I’m cool with nudity. Nude beach? Cool beans. Legal to strut around topless in NYC? Very cool beans. These guys strolling down las calles of Barcelona? Own it!
El guapo on the right is sporting a full bum tattoo. Cheeky, cheeky!
Butt But there are limitations. And one such pandemic I have been witness to lately is the outbreak of Golden nuggets, arches, drive-bys & streams, or GONADS.
GONADS EPISODE ONE
GOLDEN ARCHES: TRAM EDITION
Back in November I was heading home after a long day of mindless running around. A bit sweaty, decidedly hungry and lungs having reached their daily
toxic quota tolerance for air pollution, I was hoofing it home when I saw a GONADS offender: legs spread wide apart, pants and underwear clinging at his knees, a man of 30-something clutching his peen with both hands. Unabashed and seemingly unaware of his stupefied audience, he golden-arched it. Someone had drunk a lot of water milk tea.
This was not a Friday or Saturday night. It was a civilized day, like a Monday or Tuesday. The setting was a bustling tram station in a high-end neighbourhood. There were grandmas – the super old kind- and children. There were MY EYES. Eyes which apparently could not tear themselves away. So I did what anyone
in Hong Kong would do, and what everyone around me was doing. I went to take a picture. I stood frozen, staring and gaping with horror. I said nothing. I shot not one disgusted look. I did not call the police.
But I did call S to vociferate my displeasure and astonishment.
“@#%*&$^(*$%@ PEEING $@($&)@^@*&!!!!”
He sounded surprisingly unperturbed by the burning of my retinas. Okay, I get it. It’s not as if we haven’t all seen such spectacular displays of solo sword fighting before. But I don’t want to see it. And I especially don’t want to see people publicly bare it all to vacate themselves more frequently than I have to strip down for my esthetician during bikini season. Which, to my dismay, is exactly what happened.
Stay tuned for GONADS EPISODE TWO. Coming soon to a public space near you.
For all you long distance love troopers.
I hear ya. I see your pain. Even if s/he can’t because the bloody a/v is cutting out again.
Get it together Thank god for Skype FaceTime.
After posting, I braved the outside world in search of sustenance. Never, ever grocery shop hungry.
Cashier: “Oh! Having a lot of people over today?”
Me: “Umm…no. Just me. I–uh, I like food. To eat it.”
Cashier: “…. Oh.”
I wish I could say this was the first time this has happened.
A few weeks ago I was flying from Hong Kong to Canada on my way back to spend Christmas with my family. For those of us who live abroad or are frequent long haul flyers, we know there are some necessary personal essentials and we pretty much have our routines mapped out (see the end of this post for my super-duper interesting p.e. list).
One of the things I always make sure to do is watch at least one
crappy teeny-bopper guilty pleasure hot Hollywood film. This time I settled in for two deliciously glorious hours of ‘Friends With Benefits’ starring Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis.
It doesn’t matter whether you’ve seen the film or not. You know what it’s about. And you aren’t surprised that during the lengthy montage of nudity during which JT and MK really, truly, deeply get to know each other, I was presented with, consumed and had taken away my chicken-with-rice-or-beef-and-pasta dinner. And the nakedness was still going.
Tap, tap, tap.
Someone was touching me. On a plane. Tapping. Tapping is never good.
I turned to look over my shoulder.
Leaning forward, with a kind but stern look on his face, was the 70-something year old Chinese man who was seated behind and to the right of me. I took out my earbuds.
“You are too young to be watching that.” Oh my god. How long had he been watching me watching them get it on? Did he just see the screen? Had he been watching the expression on my face? What was the expression on my face?! Had it changed when JT’s very
toned bare behind had graced the screen? I couldn’t decide whether I was mortified or amused. Addressing my concerned surrogate grandfather, I desperately tried to look respectful, though the corners of my mouth were pulling.
“How old do you think I am?”
“Oh, 12…maybe 13.” I lost it. Fit of giggles ensued. Get a hold of yourself! (Also, what do 12 year olds look these days? Are they all on steroids?!)
“Sir, I’m 26.” He looked at me suspiciously. I attempted to convey maturity, honesty and composure with my eyes. Doing anything with your eyes after nine hours in transit just translates to Hello, I’m crazy. Do you have any pretzels? I attempted to look my age. Which, considering my chosen entertainment, may have made my case worse rather than better. There was a very long pause.
“Ok-la…you are old enough to watch that.” Evidently, I don’t give my eyes enough credit. Ah ha! Windows to the soul, people! And my soul was old enough.
Triumphant, feeling mature – after all, I am an adult! I can watch sex scenes whenever I want to!– I resumed watching.
And then, at the slightest hint of nakedness in any film I watched for the rest of the flight, I fast-forwarded.
List of personal essentials:
*If your travel capabilities have elevated above and beyond
the cattle car Economy, forget the list. You have ARRIVED!
If I knew how to set the tone I wouldn’t have spent the last 2.5 days eating the contents of my fridge to extinction, slitted eyes shooting furtive, circumspect glances at Ziggy2, until now my trusty computer. But after second breakfast today, I ran out of food. I was presented with two choices: go buy more food, or make a mess of my first post.
It’s really cold outside.
Does this count as a first post? Woohoo! That wasn’t so bad. Actually, I could be on a roll. Look out,
imaginary readers world, I’m striking while the keyboard’s hot!