Out of luck when luck was doing alright

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Paper Thin – John Hiatt – Slow Turning, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

You cannot place bets using your Singapore-issued credit or debit card at any online betting shop or online casino that’s located overseas. And I didn’t know if Singapore Pools, one of the many, many betting agencies in Singapore, offered odds on yesterday’s Melbourne Cup – The Race That Stops A Nation, so I asked a friend in Sydney to go to her local TAB and place $55 on various horsies for me, LMD and my friend Steve (who thought it might be a good idea to distract himself from his woes).

Now, I’m not a gambler by any measure, and I don’t watch the soccer (yes, it’s overseas soccer, so don’t ask me why I watch overseas horseraces and overseas cricket and overseas rugby union). Here, it seems as if every other guy and the occasional girl watches soccer. They get all worked up about it, place large amounts of money on bets based on what the New Paper says, and then lose a bundle to either Singapore Pools or one of the many other local betting agencies. But I like wagering with people who I know are a tad too emotional about the sport they’re watching, like the time me and a friend won a small but handy sum from someone who gets all worked up about her soccer.

Then there is the spooky coincidence of licence plate numbers of cars involved in accidents, no matter how minor the accident, and the winning 4D number.

I’ve never won 4D, and I was beginning to think it was because I seldom bet, and when I did, I never bet on the numbers my friends told me to. So when the one true love told me she dreamt of the number 1117, I thought, what the heck, let’s have a flutter. I went and placed $5 (I think) on 1117, and the next day, 7111 was published as one of the Starter numbers, and it was then I learnt that there was such a thing as an Auto-Pick-Combo-Thingamajig. I also told the one true love to make sure she slept the right way round next time.

Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not a gambler by any measure. Else I might actually watch the soccer or risk life and limb travelling to Genting, because I can’t place bets using my credit/debit card on overseas online betting shops and casinos.

Yesterday’s flutter was a flop. Me, LMD and Steve lost our outlay of $55 (My bookie friend in Sydney lost $6 herself too, so make that $61 lost to an overseas economy). None of our horses came within coo-ee of the placings, and Steve is blaming the girl he’s seeing but not quite seeing for his run of outs. She called him yesterday, you see.

Stupid, stupid horse!

Get married for what

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Rhyfelgyrch Gwyrharlech (Men Of Harlech) – Welsh Male Voices – Very Best Of The Festival Of One Thousand Welsh Ma [UK], of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

If you haven’t already read it, go read Adri’s fabulous piece on a Teochew wedding.

The comments to that post are just as interesting (interestingly, all coming from men), and this one in particular reminds me of once when a friend was in my car, and he pointed to two men holding a child’s hands, on either side of the child, crossing the road together, and he said, ‘Look, perfect family’.

I was just talking to a friend the other day about marriage, and how I thought many of our female friends who were married or about to get married tended to view marriage as the goal in life. This friend became quiet, and told me, ‘you know, that was… that is my problem, and maybe that’s why things are not going well for mine now’.

(I’m reminded of that hilarious LMD account of how her friend’s mother asked her friend why she didn’t want to get married ‘to experience sex soon’.)

Another friend recently told me what he had to do in preparation for his coming wedding. He did the dreaded bridal studio packaged photo shoot.

‘The bugger make me run while he take photo! And then ask me to turn and smile! Where got people run like that one?’

He also had to pose for shots carrying his wife, at locations ranging from Fort Canning to Sentosa to Arab Street, then come back to the studio, where some be-petaled bed was set up for the couple to pretend to canoodle in their wedding best while the photographer snapped away.

I asked him why he did it if he didn’t like doing it, and he said ‘make the wife happy lor, she wants all this mah’.

Aiyah, dunno lah. All youse can keep getting married for all I care. At least my brother’s shop will get some business. Check out his wedding specials.

Screwy mate

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Only A Fool Breaks His Own Heart – Nick Lowe – The Convincer, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

So I ask my friend Steve what’s up with the girl he’s been seeing but not quite seeing, and he says, ‘Don’t talk about her, dude. Don’t even bring her name up, she’s bad luck’. At that instant the taxi we’re in nearly merges with an oncoming SBS No. 165, and we are nearly kewwed. The bus driver is so irate he slows down, so our taxi can catch up, so he can scold our taxi driver good.

One of my testicles is somewhere in my throat while the other is lodged under the front passenger seat (the one under the driver’s seat belongs to the driver). But without missing a beat, Steve deadpans, ‘Toldja. She’s bad luck’. Then he mumbles, ‘Sad. I didn’t even see my life flash before my eyes’.

You know if a friend gets as morose as that, there’s nothing much you can do but accompany him on a drinking binge or something. That girl he’s been seeing but not quite must’ve affected him really, really badly. I kaypoed further, ‘No, really, what happened? You were telling me you think she could be your girlfriend, but now you’re all sulky. I thought you liked her?’

That unlocked the floodgates, and chapters 1 – 23 of The Book of Steve were completed before we got to Wine Bar. He said he didn’t think very much of her when they first met, except that she was ‘kinda cute’, and that she wasn’t his equal intellectually and definitely not emotionally. But things, they develop, and next thing you know, they’re spending every waking moment and some sleeping ones together.

‘So, do you like her or not?’, I asked.

‘Dunno. I don’t think I should’, he sighed.

‘What the fuck?’, I what the fucked.

‘What do you think she wants out of this?’, he asked.

I what the fucked again, and asked him how that mattered if he didn’t know if he liked her or not. But when a friend gets as morose as this, he seldom is actually in the conversation, and Steve was no different:

‘Do you think she’s treating me just as a friend? Do you think she’s trying to gain something from me? What does she want? What does she want?’

At this point, our taxi arrived at outside Zouk. I collected my testicles, paid the cabbie, and shoved Steve out the other door while he was still composing rap lines out of ‘what does she want?’.

I have really screwy mates. Must be the company they keep.