This entry mentions fingers, fat people, robotic chickens and Tom Jones. Oh and a proposal.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I am really sorry for the lack of updates, but I met with a traffic accident two weeks ago which made me unable to type properly.
You see, my big-headed (literally) Wilson crushed my left index finger by slamming a car-door upon it. The finger became swollen and it was so bad that I secretly suspected that my fat friend Amos swapped our index fingers.
Well, luckily for all of us, the finger is now recovered and has shrunk back to it's original size.
Plus, my laptop self-destructed over last weekend. Everytime I turn the damn thing on, it does some sort of numbers-falling-from-top-to-bottom kinda thing, like in that movie where Keanu Reeves wore a leather skirt.
Well, enough of all my whinging, and allow me to tell you about a few nights back, when I went clubbing.
(Note: If you foresee an entry with a tender romance, taut with passion and desire, love and betrayal, bursting out of its leather pants with sex, scandal, mystery, suspense, drama, action and adventure, then this entry probably won't be for you. Sorry.)
Before going on, I hope you understand that clubbing has never been one of my favourite pastimes (those being stamp-collecting and train-spotting).
I never really understood the whole idea of paying an entrance fee to a place where you get diluted alcohol at exorbitant pricings, then proceed to dance like giant vibrating spazoids. Or ill-coordinated chickens, for that matter.
However, as it was the first night out after Tekong for my other-fat-friend Weilong (I only keep two of these around, they take up too much space), I had to grace the occasion with my presence.
It wasn't such a great idea, though. You see, we planned to go on Wednesday, when the DJ spins contemporary hits like Square Rooms and Dancing Queen. Hari Raya Haji, a public holiday in these parts, happened on Thursday though. And hence, almost the entire Singapore was there queuing up in front of Zouk (did I mention that we went to Zouk? No? Sorry, continuity error. It happens.).
And after two hours of queuing, those dastardly bouncers put up the full house sign. Luckily for us, my friend saw this has-been-celebrity-who-he-happens-to-know, and who is able to somehow bring the entire group of us into Zouk even though it's allegedly full house.
So in we went, and as if on cue, we jiggled like robotic chickens. Halfway through though, some smart-arsed Casanova-wannabe decided to propose to his girl on the dance floor.
Either that, or he placed a stranger on a podium and gave her flowers..
Personally, I prefer the former, because there really isn't anything to talk about the latter, is there?
Touched by this gesture (or was it the alcohol? Nobody knows for sure.), the crowd started cheering the very public couple.
I was at the bar when the cheering happened, and I couldn't see the proposal at first. My initial thought was that some one had taken off her top and was dodging bouncers. I swear it was the alcohol.
Anyway, I was left bitterly disappointed when I found out that it was only a marriage proposal.
Seriously, who the heck proposes in a club, on the public dance floor no less?
I mean, the idea of having your girlfriend drink so much that she'll say 'yes' to anything is quite smart one, but in a club with vibrating chickens and pounding Tantric music?
I can see how the conversation will go:
Guy: Will you marry me?
Girl: What?
Tom Jones: ... You're my sex-bomb!
Guy: WILL YOU MARRY ME?
Girl: GOOD OLD HAIRY YOU?
See? It just ain't worth it.