I've come to learn that sanity can drive people nuts.
Conversly, a little nutiness can drive a person sane.
And with that simple yet earth-shattering eye-widening realization, comes the power to persuade people that you are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, in all utter truth with utmost seriousness.
Then, they're putty in your hands.
You see, in the world of a GGW, no one else exists until and unless you give them permission to. Like, for example, the mile long queue of monkeys outside of Phuture.
This also refers to giving yourself permission to exist. A very good line to master would be "Your club needs us, so you need to let us in."
This 2-hit combo allows you to cut waiting time from 28 mins to 4 mins. Entering a club has never been so easy!
Humans love to know that their existance is acknowledged. Based on this age-old theory comes the next skill, otherwise known as 'Itchy Bitchy Hanky Panky Wandering Ladies Fingers', or IBHPWLF for short. Extremly useful in squeezing through a crowd. All you have to do is to caress the arms and chest of an unexpecting dumbass of the male species, and in that split moment of surprise and feel-good, you've got the bugger off guard and suspended all logics and defenses. This is when you make a muthafucking dash for it or slide your way through gracefully. Top this move off with a grateful seductive smile for extra kicks. This feat shaves a good 8-12 mins off the usual 15mins to get through a thud-thumping crowd.
Guys KNOW picking up and scoring a girl isn't exactly the easiest thing to do, hence they know they need all the help they can get to make it a little easier to get lucky. And who would be gracious enough to lend a hand? Why, you for course! Throw 'em little slobbering puppy dogs things to do that would (seemingly) buy your approval and acknowledgement. Like fetching your drink. Or your ciggies. Or your bestfriend, or waiting 1 (and ONLY 1) minute while you urgently go look for someone else, like maybe a cripple, in the club. When you've got everything you need to finally be able to dance with him in peace, complain that you hate the song that's playing, dive into the crowd and emerge at the other side while he's still lost somewhere in the middle searching for his lil-fucking-bo-peep.
Most of the time, humans have no clue what they are doing. Should you find yourself in a unfavourful situation of their word against yours, JUST KEEP INSISTING no matter what. Make it extremly convincing, and then watch how they start to doubt themselves and believe you instead. This is particularly dedicated to you, the zouk hotdog stand girl, who tried to bloody take my $1 thinking I can't count 'cuz I'm high! May you suffer from reoccuring hotdog-chase dreams and break out in sweat when you awake screaming thinking it's bloody masturd. Hahaha.
Ah. The life of the ya-ya and the xia lan.
Until the next hang-over, peace out.
As a justification to my beauty and body of a youth, last friday night was one hellafa craaazzzziiieeeeee night. Once again we outdid ourselves, this time with beer guzzling, pole dancing, butt-shaking, lust-induced antics. If I were to look back 60 years from now, I'd turn over to Ain and hoot "Jesus! Even a bad hairday couldn't stop us!"
For the record, I hate Gavin. But I'm totally in love with his beer dispenser. Beer never tasted so good...then again I say that everytime I have one. They're timeless that way. By the time we made it to Zouk at midnight, my knees were buckling and Ain still had a fucking wine bottle protruding out of her bag. It was a conspicous smuggle and a fucking hilarious sight. For the first time in my life, I did my race proud, by squatting by a pillar and successfully spitting on the bloody hotel lobby floor. Next thing I knew, there were extra sets of feet around me and muffled voices of 'is she ok?' while the only thing going on in my ears was Ain's "Hurry UP everyone's waiting for us" and the only thing going on in my head was 'IS MY UNDERWEAR SHOWING?!' However! Despite our set backs, we still made it into the club. Free.
And then all hell broke loose.
I can't even describe it. The next thing I knew, I was pouring water on the floor (corners, specifically. Its amazing how I'm still able to be so considerate when I don't even know how I got there in the first place), spitting into drinks, chasing after a fucking cripple, getting slapped on my ass by a bouncer, getting groped on my cheek, dancing with a hot-ass percussionist, making out with a hot-ass percussionist, leaving hot-ass percussionist to chase after fucking cripple, watching Ain dance with a not-so-hot black dude (she's really going international), then watching Ain dance with a quite-hot malay dude, then hearing about her lifting her dress and flashing at people her tattoo, bumping into people from our past lives who didn't quite know what to do with us - our dresses were falling, our skirts were hiked up our asses, we were in total disarray and had perpetual sheepish grins throughout the night and yet, somehow or another, managed to mysteriously attract all this pretty-much wanted attention.
So, as a wrap up, I shall abstract a quote from a famous raising(which includes skirt hems) star of a party animal socialite: "MY HEAD HURTS. Colossal migraine. Just like last Saturday! You and I - we are out of control! Boys want to screw us, girls want to be like us! Okay bye bye now."
