Posts Tagged ‘Men’

Swing, Tiger, Swing!

I read this a little while ago and could not help but to agree with the writer. While I have less vim in love with the supposedly better sex, I do keep my faith in love… for myself. Oh I am so in love with myself I could just kiss my own you know what.


Swing, Tiger, swing!

I couldn’t care less what other people are doing with their genitalia, but it seems that the only subject people want to discuss these days when they’re out having drinks is Tiger Woods’ infidelity.

Now, when the news of Tiger’s multiple affairs first hit the press, I was shocked. That is to say, I was “shocked” in the Casablancian sense of, “I’m shocked, shocked to find out that gambling is going on in here!”

Of course someone like Tiger Woods would be ****ing around like an over-sexed rabbit.

There are a lot of commonly-held beliefs that I simply can’t subscribe to. Global Warming, for instance (that’s the biggest scam ever perpetrated on the human race). Or that OJ Simpson killed his wife. But most importantly, I don’t believe in monogamy.

When I say I don’t believe in monogamy, I mean: I don’t believe it is natural; I don’t believe it is possible; I don’t believe it exists; and I don’t believe it is a good idea. I believe that the very idea of monogamy is anti-life, anti-pleasure and anti-human. After all, only 3 per cent of the Earth’s 4,000 mammal species are monogamous (and homo sapien isn’t, according to the anthropologists, one of them.)

There is no doubt in my mind that the only people who manage fidelity are those who are too plain, too uninteresting or too fat to have any other option. I reckon it’s pretty easy to be faithful if no one ever wants to give you an opportunity to be otherwise. Just like it’s pretty easy for us not to fly around the skies, since we don’t have wings and hollow bones and the like. But if we did have those handy accoutrements, I believe we’d be flying about all the time.

Women desire him, so, yes of course someone like Tiger Woods would be ****ing around like an over-sexed rabbit.

Because he can. Like yummy Bill Clinton could. And delicious JFK could. And – oh my – all those gorgeous footballers! And Angelina!

And anyone who can and doesn’t, is a damn fool in my opinion. Because it is the plain, uninteresting and fat ones who created the stupid Monogamy Rule in the first place, so the rest of us couldn’t have more fun than they were having. Therefore, it’s clearly an absurd idea to follow their jealousy-motivated rule. I say: let’s have a lot more fun than them – let’s take all the fun life can give us.

Pamela Druckerman, who went on a round-the-world tour of cheating for her book Lust in Translation, found Russians to be some of the world’s worst cheaters. She couldn’t find anyone in Russia who had been faithful. Good on us, I say. And yet another excellent reason to live in Moscow.

Personally, I’ve always been a serial non-monogamist. I’ve “cheated” (the word “cheat” says it all. Listen to the teary sullenness of the accusation through your remembered eight-year-old ears: “You’re cheating!” But you weren’t, were you? You were simply better) countless times on every single boyfriend and husband I’ve had. I’m not a one-man job and Tiger’s obviously not a one-woman job.

But now poor Tiger has been forced to enter a sex rehab clinic.

Apparently he’s doing yoga for about three hours a day in order to learn how to suppress his sexual urges.

But I doubt yoga can turn him into a tiny anglerfish (the only true monogamous creature on this planet). Hence I say: Good luck with all that, Woods.

I used to be like Tiger. I used to feel guilty, hate myself and regret my passionate wet/hard nights stolen on the sly. But, having realised a long ago that regret is a waste of time, the only thing I regret now is regret.

No. That’s a lie. I regret one other thing.

I’m having my publicist send this column to Tiger Woods c/o of the Sex Addicts Clinic where he’s been admitted.

I regret not having Tiger’s big, black … Well, figure it out yourself.

Thus: Mr. Woods is cordially invited to spend some time in Moscow. We can take care of him and show him a good time, can’t we? I mean, we’ve got: Faberge eggs. Cafe Pushkin. Snow. Vodka and Soviet Champagne. Me. And all the beautiful Russian women a man could want. And you know, we’ve got golf too.

*** rehab – and everything else you can. Tiger: come to Moscow.


Deidre Dare
Moscow News

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So Wrong

It’s not Friday.
It is, in fact, the day after. But how the heaven did I miss it? Now I really feel like making it feel like Friday. Let’s just say I started the day with donning a kebarung. Yes, my sweet green kebarung of which the fabric was my wedding hantaran (gift). Some things do last longer than marriages, si? In fact… uh, never mind. 🙂


As I was making breakfast for me Monchies this morning, I got thinking about my Fridays in Malaysia. Fridays back in the days when I was younger. Much younger. And I got thinking about what used to be the highlight of my Fridays back then. Especially when I was staying with my family in Taiping.


Friday was the day for me, KaCher and me girlfriends to gawk at men.  We were fifteen okay! What fifteen-year-old girls that don’t gawk at men? Umph! Well, any given day was a gawking-at-men day for most of us fifteen-year-old girls, really. But Friday was the official Gawking-at-Malay-Men-Going-For-Friday-Prayers-in-Kain-Pelikat Day! (Pelikat is the Malay sarong for men, Neil.)


I couldn’t describe the feeling it gave us looking at those ‘cool’ sarongs on good-looking hunks. I still can’t describe it now. I blame it on the gawking-at-men-in-sarong deprivation I am suffering in Russia. But men’s sarong is probably the coolest one-piece attire ever invented in our Asian culture. There are sarongs for Indian men, the mundu and the lungi and many more. There are sarongs for Malay men, the pelikat, the batik – well, even the towels are seen to be a trend in some places. And for Chinese men, there’s the shang or the chang. Hmmm that explains why the Russians do not have these cool garments. They have no need for something cool. They’re cold.


So yeah, I do miss the sight. The sight of men in their pelikat and Baju Melayu top, songkok on their heads on Fridays, looking so cool on a hot sunny midday stepping over the army truck tailboard while showing some skin and hair. Did I say showing some skin and hair? Oh I take that back. Pretend I didn’t tell you what I saw, okay? Pretend you didn’t know what sight I miss, okay?



The picture above has nothing to do with sarong, pelikat, Fridays or my obsession with any of the above. I just got carried away with my gawking activity. And as I know that I can get myself in trouble with this entry, I have to confess that I can’t wait for summer! The probability of having a man wearing pelikat in my house is promising. I am gone ironing now to cool off.



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Work Men Out

Choose one that describes you the best.

Assuming you are a woman, when your husband/boyfriend/fiance suddenly starts exercising, you:

  1. feel motivated and join him
  2. think he is having an affair
  3. are glad that he is taking care of his health
  4. laugh at him
  5. are convinced that it is a one-off activity
  6. tease him cruelly until he stops
  7. are depressed
  8. cook something really sinful to make him put back the calories
  9. know he is just being sarcastic
  10. take pictures and blog about him exercising like the whole world cares
  11. start dieting
  12. ignore him
  13. divorce/dump him
  14. force him to write a will, naming you as a sole executor and irreversible beneficiary
  15. call his doctor to investigate what is going on
  16. call his doctor to see if you can start an affair with the doctor
  17. start eating more than usual
  18. get two gym memberships so you can tag along
  19. start singing, “This little piggy went to gym, this little piggy went exercising, this little piggy went so thin oready.”
  20. die of shock.



Man Exercise



My choice is number 10.


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Hot Tall Vanilla Latte, Please!

If I  were to flirt with  the idea of flirting with him, I would first thank MokcikNab for the pantuns and the beautiful translation. Well, not that he can’t read bahasa. He is probably the only man with steel eyes in the whole wide world that can say, “Maaf, bahasa saya tak berapa bagus,” in perfect bahasa. And it was both his eyes and his tak-berapa-bagus bahasa that actually changed my tea heart to coffee!


But I am not going to. Flirt with the idea of flirting with him, that is. I don’t do the flirting thing anymore. Not since the year 1999, at least. With the knowledge I have about myself, breaking a heart is too heart-breaking for me to do. Afterall, even my heart is in its work-in-progress mode. But someday, he needs to know that there is a book written from the strength that the images of him had given me. Someday, he will have a page dedicated to his green sofas and his orange cat. And oh his hanging owls too! 🙂 But that someday is not today.


And then, if I were to seriously flirt with the idea of flirting with him… I would send him these pantuns:


Dari mana punai melayang
Dari sawah turun ke kali
Dari mana datangnya sayang
Dari mata turun ke hati

From whence flies the dove
From the fields and down the brook
From whence flows the love
To the heart from just one look


Dari mana hendak ke mana
Tinggi rumput dari padi
Tahun mana bulan mana
Hendak kita berjumpa lagi

Tell me where you go from here
The grass grows taller than the padi grain
Tell me the month, tell me the year
When you and I shall meet again

From: MokcikNab


But then, these were just thoughts I flirted with back then. The thoughts that got me through the nights of counting beads of tears. The thoughts that got me through the days of counting beads of prayers. For Mom, for me and for me Monchies. The thoughts that were wordless then as they all went into healing my heart. I am still one good work in progress. Wish me love and luck, that with my tak-berapa-bagus bahasa, I will have a book of heartful words.


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Do It, Men!

To men out there who are man enough to read this, excuse my frankness. When it comes to money, there are two kinds you fall into. One: those who do have money and arrogantly flaunt it. Two: those who do not have money and shamelessly flaunt it. And both kinds are the pathetic kinds. The rest of you men… you don’t fall into any kind. And you are safe from my frankness – for now.


I mean, really! We all know that you can’t be having money all the time. When you do, and lots of it, that’s great. Good for you! But do you really have to unnecessarily show it, blogging about it, posting a scanned copy of receipts of your purchase as though the whole world has to know that your feet alone are wrapped in a pair of RM2557.65 worth shoes. Do you?


But man! That is still not as bad as announcing it to the world that you are broke. So broke that you could almost sell the Fung Keong canvas shoes your kindhearted Aunty Anne George bought you after your STP exam. And that is only so that you could buy a pack of GardeniaIn his back pocket! corn bun? Eeesssyyy walang hiya! That, I am so lah not sorry at all to say, patheticity at its worst! And then you’re complaining your girlfriend left you for a bloke who works at Burger King and drives a secondhand Citroen he paid RM14k for in cash!


Much of the pain is… indeed, self-chosen. But as painful as being broke can be, have some pride, will ya?


Still, a respectable man is not one who has the most or the least money. He is the one who respects his money and treats it like it is his secret lover. Go figure!



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Talk To The Hand

Pretty nostalgic it was the other day listening very clearly to an old Iklim’s song. That engkau bagai air yang jernih di dalam bekas yang berdebu song. I could vividly imagine a badly scratched and dusty glass with Evian stall-temperature water in it, on a hot day at a roadside warung (stall) on the way to Dungung. Of course there are rose syrup, jambu juice, young wangi coconuts, cans of Red Bull, Coke, Sprite and Soy Milk drinks soaked in crushed ice in a polystyrene carton on the side. But all my heart desires would be the un-chilled bottled water. And of course, since it is improper for a lady to drink from a bottle, they pour the water into a glass. That badly scratched dusty glass.


What I meant to write actually was about the other side of Enida. The in side. The side that cannot be seen no matter how many times you orbit around me. I am likening myself to the Evian water here. You can have me cold, you can have me boiled. But I am, supposedly, transparent. As clear as water. I don’t blame the scratched dusty glass either. You can have your views and perceptions clouded with what you think you see and what you want to see.  After all, blame is not my game. But before I digress another 350km east on this post, let me start with revealing what has never been revealed before.


Since I use this Bernard Pivot Questionnaire in training sessions that I conduct, it’s my time to strip myself quarter naked now.

  1. What is your favorite word?
    (Italian: Why?)
  2.  What is your least favorite word?
  3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
    Orderliness and kindness 
  4. What turns you off?
    Negative thinking 
  5. What is your favorite curse word?
  6. What sound or noise do you love?
    Edrick humming 
  7. What sound or noise do you hate?
    Noisy chewing 
  8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
  9. What profession would you not like to do?
    Running a daycare 
  10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
    “There you are, luv!”

I have to add some here. I just have to. Especially the ‘turning me on’ question, Question #3. If one ever wonders what turns Enida on in a man – before I reveal my answer, I think it is pretty important for me to stress that this ‘turn-on’ has nothing to do with ‘hard-on’. Okay? Please? Well, here goes… I am always attracted to men with a ‘clean’ aura. And that is physically and mentally. Of course the latter takes a little longer to reveal. But one with genuine ‘cleanliness’, would have it radiating all over his language. Verbal and non. His words and his move.

 Talk to his hand if you can see his four fingers...

Physically, however, if you really want to know how clean a man can be… look at his hands. His fingers can do the talking.


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