an MC. Nabeh. I hope he lose his license or something.

Time jump to four days ago, to an older and wiser me. I was feeling lazy, plus I was still pissed at having to work the day before, a Sunday, for goodness’ sake. So I decided to take a little break. I ended up with two days’ worth of MCs, which is not a bad deal for twenty odd dollars. In fact, it was such a good deal, I went to the doc again on Wed, and got another day's break.

I felt the pangs of guilt when I thought about my colleagues slaving their ass off, and that some poor dude who might have to cut short his annual leave because of me.

I promptly alleviated my guilt by lazing on my sofa and indulging in a good tub of ice cream. Life is good.

Anyway, since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll share with you guys some of my finer tactics in getting MCs:

1) NEVER go to the company doctor. They are paid not to give you adequate MCs. Bastards, all of them.

2) Sleep as little as possible the night before, preferably under 5 hours. With this, you can achieve that ‘I-coughed-so-badly-I-couldn’t-sleep-last-night’ kind of look.

3) Don’t brush your teeth, wash your face, or comb your hair before the visit. This helps you achieve that haggard look, which complements Tactic #2. The doc probably wouldn’t appreciate your bad breath, but who gives a damn about him. He’s earning shitloads of money from you anyway.

4) Punctuate every sentence with a cough. This is also a test to see whether if your doc is genuinely concerned about you. The one true good doc I met actually poured a cup of warm water for me when I did this, and I felt very guilty after that. For about a few seconds.

5) INSIST on two day’s worth of MC. If need be, say something extreme like you really need the rest, if not you’ll cause a fatal accident or something in your workplace. You’re paying the bugger for goodness’ sake, and risked the wrath of your boss and colleagues just to bum off, so please do some justice to yourself and milk as much out of it as possible.

There you have it! Lo and behold, the joy of watching your doctor endorsing your MC is simply priceless.

Finally, a word of caution: Don’t be an ass and say you’ve got food poisoning or something when you really don’t, because the doc will probably proceed to stick some apparatus up your ass for traces of shit. Trust me, it's painful.

Oh, for some unknown reasons, my colleagues refused to acknowledge my hellos this morning. They are not very friendly people.

I hope they get food poisoning.

Love, Eddy Neo

P.S. Fellow slobs, let it be said that I shall bear no responsibility if you get caught for malingering while trying the above tactics. Cheers, Hisreason

The one about How To Know If You Are In Deep Shit

2005-07-05T23:45:00.000+08:00

You know you are in deep shit when you spend your Sunday ‘shopping’. First to Suntec. Then PS. Then Suntec. Then PS again.

You know you are in deep shit when a simple SMS at 10:33pm is all it takes to perk you up after a long hard day at work.

You know you are in deep shit when you feel your heart goes *thump Thump THUMP!* when you dial her numbers.

I am so very much in deep shit.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Why It's Better Being A Bridesmaid

2005-07-03T21:07:00.000+08:00

Being a bridegroom is not easy at all. You have to kiss your life as a swinging bachelor goodbye. You have to burn precious brain cells while planning for that stressful wedding dinner. You have to empty your pockets for that all-important proposal ring that starts with a capital D.

As if that is not enough, you and your groomsmen have to suffer the devious challenges issued by the bridesmaids in exchange for them opening the bridal door. The following are our sufferings, abridged:

Doing eighty push-ups in one shot is no joke, especially when you only had three hours’ worth of sleep the night before.

It is funny when you get five fully-grown men doing jumping jacks while in their shirt and ties. But it is not very funny when you are one of the five.

Durians taste horrible. We tried bluffing our way through by claiming that we are allergic. Either we are bad liars, or the bridesmaids didn’t give a damn.

Wasabi-filled Oreos taste even worse. I will never be able to view the cookie in the same light again. Not unless she offers it to me.

Vegetable juice are healthy. My foot. Try drinking lime, bitter-gourd and other unidentifiable greenies mixed together.

I’ve found one of the best paying jobs in the world. The bridesmaids finally relented and let the groom in after he gave them an ang pow worth $300. There were only three of them, which works out to a pay of $100 per person. All for doing nothing much except for coming up with the torture plans and laughing at us, and all that in less than an hour too.

My conclusion after my stint as a groomsman:

- The bridesmaids are evil
- I wish I was a bridesmaid instead.
- The bridesmaids have been watching too much Fear Factor.

Oh well. Despite my complaints, I don’t mind doing it all over again. But of course not for you, S! All the best to you and C, may you live the rest of your lives in matrimonial bliss, and I look forward to your ‘Work Plan 2006/2007’ already ;)

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about The Wedding March & One Lousy Video Man

2005-07-01T07:01:00.000+08:00

Tomorrow, I’ll be attending a second wedding in as many months’ time. A whole bunch of us are helping out, and I’m supposed to be the video man. The unfortunate thing is that I’ve not used a video-cam for more than a decade already.

I hope I won’t do something dumb like forgetting to take the cap off. Come to think of it, it did happen before.

I’ve attended many weddings over the past couple of years, and this thing has been bugging me quite a bit: they don’t play the Wedding March anymore. Maybe it’s all the brainwashing I received after years of watching SBC/TCS/Channel 8 dramas, but I’ve always associated weddings with, eh, the Wedding March.

But instead of that familiar tune, I heard Kitaro when I witnessed two friends walking down the aisle earlier this year. No offence to the long-haired one, but somehow New Age mambo-jambo just doesn’t feel right for Holy Matrimonies.

At the rehearsals yesterday evening, I suddenly recalled that she really wanted to have Harry Connick Jr’s ‘More’ for our wedding theme. I didn’t agree because I really wanted the Wedding March. But that’s okay now because there is no wedding for us to fight over.

I wonder if I will ever get to give that special someone a big piece of rock that she can flaunt around and laugh herself silly over.

I wonder if I will ever get to take beautiful wedding pictures in the sunset with that special someone by my side.

I wonder if I will ever get to hold hands with that special someone for as many tomorrows as we wish it to be.

And I wonder if I will ever hear the Wedding March at my wedding.

Weddings. They make me feel all nostalgic and bittersweet.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Scandalster

2005-06-28T21:23:00.000+08:00

My friends and I hit upon this brilliant idea while having our char kway teow dinner the other day. Friendster is fast becoming passé, if it is not already. We reckon we might have a shot at becoming millionaires by introducing this new service, imaginatively named as, eh, Scandalster. The service works on the same principle as Friendster, but with a few key differences:

1) You’ll receive an alert whenever the relationship status of a friend changes. That way, you’ll know instantly if that ‘attached’ babe/hunk you’re eyeing is finally ‘single’. Of course, this works both ways. You can have a perfect day at work only to find yourself devastated when the object of your affection turned from ‘single’ to ‘married’.

2) You’ll also receive an alert when the, eh, inclination of a friend changes. It might be a good idea to reconsider that diving trip with your friend when he suddenly indicates his interest in ‘Relationships with Men’, and have the words ‘I HATE WOMEN!’ in his profile.

3) Related to point 2: Any changes in ‘Gender’ will be alerted too. If fact, you’ll receive an instant SMS instead of the usual email alerts.

4) Testimonial Generator. Tired of wasting your time churning out politically correct testimonials for your friends because they have been bugging you to do it? Fret not. The Testimonial Generator will generate a generic testimonial at the simple click of a button. A sample testimonial goes something like this: “I’ve known XX for XX number of years, and he is a very nice/ affable/ accommodating friend. I’ve not idea why is he still single. Girls, grab him while he’s still available!”

5) Anonymous testimonials. With this feature, you can finally post your honest opinions about anyone. Who cares if people call you a pansy because you’re grousing your grouses anonymous-ly? You get to diss the other person off and that’s all that matters. Take for example the sample in point 4: a truthful testimonial will be something like this instead: “XX has been an ass for as long as I remember, and he is nice to the point of being compellingly boring. No wonder he’s still single. Ladies, stay away please.”

Whether or not he/she will accept your testimonial, is another matter altogether of course. Which brings us to:

6) Mandatory testimonials. Basically, the same as point 5, except that the testimonial recipient does not have the option of rejecting nor deleting your testimonial. Woah, I can see all the nasty cat-fights already.

I think Scandalster will be a hit. That is, my friends and I will get hit over and over again for coming up with such a ridiculously dumb idea.

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. Totally unrelated to this post, but please go read FF’s utterly brilliant entry. She rules!

The one about How It All Started

2005-06-25T13:13:00.000+08:00

Some of you guys have been asking me for the Bubblemunche archives. After a long, hard and serious consideration, I’ve decided that I will only re-post my old entries when a really special time comes.

That ‘really special time’ would include events such as when I strike lottery, when I successfully get adopted by a filthy rich and babelicious sugar mummy, or when I am too tired and have nothing interesting to blog about.

Today is such a ‘really special time’. I’m too tired from my IPPT and I have nothing interesting to blog about.

So here’s the very first entry of Eddy Neo Chee Beng, reposted in its original ~~geekiness~~ glory, edited to suit the current state of world affairs. Damn, I’m so contradictory.

The Complete, Unorthodox, and (probably) Unauthorized Blog of Eddy Neo Chee Beng: 1st Entry:

It’s official. I now do not have a computer at home.

My mum caught me wanking to a porn site a day ago, and my trusted old PC has since been transferred to the gleeful hands of the deliriously happy garang guni man. Damn.

But don’t worry! I’ve thought of the perfect solution already! I’m now in the office as I type this, and both my mum and my boss are blissfully under the mistaken impression that I’m actually doing OT. Muahahhaa… I’m such a naughty boy.

Anyway, I was browsing around in Kinokuniya during lunch break, and I was seriously pissed because I saw like zillions of Sweet Young Things with beefcake ah bengs by their sides. I just don’t get it. Why are women so shallow?!? They always go for guys with bulging biceps and floppy hair ala F4. And I noticed that those himbos always wear tight sleeveless tee shirts to show off. PUI!!! I hope they catch a cold from the aircon.

When I was growing up, my mummy always tells me that girls like honest guys like me. I suspect she may be lying because I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I have no idea why. I mean, I’m the homely, decent type who never leave my shirts un-tucked, and I always make sure that my hair is neatly combed. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, and I don’t even buy 4D! Maybe I visit those Jap porn sites a bit too often, but surely that’s understandable? I mean, I’m a 26 year old Virgin! My mummy told me I need to save my precious first time for my future wife.

Darn. If only some gentle damsel with silky straight hair will look beyond my thick glasses and pimple scarred face. I can see a happily-ever-after kind of future already: Everyday when I come home from work, she will be there smiling sweetly at me, asking me how was my day as she help take my socks off and give me a good massage and back rub. We will then have the wonderful home-cooked dinner she prepared as we watch some silly channel 8 dramas, and after she’s done with the dishes, we will have sex. Life will be so sweet!

But like what Ah Hock, my crude Ah Beng secondary school buddy who happens to have bulging biceps and a penchant for sleeveless tees, said, “Good girls like bad boys. Come to think of it, bad girls like bad boys too!”

So I think I shall learn to be a bad boy. I think I shall start by vandalizing the office of Ms Tan, my boss from hell who is cursed with perpetual PMS.

Oh! On a side note, I’m really happy because my Mummy bought me a new green Crocodile polo shirt (complete with stripes!) yesterday! Keke, finally have something new to wear to work liao :)

Love, Eddy Neo

I have no idea what made me post this picture up again

The one about Rejection Lines:

2005-06-23T00:01:00.000+08:00

I was having dinner with an old friend the other day, and somehow the conversation was steered towards the big R: Rejections.

Obviously, nobody likes rejections because, well, it sucks when you get rejected. Nor is it a comfortable feeling when you are the one doing the rejecting. This being such a sad subject, I thus conclude that there is something seriously wrong with my friend and I because we simply couldn’t stop laughing during our conversation: Rejection lines are so corny, they can be kind of funny.

Hisreason’s List of Common Rejection Lines:

1) I’m too young for you.

2) I’m too old for you.

3) I need to get to know you better as a friend first.

4) We’ve been friends for so long we’re past that stage already.

5) I’ve always looked upon you as a brother/sister.

6) I don’t see us becoming relatives.

7) I don’t believe in love at first sight.

8) I knew there’s no chemistry between us the moment we met.

9) Our interests in life are too different.

10) We have so many things in common, it’s boring.

11) I need someone who can make me laugh.

12) I need someone who is more serious in life.

13) Sorry, but I’m gay.

14) Sorry, but I’m straight.

15) I’m not ready to commit to a relationship yet.

16) I’m going for my honeymoon next week.

For the record, I’m personally guilty of using point 5 every time I have to, which is possibly the most popular but corniest rejection line they have out there. Which is expected because I’m a rather corny person.

It is also plain obvious that most rejection lines are two sides of the same coin. To put it simply, they are simply just not that into you. Damn.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about How I Won't Be Blogging For Now

2005-06-21T08:11:00.000+08:00

Updated!

Yes, you read it right.

But no, I'm not 'running' away again. I can't blog because my PC just died on me. I'm typing this from my common office PC which is shared by like zillions of people whom I don't want to know of my blogging activities.

Please pray that my PC will miraculously be revived tonight when I on it. Sian.

Cheers, Hisreason

Update (21 June 2005, 18:08am): I'm typing this from my home PC now, so yes, that means my PC didn't die!

Eh, actually it never did.

I discovered that the reason why I couldn't log on to the net is because I've forgot to change my user ID following my broadband upgrade plan. *Go ahead, feel free to flash me the 'L' sign*

I think I'm more of 'Eddy Neo' than I care to admit. Damn.

The one about Eddy Neo’s Jogging Trip

2005-06-19T20:39:00.000+08:00

Due to popular demand (actually, not really, only FF has been bugging me about it), here’s an entry written by good ol’ Eddy:

After what seems like eons, I finally went jogging this morning. The thing that spurred me into doing so was a letter from the army I received a few days ago, which goes something to the effect of: “If you don’t fucking take your IPPT by next week, we will break your balls and send you for RT.”

(A slight digression: Innocent little me never fitted in throughout my NS days because everyone was so vulgar. Words like Shit, Fuck and Nabeh scare me, so I always avoided using them, even to this day. If you must know, I’m a good boy.)

So I woke up early this morning, did my warm-ups, and had a quick wank before heading for the jogging track. My mum stopped me before I step out of the house though.

Mum: CHEE BENG! (She intoned in fluent, commanding Hainanese) Haven’t you heard about the recent spate of people dropping after jogging? I forbid you to step out of the house!

Me: Eh, (I replied in my outstandingly mousy Mandarin) But I need to train because the army will break my balls and send me for remedial trainings if I don’t.

Mum: I don’t care! I don’t want to lose my only son! I swear I’ll disown you if you jog! I’m serious!

Me: ....

Me: I’ll buy you the 97.2 anniversary concert tickets if you let me go.

Mum: (Beaming) Ok! Deal! Don’t jog too long okay?

....

And so I finally started jogging. Two minutes was all it took before I started cursing and swearing in between my huffing and puffing. In my bold attempt to expand my body beyond its usual 1.62m and 43kg, I’ve aggressively embarked on a two-pack maggi mee supper every night without fail. The good news is I’m now an unprecedented 49kg. The bad news is that the extra 6kg is concentrated on my waist in the form of a horrible looking paunch. Nabeh.

If you ever see a skinny jogger who looks like he’s 5 months pregnant, that would probably be me.

Despite my discomfort, I knew my decision to jog was a damn good one the moment I saw her running towards me. My Sweet-Young-Thing-Alarm went into over-drive: her hair was in a ponytail, she looks like she’s in her early twenties, and she was in a pair of shorts so short and pink I panted even harder involuntarily.

I’ve not seen her in the estate before, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that she’s a single neighbor with a penchant for geekily skinny joggers, and so happens to come attached with a goddamn rich and generous father.

Alas, my hopes were cruelly dashed when she rolled her eyes and looked in the other direction when she noticed my ~~leering~~ admiring glances. She also looks kind of fierce.

Now I don’t know if it’s the coffee I had before the jog, or the after-effects of the maggi mee suppers. But I decided at that moment, that I’m not going to let the fairer sex push me around anymore. I am finally going to be a Man. And I am going to display all my virility and masculinity by out-jogging the Babe-In-Pink-Shorts-Who-Rolled-Her-Eyes-At-Me.

So I did an about-turn at the track so that I’m in the same direction as the Babe-In-Pink Shorts, and picked up my pace. In fact, I sprinted, and it was not long before I overtook her. I looked back and savored my little moment of victory: the Babe-In-Shorts looks way pissed when I flashed her the ‘V’ sign.

I sprinted a little bit more just to make sure there is a safe distance between us. But I tell you, it is really difficult to maintain that kind of punishing pace when you have not been jogging consistently and gained 6kg recently. It was not long before the Babe was ahead of me again. I was half-expecting her to turn around and flash me the ‘L’ sign, which my friends (and occasionally strangers) does to me, but thankfully she didn’t.

Not one to give up easily, I sprinted again and managed to outpace her.

Then she overtook me.

So I sprinted again.

And then she overtook me again.

By this time, I realized that both of us are sprinting neck-to-neck, and I also realize that I will probably have a seizure soon if I keep this up. So I decided to execute Plan B.

I ran a few paces before her, and dropped on the tracks. Clutching my sides, I screamed “Ooh ooh! I think I need CPR!” before keeping very, very still.

I laid there for at least a good two minutes before realizing that the Babe-Who-Don’t-Gives-A-Shit won’t be coming to give me a CPR.

In fact, neither will the other joggers on the track.

So I stood up, washed up at the washroom, and consoled myself with a can of coke as I made my way back home.

It’s a cruel world we have out there.

Love, Eddy Neo

P.S. People! The above happened to Eddy Neo, and not me ok? I feel like fainting.

The one about Sucky Blog Titles

2005-06-17T06:27:00.000+08:00

Ok, a lot of you folks have 'found' me already. If there’s anything to regret about the meet-up, it would be that this blog is losing the shreds of anonymity I originally intended it to be. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I was ‘founded’ by my best-est buddy, Legozoid (how the hell?!?).

Anyway, during my good friend’s wedding, the common consensus from my friends is that Reason For Coming Back is one hell of a sucky blog title. Much as I want to, I couldn’t disagree because I personally find it kind of, eh, sucky too.

But I didn’t have much choice because I simply couldn’t come up with a better name. The following is a list of short-listed but eventually eliminated blog titles I came up with while I was ‘resurrecting’ my blog:

Mumblings of Bubblemunche, Part II

The Return of Bubblemunche

Bubblemunche Returns

Bubblemunche And The Temple Of Doom

Revenge of Bubblemunche

Bubblemunche Strikes Back

Rich Dad, Poor Dad, Very Poor Bubblemunche

The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Bubblemunche

Tuesdays With Bubblemunche

Who Moved My Bubblemunche?

The Secret Diary of Eddy Neo, Aged 26 1/2

Bubblemunche Can Cook, So Can You!

An Eye For A Bubblemunche

Who Wants To Be A Bubblemunche?

The Great Bubblemunche Sale

Eddy And Ah Hock: Almost A Love Story

I'm hopeless at blog titles.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Blogger Meet-Ups

2005-06-15T06:37:00.000+08:00

I’ve succumbed.

After months of resistance, I’ve finally went for my very first blogger meet up. I was previously adamant about not meeting fellow bloggers because I am a very, ahem, shy person. Besides, I am worried that people would avoid me like plague when they discover that I am actually a forty-year-old cheekopek/ she-male/ horny fourteen-year-old.

It was thus an impulse decision when Ting, FF and I decided to meet up. I swear my decision has got everything to do with their ability to blog compellingly, and nothing to do with the fact that they are both drop-dead gorgeous and absolute eye candy. *Crosses fingers*

I recall the golden words of Ms Tan, my boss from hell who had so eloquently put it, “Life is too fucking short to learn all the fucking mistakes in life by yourself. So learn from the fucking losers who made them and not fucking repeat them.”

I think Ms Tan is incredibly vulgar, but she does have a point. I’ve thus unselfishly decided to spread the lessons I learnt from my meet-up:

The Five Lessons Learnt From A Blogger Meet-Up:

1) Never meet up with people you just got to know over the net a few minutes ago because they may potentially turn out to be weirdoes. I’ve been online-pals-who’ve-never-met with Ting and FF for over half a year, so I was fairly certain the two are not raving psychos who might kidnap me or chop me up for their sandwich fillings.

2) Get enough rest the night before the meet-up. Because if you don’t, you’ll probably wake up with pimples the size of Manhattan. For a while I thought I grew a red mole on my chin overnight or something.

3) Do not reveal anything personal about yourself. Because anything you do or say might turn out to be potential gossip fodders. E.g. “I’ve decided not to get into a relationship any time soon” might get misconstrued as “I’ve decided to turn gay.” Scandalous, these youngsters are.

4) Do not answer any personal questions about yourself. Related to the previous Lesson Learnt, this may include questions such as “Are you still a virgin?”. Attempt to distract the questioner by commenting on how fresh the, eh, French fries taste like. Very scandalous, these youngsters are.

5) Do not overeat. As tempting as brownies with ice cream may sound, it is not a very wise choice considering we couldn’t even finish the fisherman’s platter. Excess food also results in a high potential for a big smelly fart, which will no doubt leave a bad impression if you so happen to be in the same cabin with your fellow blogger.

I was strong, FF. I bravely endured and held it all in till I left!

In other words, it was a great meet ;)

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Weddings Part II

2005-06-12T13:05:00.000+08:00

He said: I will hold your hands now, for the next ten years, and for the next hundred years…. I will also try picking up cooking.

She said: My life will now revolve around the word ‘us’, and the word ‘we’.

And then they were joined as one.

The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen! So Sai, when is it gonna be your turn? Haha....

Cheers, Hisreason

P.S. Just in case you are wondering, the guy in the pic is not the groom (that's the Dad).

And I thought I was thick. Wah rau....

The one about Weddings

2005-06-11T03:20:00.000+08:00

A good friend of mine whom I’ve not seen in ages is getting married ~~tomorrow~~ today. As usual, I am totally unprepared:

It is past 3am and I’m still not asleep. Dark eye rings doesn’t go well with weddings at all. Part of the reason why I’m still awake so late is because....

I ~~misplaced~~ found her wedding invite after a long and hard search. Of about two minutes. Truth to be told, I’m awake because I just came home from the movies. I’m a honest boy who doesn’t lie!

I took a long time to decide which attire to wear. About two minutes. Unfortunately, I’m not too sure if the said attire has been washed, ironed, or if it is currently being used as a breeding ground for fungi.

I have absolutely no idea how to make my way to her church. I hope she’ll entertain taxi claims.

I may potentially make a fool out of myself at the wedding because I have totally forgot how the groom look like already.

And this is the most unforgivable state of unprepared-ness: I’ve forgot to draw money for her ang pow.

Sorry Eric and Christine! I promise I will not be late, will help you pray for a sunny day, and will not attempt to eat beyond my allocated share of the shark's fin soup. I will also try to stop Yang, Linx and Rhys from making a fool out of themselves. And goodness, you folks have been together for like, twelve years already? Nothing short of amazing… you give me reasons to believe that long-term relationships can work out after all! God bless!

I also promise to make it up for you guys in the form of a larger ANG POW.

Ok ok! I get the hint already!

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Nothing

2005-06-10T02:33:00.000+08:00

I was going to write a long entry to make up for my 'disappearance' for the past few days, but something really unexpected cropped up just now.

I had a long talk, and it was not pleasant. I'm bushed. I shudder at the thought of having only three hours of sleep later. And I have absolutely no idea why am I at Blogger now.

But!

I heard her voice. And that was enough. Darn, I shall sleep before I start to sound even more incoherent.

Cheers, Hisreason.

The one about How To Tell If A Girl Is Interested In You

2005-06-05T23:01:00.000+08:00

Soon after I blogged about the tell tale signs of when a guy is interested in you, my guy friends ~~pestered~~ ~~threatened to douse me in chili oil~~ persuaded me to write the female version for them, so that they can get a glimpse into the mysterious female psyche.

So here it goes:

The Tell-Tale Signs When A Girl Is Interested In You:

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.... I give up. I have absolutely no idea how to tell if a girl is interested in you.

Female readers, I need your help here.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about My Lousy Attempt At A Nursery Song

2005-06-03T23:56:00.000+08:00

I’ve not blogged recently. To put it simply, I’m simply bushed. And I still have another twelve-hour day at work tomorrow. Goodness. I miss school already.

Anyway, the above paragraph has got nothing to do with what I’m going to talk about today. I’m going to blog about something very serious instead: After weeks of deliberation, I’ve finally decided on my major. In the great tradition of the Kopy Kat Klan (I doubt anyone remembers them), I shall wax lyrically about it in the form of a song, which carries the same tune as Que Sera Sera.

Hisreason’s Que Sera Sera Song Which He Composed After Deciding On His Major:

Tune By: Que Sera Sera’s Composer (brownie points for those who knows who)
Lyrics by: A sleep-deprived Hisreason
In The Tune Of: Que Sera Sera. Duh.

When I was just a blur freshie,
I asked my tutor, where will I be?
Will it be Banking? Or Marketing?
This’ what he said, to me:

“Balls to you, freshie!
This is not your father’s Uni….
The future’s not ours’ to see,
Buy kopi, for me….”

I shall stop this before people starts slapping me.

I need more sleep.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about How To Tell If A Guy Is Interested In You

2005-06-01T00:02:00.000+08:00

This entry is written upon the request of a friend, who is curious like hell as to whether if this mutual friend of ours is interested in her. Shouldn’t be too difficult, I said. Guys are really easy to read.

The Seven Tell-Tale Signs When A Guy Is Interested In You:

1) He tries his best to make you laugh. And doesn’t mind being made the fool if only just to see you smile.

2) He steals glances at you when he thought you’re not noticing.

3) He finds all sorts of excuses just to see you. Even if he lives far away and is dead tired from work, he still finds joy in having a simple dinner with you.

4) He tries his best to fulfill your every whim and fancy, no matter how demanding or ridiculous the request may be. He also makes an effort to find out about your likes and dislikes so that he can spring surprises to make you happy.

5) He is willing to go the extra mile for you. The ‘extra mile’ in this case may refer to life-endangering efforts such as cooking something other than maggi mee for you when you are hungry.

6) He listens intently to everything you have to say because everything you say is important to him.

7) He thinks about you (almost) every waking moment, and has had you unceremoniously invading his dreams. But strictly speaking, this is not a tell-tale sign because you don’t know about that of course.

After going through the list, I realized that being a guy can be quite pathetic. My friend’s not complaining though. She also laughs at me when I told her I resolve to be less pathetic.

Wah rau.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about How Lucky I Am Today

2005-05-30T22:56:00.000+08:00

According to Friendster horoscopes, I’m supposed to be damn lucky in wealth, love, and attitude today.

.

.

.

.

Lying bastards.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about My Memorable Experiences On The Bus

2005-05-28T23:44:00.000+08:00

1) I have this nagging suspicion that bus drivers are out to get me. My 100-meter sprints were attempted in vain as I watched the sadists happily driving away without me. It happened thrice this week. I don’t think I’m being paranoid because when I finally managed to catch one this morning, the driver decided to wait at the stop for half a minute just to see if there were anybody else who wished to get on. There were none. And I was in a hurry.

2) The air-conditioning is designed for maximum Discomfort. It feels way too cold when I’m already feeling cold. It feels non-existent when I’m feeling hot. It feels either too hot or too cold when I’m feeling neither hot nor cold. I bet it’s the work of the bus drivers again.

3) I got glared at for giving up my seat. This lady got on the bus. She ~~was pregnant~~ looks like she was pregnant, so I smiled and offered her my seat. She took it, but not before glaring at me fiercely. I wondered what did I do wrong, and also hurriedly checked if my fly was unzipped (it wasn’t). I guess different people have different ways of showing appreciation.

4) It is possible to sleep while standing in a moving bus. Unfortunately, it also means you may oversleep and miss your stop. I never fail to amaze myself with my random acts of stupidity.

5) There is a good reason why food and drinks are not allowed on bus. I hate cockroaches, I really do. Friends will know that I carry a pack of tissue wherever I go, because it’s useful for wiping your mouth/ blowing your nose/ wiping your you-know-where after shitting. What they don’t know is that I also find it damn useful for crushing creepy crawlies.

I have memorable experiences on bus rides. They are memorably bad.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about A Lesson From Eons Ago

2005-05-26T01:36:00.000+08:00

If a girl likes a guy, she just do. There’s no need for any reason or explanation. But when a girl doesn’t like a guy, she will never like him. No matter what he does. I learnt that lesson the hard way seven years back. Historians are not kidding when they say history has a nasty habit of repeating itself.

I should have known.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Lessons Over The Weekends

2005-05-24T23:41:00.000+08:00

What a weekend. Or rather weekends.

Here’s the miscellaneous stuff I learnt. Some of them anyway:

1) Always apply sun-block on yourself before hitting the beach. I discovered that too late and my back now bears a stark resemblance to Mars (the planet, not the chocolate bar).

2) In my teens, I sucked at arcade games. I still do. I swear those toy-catcher machines have a life of their own, and they are evil. I have also re-discovered my lack of affinity with all sorts of ball related activities.

3) Do not attempt the Big Walk with friends who are more into Big Breakfast. We met up late. We ~~cheated~~ started the walk at the 3km mark. We bypassed Suntec and decided to stop for McDonald’s before rejoining the Walk.

Two hours of jokes, gossips, and endless refills of tea later, we found ourselves making our way home instead.

4) High heels look Painful. No, of course I didn’t try them. I only said they look painful. I’m perfectly happy with my loafers. Pure comfort.

5) Do not ever go to a foot reflexologist. Because he will probably dig out your deepest and darkest secrets, such as the number of times you pee per day and the last time you had constipation. I swear the Sifu was that good. He could probably even tell how often I wank if he wanted to.

I think I should pick up foot reflexology.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Scary Movies

2005-05-21T13:16:00.000+08:00

This entry will be a modified version of what I wrote when I was ~~bub….~~ blogging under another name. I don’t usually reproduce what I wrote, but I shall make an exception because of the following reasons:

1) I want to help a friend who recently spent the better part of the movie hiding under a smelly jacket.

2) There are occasions when I run out of ideas about what to blog. Today is one such occasion.

So let’s begin:

I don't like scary movies.

I don’t like scary movies because, well, they scare me. I don’t understand why a reasonably logical person would want to spend good money just to get scared when the money could be better utilized on more worthy causes such as a sinfully good buffet.

But I confess I am a passive person at times. Indeed, I allowed myself to get dragged along to various horror flicks such as The Eye, Dark Water, and Para Para Sakura over the past few years. The good thing to come out of this, is that I’ve mastered The Art of Watching Horror Flicks Without Looking Like A Nervous Wreck. Being the selfless and *cough*humble*cough* person that I am, I shall share all my tricks with you:

Hisreason’s Guide To Surviving Horror Movies:

Wear as little as possible to the movie. So when you’re shivering in fright and fear, you can conveniently blame it on the air-con instead. My standard scary movie outfit consist of nothing more than a singlet and a pair of sports shorts. For the ladies, you might want to try your luck with a bikini top, though you might end up giving the ah peks at Lido a heart attack or something.

Buy lots of snacks into the movie theatre. Inconclusive studies have shown that one’s reception to scares is reduced when one is engaged in secondary activities, such as munching on nachos while irritating the hell out of your fellow movie goers. Try not to buy nuts though: I will not be responsible for any cases of choking.

Wear shades into the theatre. That way, you can pretend to be watching the show even though your eyes are wide shut during then. If your date bugs you about it, just pretend to look cool and talk weird like those guys in the Matrix, and she’ll probably leave you alone after a while.

Do not reach for your drink at the end of the show, not even if your throat feels dry because you were scared shit-less. Because what appears to be the end of a scary movie is usually not the ending. They will probably trick you with what seems to be a happy ending and then shock you by getting the resident spook out to say bye-bye. It is not cool if you choke on your coke.

This is the best trick of them all: Limit your line of sight to the subtitles section. Do not, I repeat, do NOT under all circumstances sneak even a peek at the main screen. Your cover will be blown once you start screaming after that bug-eyed apparition made its grand appearance. Since you’ve been reading the subs, you’ll also be able to hold an intelligent conversation with your date after the show ends. But if there’re no sub-titles, tough luck.

If you find the above steps too troublesome, there’s hope for you yet: When your date want to see a horror flick, bring her to see Scary Movie instead. Try your best to look bewildered when the ending credits roll.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about How I Survived Working In A Shitty Place

2005-05-20T01:44:00.000+08:00

A long, long time ago, I was getting really frustrated at work. Because I sucked at it.

I ranted about it over lunch to a friend who has been in the place two years earlier than I did.

Me: How can you stand this place for so long?
Me: The work is shitty, the air-con is too cold, and the toilet stinks.
Friend: (Paused over his mee goreng for the briefest of moment.) You know what? I don’t really work here.
Me: Huh? (Slightly disappointed because I was half-expecting ~~crapshit~~ a long sermon about how ‘one is not really working if one truly enjoys his work’)
Friend: I am actually an actor.
Friend: I may look like a banker*, but I am actually just acting as one. I treat the MD, the managers and my subordinates as my fellow actors. I’m not really performing financial management, bank reports, and the assorted mambo-jambo, I just believe in method acting.
Friend: Then comes five o’clock, I stop acting, and get back to my Life.
Me: … You’re weird.
Friend: But I’m surviving.

I changed my profession to acting shortly after that conversation. And was made a lead some time after. I had lunch with my fellow actor again yesterday, and I felt happy.

We're both Oscar material.

Cheers, Hisreason.

*Note: Just in case you are wondering, I’m not in the banking profession. My real job is mysterious and secret okay? Yah, rite.

*Sidenote: Totally irrelevant to this entry, but useful nonetheless: Try not to sneak a nap after dinner. Because you will wake up around midnight and get sleepless. Again. It's now three and I have to wake up at six. I need help.

The one about The Long and Short of Short-Sightedness

2005-05-18T22:10:00.000+08:00

If I ever have to draw up a list of Things I Regretted Doing In Life, reading Enid Blyton in the night without lights at the tender young age of nine will be near the top of my list.

I could have told you I did it because I loved the Famous Five and The Adventures of The Wishing Chair. Actually, I do. But the truth is because I thought kids with specs look cool. I wanted to wear specs because I was dying to be cool.

I was to find out a year later that not every kid looks cool with specs, and that I should be careful about the things I wish for.

Being myopic is one of the lousiest things that can happen in life. If you are fat and unhappy about it, you can go on a diet. If you are fugly and unhappy about it, you can go for surgical enhancement. But if you are short-sighted and unhappy about it, well, you can only stay unhappy about it. Myopia is irreversible.

I know you can always go for Lasik or something, but the procedure is not without risk. You can end up with perpetual dry eyes, like what happened to two of my friends (they now swear by Eye-Mo), or, shudders, lose your sight. My means of livelihood depends on the latter, so no thanks, I’m a coward and I don’t want to take the risk.

Fortunately, there are people who grew up looking great with specs even though they didn’t look cool with it when they were kids. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. If you ever meet me in real life and ask me why I don’t like wearing specs, I will say it is because I hate the feeling of something sitting on the bridge of my nose.

I am lying of course.

I don’t like wearing specs because I look hideous with them. The only occasions when I wear my specs willingly is when I meet dates’ parents (I look ‘marriageable’ with specs), when I buy food from the food centre (the aunties are always generous with the portion when the bespectacled me smile geekily at them), or when I’m out with people I have absolutely no interest in. Oops.

The alternative to specs and optical surgery, is of course contact lenses. You can’t imagine how much I hate them. I feel irritated as hell because I hate the feeling of having something foreign on my eyes, and trust me, it is pure pain if you ever get sand, soap or salt in your eyes when your contacts are on.

As if wearing them isn’t torture enough, I face an uphill task when it comes to removing them at the end of the day. I once spent a good thirty minutes prying the damn thing out, and I’m amazed my corneas weren’t scratched in the process (I think).

Then I spent the next thirty minutes on the left lens. I’m not kidding.

I really, really hate contact lenses. So if I’m ever out with you and I’m wearing contact lenses, that probably means I’m hoping to impress you.

Or because I happen to be feeling vain that day. Ha.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Why I Love Working

2005-05-17T03:33:00.000+08:00

I went back to work yesterday after a long hiatus. Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would. Here are my reasons:

The meals are free.

It is fun to catch up with old friends. Some are expecting their first child. Others, their second. And they finally upgraded the toilet flush. Gosh, I can’t believe I was gone for a year.

It is reassuring to discover that some things never change. Despite the new flush, the toilet still stinks. My boss is still grouchy, the air-con is still too darn cold, and my friends are still trying ways and means to sneak off before 5:30. I love them all.

My colleagues all say I look thinner. But in reality, I didn’t. They are suffering from visual misperception because they all grew *cough*fatter*cough*. I’m usually an honest boy, but for the sake of not hurting their feelings, I simply said, “Yah, it’s the exam stress.”

I don’t know if this is related to the above point, but we’ve decided to go for the Big Walk this Sunday. The last time we did that, we had a most sinful breakfast. Which kind of defeat the purpose, but never mind.

Working is damn tiring. Which is good, because that means I don’t have to suffer three consecutive sleepless nights in a row. Waking up in the middle of the morning to blog because I’m not able to get back to sleep, doesn’t count. I hope work will be even more tiring tomorrow.

Nay, I don’t really mean that.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about Break-Up Conversations

2005-05-16T00:04:00.000+08:00

Two sleepless nights in a row. This is not a good sign.

....

I just ended a long-term relationship recently. My wonderful bunch of friends wasted no time in sending me their condolences. Over MSN, no less.

Conversation A:
Friend A: Your Friendster profile states that you are ‘single’! What happened?
Me: XX and I has broken up. I don’t really want to talk about it.
Friend A: You know, you shouldn’t keep things bottled up. It always helps to have a listening ear you know? I’m always available if you need me.
Me: I think you’re right… how about dinner later?
Friend A: Actually, I’m not really free these few days. I smashed my mouth while playing squash the other day. No joke.
Me: … Ok.

Conversation B:
Friend B: Holy shit! I heard from Friend A that you and XX has broken up! Is that true?
Me: … Yah, that’s true. But I don’t really want to talk about it now.
Friend B: Don’t worry, I understand.
Friend B: Hey, I know this is a bad time, but do you mind if I date XX?
Me: ....

Conversation C:
Friend C: Hey, I know you just broke up with XX, but you remember XYZ? The one who came along for our outing the other time? She’s asking if you’re free this weekend.
Me: ....

Conversation D:
Friend D: Is there someone new in your life?
Me: No and yes.
Me: No because I’m Single with a capital S.
Me: Yes because yah, part of the reason why we broke up is because there’s someone I couldn’t stop thinking about. For a long time.
Friend D: You’re scum, you know that?
Me: Yah, I know.

Conversation E: (Continued with Friend D awhile later)
Friend D: Will you ever get back with XX again?
Me: No. I don’t think scum like me should be allowed any chance of hurting her again ok?
Friend D: Good. For a while I was thinking you might go back to XX if that ‘someone new’ fails to work out.
Friend D: But you’re still scum.
Me: I know.

Conversation F: (Continued with Friend D a few days later when she wasn’t that pissed with me)
Friend D: How can you be sure you won’t ever make the same mistake again?
Me: ….
Me: You know, I can’t be 100% sure. But I do know I don’t ever want to break another heart again.
Friend D: The words sound empty to me. Promises are meant to be broken.
Me: Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we should stop making promises. Because sometimes, people mean every word when they promise something, and sometimes, promises do come true.
Friend D: You’re full of shit. I hope you’ll get your heart broken soon.
Me: Don’t worry.
Me: It’s already broken.

Conversation G:
Friend E: I know I’m slow, but you and XX has broke up for two weeks already?
Me: Two weeks is not very long. Can we not talk about it? I’m sick of explaining.
Friend E: Hey, tell me about it ok? I’m really interested to find out what happened.
Me: Maybe next time. I’ve got work tomorrow.
Friend D: Who’s fault is it?
Friend D: Did she initiate the break-up?
Friend D: What are you going to do now?
Me: (Signs off MSN)

I love all my friends.

Cheers, Hisreason

The one about The Many Things You Can Do to Fall Asleep

2005-05-15T03:07:00.000+08:00

This entry is written with the intention of helping insomniacs:

Count sheep. They say the old and ancient are wise, but I beg to differ because this was what they used to do to fall asleep. Not only did I tried counting sheep, I also tried zebras, llamas and even hippopotamuses. None worked.

Drink a hot cup of milk/ Horlicks/ Milo. The above are supposed to calm your nerves, which sounds fine in theory, but I encountered many problems. I’ve ran out of chocolate milk and I hate skimmed. I don’t have Horlicks in my house because I don’t like Horlicks. Then my stomach felt weird a short while after I drank the Milo. Goodness.

Listen to music. It is said that music soothes the soul. That failed to work on me even though I had my ears numb after two hours’ worth of MP3 entertainment. On hindsight, maybe it was because I was listening to Oasis.

Exercise. So you’ll be physically exhausted. But my body is still aching from the physical exertions courtesy of that recent beach outing. Besides, and no offence here, but I think the idea of running after midnight is just plain weird.

Read your textbooks. Unfortunately, what sounds like a brilliant idea during the exams, often fails to work post-exam. For the simple reason that only the very diligent, the very ridiculous, or the desperately bored would pick up a text when the exams are over.

In conclusion, I would suggest to insomniacs not to bother with the above methods because I've tried them all but failed. Hence this entry at this hour.

Maybe I should get another cup of Milo.

Cheers, Hisreason

Reason For Coming Back: First Entry

2005-05-14T11:00:00.000+08:00

I woke up this morning at 10am and decided, among many other things, that I shall blog. Again. Actually, I was awake much earlier, but just couldn’t drag myself out of bed. But never mind.

I was going to write a long entry explaining what exactly is ‘my reason for coming back’, but the reason is quite simple actually. So I’m going to spend most of this entry talking about myself instead:

I like spontaneity and I act on impulse. I sometimes do something for no apparent reason, simply because I feel like doing it and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering ‘why didn’t I do that?’. But that also means I sometimes do certain things I end up regretting, like how I recently regretted trying durian again because I still think it taste funny even after all these years.

I broke hearts and had my heart broken, on more than one occasion. The latter started early, when my primary school English relief teacher told me that even though she finds me the cutest eight-year old in the world, we couldn’t get married.

I don’t like people who are serious all the time. Nor do I like people who jokes all the time. There’s a time to be serious and a time for jokes, but some people just mixes the two up. I also realize that I’m guilty of that at times too, so yah, sometimes I don’t really like myself.

I love giving surprises., and I love being surprised. Because smiles usually accompany surprises, and I love it when people smiles. But I definitely wasn’t smiling when I recently received that ‘surprising’ amount for my tax assessment.

I enjoy making people laugh, because when they do, I laugh too. I’m even ok with the fact that they are laughing at me ~~sometimes~~ most of the time because I’m not a person who is serious all the time.

I wish I will find someone who can make us both feel like we're on the top of the world, simply because we are holding each other's hands. I’m an incurable romantic, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that ‘happily-ever-after’s do exist, and I believe that fairy tales can take place even in an urban setting. Although I can’t be 100% sure if that’s a good thing, I’m 99% sure that I want to go experience the magic of Disney with that special someone.

I don’t ever want to break another heart again.

And I think that is a very good reason for coming back.

Cheers, Hisreason