The Pink Bachelor – Revved up and Reboot!

So it is time again to revive this blog that I have not written in eons. And meanwhile take stock of the new year and just ‘literally’ write off the old one.

Has the pink bachelor kissed good bye to all drama in life, both above n below the sheets?

Let’s just say that it’s been a whirlwind year of cooking, finishing my masters in marketing (finally!), kissing goodbye and then rejoining the corporate world, wonderful trips to Thailand and Bali (plus a little eat/pray and loving), finding myself, dealing with a loved one’s illness and surviving it all with zest for life, love and happiness intact.

Perhaps we shall read on the next few entries to find out.

Meanwhile, a poem from the pinkbachelor’s boyfriend, yes, apparently he writes poems too. And some of them are actually good.

Touch the Skytouching the sky

Yesterday flew by in the blink of an eye
I struggle to think of its purpose
From saying hello until it waved goodbye
Did I explore it to the fullest

What I find with the passage of time
Is that it’s moving faster
And some days I seem so far behind
Headed for disaster

But yesterday is gone
And it won’t ever return
here now is where I belong
Today is my concern

Don’t live in times already lived
Don’t wish back days gone by
Now give today all you can give
Reach up high
We can fly
Let’s Touch the sky

I can make it happen, follow my passion
Anywhere it leads
Taking action is a timeless fashion
I’m the accessory it needs

In the night I’ll be the brightest light
I’m gonna shine
I’ll stand and fight hell yeah, it’s my right
Right now this is my time

Because yesterday is gone
I don’t want it to return
Now Is where I belong
Today is my concern

Yesterday was already lived
Don’t wish back days gone bye
I will give today all I can give
Reach up high
We can fly
Let’s Touch the sky

Thanks for reading my blog.

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Happy first year anniversary

Well, the pink bachelor is back. But is now happily attached for 1 full year. It is amazing how a decision to go out for a booty call instead of moping around at home on a pre-holiday evening.

We just celebrated with jiaozi made by yours truly and a bottle of Botega Champagne I’d previously won in a media event.

 

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Here you go. Cheers!

Pulau Perhentian

“What?! No alcohol on this island?” I stepped onto the island with a desperate, sinking feeling after 12 hours on the road n driving thru dense Malaysian forests so deep that if a pontianak appears around the car, I would hve yawned and said “I told u”.

After the first post, this pink bachelor has snugged off to a great tropical holiday in pulau perhentian (malaysia) where I have had a seriously good time under the aegis of a group of similarly pink friends guiding me through the dark valley of spinsterhood snorkeling several metres above the most amazing corals in waters that are so clear that i didnt dare pee into it for fear of causing a very obvious shade of “yellow” between my legs. You don’t get this from the usual murky waters of Singapore.

Astounding? Actually, in between ecstatic moments of getting high on too much sunlight and salted air, lay disappointing moments of how much more would I have enjoyed had I brought along a hot guy with me.

It didn’t help at all that it was veritably an island of love and sex. There were so many hot, young and fit surfer backpacker types — with girlfriends in tow. And perpetual smiles of post-coital bliss radiating through their body like chernobyl meltdown radiation. Tropical paradise?! Humbag!

In case these summon up images of me sulking at the beach and cursing every couple who go past me with the triple terrors of herpes, HIV and hemorrhoids, well that was true. At least in my mind.

There was practically zero pink presence on the island (coral species and sex changing fish of paradises don’t count). So it was a relatively austere, healthy trip with no alcohol, healthy-living hot tourists and sadly, no post coital bliss… but lots and lots of amazing snorkeling … And no post coital bliss.

“water water everywhere but not a drop to drink!” I said to a French lady with her hot undergraduate son who was at least while cruising to another island for snorkeling. And she thought I was just referring to the water.

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The first post…

 

 

I am 32. A single gay spinster. And if I have to describe myself further, male.

When I was a child in a boisterous all boys family (during the Singapore’s stop-at-2 policy days, yes that’s how old I am) and playing kiddy games of make-believe with my similarly all-male cousins, I always play the princess role in a mistake thinking that when I grow up, my penis will shrivel and drop off and voila! a vagina will emerge. So you see, those christian groups are right. I am just ‘confused’. Well, and also, very ‘gay’. And I don’t think i can be saved.

Back to my state of stupendous singlehood. I am 32. Single. Unwanted. Left on the shelf.

If I were a fruit, I would be a peach that is cast aside by the farmer and left to rot on the branch. And even then, I won’t have the decency of staying on the branch. Judging by my usual luck, I would have been pecked by a rabid crow, fallen off the bough like rock-a-bye baby and fallen off somewhere between autumn and early winter into some muddy pit. And eventually getting rotten, black and wrinkly. Instead of being sweet and sugary and shipped into all kind of exciting destinations in the form of peach pie, peach ice-cream, peach puree, peach creme brulee, I am turning sour, bitter and alcoholic. And poisonous. Giving off fetid fumes of methane that promises to burn a hole in the ozone layer. No, I am not being metaphoric about 3 sentences ago.

 

 

If I were a car, it would be even more depressing. Nowadays when I go to Tantric on Friday nights, in the rare chance that I am in the mood for love*  for a rare man-hunt, I feel like I am a 3rd-hand used car from the last decade model that is passed over even for scrap. While all around me are shiny Ferrari and Porsche fresh from the army, polytechnics and secondary schools. I don’t want to have sex with them. I want to give them tuition and counsel them, cook for them and put them to bed; while looking for their fathers to have furious hot daddy-sex with.

*Aside: due to suspected early onset of andropause, increasingly there is less love and more moody.

Arrgghh! Back to real-life and no more waffling.

I was running today in the gym today. Faced before me is the dreadfully bad noon time channel 5 free-to-air TV programme of India: a love story where a weepy Brazilian lady is being cast aside by her callous Indian high caste boyfriend/husband/fling because his family cannot get along with her (cancel fling, keep boyfriend and husband). Eventually, he weeps and says he loves her but if his family insists, he will leave her. And he storms off (cross out boyfriend/husband, write in *Spinster*). Later she decided to go drown herself in the nearest ocean (obviously the Indian ocean).

Gym was supposed to be destressing?!?

I turned my head to the TV screen on the left. It was channel news asia featuring a dead 24 year old girl* whose eyes are gouged out by her psychotic unemployed 38 year old ex-boyfriend a few days before her marriage to him. He met her while she was a *SPINSTER* looking for love online on Love-links. Enough said.

*Elsie, may you rest in peace.

I got out and decided that I need to do something with my life. And quick. I don’t have much time! Spinsters seem to have very short lives before they get hammered/gouged/raped to death, judging by the stuff i am seeing these days.

I thought of at least one thing I am reasonably good at; aside from the amazing ability of playing computer games for 15 hours consecutively. And it was possibly writing. And why not write about the remarkable fragile existence of spinsterhood; and, if not getting out of it, then at least, living with it.

And hence, this blog.

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My dear friend and sister-in-crime, Sean EC has sat with me for hours thinking up names for the blog, and we decided on imnotspinster (well and also because iamnotaspinster was taken up by someone else who didnt even make a pip-squeak of an effort to write a single entry).

I dedicate at least this first entry to him.