Chicken pox and drunken students

Yes, the unbelievable has happened. I have contracted chicken pox.

To get it at this stage of my life! Even Piers is laughing at me saying I’m so cute-obsessed that even the diseases I get have to be cute.

What rubbish? There is nothing cute about chicken pox, I told him, for it is the ugliest, most evil disease. But he argued that only little children get it usually, therefore it’s cute.

Why is it happening to me, then? What the hell, you stupid poxes?

It’s like these Chickenpox-men from outer space have decided to land on my body to have a picnic. They’re celebrating some alien festival by having a week-long party and the whole bloody colony is invited.


Houston, we've found a new planet to colonise!


At first, they send a small expedition team of maybe five to test the water, so to speak. These brave pioneers, upon finding the land fertile and the water fresh and unpoisoned, ring home eagerly to mobilise the rest of the colony.

They start coming in droves, the quickest ones getting to pick choice spots around the body. But there are plenty of good spots to go around, so there is no need to fight. The whole body is an endless field of fun and sunshine all for the taking. They even bring camping equipment to make it a nice holiday.

“Look, Ted, let’s set up our tents next to the navel. We can play bouncing castle in it after our picnic!”

Ted and his friend are soon joined by more friends, who set up more tents and mats around haphazardly. It’s a celebration, folks! Come, have fun and don’t worry about anything! Bring your old, ailing grandparents and newborn babies, too, why not? The more the merrier!

And then, inevitably, some of them wander up to the face.

“Come quick, Amy, I have found us the perfect lookout point for our picnic! The view up there is gorgeous!”

While Amy is swooning at her oh-so-romantic beau, my brain is going, “No, nooooooooooo. Anywhere but my nose!”

Or my cheeks, for the matter.

Or my whole bloody face, you poxy vermin!


Who are you and what are you doing on my nose?


But the Chickenpox-men (and -women) don’t care. The whole point of their existence is to have a bloody picnic on my body and face. They just plonk themselves right down anywhere they like and then text their friends to hurry up and join in the fun.

Between the crazy itch and the disfigurement (and the fear that, if I so much as sneezed the wrong way, the disfigurement would become permanent), I am finding it hard to keep my sanity.

My flu isn’t getting any better after one whole week of holing myself up at home and surviving on oatmeal and honey drinks. I haven’t gotten much quality sleep, what with the painful throat, coughing, sore intestines (from coughing), blocked nose and my chronic neck pains.

And stupid university students who walk past the apartment every night to go to the bars and clubs in the town centre.

These nincompoops are worse than the Chickenpox-men because I know the Chickenpox-men will soon get tired of revelling and go home to Chickenpox Land.

These university students are there night after night, year after year. There’s a large university hostel near my apartment, so that’s where they come from. No matter what day it is, no matter what unearthly time of the night, they’re outside my window singing drunken songs at the top of their voices.

Sometimes they don’t just walk past. Sometimes they stick around the carpark just across my apartment and hold ear-popping rock concerts.

I am not exaggerating. This morning, Thursday, 4:10 am, group of blokes singing in unison loud enough to wake the dead. The ones who can’t sing are laughing their asses off, trying to drown the singing with their laughter, but it’s a tough fight.


The road to nowhere


This goes on every night between 11 pm and 6 am, with different groups of students streaming past every so often. Nobody has put a stop to this for goodness knows how long despite the fact that there are like 30 affected apartments between the hostel and the city of sin.

I don’t know why. There’s even a police station smack in the middle of the path, but I guess the police knock off work at 5 pm like everyone else does in this country.

I can understand the fun of drunken romps, but have none of these people yet realised that they’ve been doing it in a residential area, which apartments are stood out in the open right in their faces?

The amount of partying these kids do is unbelievable. I mean, never mind their studies, they can flunk their asses big time and live on government welfare for the rest of their lives, but what about their livers?

Oh, yeah, healthcare is free in this country so that’s covered, too.

I guess there is no reason not to party yourself to your grave, then.

Piers and I have been talking about moving out to a nice big house some time in the future and leasing this apartment out, but I’d feel really bad for the future tenants who would have to put up with this insanity.

Oh well, at least they won’t be having chicken pox, too. That much one can be thankful for.

Not for me. I thought I’d already gone through hell week (with the flu) but now it’s beginning all over again, meaner and poxier.


And good riddance too!


Beware of getting girls drunk

It’s not quite a good idea for a guy to take two ladies out for drinks, ply them with an inordinate amount of alcohol and not have cavalry support on standby.

Modernburrow learned that two weeks ago, for better or for worse.

It started when nadnut organised a Mortini Night get-together at The Bar at Morton’s.

About eight of us were there, leisurely sipping exquisite martinis while indulging in free-flow steak sandwiches (only available weekdays 5 to 7 pm).

Me and nadnut had two drinks each (the Appletinis are to die for).

When 7 pm arrived and we were all overdosed on steak sandwiches, modernburrow said, “Let’s go to St James!”

“What? Drinks after drinks?”

“Why not?”

But only me and nadnut were game for it, so it was just the three of us.

I wanted to go to Bellini Room but it wasn’t open yet, so we had one drink at Movida while we waited for BR to open up.

The Comedy Night Set starts at 9:30 pm every Tuesday at Bellini Room.

Gino entertained us with his jazz numbers, with insults and gay humour (the latter of which can be interpreted both ways) thrown in between songs.

It’s quite funny, as long as you’re not the target of Gino’s jokes.

The three of us shared a bottle of wine while we laughed at Modernburrow, who managed to get himself targetted at one point of time.

When our bottle finished, Modernburrow ordered another.

I was, like, “I need to go.” (I had already told them earlier that I needed to leave early.)

“But the real live music hasn’t even started yet,” he said.

Then I found out that Tom Brown was still performing at Bellini Room and he was up next. That clinched it.

I couldn’t leave without watching suave, dashing Tom Brown, whom I had mentioned five months back and never gotten around to seeing him again.

Somewhere in the middle of our second bottle, nadnut decided that we weren’t drinking fast enough for her liking. She started making us bottoms up every five minutes.

While Tom Brown serenaded us, I tried my best to concentrate, but it was very hard because I was beginning to feel very woozy.

nadnut wasn’t faring any better, for the matter. The more intoxicated she got, the more she decided that it was fun to make us drink nonstop.

We finished our second bottle in no time.

Then, she wanted champagne.

I protested. “I need to goooooooooooo!”

The champagne came, anyway, and I found myself just sitting there, giggling to what I can’t remember and drinking when asked to.

At one point of time, Stephen Francis, band leader of the Bellini Room house band, came over to offer us a glass of something each. Champagne or wine, I can’t remember.

Tipsy nadnut got really excited and wanted to take photos with him.

Now comes the punch line.

When she was MSNing me the photos (I didn’t bring my camera out that day), she asked me, “Hey, who is this guy we took photos with?”

I said, “…”

She said, “I don’t even remember taking this photo!”

I said, “…”

Enough said.

I think we finished the champagne.

Alcohol count: Averagely one bottle each, plus three drinks prior to the bottles.

It got to a point where everything was fun and exciting and funny to nadnut and she couldn’t stop expressing her views on everything. Me, I just giggled.

Modernburrow put his foot down. “I’m putting you girls in a cab. You’re getting too giggly.”

“What’s wrong with giggly?” I asked.

I don’t remember his answer.

I only remember him ushering us down the stairs and putting $50 and a $5 taxi voucher in my hands.

“You’re the more sensible one right now, so you hold on to this and make sure both of you get home.”

While waiting for the cab by the roadside, nadnut went nuts. There was no official queue at that area, so when two guys got into a cab before us, she started yelling at them about not being gentlemanly.

All this time, Modernburrow stood by our side, trying his best to calm her by speaking in a calm, reassuring voice, trying to make me stop giggling, and trying to flag a cab for us.

We finally got into a cab after five or 10 minutes. Our escort went back to Bellini Room, sans giggly girls.

In the cab, I told the driver to drop nadnut off first and then proceed to my place, but she would have none of it. “My place further! You drop off first!”

I argued some, but she was very insistent, so I gave in to her and handed her the money and the voucher.

“Keep properly,” I told her.

I didn’t realise she was “gone” at that time. She was still making intelligent conversation, really. I just thought she was really happy.

We had a nice conversation in the cab.

The next day, she asked me, “How did I get home?”

I said, “Er… mb put us in a cab. You insisted on dropping me off first, so I don’t know what happened after I got off the cab.”

She said, “I woke up in my room and can’t remember how I got there.”


She had also lost the money and the voucher and could only very vaguely remember having a conversation with me in the cab.


It must have been very embarrassing for Modernburrow to chaperone us that night. I think a quota on alcohol needs to be set the next time, if there’s a next time.

Okay, this entry is way longer than I expected! I need to end this somewhat abrubtly now because I have tons of work to do.

A Chinese Wedding — Hotel Havoc

Imagine having to be up at 4 am to get ready for someone else’s wedding. (Ok lah, I had to wake up earlier than the others because I’m vain and take a longer time to get ready.)

I only slept for two hours because I had work to finish (while the Goonfather, Morte and Wang Wang played Guitar Hero 3 in my room the night before).

Anyway, the wedding.

By the time we were done with the morning festivities, which included the bride pickup, tea ceremonies, lunch buffets and shuffling back and forth endlessly between three homes, I was quite bushed. I’m sure everyone was.

By then, the hotel bed was a welcome sight!

Kerrendor and Minou held their wedding banquet at Goodwood Park Hotel and they booked us rooms to crash in before the banquet.

The brothers had one room, the sisters another. But most of the sisters went home for some reason or other, so Wang Wang and I had one room all to ourselves!! Woooeeee!!

We staked our claim right away!

The room was nice and spacious.

But I didn’t get to enjoy the space for too long because, right after taking these photos, I took off my clothes and jumped into bed.

And snoozed for two hours while Wang Wang flitted about the hotel, visiting the bridal suite, the brothers’ room, and I dunno what else she was doing.

At 3:45 pm, my phone alarm woke me up. I had to get ready for the banquet rehearsal.


Tried to flatten the kinks in my hair, freshen up my makeup and choose a dress, all in 15 minutes.

(I was having a dress crisis and didn’t decide what to wear until three hours before the banquet. I brought two dresses and Joey brought two for me to try on.)

I finally settled on the cheapest of the lot — a $30 dress I had bought on a whim two days before. *lol*

I tried to take a photo of it off the ballroom’s wall mirror. But the stupid mirror was layered and made me look funny.

So I had a picture with Joey, instead.

I know it’s unrelated but I don’t really care.

I also took a picture when everyone had arrived and were discussing their respective duties.

I thought the picture turned out funny. Like an interrogation or something. Hahaha.

My job was to be the emcee, together with Morte. (That’s why I was having a dress crisis, because I didn’t have anything formal enough to wear for the job.)

You know, I tasked the Goonfather with taking photos of me and Morte on stage. And the whole entire night, he only took ONE LOUSY SUPER BLUR PHOTO!

I had to turn up the brightness and contrast drastically in order for the people in the photo to be recognised as human beings.


Now you know why I always take my own photographs.

Anyway, after the fifth course of the banquet, Morte and I were relieved of our emcee duties. We could sit back and start on the alcohol!

Four full glasses of pure brandy, waiting for the groom. OMG.

After some thought, the guys decided that it was too evil.

So they threw in two glasses of beer to neutralise the brandy.


Anyway, everyone knows that the arrival of heavy duty alcohol marks the beginning of unbridled debauchery!

Morte stole one of the wedding balloons and resculptured it.

It was such a hit that the guys placed it on an ambrosial pedestal of honour.

Check out the amount of alcohol our table consumed (and spilled, if you can see the big faded red patch).

The orange soda in the wine glass is mine, by the way.

I was a paragon of virtue trapped in a decadent vice city!!

After the banquet, the vice squad trooped up to the bridal suite to revel in more debauchery.

They pretended at first. Just sat there modestly as if they were just having a merry little tea party.

Indulged in quaint methods of eye therapy.

Sipped red wine out of dainty Chinese tea cups.

An innocent bystander would not have been prepared for the aftermath.

And what an aftermath it was.

Without warning, it went from this:

To this:

And this:

Paragon of virtue traumatised:

After almost 24 hours of celebration, the wedding finally came to an end with everyone stumbling off to any available hotel room, leaving the newly-weds to clean up the mess.

What an amazing experience, even if some parts were traumatising. Gotta love my friends!

Happy ever after, Kerrendor and Minou!