Which isn’t very normal, since most people tend to mellow down as they age. They become more conservative, engage is less risk-taking activity, and generally become more boring.

I can’t say that I’m that old yet - still a long way from middle age, not even eligible for an HDB flat unless I get married, which isn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future.

Then again, teenage girls still have crushes on me. (And boys too.)

Instead of getting myself involved in high-risk activity with underaged kids, I take up something relatively less risky - rollerblading.

I was never particularly interested in rollerblading (I hate the term ‘in-line skating’) as a teen, but for some reason I decided it was time for me pick it up.

Perhaps I wanted to learn to ice skate, after watching over many days in subconscious envy many ice skaters gracefully gliding round the rink, and learning to rollerblade would help me learn to ice skate, or perhaps I wanted to rewire parts of my brain by learning a new skill - the result of reading too many neuropsychology books.

In any case, rollerblading it was.

At the rollerblade shop, the cute shop assistant almost convinced me to buy more than I planned for. I was already prepared to leave with the big yellow cardboard box containing my new pair of rollerblades, but she told me the importance of the knee pads. And elbow pads. And wrist guards. And helmet. To protect that fabulous brain of mine.

But that same fabulous brain decided that, someone grown like myself with significant self-control would rollerblade safely, and any fall would be minor enough to render those equipment superfluous.

Which proved to be true the first few times I rollerbladed, since anyway my balancing abilities was so pathetic that I would have fallen if I had gone any faster.

In fact, in my first ever session one night (I only blade at night to preserve my anonymity), I never fell at all. There were plenty of close calls, but no falls. Nor did I fall on my second night. Nor third.

Within a couple of weeks I was already doing decently well. In fact I was already as good or even better than this friend who had far more blading experience whom I subsequently sometimes went blading with. Incidentally this friend wants to get an HDB flat with me, and I have so far declined, but that’s another story.

As they say, pride comes before a fall.

One night, I decided to venture up this very long slope near my place. As a kid, my parents would warn me against cycling or skateboarding down that slope because it was simply too dangerous - too many other kids had met serious accidents going down that legendary slope.

Which meant that I had to rollearblade on it.

Being a beginner, I decided to blade down only a quarter of the slope (about 30m), which would be quite safe. And down I went.

Within 3 seconds, the rate that my speed was increasing was so high that my brain was going overdrive trying to figure out how to slow down.

I couldn’t use the rollerblade brake pad because the speed was already too fast and the road would wear it out in no time. I eyed the grass patch up the kerb on my left but I’d be sliding on the grass for quite a distance while collecting a whole lot of mud on my butt.

The obvious choice was just to make a right turn, as gradually as the width of the road would allow, and go back up the slope and let gravity slow me down.

So I turned right. But I was going so fast that I couldn’t stay controlled enough to make the U-turn. Instead I was hurtling towards the refuse centre, otherwise known as the rubbish dump. And just as I crossed over to the right side of the road, my right rollerblade went over one of those tiny reflectors embedded in the road. Well, they’re tiny for a car, but not so tiny for rollerblades.

The reflector did it. I spun around in high speed before landed on my ass. The momentum ensured that I didn’t just land on my ass - I slid for another foot or so.

The first thing I did was to make sure there were no eyewitnesses. With my ego intact, I examined my ass.

It turned out to be easier than expected because at the exact spot I wanted to examine, the fabric from my pants was conveniently torn away, revealing my bleeding ass. It was burning hot.

It’ll be a while before I visit that slope again. Maybe I should take up knitting.

We had ordered office chairs for everyone as some of my colleagues’ chairs were starting to show their age.

The new chairs that came in were all high backed swivel arm chairs, and they were wrapped tightly in plastic.

“Time to tear the hymen!”

“Yeah! I like being the first. I like virgins!”

Soon, one of my colleagues was getting a bit frustrated with the plastic wrapping and was getting particularly rough.

“Hey be gentle with her,” someone told him. “It’s only her first time.”

Before long, some of us were done with the deflowering and were happily seated on the new chairs.

“Nice. I like being on top.”

“Yeah and it feels good doing this”, he said while rocking rocking the chair.

We soon had to put away the old chairs.

“How do we stack them?”

“Let them do a 69,” came the reply. It worked.

Eventually, one of my colleagues decided he could bring a couple of those chairs back home to use. So they were asking who’s old chair was still in good condition.

“My ex is still good,” I told them.

“Which one is yours? Is it the blue one?”

“Ermm… I really can’t remember. Once I dump her, it’s over. Time to move on. No more looking back.”

“You heartless jerk.”

“But I have to say, she was pretty good. You should take her - she’s got experience.”

We eventually decided to name our chairs.

Mine’s called Chairyl.

Then just before he blew the candles, someone shouted,

“Hope you have a good year and have lots of sex!”

He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey check out the menu,” I pointed to the stall just beside us, “they have vegetarian fish fillet, vegetarian fish head, and even vegetarian lamb stew!”

“Anyway vegetarians won’t know the difference,” quipped Conrad, “since they’ve never tried the real thing before.”

“That’s if they were born vegetarian,” said Jason, “most vegetarians were… converted.”

“Anyway I don’t see the point of being vegetarian if you still crave all that meat,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s like driving a Toyota with a Ferrari logo,” said Conrad, who was into cars, “it’s still a Toyota.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “it’s like giving a blowjob, without swallowing.”

I think they gave me the WTF! look.

This was a quote from Ris Low, as reported in the Straits Times article ‘I will not give up crown’.

Put it this way - there’s no way she could have said that. There’s no way she could have constructed such a complicated sentence.

Yeah this is a short post, but I’m posting it only because it’s too long for Twitter

Must not watch time travellers wife. A lot of reports of uncontrollable tears. Bad for my tough guy macho image.

But due to unforeseen circumstances, I was put in a situation where, to make the long story short, I ended up sitting in a movie theatre that was screening that very movie.

Being the tough macho guy that I am, I bravely decided to watch anyway.

The movie turned out pretty good (the girl in the movie was cute).

Except that I wasn’t sure which was the right place to cry. My friend didn’t shed a tear either, even though she is more feminine than me. (A lot more actually.)

Come to think of it, I think those who cried their noses out seemed to have read the book before, and thus filled in the blanks with sadder stuff.

* * * Possible spoilers ahead * * *

I might have been tempted to eke out half a tear if the final scene was a little different-

The part where the wife was running towards Mr Time Traveller? If he had vanished away completely just before they touched… boy… that would have been awesome.

And I wouldn’t mind catching the sequel - the Time Travelling Girl. Especially the appearing scenes.

But who cares about the flower names? It had been a hectic morning at work, so it was really calming to be surrounding by so many lovely flowers. I took in a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of the flora around me…

It was a clever decision of mine. My colleagues and I were having lunch at the foodcourt just a floor below. After lunch, I decided to come upstairs just to explore a little while they went on back to the office. I was sure that none of them knew of the existence of such a beautiful sanctuary so close to our office where we could just pop by to sooth our souls.

Standing there in that beautiful and sweetly scented environment, I admired the flowers more closely.

The roses looked fake. In fact, they were fake.

“So which of these are fake?” I asked the florist.

“All our flowers are artificial,” came the answer.

I went back to the office.

“Biscuit?” offered Sue, who sits next to her.

“Chewing gum?” I offered. Yes, I do have a stash for emergencies like this.

“I WANNA KILL MYSELF!!!” went Jane

“Scissors?” “Knife?” Sue and I responded simultaneously and respectively.

We’re such helpful colleagues.

The bad news is I’m suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

The good news is the withdrawal symptoms are driving me to blog.

I suppose I’m someone who just needs some form of release through textual expression. It used to be mostly through my blog and perhaps IM and sometimes email, but with twitter and facebook coming into the picture and being so much more convenient, they’ve largely taken over, like how some guys prefer easy girls than girls who play hard to get (I really need to think harder for a better analogy).

Of course, if you don’t know me, you only get to read my blog and twitter. Okay you can email me too, but your mileage may vary. (Girls tend to have higher mileage with me, particularly those who meet my criteria.)

In other news,

I was just talking to someone about the 8.22pm thing this Sunday, where all Singaporeans are encouraged to recite the Singapore pledge at that time.

That’s fine if you’re attending the National Day Parade with a whole crowd of people around you - it feels good to be reciting the pledge with a whole lot of people, hearing it thunder all around you, making you feel like you’re part of something much bigger.

But please, if you’re at home with only a few people, you’re gonna feel pretty stupid doing the pledge thing in front of the TV, unless your screen is massive and your surround sound system engulfs you. Or if the whole HDB estate is also shouting out the pledge.

As for me, I might just be on twitter, if it’s up.

Both start with “sp” and end with “m”.

Both come in massive amounts.

Many of them get blocked.

And only very few meet their objective.

“Leaving the best for the last, eh?” quipped Conrad.

“Yeah,” said Jason.

“Ever noticed? guys like to leave the best for the last,” Conrad continued, “girls like to eat the best first. Maybe that’s why they don’t finish their food.”

“This is ironic,” I observed.

They all looked at me, waiting for me to explain.

“How come girls like foreplay?”

Really.

In Singapore it is. Perfectly legal.

So if you’re horny but your wife doesn’t wanna have sex with you (headache, period, whatever), just force her. Rape her. Our law protects you.

(But if she doesn’t wanna cook for you, too bad. Nothing you can do.)

But if you find that idea barbaric, go sign the petition at NO TO RAPE.

* * *

I got a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

It was an unfamiliar male voice on the other end, but his connection was quite bad, so I couldn’t really hear what he was saying.

Probably called the wrong number.

Until I heard him mention what was unmistakably my name.

He continued slowly, telling me his company name. It was a client of mine.

Then I recognised his name. It’s the same guy who featured in part 1/2, and part 3. A felt something strange in my stomach.

“Yes I remember you,” I told him. Maybe I should have lied.

“I tried using the project today, but I think…” he went on to describe some problems with the project that I was working on but I couldn’t really hear him.

“Thanks for the feedback, but we’re not working on it any more. Perhaps you should be talking to Jane about it?” Jane is his colleague in charge of the project. Besides, it’s almost 10pm at night.

“Yeah… so, how have you been?” he asked. Such concern.

Must not let this conversation extend.

“I’m fine. Anyway thanks for the feedback. And…” I almost added “I’ll talk to you again” but that would have been a bad idea.

“… have a good night!” I concluded. Push red button on phone.

* * *

5 minutes later, I get an SMS from the same number.

Thought of adding you on facebook

* * *

10 minutes later, I realise that he sent me an SMS a week ago with his facebook URL, which I completely ignored.

* * *

Advice needed. Thank you.

I should be back sometime next month.

My twitter will still be updated irregularly.

Parent: “Eeeeyer! there’s a dead lizard in the fridge!! It’s so dirty and disgusting!!”

Me: “It’s in the fridge so it’s okay.”

Parent: “Such a stupid lizard!”

Me: “If I were a lizard, I’d choose to die in a fridge too.”

Parent: “Choy!”

“Nothing serious,” I replied.

Of course, they would want to find out more. But really, who likes to talk about getting stalked?

(That was a rhetorical question.)

But, being the nice obliging guy that I sometimes am, I shall describe the most recent incident.

Raffles City Shopping Mall, ground floor, men’s restroom.

Enter I, head straight to urinal #1 due to the urgency of the situation, and promptly proceed to relieve myself.

Enter middle-aged man with bright orange backpack seconds later. Walks past urinal #1 which I occupy, and parks himself at urinal #2, and proceeds to relieve himself.

The restroom has a row of around 8 urinals.

Men know that this isn’t a big deal if the restroom is crowded.

But if the restroom is relatively empty, i.e. the only occupied urinal is #1, and #2 to #8 is empty, you do not use urinal #2. You use urinal #4 to #8.

Breaking this rule can cause all sorts of misunderstanding which can result in arguments, fights or even death. Women will never understand this.

More importantly, you do not lean over to take a peek at another man’s urinary organ without permission as you leave your urinal. Like what the orange bag man just did.

As a peace-loving member of society, I decided to let it go, since there was only visual and no kinesthetic contact involved. I went to the basin area to wash my hands. He was there, combing his slick black hair.

He was at basin #1. I took basin #5, the one furthest away.

I washed my hands. With soap. Rinse. Took my time to salvage my bad hair day situation. Washed my hands again. Dried my hands.

He was combing his slick hair.

So I left.

He left shortly after, as I could tell from his reflection off the corridor walls. His orange bag made it obvious.

I’m not paranoid. I don’t see things. I won’t claim that someone is stalking me if I’m not sure, even though he parked himself beside me in the toilet and probably waited for me and he’s now 10 metres behind me walking in the same direction.

I turned into a place where he would have little reason to go to - the Robinsons cosmetics section.

Mr Orange Bag turned into the Robinsons cosmetics section. He had a reason.

I maneuvered around the section a little, and soon walked out the same way I came in.

And so did he.

Time for another routine.

I walked into the nearby Tommy Hilfiger shop, and pretended to browse around while waiting for him to come in. I would leave the moment he stepped in.

Smart fella didn’t follow me in. He knew that the Hilfiger shop is a dead end, while Robinsons shop has a few exits. He stood around outside.

It was getting a bit too freaky for me. Time to lose him for good.

I took my time to stroll out the Hilfiger shop, back towards the Robinsons cosmetics section. He started walking the same way as expected. Once I turned into Robinsons, I sped towards the escalator, went upstairs, then went upstairs again, went out of the shop, went to the opposite side of the building, and hung around a while to see if he would appear.

Mr Orange Bag was never seen again.

“First, she has to be really hot and pretty…”

“So superficial!”

“It’s not about being superficial,” I replied. “I’m actually being very holistic.”

“Holistic?” she probably never encountered that word before.

“Meaning I look at the person as a whole - but I start from the looks first.”

“That’s being superficial what. What if she’s a really good person on the inside?”

“I judge based on looks first. If the looks fail, then I don’t care how good she is on the inside. If she’s really hot, I’ll proceed on to look at how good she is as a person.”

She didn’t look too excited.

“Look,” I continued, “there are so many girls out there to pick from. It’s stupid to pick any random girl to see if she’s a good person first, then start deciding if you’re okay with her looks. It’s far more efficient to eliminate all the ugly ones first, then focus on the hot ones to find out more.”

“Okay lah okay lah,” she clearly wasn’t too pleased with my logic.

Then a smile flashed across her face.

“So,” she said sweetly and hopefully, “would a girl around my standard make it?”

I froze.

I looked at her uncomfortably.

I frowned.

“What??!?” she almost screamed at me.

“Nothing. Oh by the way the food here is pretty good!”

“Stop changing the subject!” She wasn’t so sweet anymore, “answer the question!”

“Uhmmm… you very sure you wanna know?”

Pause.

“Idiot!”

I was actually seriously considering attending the event, especially after this MSN conversation:

Friend: you going?

Me: nope
Me: i got booked already

Friend: aiyoh
Friend: room full of women
Friend: and you get yourself booked

Me: but they’re mostly old?

Friend: no way!
Friend: a lot of young ones!

Unfortunately I was already booked by a friend who desperately needed me to help fix her computer. I’ve been trying to shed the reputation of being the computer guy since ages ago, but seems like I’m still cursed with it.

i regret not going to the EOGM. all the passionate women there. #awaresg

After I was done with being the nerd, the first thing I did after getting home was to check out Twitter.

wah #awaresg is the top hashtag now, even more than #swineflu

I was back around the time when they announced the vote results. The old exco won the vote 2 to 1. However, because the new exco weren’t legally required to resign, they went away to consider the decision.

And didn’t come back!

So it was declared that the new exco was history:

new exco now exexco #awaresg

I joined in the speculation as to where they disappeared to:

either the new ex exco has been abducted by aliens, or the Rapture has taken place. #awaresg

In Christian theology, the Rapture is an event when all living christians will be physically snatched away and transported into heaven.

Frankly, I doubt they deserve to be raptured.

By then, a lot of tweeters on the scene were tweeting about battery bars:

ladies and gentlemen, live tweets from suntec should be diminishing. batteries aren’t supposed to last that long. lucky i’m at home #awaresg

Anyway, guess what, Josie the new exexco leader appeared after 30 minutes:

apparently josie is back and wants to speak. *sigh* women ah… always want to have the last say #awaresg

She officially announced the resignation of the exco.

Some closure at least.

this aware thing is more fascinating than tv. not that i watch tv. #awaresg

By the time it was over around 9pm, many of those at suntec have been there for 8 hours or more:

761 women at suntec must rush home to cook for their husbands. please make way. 1414 other women will be having dinner at suntec. #awaresg

The 761 were those who voted for the homophobic exco, while the 1414 voted for the old guard. Yes, I can’t help making politically incorrect statements. (Many of the 761 probably believe that wives should submit to their husbands, according to biblical teachings.)

Anyway, I noticed something interesting about the whole episode:

constituents not apathetic and can vote + social & mainstream media same message + gahmen not involved. this is not the SG i know! #awaresg

And there will always be enterprising people out there:

wah aware t-shirts already on sale. how about Thio Su Mien masks for halloween? #awaresg

The We Are Aware site.

Partly because I haven’t been blogging much, but mostly because I love women

The heat is so bad that I don’t even feel like complaining any more, since the act of complaining would heat me up even further. It’s a good thing that it’s a little cooler this evening, meaning that I now have the presence of mind to blog - something which I haven’t been doing very much these days.

While the heat is terrible, it brings back memories of the time when I was still in National Service, when my battalion had to go to Indonesia for 8 days.

It was a memorable 8 days, mostly for the wrong reasons.

You see, the whole battalion was housed in the camp compound of an Indonesian army unit. Perhaps “housed” is a misnomer, since where we stayed was really a jungle clearing, with each platoon occupying a large military-style tent.

Within the tent, each of us occupied a safari bed (a low canvas stretcher-like bed with a light metal frame that’s easily dismantled) and some ground space to put our alibaba bag (the big military duffel bag).

It might have been a fun camping trip if it lasted for a night, but this was 8 whole days.

Let me try to recall what happened during the typical day:

5am or so - wake up, do your usual morning routine like brush teeth wash face etc.

Breakfast at the cookhouse (which was nothing more than a shed) followed soon after.

7am - After breakfast, it’s back to the tent, to do your own thing. Mostly just sitting around and chatting. Or reading for geeks like me.

10am - The sun is already blazing, and you start feeling the heat. Activity slows down.

11am - No unnecessary activity. Everyone is lying on their safari beds, fanning themselves, waiting for lunchtime.

12pm - Lunchtime at the cookhouse.

1-5pm - Back to the tent. Lying down. Fanning. Minimal activity.

During this period, if I had to do anything that required more than a few actions, I would break it down so that I could cool down in between. For instance, if I needed to take out a magazine from my bag, this would be the process:

1. Sit up on my bed (from the lying down position).

2. Fan myself to cool down.

3. Open the bag.

4. Fan myself to cool down.

5. Dig around the bag to locate the magazine.

6. Fan myself to cool down.

7. Take out the magazine from the bag.

8. Fan myself to cool down.

It took a while, but hey, we had 8 days to kill. In fact, by the middle of the week, I had finished all my books and magazines, as well as everyone else’s.

And during this time, if you do make the mistake of dozing off in your safari bed (something hard to resist), you will wake up to find a wet patch of sweat on your back and your safari bed.

5pm or so - Dinner time at the cookhouse again. This was the time I looked forward to, because it would finally get cooler.

Don’t ask me why we were doing this for around 6 or 7 out of the 8 days there. I was just a pawn. A baked pawn.