Whoa. The Middle East is strange. First, I get the hang of Bahrain, where basically people think i'm a maid, because the only asian nationality they've been exposed to is philippines.

Then we went to Beirut (who's been to beirut!?) and we started collecting races! One day, we hit six - people would stop us on the streets (as we were the only asians in the country) and say "Japan?"

motherfu**ers.

We even got into a long political debate with a random woman who asked our views on the falungong. Macam I know what that is like that. I wanted to scream "communist lesbian!" at her, but decided i'd be outnumbered, then get beaten to a pulp in front of starbucks. Very unglam.

Stoopid.

There was a line from French and Saunders which said "...they're all gays and lebanons". did you know that a lebanese is different from a lesbian? I couldn't tell coz the women all look like thai trannies.

I'm feeling random today. Can you tell?

So, whoa.

I've been in Bahrain for about two weeks now and not much bothers me. I like it.

But today I was typing an email to my boyfriend, and something struck me.

First, some background information - we have an indian dude who works in the pantry. he used to work in the ritz or something as a dishwasher (human one, not a machine). so he takes immense pride in his work. I'm anal (no pun intended), and like to have a clean glass, so I want to wash it myself. I also rinse glasses before I use them. He ALWAYS fights with me saying "clean already clean already!!!" before shooing me. One day he also gave me a lecture (farked up reasoning but) on how if i wash my glass, water drips on the floor and people slip and die. I'm like, mama, whatever.

SO! I can't believe it took me this long, but what i noticed today while requiring a poo in the office, is that he is also the toilet janitor, and uses his hands to clean the loo!!!!

Now, even if I get an eye taken out for trying to wash my own glass, I'M WASHING MY OWN GLASS!!!!

Oh my god (Christian one, not the muslim one).

OK, so it's my first day working in Bahrain. i've come on a weekend - and it felt like a month. It's boring, dusty, and taxis cost more than they do in Singapore - with smelly drivers. If i get caugt fu**ing one of these FABULOUS looking arab/lebanese/filipino/indian/etc men, they will chop off what's left of my comparatively-tiny penis and feed me to the camels.

nevertheless, I've learnt a couple of things
1) don't buy baked beans in a can if your apartment doesn't come with a can opener
2) do not microwave bread
3) if i get 1% more tanned, i'll be mistaken for a filipino and people will order beans on bread from me, which i do not know how to make
4) Mother is always right.

it's strange to be working in the desert. i feel like i\ve taken a step back in time. They don't have prada, they think starbucks is cool, and whiteboard markers are a precious commodity in the office. Do I want to go home? not at all.

Its currently fabulous. I'm now an account director, i have an office, laptop, blackberry. I feel on top of the world. Kind of. OK. maybe not at all. Congratulate me on my marriage. i'm married to my friggin work.

I shall now go out and buy more Fulla dolls (muslim barbies). fabulous

Whoa. 6 months since my last visit. Today it hit me. i'm leaving the country for a strange Middle Eastern country in a week. Strange place, this Bahrain. It has to be said as BaH(gargle phlegm)-rain. Otherwise they'll say "stupid chinese boy doesn't know our language".

They're right.

The only thing I have in common with them is my hairy circumcised penis. I mean, I don't speak the language, I barely grow facial hair, I wear size 7 shoes. I'd say my wife prances around in lingerie, but it's not true. My wife prances around in Skinxwear crotchless boxer briefs. Which is fine by me.

Nonetheless, the great GCC is calling my asian-decended name. Muhabba Yang Jian. Salamalakum. Whoa. My company has transferred me. I asked for it. Double the pay, fabulous condo and the means to buy Prada not on rollover credit. Sounds fab. I'm still excited as hell, since my last trip there was great. But i'm in this strange transition period where i'm at work (in Singapore) but not really doing anything. I would help my future colleagues on a presentation they need to do up, but it hit me that it's friday. They're praying. du-uh.

So there i go. Thursday 12 July. The end of fabulous gay me.

I haven't figured it out yet. if i'm outwardly homosexual, i'll get my penis cut off. If i'm closeted, i'll implode and have to poop out the remnants. Neither tickles my fancy. Maybe I'll do an Avenue Q and lie that I have a girlfriend in Canada (her name is alberta, she lives in vancouver. she cooks like my mother and sucks like a hoover).

Yeah. It's a plan!

Aiya. Fearful angel was right. After 3 semi-successful posts, I've lagged. It's been holiday season, you see, and in the midst of turkey, ham, turkey ham, cranberries and BJ (Ben & Jerry's hor you dirty pervert man), I've lost track of my LJ.

It's also due to the fact that i've resisted owning a computer. All i need to do, I can do in the office. Besides, with the money, I can buy another useless piece for my wardrobe. Ahhh... yohji. I love you.

Speaking of the office, I'm here. Waiting for an email. On a holiday. Rain outside. My client's on MSN with me. Such is the extent of my social life. I'm allegedly supposed to meet hiao man for lunch. We'll see if he calls.

*admit stupidity time* - i've actually come back to my office to feed my fish - the two (flotsam and jetsam) are in a large champagne glass on my table, with a Playmobil Mermaid (kitsch as hell. I love it!), and the scavenger fish (ugly longkang mollies) are outside near the toilet. None dead after my 4 day absence. Maybe my fish don't need me after all. they're like sea-monkeys (monkies?), and fat men - They'll find food whatever the circumstances to stay alive.

Changing the subject, as you know, I'm in advertising, and one of my favourite products is Canesten - a fungal cream which cures white spots, ringworm and athlete's foot at the root. I've just done a brief and the active ingredient is called Clotrimazole. Who knew you could cure fungal infections with pasta?

*Boom tish*

Bloody hell.

The office is closed for a week, and I should be leaving at 6pm on the dot to do some last minute christmas shopping for the people who didn't matter enough to figure in my priority christmas shopping list. Then OG got 20% storewide some more. John Little only got 15%.

But noooo. I'm siotting here waiting for my stand-in pseudo gwai lo boss to come back and approve my claims and vet a letter I have to write for an unmentioned Automotive client who insists on giving me hell before the holidays. I love advertising. From the bottom of my black heart.

I've opened some more christmas presents. Someone bought me a boy-bear fan. duuuh.

*time lapse*

OOH! Ity's now 7.10pm and i've got what i need done done.

In the words of Weird Al Yankovic,
"Father mother kindly disregard this letter..."

After yet another hard day of fire-fighting with the world's most unscrupulous people (SPH and an unnamed automotive client), I have settled down to my first cigarette of the day and some good chewing gum. And it's only 3:48pm. Ahh. This is the life.

No one's in the office today. Which blows, because in the warm seat of my office toilet, I have discovered that pretty much all of us (sans myself)have made it into the pages of the uber-glam local Harper's Bazaar. *excitement*

The story is that we were all forced to attend the birthday party of our most hated colleague, which included a closed door BCBG sale followed by champagne and dinner at some pretentious place in Fort Canning. We were dressed to the nines - well the girls were. True to the straightness of my office, the boys showed up in G-star, and Fred Perry topped with random blazers. I'm amused this is termed "fashion". Advertising people are so, like, whatever.

Nonetheless, the gorgeous girls and the 2 hot gwai Lo/ang mor/white trash french boys were featured in the magazine, but us average-to-ugly asian boys were convienently left out. I'm hurt. I haul my jiggly size 14 ass down to this event, buy the woman a present, pretend to give a toss about my colleagues for a full 4 hours, and I don't even get the courtesy of a picture in Harper's? *grumble grumble*...

Maybe I'm expecting too much. Ah well. I guess it's then ok that the people who were featured looked FAT!!!!

Whoa. It looks like i'm the only disgruntled soul here on this "blog" thing. I watched Girls Out Loud yesterday and was appalled by the sad state of those 2 bimbos. Although I do have a (make my parents hopeful that I'm ever gonna get married) crush on the one with the mole. The ah Lian is just an ah lian. I told myself - "I will never be a blogger. Who wants to listen to YOU rant about a world that's obsessed with thin and blonde?". Then I realized yesterday was my first post, and here I am doing it again. Kind of addictive, innit? :P

My first real post. Hurrah.

It's close to Christmas and I'm pensive. Pensive because i've turned 27 this year, and goal-wise, I'm no where near what I was supposed to be. odd, because my 27 year old ambitions were:

1) drive a BMW (which I own)
2) Live alone (condo with gay-friendly gym)
3) Be happily attached with older, buff, tanned, hot, divorced-after-he-realized-he-was-actually-a-homo, home-owner with his own BMW
4) Have a career instead of a job
5) Be thin and actually be able to wear THIS season's Calvin Klein instead of pre-pencil cut jeans.

It took a different turn yesterday with Hiao man himself at an older person's birthday party. Post-party at 12:15am, alone in my single mattress in my parents' house, it occured to me. I have no stories to tell. I've never been divorced, i've never been in a car crash, i never broke a bone, and i've only fucked half the men in Singapore (waaay off target for a 27 year old). Seems I'm missing out in life.

I have older friends - all of whom have been divorced, been in car crashes, worked in the porn industry (boom mic operator - weird, isn't it? Can't they just stripe "ughs and ahhs" into it in post?), and fucked 3/4 of the men in singapore. Life seems a bit mundane now. My last bit of excitement was when I got an extra wan ton in my wan ton hor fun today at lunch. Oh joy. Oh rapture. Oh no...

Ooh Ooh! And I got my first LJ friend - speedo or something. Nice.

Anyways. the conclusion is that older people have more fun coz they've experienced stuff and shit. My last experience with stuff nearly got me arrested when the hallucinations involved gay stripper policeboys, and my last experience with Shit i distinctly remember involved my cock head and a loud "EEEWWW".

Merry Christmas.