Tinker, Tailor

I swear I’ll never ever ever tap my foot when I’m in a toilet cubicle, especially after reading this ABC article.

In other news…

I’m sure glad I never have to wear this:

Male anti-masturbation device, British, 1871-1930.

(Via Mind Hacks, picture from Science and Society Picture Library.)

What if I had an itch?

I was at Borders just now and I couldn’t resist taking this picture.

John le Carre is good.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

This is probably one of the most FAQ posed to me, and it’s a question I don’t really like.

But I’m not complaining. At least they don’t ask me,

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

So yes, back to the original question.

When guys ask this, I suppose they’re either concerned, or curious. When girls ask this, they’re either concerned, curious, or hopeful.

I don’t like the question because I can never give a satisfactory answer. I do the annoying thing of answering a question with a question:

“What do you mean by girlfriend?”

Which normally buys me at least 5 seconds of peace. If they take too long, I might help them out a little:

“If by girlfriend you mean a friend who is a girl, then I have plenty.”

“No lah… I mean…”

So they crack their heads a little more. Most of them give up at this point.

Others push on with their impromptu definitions, like this-

“Someone whom you eventually want to marry?”

“Well I wouldn’t mind marrying a lot of people. Unfortunately I’m only allowed to marry one.”

“Go and die.”

Here’s another-

“Someone you have sex with?” (Obviously coming from a guy.)

“So if I go Geylang (the red-light district) regularly, does that mean I have a lot of girlfriends?”

“Forget it.”

And another-

“Someone you love, who loves you in return?” (From a guy, surprisingly.)

“So what do you mean by love?

“Fuck you.”

You gotta love em kids.

I can be pretty politically incorrect at times, but I’m still no match to some kids.

Like that kid in the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes.

Or, as I recently witnessed, this 4-year old boy who was standing with his mom at the lift lobby of the building I was working at. A lady was pushing a wheelchair-bound man past the kid. The kid stared hard. Then he grabbed his mom’s hand, pointed at the man on the wheelchair, and proclaimed very loudly,

“Mommy! Mommy! That man cannot walk anymore right? Right? Mommy?”

For some reason I can’t access Twitter. Everything except Twitter. I guess I’ll just have to post my really short posts here.

Due to the nature of my company’s work, we often request for a room at the client’s office building for the duration of the project to do our stuff.

So recently, as we (the project team and the client rep) were inside the lift, it occurred to the client rep to inform us about the project room she booked for us.

“It’ll be on the nineteenth floor,” she announced.

Then she looked at me with a knowing smile as she continued, “the nineteenth floor has a lot of pretty girls.”

“Er why were you looking at me when you said that?” I immediately protested. But she kept smiling.

WTH.

And just today, when we were having a meeting, I was trying to make a point about the use of language, that we should be more direct.

“It’s like me saying that I’m a non-female,” I said, “when it just means that I’m a guy.”

“You’re gay,” she retorted.

WTH.

Speaking of me being suspected of being gay, it’s been such a regular thing that it’s not worth mentioning anymore.

But last week, as I was sitting on the wet grass after the rain letting mosquitoes and sandflies eat me, a friend from my previous workplace SMSed me:

She: I just heard some rumours about you from a friend!

Me: Tell me everything!!

She: Well, they say you had a brief relationship with Mark last year. And something about you appearing in a video. In short, they say you’re gay.

WTH.

Me: Warrau!!! Must be some sour grapes girl.

She: Hur. Are you sure it isn’t true?

WTH! What kind of friend is she?

Me: None of it is true lah. Who told u?

She: A friend? She didn’t mention who told her though.

Me: Scarly it’s Mark who’s the sour grapes one. Ask her more!

She: Hah. Okay I asked her. She said someone else (she can’t remember who) told her last year. And the video thing, apparently you were the one narrating the video.

Me: Weird stuff. The narrator better sound good.

She: She said you sounded gay. Haha! You mean you really narrated for the video?

Me: Don’t have lah. Damn my lunch not here yet!

She: So weird! Then why would she say you were?

Me: Slowly find out more. I’m starving.

After a while she SMSed me again, after consulting her gay friend.

She: He thinks you’re gay.

Me: How dare he. You mean I give gay vibes???

She: No lah, from the replies you give me and the ‘denials’ you’re making, he says he can tell.

Me: Buah. I shall take a nap now.

For the record, I’m a very straight non-gay heterosexual guy.

And so I’m back from that non-civilian, non-civilised environment. That is, till the next time they want be back. Which would once again trigger philosophical musings about my nationality-gender combination.

And at the end of it, I have sores on my back (from insect intrusions), sores on my back (from sleeping on awkward surfaces like wet grass and mud or the back of jeeps), sores on my back (from carrying too heavy stuff over too long a distance - anything over 50m is too long a distance).

But strangely, as much as I hate to admit it, the last day of that 4 day 3 night affair was actually quite fun. Actually dangerous but fun, perhaps partly due to the danger. I could have broken a lot of my bones, or possibly lost my life.

But I’m ok. Well not really - sore back, sore fingers, painful knees, sore everywhere.

And yes, I need a massage.