Should all acquaintace and all that cock

The Boy and I saw the new year in together, standing on our balcony three stories up, watching brilliant cascades of red, gold and green fire light up the night sky, fireworks heralding the new year. Nestled in his arms, I thought there was no better way to usher it in.

We braved the streets of Chinatown, to mingle with the hoi polloi. Oh, the stinking humanity. In some places and with some people, literally. At one point, some ill-mannered ah bengs in an improbable conga-line formation were trying, despite the complete lack of breathing space and human gridlock, to shove past me in the crowd.

A friend of mine used to secure solo seats on the public bus by scaring the bejesus out of potential seatmates. Anyone coming close with the faintest spark of interest in sitting next to him would earn a horrible growling-gurgling noise and a KISS-worthy face, complete with lolling tongue and crazed eyes. Worked every time.

So, fed up of getting elbows in my stomach from the bloody ah bengs, I took a leaf from his book and started jumping up and down on the spot, all while emitting a frustrated sort of screaming-teakettle noise. Too startled to be aggressive, they just stared at me, then forcibly gave me a wide berth, leaving me with more than enough breathing space. Crowd control a la Slinky.

We watched the road show, courtesy of the skanky models from Jeffrey Chung who couldn’t dance (with a few sterling exceptions) but gave a damn good show of trying anyway. Loved their cowboy hats though. And one of the two guys who were on stage had this great my-balls-are-too-big-for-me strut when he did his thang. Fabulous.

The highlights of the show were off the stage rather than onstage though. People-watching at its best.

1. The at-least 65 year old uncle who was boogie-ing down to techno with the energy of any teenager you can find.
2. The Brazilian tourists who formed their own limbo contest, conga line and dance party and co-opted the aforesaid 65-year old uncle, a couple of banglas, and a bunch of locals into their shenanigans
3. The pervy looking PRC guy who threw out a few moves which looked like they might have been fashionable back in the days of Yang Gui Fei in order to cosy up to a bunch of tall scanty-clad lovelies. He must have thought he was getting really lucky when he got the number of one of them, much to the giggling amusement of the rest. I hope he realized they were actually men.
4. The clueless ang moh who saw the scantily-clad lovelies, did a classic double-take, walked a few more steps, did another take, walked on, did another. Me and The Boy were rooting for another double-take. And got it. Men are funny.

After the festivities we had some of that kickass nasi lemak they have in this place I like (yeah, vague much?) at something like 4 in the morning. Nothing like fragrant coconut rice with deep-fried chicken and ikan bilis at an ungodly hour of the morning. And a cigarette. Death by carcinogens.

The best part of the new year was waking up with The Boy sleeping at the side. Gouging a chunk out of my shoulder while I scramble to answer my hand phone in the confines of our postage-stamped sized room so as not to let it wake The Boy was less fun. Having my sister call on behalf of my irate mother wondering where the hell I was, was even less fun than that. But hey, it balances out.

The Other Cat: maybe your dreamcatcher is finally working. Mr. Big, The Boy, me and a whole bunch of snakes, it’s all good.

And the best news I’ve heard in the new year.