My Previous Flat. Not Current Flat. There's Only 1 Mirror In Pix. Trust Me, There Are waaaaaay More.

I was just blog hopping* when I suddenly realised that I have not posted anything about the wild last-night-with-Martin night despite promising that I will ACTUALLY write something decent about it. I am deeply urged (by who else than Mr. Boredom) to elaborate more on the story, much by the disapproval of Mr. Conscience, who knows better and thinks more rationally than Mr. Boredom. So I think I'll just stick with Mr. Conscience cos I know he's smart and being a smart person myself, I can't help but to agree with everything he says.

So, I'm keeping this short.

Key actors: Moi, Non-Jew-Michael, Nice-Smelling-Socrates and MArtin himself

Not so key actor (in fact his role was to only appear when everything had settled down or very anti-climax role): Very-French-Pierre.

Martin came with all the 'goodies". If you asked me, I'd say that the "goodies" were not in fact goodies but just some stuff that he needed to get rid off because he's leaving the next day. More like junks but good junks, you know. I said good because these junks made us feel good. So they were good-junk-goodies ok. Don't argue with and learn to deal with it. Moving on. NJM and I were just minding our own business and chatting about when Socrates came. Wait. I totally lied there. The true version is I was alone in the flat when NJM and NSS came to the flat. I figured if I somehow change the story a lil bit, no one would think that I'm anti social. I am so not anti social. Anyways, moving on. That was when Martin came with the goodies. So we sat there, chatting about -- mostly about our landlord and why on earth there are so many mirrors in this bloody house, and of course why Martin should never leave us -- accompanied by the ever so lovely 80's songs courtesy of NJM's radio (Remember the Last Christmas song? Yep. That's it). Things cut short, we danced and danced (basically dancing was the only thing that we did that night apart from chatting and eating) for TWO bloody hours until ONE mirror came crashing down. It may had been my fault but it was later unanimously concluded that everyone was guilty of the crime. We continued laughing and dancing in circles, with "brief" interruptions from NSS who had to excuse himself to the stinky toilet to vomit, like urm, 20 times. Then NSS and I somehow ended up in NJM's room (owh, shoosh people! Nothing of that sort that you're thinking about) until we suddenly heard a loud crashing sound. It was the SECOND mirror of the night! Well clearly, NSS and I weren't to blame because obviously we were in the room. Martin and NJM were outside. Obviously, one of them did it. NJM, amidst all the laughter and more crashing action by feet later admitted that it he delibarately crashed the mirror simply because he didn't like it. Well, no one cared really, the music was still playing, NSS was still vomitting, NJM was still trying to jump on the broken mirror to further crash it into even smaller pieces and Martin was still, urm, to be honest I can't really remember what he was doing. And then, at approximately 3.00 o'clock in the morning, VFP came home. We invited him for more crashing action but he declined and went to sleep because he was tired. You see, if VFP says one thing, we are compelled to agree and follow whatever he says. Even the landlord is afraid of VFP. He's good, I'm telling you. Then we all went to sleep. At 3.00 o'clock in the morning. Then I had to wake up at 7. Then I was late for work. Now, can you really blame me?

So, you might now be wondering why we have so many mirrors in the house? Let me explain.

There are rumours that the house (well, not exactly a house, more like an apartment unit only much much less attractive than it sounds) used to be like a bath house, with less bathtubs, more women and even more stinky old men. So that makes the whole building (and yes our flat too) a brothel. A BLOODY BROTHEL. Wow! Never in my wildest dream had I imagined stepping foot in a brothel. Let alone living in one. But here I am, with my fellow flatmates or should I say whore-mates? No wonder there are so many mirrors. Like seriously, in my house alone there must be at least, at least 10 (minus 2 broken ones) mirrors. And my flat is considered small. Plus, on EVERY ceiling in EVERY room, there will always be 4 baby angels with their private parts carefully covered with green leaves, bright yellow stars (depending on how wide your ceiling is) and most importantly mirrors. And the landlord is an almost bald, fat, 70 sthg guy who most of the times creeps me out with his creepiness. No words to describe. I might need to get a picture of him for you to judge by yourselves. He likes NJM, though. Hmmmm.....

Sweet dreams lil angels...

p/s: I'll post more pics later...