Monday, April 23, 2007
Attractive 31 year old, who is able to amuse you with her pole dancing skills. Riding not included.
‘It is ok,’ BestGuyFriend said between swigs of beer on a cool Saturday night. His wife, Nikki was singing Hotel California when the conversation began. It was not your typical Saturday night party with your friends sort of conversation, if you know what I mean. ‘It’s ok if you do not know what you want. If you are unhappy that Alex is so far away, then you tell him. Or you break up.’ Life seems so simple when one is stoned. That must be the reason why many chose to drop and fly on weekends. Life seems easier and lighter when you roll a joint on late Friday evening and smoke with your love ones. Dinner conversations give way to the common sharing of a cig or two. In the UK, it would be a line or two. But since the conversation was held in Malaysia, we shall stick to the storyline that it was a cigarette or two. It feels like it was ages ago that these two birds decided to pool in their finances, share their apartment with two strays (one is giving birth anytime soon) and purchase a car to drive their pretty asses around the city. Prior to that, BestGuyFriend loved his motorbike. In actual fact, it has only been four months since seven bride’s maids woke up, frantic that the wedding, held at a Buddhist temple was 2 hours behind schedule. Nikki and BestGuyFriend stormed and raged in previous months, complete with screaming matches, confrontations and makeup and cuddle sessions. Often Nikki vowed to fly back to Leeds as she paced up and down the roadside. Four months on, this pair of lovebirds are stealing kisses whenever they can. They are happy and they are trying for a baby. It is about time anyway. ‘BestGuyFriend is 40 this year. We do not want an old daddy in our midst,’ Nikki teased lovingly. ‘Yo, you free now?’ the husky voice said at 2 p.m. I finished my last spoonful of chicken soup in my parents’ home when MiniBoyFriend R called. I managed to mumble that I had finished my lunch but it would be thrilling if I could see my closest MBF. He was there at my parents’ front porch faster than I could zip up my Levis pair of trousers. His little red car was packed with discarded sandwich boxes, cartons of milk and the not so occasional boxes of Marlboro. MiniBoyFriend R looked good despite absolutely abusing his body constantly. ‘We smoked. We drank. We played games,’ he said. His cigarette pursed at the left corner of his thick lips. ‘It’s fucking amazing how he is going to be a father to a pair of twins this weekend.’ A common friend of ours, married his 25 year old college girlfriend two years ago and as of last Saturday, they are proud parents of a 2 year old son and a pair of 2 day old twins. 'How do you feel being a father to three kids at 27 years?' R snickered. We were sat in a tiny coffee shop, lost in our private conversation. Haven’t seen him for a bit mainly because he keeps hanging out in Sunway on weekends. He looked good, clear skin and light brown eyes. MiniBoyFriend R was chatty and happy, especially since my return from London earlier this year. ‘Do you think you’ll make a good father?’ I asked him, between sips of my second milk tea that day. ‘Do you think it is ok to smoke and get high when you are a father?’ There is this trend where young couples, the semi retired ravers, who now are at a marriageable age. They marry, have kids and share chores and duties like all previous married couples. Then they decide to take weekends off parent duties and some holiday in deserted islands, so they can smoke their pot, pop their pills and snort their lines in peace. R said that it isn’t as grim as I imagined it to be. He said he was ready to be a father. Where is he going to find the mother, I wondered. As if understanding my thoughts, R replied that he would adopt instead of marry or fuck a girl pregnant. R is unconventional in his art and he is still unconventional when it comes to the practical stuff. Skip the girl and just have the kid. ‘I still function like normal, even when doped,’ he said, his cigarette sitting on his lips like it did ten thousand times before this. Like this new generation, he is adamant that he is okay just as long as it is a habit that is under control. Just as long as he goes to work and works like normal, just as long as he has his relationships like usual and just as long as he carries on his daily routine the way he should responsibly do, MiniBoyFriend asserts that it is ok if he is riding on the sky miles on some pill or grass. Maybe I am just old fashion. My parents did not drink nor smoke when we were young children. They still do not. They did not hang out with some cool dude they knew while travelling in Nepal. Or tried to search for themselves on some world peace religion. My parents were how parents were supposed to be. They were strict, strong and they were always right. They set the examples and we as children, followed suit. They were not there to be my friend or be the coolest parents in highschool. My mother did not borrow my dresses. She dressed like an adult woman and I dressed like a girl child. And that’s how I think I want to bring up my kids. Conscious and considerate, not fucked up on some imaginary ride. ‘Oh come on,’ R said. ‘You should learn to chill and relax. I’ll teach you some day.’ R said, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. Two tables away, another family with two young kids sat. The father, obese beyond redemption, was busy puffing away his lights. Maybe he pacified his thoughts by thinking that his children were lesser passive smokers because he used filters. PY and I had breakfast this morning. She had her usual hot drink and I had my usual ice coffee. I should stop this habit I developed some months ago. Coffee stained teeth are not the least attractive. I really do not think it will ever make it into any fashion catwalk collective. She decided to get back on the Pill. Now this is a different pill altogether. A Pill with the capital P. After five years trying for a baby secretly (after the birth of her only daughter), PY and her hubby had decided to call it quits and throw in the towel. PY’s Pill days are starting again and she is almost successful, if not for the fact that she has forgotten to take her pills two weeks ago. I have not met E since we last two approximately two weeks ago. I found out from the Bachelor that she called him one evening last year before Nikki’s big wedding. They went for dinner and chatted for a bit. Now this is not too surprising if not for the fact that E had confided that she was not too happy with her current situation with her Muslim boyfriend. The boy's family do not know of their relationship despite it reaching its 5th year. ‘I work so hard and sometimes it is nice to be treated a little.’ I emphatize with her predicament. I am also 31 years old and I am developing wrinkles thinking how my next few years are going to be. When the hell am I going to have babies, when my biological clock is ticking faster than my maturity and bank balance? Although not said, I think E went fishing for a new boyfriend and the little fish was the Bachelor. The noise was getting louder. I was less than 50 meters from Lola and already the music was banging. I snaked up the glass stairs, to the floor above, with my mobile in my hands. Sexy on high heels on a curving glass stairs, sending a text message to D was quite a task. I think it should be included as a challenge in the new Amazing Race Asia. ‘Where are you guys?’ ‘Near the TV’ came the reply. I found them, the usual group of boys, clustering in front of the huge flat TV screen. Man U versus Middlesbrough. Why did I even bother sending the text, asking for their location in the huge hall. I should have known better. All boys are drawn to the live football telecast, duh! I thought to myself. D lost his voice. That boy has been having too much fun, I am telling you. I missed his birthday treat two weeks ago and I am not sure if I really miss it or not. Being stuck on an island with some folks that you are not too familiar with can be quite a daunting task. I don’t care if the trip was free. I don’t want to be trapped with a bunch of boys and girls that I do not share any common interest with. Imagine the trauma of explaining why I don’t think it’s cool to play some ice breaking games with them. Or why I prefer to read a book in the hammock in my latest Roxy bikini. There were 3 new girls at the table. I always get introduced to them. It is common courtesy but it does not extend beyond the initial name introduction. The girls were dancing with each other and with the boys, while I made my social rounds. ‘You pregnant?’ ET asked. ‘Fuck you. You think I am Mother Mary? Immaculate conception? How to be pregnant when I am not having sex?!’ I smacked his arm. ‘Dunno. You have been so quiet recently, like a pregnant cat.’ I sat down on a very hot Saturday, after redeeming my RM100 member’s voucher at Roxy and before having tea with MiniBoyFriend R. I dialled the familiar number. The only phone number that I can remember and it is 14 digits long. I can’t even remember my parents’ home telephone number. Alex adopted a fox over the week. The lonely fox sat in our garden one day and Alex fed it with cheese. It was eager and Alex even more so. So he thawed a pack of cheap sausages and fed the fox again. Needless to say, the fox was a happy chap and Alex was busy buzzing me the news in the middle of the night. We were talking about my upcoming trip, one that I am eager and not so eager. Business needs my attention and I am getting too old to fly here and there like some jetsetting superstar. It is an expensive hobby, especially since I end up in the same airport each year. I could have been in Tahiti or Kathmandu but instead I am in Heathrow every few months. ‘I am sorry that you feel coming to the UK is such a chore,’ he mumbled. ‘It isn’t a chore,’ I mumbled back. It has nothing to do with Alex. It is about going to the UK every year, spending at least RM6000 each time. Often it is RM10000 and above. Imagine spending that amount of money each year for a couple of years. Imagine what you could do with the money instead. ‘Oh utter rubbish!’ Alex said. ‘Feeding the poor in Africa with your money.’ He dismissed that I could have vaccinated some village kids and fed perhaps another village with the money I spent. Thankfully he did not ask me feed the poor with the money I allocated for my Aldo shoes fetish. Anyway we are doing okay, I guess. I imagine that there is a dark cloud looming somewhere far away in my mind but I do not wish to think about the emotional clouds at the moment. I am trying hard to be where I was before I flew home past Christmas this year. I am trying hard to remember how Alex touched me with his stories and antics. Like his pet fox in the garden. Maybe I am trying too hard. That is why it is failing. Maybe if I learn to let go and just let it be, everything will return to normal and everything will feel fine again. We are going to Poland end of May. He signed me up for pole dancing lessons. Alex said that I could go pole dancing while he swam in the town council’s pool on Wednesdays. Hurrah, I thought to myself. Well at least if we do break up, I do possess a new skill to add to my relationship CV. I might joke about this but I really do not think that it is funny. I imagine writing into my relationship CV. ‘Attractive 31 year old, who is able to amuse you with her pole dancing skills. Riding not included’. Somehow I don't like to parade my new skill at all. And because... *** Related Links
Labels: Alex, life, MiniBoyFriend, relationship |
My sentiments exactly. I always thought if you held on too tightly to something or worked too hard for it, the more it eludes you.
"They say if you love something let it go, and if it comes back it's yours" - a line shamelessly ripped off a certain someone's song. :p
Suicidal
Maybe I've held on so tight that my fingers are numb and can't be relaxed. Like crows feet, eik!
Do tell me that you did Wouter's survey for his dissertation paper.