Week 10: Year of the Dawg

Hey everyone, Happy Year of the Dog! This new new year begins with a good omen: the local street rag (which obviously has a direct line to the cosmos) told me that the year of the dog would be good for rabbits, and i am a rabbit ("the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on.") In real life, dogs like to get rabbits and shake them until bits of their brain come out of their ears, but anyway...

I like Chineeeese. Our video editor, Konman, hates them but he's from Singapore and asians are about fifty thousand times more racist against other asians than anyone not asian. Or Konman is, anyway. I could fill up the internet writing stories about Konman, even though he's hard to explain, like irony. He's this semi-rude, lonely kind of independent film-maker, he used to work in what he calls the 'meat industry' (what the rest of us call 'porno') and sleeps in the office on a bit of foam. He goes to Singapore on visa runs and stays with his friend at the airport - not in an airport hotel or NEAR the airport but in the ACTUAL AIRPORT because he has this friend who's lived there for FOURTEEN YEARS! He asks everyone he meets: "Mickey Mouw - he a cat or dog, cat or dog?" And he buys LEO beer late at night and we drink it out of mugs. He's OK.

Anyway, back to year of the dog. The gang took a field trip out to Chinatown the other night for CNY. In what should come as no surprise to anyone, we went on the wrong night (it's a 3-day thing and we went on the 'praying' night AKA 'religious and boring' night). Chinatown itself was basically one big lantern, which made for good pictures, but apart from lots of fat people wearing red and police blockading off random bits of footpath, nothing was going on. So we went to Kao San Road, which was sucky as well as boring. We did see an oily looking Spanish Peter Andre there, which made the trip worth it in the end. Or would have if we'd beaten him up with his own hands and left him bleeding out of his eyes in the gutter.

Chinese dragon lantern. Burninating with its bad res into the night.

The next night we tried Chinatown again and managed to:

- not see/hear any firecrackers
- not witness any dragon dance
- miss whatever street parade there may have been
- not know where we could get good dumplings

The Dog must have smiled upon us because we eventually found The Best Chinese Food Place Ever and were lucky enough to put another few types of tasty sea creatures on the endagered species list. And we took pictures with fake dogs, which may have been a really offensive thing to do (YES! That dog above ISN'T REAL. You can tell because it's not 90 per cent mange and isn't convulsing on the side of the street.)

Other than that, the only other thing that's really been happening this week is the minstrel thing. For some reason, Rogerfromwork's (completely natural) obsession with minstrels has spawned a photoshop war. Please, if you have a minstrel contribution to make, send it to me and I'll post it. What we did so far: Year of the Minstrel and alley minstrel. Probably best not to clickey if you're someone with any cultural sensitivity (or good taste) at all.

In conclusion, this week I think I'm going to adopt/adbuct a street kitten so I have something to kick that will keep coming back to me because it is starving. (I was kidding about the last bit. It will keep coming back to me because I have replaced its feet with ball bearings and attached a big magnet to my belt. HA!)

xx

PS. Happy Birthday Joeeeeyyyyyyyy!!!!*MWAH* *MWAAAH* *MWAAAAAAAAAH*

Week 9: Happy Straya Day

Hello friends!! (both boys and girls and pictured and not pictured)
It's Australia Day tomorrow and as much as I like it here with all the crazy Thai people and chili basil stir fries and elephants on the street and diet pills and cheap food and stray cats and shit, here's a list of the things there aren't:

- you people
- Big Day Out
- a day off
- fireworks
- VB (not that I ever drank it, but it was there)
- things to stick up nose

I'll definitely be thinking of you all tomorrow, and being there in spirit with whatever you're doing. (Taking copious amounts of everything and being ridiculous in women's clothes, or dancing to "Isn't She Lovely" or hanging out in the VIP section or calling Johno or Doc at 5am etc etc) NB: I tried to find a picture of everyone from a past Australia Day but they're all in Sydney. NB2: and if you look reaaaallly carefully at the photo you'll see that Jo has been photoshopped in and isn't a small deformed dwarf with straight edges.

Anyway, the week that was: Firstly, went to the hospital. It's pretty good. It looks like a five-star hotel, with gold stuff everywhere and TVs and free drugs and Jake Gyllennhal and Heath Ledger giving back massages (except for the last two things). Still, there's not much that can make a visit to the hospital at 3am because of stabbing kidney pain less sucky. Not even the hijinks of attempting to pee into the smallest thing ever made without getting it anywhere else (the hand area, for instance), could make two hours in emergency more enjoyable. Actually, I lie. They had HBO playing Back To The Future on telly - in English!

Marty: "Whoa, this is heavy"
Doc: "Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there something wrong with the earth's gravitational pull?"

Anyway, I have a kidney infection which is mostly better now, even though there are another six days of antibiotics to go (the type they give to people dying of typhoid, as well). I've already fallen off the alcohol wagon twice this week, so it's probably a good thing I don't have the temptation of mashed friends, a public holiday and a major music festival to contend with.

And oh yeah, behold my new apartment:



There's a pool and a sauna and a steam room (apparently there is a difference), a gym and other things I'll never use (not for the want of talking about it, though) and a fancy concierge bit and security passes and weird round keys. My apartment block is also called Asoke Place, which is the exact same name of a sex hotel down the road on soi Cowboy. I'm sure there'll be many hilarious misunderstandings as a result of this coincidence before I leave.

In other news, work is no longer distinguishable from life (insofaras I'm here in the office 90 per cent of the time I'm not asleep). But, whenever shit gets heavy, I amuse myself with the Asian Backstreet Boys "I Want It That Way" on google video for some peace and solace.

OK mi amigos, have a good day tomorrow and tell me all about your Invasion Day shenanigans and send me pictures, lots of them.

<3 <3 <3

Week 8: Out on my ass

It was only a matter of time before someone was voted out of Belair Big Brother and given that the only person on the electoral roll is Jon (and the punch-cards were rigged and the black vote was eliminated) it's time to go.... ME! Stay tuned for my FHM cover in 5...4....3...2...

A Place Of My Own While the eviction via email came as a surprise, since Chez Belair has so far been blessed with 90 per cent peace and harmony (10 per cent drunken tirades (of a not-mine nature)), moving into my own apartment will help promote 100 per cent peace and harmony and no per cent drunken tirades, which is a good thing.

I could wax on and on like a sarcastic Karate Kid about the injustices of being kicked out when I'M THE ONE STILL TETHERED ALBEIT TENTATIVELY TO REALITY, but I won't, because that would be immature. Instead of turning my blog into a bitch session, I'll exorcise my feelings of rejection, powerlessness and resentment via the highly evolved practice of MS Paint. This pic was taken at Penny Black.

Otherwise, Bangkok has been good this week. Sandra Aranda (see above) from Barcelona dropped in and we took her straight to Penny Black for kamikazes and diet pills, as is the custom. Mel and Luther popped in again on their way home and were sucked into our time/memory vortex, missing their flight by about five hours. And work continued to be work - my immediate area bathed in the sweet sweet sounds of Private's porno Gladiator being translated into Chinese.

Nothing much else has happened since the girls left, apart from the Sandra Aranda night, where I took some very covert pictures of the depressed 7-11 staff and later dry heaved into my toilet bowl for fifteen minutes (don't have a MS Paint for that, sorry).



The girl from the 7-11 says bye, come again!

Week 7: The bitches bang yer cock

So the last week has been spent (so very, very spent) with Mssrs Jo Pretyman and Kathy Baker, fresh (although that ain't quite the word) from their two weeks cavorting in the islands. Can I get a freakin' HELL YEAH!

Let me start by saying that the people in the 7-11 hate us. Perhaps they're racist (fucking hate-mongering buddhists) but mostly likely it's because we're always drunk when we go in there and when we're in there we're always breathing on them over the counter, going abigbottleofwhiskeyandmarlboroughlights kup koon kaaaaaa, and mostly when we're in there, buying our whiskey and cigarettes it's at a weird time, like every half-hour between 4-11am.

So visitors to the Big Brother Bangkok house this week: Jo, Kathy, Luther and Mel from Sydney, housemate Phillipa, her manfriend Andy, Drs Christie and Harmony, Rogerfromwork and me. (FYI Jon is currently in Sydney. There's a good chance that if you turn down your radio and cup your ear to the window, you'll hear an echoey voice in the distance going, "IT'S DALLUS, MAAAAN!!" That's him.)

Jo & Kathy got here Thursday night so we baptised them by submersion (I'm Seventh-Day Adventist, remember) in the holy water of kamikazes at Penny Black, leaving shortly after the snorting of the spring roll incident. Friday night we crawled out to the night markets but everyone was semi-comatose from alcohol and nicotine poisoning so we went home and drank more. Oh, I also forgot to say: Kathy mangled her ankle on Thursday night getting out of a cab, so she was kind of in intense pain and walking really slowly everywhere.

Saturday night we went to Bed Supper Club, which is all hip and white and airplane-themed with expensive food and confronting dance performances between courses (conclusion: a Thai man doing splits in white bike pants makes beef cuts on one's plate slightly less appetising). After that the place turned into a discoteque with tech-house where there were equal parts cool people (us) and lame farangs with too-high pants and self-conscious dance moves. Jo was really funny (see: skunk, drunk as a) and when the place shut we went home and drank more while Jo ate a hotdog.

Sunday night Christie and Harmony were in tha hizzouse for one night only, so we went to State Tower - the 64th floor place where you go to be amazed at Bangkok. Unfortunately half the girls were wearing flip-flops (thongs, goddammit, thongs) and the sluts on the door wouldn't let us see the view. So we went home and drank.

Monday night was State Tower night attempt two. The doctors had flown to Delhi to continue their quest to make us feel guilty by living meaningful lives, and it was just Jo, Kathy and me. I was like the third wheel, though, as it was Jo & Kathy's engagement party and they were understandably all lovey-dovey, but we had a good pinot grigio (nothin' like a good pinot) and when we got to Q Bar later they gave me a few sympathy pashes so I wouldn't feel left out. Then there was a thai girl trying to get all up in our grills with the girl kissing thing and we humoured her for a while but then got paranoid about mouth diseases, so we ditched her out at the cab.

I'm not sure if that was yesterday or the day before, but anyway, the bitches missed their flight this morning so they leave tomorrow and I get one more chance to bask in their joyously inebriated, crazed, crazy, intoxicating faux-lesbionic vibe before they head back to Sydney. It will be a sad day indeed, and not just because I have alcohol-related depression.


what I can actually remember:

- kathy tearing a hole in my hand towel because she was so stoked with her sewing kit and NIDA fucking course that she wanted something to sew (it's still got the hole in it, bitch!)
- kathy & roger's raw egg eating competition
- Christie, Harmony, Kathy & Jo doing show-and-tell on the balcony with their thousands of thai market purchases
- the engagement on state tower
- the girls dancing semi nude to lionel richie on the balcony
- the ham-eating/throwing thing
- Jo falling into the boat at Bed Bar (don't tell me you know the owner)
- Jean-Paul
- ridgy didge!
- the taxi dude taking a piss mid-cab ride
- diet pill mania and the skeletwin challenge

xx

Week something: NYE 2006

I wasn't in Sydney this year and kind of missed the spectacle of the coathanger ejaculating squillions of dollars of taxpayers' money at midnight, but I dealt with it by gazing longingly up at the one star visible through Bangkok's smog and softly humming 'Somewhere, Out There' to myself.

Two thousand and sex.

So how the fuck was your NYE? Judging from the messages I got from people, things in sydney town reached a substantial level of cheer. Thanks for those txts, too. I had a moment of reflection here in BKK when they started coming through. Then I got pissed and forgot all about even having friends.

The whole thing started with dinner at a work person's place. Which is cool, because I'm only new here and why should anyone really care if I see in the new year at home watching I, Robot on HBO and drinking Thai whiskey out of a coffee mug? So one of the guys from work invited a bunch of us to his and his girlfriend's apartment for a Danishesque dinner (because he's Danish).

It was a motley bunch of people: the company's main dude Bo; his missus; their kid; one talkative Italian pet food exporter/fashion designer; one short, quite possibly mute Italian man; one Aussie expat from the northern beaches (who'd 'lived overseas for, oh man, ever now' and had like six businesses or whatever); and Roger and me (yes, that's a Michael Moore film).

After eating half the cheese platter and drinking half the champagne, I retired to the balcony to have my moment and stare at my phone and the star with yearning. Before I got too misty-eyed, we were off to Q Bar.

Q Bar was good. I don't remember much about the music or whatever, but it went pretty fast. I suspect someone spiked my absinthe jello shots with alcohol or something, so when midnight rocked around and glasses were raised and the countdown got to 'two...one... yaaaaay' and the question of who to pash reared its head, I found myself: a) turning into a pumpkin; b) taking the red pill and finding out how far down the rabbit hole went; or, c) locking lips with another absinthe jello shot. I'm happy to go with any of these.

After Q Bar, certain people of the group went on a mission for some chemical romance. I tagged along just for fun, of course. (I know, I know they'll cut our hands off and hang us and lock us away for six million years in a little box with rats and broken glass and all that - give me a lecture when I get back home.) Anyway, the mission lead us to a club, conveniently just around the corner from my apartment, called Narcissus. Which I've just realise would be called Narcs, for short, which is rather an apt name.

After about an hour of trying to spot the pharmacist in this place, which was teeming teeeeming with thais and falangs, thousands of them, I was feeling the edge of reason creep in, in other words, I was sobering/straightening up and feeling edgy and annoyed by all the sweating people gurning all over me. Luckily, only about another 45 minutes passed before we hit pay dirt and scampered out of the place in a kind of 'fuck this place' fashion.

The rest is pretty typical of NYEs, without the burden of Field Day hanging over my head. Sitting around, talking shit, drinking, smoking, talking shit and attempting to make convincing resolutions.

Mine?

1) see more world
2) perfect look of doe-eyed semi-vacuous innocence
3) do my job/s with feeling
4) waste time effectively
5) eat more greens

Happy New Year, friends. I did miss you.

xx