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I personally don't think I'm one, since I'm rather prone to lethargy, but alot of people around me say that about me, how I seem to have boundless energy and exclaim a whole lot!!!

"You bounce from place to place and jump around too much for my comfort."

Now ain't that just Tigger-riffic.

Truth is, I fidget alot, and I need to constantly move around or else I'll fall into a sort of stupor and start sulking. Even when I'm in meetings, I'd scribble and shade, little things that help me focus better.

And can you blame me if things that happen around me are just so exciting I have to announce it with an exclamation mark?

Anyway, the point of this post is, that its not always a good thing when you can go without sleep after a hard day's work, and be the most rambunctious individual in a room when the others are too tired to keep up.

After all, what's the point of having all the energy when there isn't enough time to use it in, or when your company is too tired to enjoy it with you.

Unbelievable... that another year has gone in the blink of an eye...

Just back from a week of media trip, and I am fatter, rounder, darker and lazier! Arghhh...

But now, after bracing myself for a challenging an exciting year ahead, I think I'm ready to forge into a Tiger-ed up year ahead, so get ready for me Tony, because all the cornflakes in the world ain't gonna stop me from roaring into 2010 like a bat out of hell. Hehehe

And for all of you out there, who've stuck with me all these years, thank you! You'll be hearing from me more often, I know it.

Tired. It's past 3 in the morning and as you can see from my eyes, I really need to sleep.

A crazy week later, and I'm still here. Trying to cramp everything into what I think to be a fulfilling life, meant having to forgo quite alot of sleep. The consequence of which, is that I'm now ill.

It's an interesting feeling, fatigue, because even when we try to ignore it, everyone else sees it from our faces, plain as day. I realised that, when my MD from our head office was here in Singapore over the week.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "You look really tired."

And just like that, my body finally came to grips with the fact that I've been trying to do too much, too soon.

So now, on a Sunday night, I've decided it's about time I called in sick.

All I need now, I guess, is a good long nap!

Okies, so I shall go sleep first, and write more later. Out.

Golly! This one's a huge one that! Now children don't try this at home unless you're a croc specialist like me! Aw, ain't he a beaut!




Just what we need... another touristy pose...




He looks just like the one in Chaw!




And here, we see a native from a Nigerian village hunting for men (a local exotic delicacy) by relying on the special art of leg-showing...




Tantric's THAT way...



The art of camouflage... blending in with the surrounding foilage helps... most of the time.




STAY OUT OF MY ROOM!!!

Cigarettes smoked in the last 4 days: 15-20 (sticks)

Alcoholic units consumed: 4 Cosmopolitans, 8 jugs Gin Tonic, 3 cans beer, unlimited bubbly and a hundred dollars worth of Tequila Shots

Amount of carbs consumed: Don't even know where to begin counting...

Amount of flab put on: Visible enough for drastic measures

Credit card bill tally: Let's just say the look on face after seeing bill in mail, will be very priceless indeed.



I want your drama, the touch of your hand...



Regret overwhelmed me, the moment my hand reached over to turn off the alarm clock this morning.

Still half-dazed and in a 'One more toast to the new year!' mood, I staggered out from under the covers, looking like Sadako writhing out from the TV set.

"Oh.......hhhhh...." I groaned, remembering shady sketches of all the debauchery that's happened over the weekend.



I want your love. Love. Love. Love. I want your love...




I hate holidays, they make you look forward to it, get fat from it, become so lethargic as a result of it, and even when you're reeling from the damage done, you miss it, and miss it, and miss it.

"Arghhhh."




I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance.
(Oh oh oh oh ohhhh)
I want your love and all your lover's revenge, you and me could write a bad romance...





So I did the only logical thing I could think of.

I headed out and bought myself some new shoes to get over it.



Walk, walk, fashion baby!




Yeah, so I worked it, and I moved that bitch crazy. A swipe of the card and some drunken scrawls across the carbon receipt paper later, I walked out of the store the new owner of this new Nike Cortez.






But nothing, not even new sole coverings, could hide the obvious. It's back to plowing the fields, and planting them seeds once again. Unhappily, but gainfully, I am back to my mouse-wheel in this big rat race.

Until the Lunar New Year that is... *evil grin*

Oh no...

Th result of all the "I want I want I want!!!!" and "I DON'T care how old I am! I just WANT!!!", which later on became, "You better get it for me... or else!!!" and "Plureeezeeeee baby pleassseeeeee", that finally ended with, "If you love me, you'll get it..."

All that shameless begging, arm flinging and feet stamping paid off. I'm the proud recipient of a huge, cute, tubby Goofy with stubby legs and a goofy grin. I'm so happy, I'm even going to throw in an emoticon here : )

Thank you Mr Goh!!!

This happened over the weekend, while I was doing chin-ups at the exercise park near my estate after my run in the evening.

This boy in a red OCS singlet and black shorts ran up beside me, asking to share the bar. Judging by his sun-kissed complexion and the all too farmiliar uniform tan line around his biceps, I guess he must still be serving out his 'sentence'.

"Sure, go ahead." I said, huffing and wiping the sweat from my brows.

He did a straight set of 20 before letting go, his feet landing squarely on the rubber tarmac, his chest pulsating rapidly, glistening with beads of sweat glowing in the setting sun.

"Hey your body's damn nice, how do you train?" he inquired suddenly, looking at me, or rather my body.

"Errrr......" I stammered, not professionally trained to respond to such queries.

"How long did you have to train?"

I laughed awkwardly, shrugging, "I guess you just need to do it consistently for like two months to see...er... a change?"

"Wow," he inched nearer, making me even more self-conscious.

Fearing he would be able to sniff the muskiness from my wet tank top, I stepped back, also half afriad that he was going to attempt putting his hand out to touch me... I mean this is a heartland neighbourhood after all, not Absolute spa.

I glanced over at some Mak-ciks who were doing their Kebaya-robics at the basketball court nearby and had a vision of being strangled to death by their tudungs.

"Hey do you think I look okay?" he asked, taking me by complete surprise for the umpteenth time, "I've been trying to build up my chest."

"Well er..." I scratched my ear nerdily, blushing, "You, you look fine."

"You want me to take off and show you?"


...........................................................................W.T.F???

Anyway I politely declined, reassuring him that he looked just dandy.

That was when he asked if I would like to train together.

"I can't, because I usually work out late at night after getting home from work." I said, apolegetically.

"Nevermind lar, here's my number," he said, "Let me know when you're free to meet."

He grabbed onto my hand, and started tracing out arabic numberals on my palm.

Number, he wrote.

"9...8..." he read out loud as he scribbled.

"Oh my god, that's like SO gay..." I thought silently to myself.

"See you soon!" he grinned when he was done, suddenly with a tinge of shyness, before turning to run away again.

My after thoughts, "Wah, kids these days, very daring......"

Sometimes I get tired of having to answer people who ask me what articles I write or who I write for, when I tell them I'm a journalist, that I just say 'Porn!' or 'Playboy'.

Then I realised, that I've been doing it so often the reply's become second nature to me now.

So I've been wondering, if I were to start posting gay porn literature for an exclusive list of readers in my livejournal, would you want to read?

I guess this would also give those who are on my friend's list some kind of premium?

And for those who think I intend to charge for such crap, its a free service.

There's something very comforting about dozing off beside a flickering flame, and I enjoy watching the hazy shadows it casts over my blue walls.

Of course, I learnt sometime back not to put an unsupervised candle too close to the bed, and still have the burnt blanket with the charred hole to remind me of that lesson.

These days, I leave the candles at my private altar well away from flammable stuff in my room. Every night before I sleep, I switch off the lights and just look at the way it lights up the darkness, that's also when Whiskas thinks I'm not looking and begins tip-toeing around conjuring up new plans to take over the world or something.

There's something very comforting about dozing off beside a flickering flame.

The copy in the GNC brochure said melatonin's good for 'natural' sleep induction.

Remind me never again to believe anything I read in a GNC brochure.

Of the last four or five nights that I've been on the pill, I tossed, turned, and had nightmares when I finally fell asleep, only to wake again hours before my alarm actually went off.

So unless you enjoy waking up with a 'stoned' feeling and like dragging yourself out of bed, skip the melatonin, even if it happens to be on sale at GNC.

We might as well be perfect strangers...

It's been nearly a whole week since I last saw Tyra (my hamster), and no she's not dead, we just have an estranged relationship of late.

Even though her cage is in my room and we technically share the same roof, she prefers to hide in her little cavern all day long, occasionally coming out to rummage for food and stuffing her cheeks with sunflower seeds before scooting back to her lair. I'm half tempted to call up Singtel to see if she's actually tapping on our wireless connection inside there, which would explain why she'd prefer to stay hidden and facebook all day or something...

From time to time, during my short bouts of consciousness in the middle of the night when I stir from my sleep, I'd hear her paws in a mad scramble around the wheel, and part of me is comforted, knowing at least she's attempting to keep fit. But that's about all I'm getting from my pet these days, reassuring noises.

I'm beginning to feel like a latch-key pet parent! My own pet is neglecting me.

December appears to me, like the soft, smouldering flames over glowing embers of a stone-capped fireplace. Gentle and sleepy, from time to time yawning with a hearty crackle like a baby turning over in a white-hot cradle.

Like a lazy mist slowly enveloping the sky, December creeps up on you and slowly coils itself around your legs, engulfing you in a sluggish twirl, swallowing you like an icy Anaconda devouring its prey.

And before you know it, December is here.

One of the things I'd like to do before I grow old, rob a nacho van, open all the packs and just swim around in nacho chips.

Imagine being enveloped by the barbeque flavour, cheese and spicy mix. Stepping on crispy bits and licking MSG off your fingers...

Speaking of old...

Another ring will soon be appearing around this royal oak tree trunk... I would like to do something nice for those around me, who've put up with my incessant babble throughout the year. But what... hmm.

"Where's the after-party?"

That's what it said on Benjamin's shirt, as he winked at me through his dark rimmed glasses from behind the bar at DYMK last night.

And for some reason, it reminded me of this song. This tune makes me feel like I'm on a good trip after a hit, the kind of exhilaration people look for when attending after-parties.

Stoned, without a care in the world and really just dangling by the threads of your mere existence, letting the wind bring you to wherever it is you should have gone. And if you actually listen to it after say 20 shots of Tequila pops, you get this intense feeling of plummeting through space into a vast abyss of darkness, terrifying but strangely comforting at the same time.

Bogged down by work and bombarded by unreasonable requests from the people around, I guess that's exactly what we want to ask at the end of a long, hateful day, "So where's the after-party?"

So I attended the Raffles Hotel Christmas Tree Charity Auction last night. The tree that I was representing raked in $30,000 for the Community Chest, and since it was a holiday the next day, I decided to celebrate by allowing myself an extended alcohol intake limit for the night.

Bad choice mixing champagne with whites and then Gin Tonic. Argh.



Woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible headache and forced myself to throw up.

The last thing I remembered before dozing off beside the latrine, was seeing remnants of the six-course dinner floating around in a pool of bile. Nice.

Despite my tubby exterior, I succumbed to the seasonal flu over the weekend. Attempts to self-medicate with Zyrtec-D and Strepsils Dual-action have been futile, the flu like the flood in 2012, maintained its course towards total annihilation of my health.

So this morning, while chalking up a $17 taxi bill to work, I messaged my editor in between bouts of coughs, much to the concern of the driver who gave me dirty looks all along the way.

'Look dude, you can catch worse things by hanging out with your mainland hostesses at some dodgy KTV bar lor...' was what I wanted to say, instead I let out another deep throated cough and snorted, returning to my messaging.

"I think I'm down with Seasonal Affective Disorder," I typed, "I'm SAD..."
"There's no such thing, stop making excuses for being a weakling." she replied, yes, my editor is so kind.
"I'm sure there is, why else would Bears hibernate in Winter if they weren't SAD?"
"They are sleepy and fat, that's why."
"I wanna be a bear too then..."
"And that's why everyone at the office calls you Pooh..."
"They do???"
"...oops."
"Should I be offended?"
"Cos not, take it as a compliment."
"Er.... why?"
"They used to call you Piglet."

WTF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I guess Mario Vivanco was going for the Greek Adonis look when he snapped this picture of David Gandy, I'm just not sure about the torso jutting out like that...

For those who'd like a printed copy, head to Dolce & Gabbana for the calendar.

Having gotten used to the ease of a Macbook, it's become a real pain now trying to adapt myself back to using Windows at the new office.

The close button is on the top right of the window instead of the left, the mouse is now draggy and tedious when I'm so used to just switching between views by sweeping my finger to one corner of the touchpad, and there are so many other minute but vital differences which make life just that little bit more unbearable having to use Windows again.

Sigh.

So get this, I'm not sure if I even want to openly discuss this, but I've been toying with the idea of getting this Braun Buffel boston bag I saw while shopping earlier. 

It started off as a whimsical, "Oh wouldn't it be nice if I got a larger bag..."

And then after holding it in my hands for a while, and turning it around, it became a, "Mmm... I could actually use this..."

Another five minutes later, "I think... I'm in love..."

And then a minute later, I uttered the words every gay boy yearns to hear, to the aunty sales assistant, "COME HOME WITH ME PLEASEEEEEEEE....." 

That got me quite distressed indeed.







But no, I didn't get it... yet. Even though it seduced me so, and disturbed me much.

At least disturbed enough to spend my precious free time upon my fruitless return, going through Braun Buffel's latest collections online instead of surfing through high-resolution images of almost naked Japanese swimmers on various undisclosed websites with my one free hand while horrendously outraging their modesty in my mind with my other. Naturally, when I realized what was happening, it made me even more distressed... so here I am, unloading myself since I've been rendered incapable of doing it otherwise... 

Ok I have a point to all this! And I'm getting to it! 

About the bag, I already have like five (actually its 15 if you count my backpacks and Deuters) stacked away in an untidy mess in the back of my closet, so why do I need another one?

Well, the way I see it (or rather, the perfect excuse I managed to cook up this time), a boston makes sense for when I need to chug my running gear, towel, water bottle, in addition to leaving enough space for actual work-related stuff like my Moleskin, pens, recorder, blah blah blah, that I like to bring along to work, in case I feel like being healthy and heading to the track. 

My current Porter bag, which has served me well no doubt, is getting too small for this purpose considering it's a quarter the size of a standard american carry-all. 

So where's the contention in all this? I mean seriously, do gay men really need to justify frivolous spending? Isn't that part of our charm? 

I'm confused much, because we're talking about putting out $650 for a Braun Buffel. The pricetag shock exists here because I've always regarded Braun Buffel as a mid-range departmental store label, obviously it's no Louis Vuitton or even a Porter by any means.

Braun Buffel to me, is like the man's version of Coach. The branding is neither here nor there, it's too expensive to be Mass, but not expensive enough to be something you can flaunt around with pride. Don't get me wrong, I love their wallets and would have no qualms buying more (aside from my Bulgari card holders, all my note holders have been Braun Buffels) because no one does Buffalo hide better than this German house, and most Braun Buffel wallets can easily outlast any of those designer togs if its solely quality and durability you are after. 

But wallets cost less than half of what that bag is asking for, and in gay math, for that amount you would have paid for an entire night with a really hunky mainland chinese rent boy who looks like Takeshi Kanishiro. Heck for that price, he'd even let you ride him raw and still have enough to ask him to clean up your kitchen and finish up all your cans of pineapples before he leaves... but I digress. 

The alternative is of course, to top up that figure and go join the queue outside the LV boutique at Taka.
"I want the carry-all in the damier motif, yes that big one on the top shelf..." I would say, shooting off my well rehearsed sidelong glance of absolute nonchalance to make sure everyone thinks this is what I do everyday... 

Not really practical, since I intend on using my new purchase on a daily basis and I'm not sure I want to squeeze and whack an LV bag around the way I usually do. Ouch.

How about going for the top quality designer stuff like Bottega Venetta you say? Every Italian will tell you a BV bag never breaks apart even if you run it over with an SBS Superbus full of fatties from the Moses Lim fanclub. Of course, the price to pay for those kinds of bags will also come with as many zeros at the end as the combined weight of all the fatties from the Moses Lim fanclub. So I think I'll put that idea on hold until Robert Redford comes along and offers me an obscene amount of cash for an indecent proposal on his yacht parked at Sentosa Cove.

I wouldn't mind a Birkin also, come on lor, like who would right.
"I don't care how long your ridiculous waiting list is, just get me my Birkin in alligator skin okay!" I would say, sauntering into the Hermes boutique next to Wheelock, ending my demand with an exaggerated 'Humph' at the end, like a jilted David Gan.
I guess what I do mind, is the amount of ass I will have to sell at Changi to pay for one. 

Anyway, the obsessed mindfreak that I am, I plan on dropping by the mall tomorrow again to look at the bag, and possibly try to look for something else that's ostentatious enough to distract me from the original desire. If it's got to be that price, hopefully it would be an Agnes B or something cool enough to be worth that much. 

But if I do get the bag, for heaven's sakes please please just tell me it looks fucking good on me whatever you really think okay. I beg you.
Be a true friend and LIE.

That's why I say, never go to heartland malls with departmental stores like BHG. They just try to make you spend more money on half-fucked brands, and you know what, they are doing quite well at it.
Wah, that sounded damn class lah, I better copyright this statement before some taitai rehash it at her next mahjong session. 

 

Look at the time... it's 0410HRS and I'm just done with work. Still have to go jog and finish my evening prayers, although at this time Buddha might be sleeping already. Arghhhhhhhh!!!!!!! 

Gotta sleep early, gotta sleep early. 

Now who do I have to freaking sleep with to get more time in a day?