I have the weirdest conversations with my mum over the phone sometimes.

This time, she thinks I puked in the lift last night, am suffering from gastric, and I dunno what else. I am thinking she secretly suspects I'm suffering from bulimia, but am just too polite to say it.

There must be something wrong with a relationship that takes place more over the phone than in person, when both people are living under the same roof.

I do feel bad. However nonchalant I appear at times.

I feel bad for not talking to her enough sometimes. Women need alot of attention, especially mothers. And being a woman, I do know that.


***


And I've decided that I really really do not like MOS. Even though it's being greatly raved about and the numbers keep heading there.

It's always so overcrowded (especially in Smoove), the people look funny and the music's not exactly exciting. And I don't get what's the craze over Pure. So what if the room's totally white? People who go there simply look like they're in bed at their own homes, all zonked out and washed out. Go home and sleep if you want to, stop hogging the sofas and cushions.

And we met quite alot of strange people there last night. It was hilarious, but I felt so sorry for my male colleague who had to endure the girl who could stare us down with her dagger look. Well, what to do, it's like this, the perils of being a good-looking dude (I can so sympathize). Hiak hiak.

Speaking of good-lookers, there were ALOT of those in Phuture on Wed nite. Both guys and girls. For once, I was seriously impressed. We ended up clubbing till the lights were out, and even made some new friends.

But, despite all this, I know I'm never going to fall in love with clubbing. Sure, it's a great diversion, and a great way to meet new people (especially if you're a girl 'cos the guys do all the work), and occasionally, it's a great way to relax after a shit-week of work, but at the end of the day, it's just that - clubbing.

Once the lights are up and the alcohol's done it's work, it's back to reality.