just minishorts.

I know I've just blogged but something crept up and I just HAVE to talk about this.

See I have a friend who's getting married in April and the girls are planning to organize a hen night for her. So we were talking about the agenda for the night and the games we would play (mostly naughty of course) and our Good Girl asked me over the phone yesterday, 'You reckon we could get a stripper?'

'A what?'
'A stripper lah. I've never seen that in a private party before. You think it would work?'
'Hmmm….'

So anyway, we both thought it was a great idea, illegal of course, but what the hey, it's a private party and it could be fun. So I asked the bf to try to find out for me just how much would a stripper cost. Just in case.

Eric was quite weird about it, 'You want a what?'

'A stripper. For my friend's hen night.'
'Why would you want to see a girl strip? You can see yourself every day in the mirror.'
'A male stripper lah you dork. Why would I want to see a girl strip indeed. This is a hen night. It's for girls only.'
'Oh. Aiyah no need to see male stripper lah, I can strip for you what.'
'…'

Anyway, this morning during breakfast Eric told me, that THERE IS SUCH A SERVICE apparently, and he could get the contacts, if I required them. 'But it's going to cost you RM500 per song.'

I almost choked on my noodles. RM 500 is damn kau expensive okay? A song would most probably be about 5 minutes the most, and that silly song 'I'm too sexy for my clothes' is only about 3 plus minutes yah? So I told Good Girl the news, 'It's too expensive to afford. RM500.'

'Wah lau… so easy money hoh?' was Good Girl's response.

'Yeah. RM500 man. One song RM500. If one night 4 songs, that's RM2000 for only 20 minutes the most…'
'Well. Let's just invite the guys from the gang to the hen night lah, and get them to strip to their boxers.'
'That's an idea for cheapskates like us.'

So the decision has been made, and the poor guys will have to strip to their boxers … if they're not-as-modest-as-we-imagine-them-to-be. But never mind that. I still CANNOT GET OVER THE FACT that it costs RM500 bucks per song for a stripper! That's like so fucking easy to make.

I have to work my ass off to get RM2000 in my account. Every single day, I toil the days and shiver under this blasted air-cond vent, to crap nonsense into the works I write just so that I can pay the bills and installments. Every fucking month, I look into my bank account statement in dismal… when the hell is this suffering going to end?

Suddenly, RM500 seems so easy. You just dance and dance, naked of course, but the people are not allowed to touch you (I heard you can up the price if you allow people to fondle you.. you know?) But RM500 man. If I stripped 2 songs per time I'd get RM1000. If I can do it for 3 times a week I'll get RM3000. Multiply that by 4 weeks and I'll get RM12000, just for over 3 hours' work a month. I'd be freaking rich if I made stripping a profession.

All I have to do is strip in style to a piece of crappy song like 'I'm A Slave For You.'

You reckon?

What's so bad about being contradictory, anyway?

I can't recall just how many times I've put my foot in my own mouth. I'm not proud of all these promises I said I'd do but never kept, but neither am I ashamed to admit that there are times when I've said the wrong things, or made the wrong decisions. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry, but I'll tell you this much also, I don't quite like saying sorry, but I guess that's not up to me to decide. Occasionally, I have to say it… and damn, if I were as unflexible as a standing tower, you'd find me terribly rigid. And that is something I am not.

You know how the cycle of life goes, cyclical. You fall down, you stand up, and then after a while, you will just trip and fall again.

Like the time I sought God and denied him because I chose not to believe. Or the second time I sought God and I had faith and He was there to receive me again, because only God can ever be so forgiving. I am but unworthy, but He loves me. So I accept.

That's almost Christian.

But I'm no where near that. I am the least of all. Was that a song again?

It's a return to faith. A cyclical experience. Up down, up down and up again. Right now, I'm just on a monotonous path, the one where the bumps aren't nearly so significant, and that's why I had to reexamine the old promises I made to myself.

One, in particular, stood out like a sore thumb. Old-time readers would remember this. Almost many years ago, when I first started the blog, my first relationship broke down in shambles. Like the broken hearted teenager who was convinced that she could only love ONCE in her entire lifetime, I told that 'unfortunate fella who didn't know what gems he had in his life' this "I don't care what you think now. I will prove you wrong. I will wait. Even if it takes five years, ten years, I will be here for you."

Gah. Most. Fucking. Stupid. Line. I. Have. Ever. Uttered. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Because I'm never going to keep that promise, so it's as good as broken. It took me just six months to completely forget about that silly promise, and now that many years have passed, I remember that day with a shake of my head and curse myself senseless for ever thinking that what I said then was true.

We're such fickle-minded creatures, eh? Incapable of keeping a promise, incapable of faith. No wonder God is so displeased with all of us. Oh well.

If I ever met that guy now, I guess I'll just look him in the eye and said, 'Oh you, you're a figment of the past. There's only two things I can thank you for now. One, for giving me good memories, of course you deserve them. Two, for teaching me what bastards some men can be, and letting me go. It would be complete blasphemy if I were still with you right now.'

…

And then, times like now, you just can't help but keep asking the same question that will forever remain unanswered (well, at least to me), 'Just what am I here for? Why do these people have to turn up in my life?'

My bet is we're all here to fulfill God's great big plan. Just tell me if you know what that is.

And oh, forgive me if this post offends you. Actually you don't have to, but I require that you pretend to. It's a personal blog after all, and ever so occasionally, I become me again.