Baby, You Can Drive My Car.

Hello my kittens,
Well I promised an update soon with regards to the whole hello-fellow-hell-and-jello situation. If you have been reading my blog from when it was a mere foetus of a web journal, worming its wee fingers out into the world through (if not a soggy hole) than atleast a brain and a mac --- than you will know that I went though a fine number of bumblers.
There was Chup, who now parades his pretty face with even more vehemence than before, although now it is rather well known that there is nothing behind that pretty face but dust and the occasional termite feces. There was Serpiente, Ankle and others, all of which have given me the collective award of Medllion De La Maneater. However, it may interest the more slutty of my readers (love yah) to know that I've had a fellow for my own for a while now. But before you conclude him as another disposable spleen, hear me out my kittens.
If you've read the infatuated crap I manage to churn out at the start of every new relationship, at least in 2008 (oh to be slightly younger, and slightly more evil) you'll know that on average the affection lasts as long as... well something else lasts. However I find myself of late become steadily more and more decent, having been dating a certain someone for six months or so.
And no one I've heard of can "last" six months, unless they put their poor little one to work in the fields with different kinds of oxen, to learn the ways of stamina from the creature that bears the load without question. Unless they have put their peck to fend for the merest morsel of food in the nomadic wilderness, ever searching for the appeasement of desire, but never deficient in will to strive onwards. Unless they have put their johnny to toil forth in the earnest and humble rice patties, learning that patients and endurance, not to mention recision is the way to ultimately draw satisfaction.
Even then, I'm not sure how much i'd like a peen that had been a nomad, a rice patty and an ox.
Then again who knows, maybe it would generate a sort of x-men style stamina.
In any case, this fellow, Zoo, does not compare in terms of experience to those veterans of the past, whose clock work oranges ran out and hung loose with skill (although I grew bored of pretty much all of them). Zoo is a different variety.
For one thing, he is lacking in that certain spark of artistry, musing and general gaping arkse -hole demeanor. Due to this lack, he is not as intent as those in my past at squeezing the freaking life out of me for inspiration. I think he is more concerned with the squeezing of my amazing and perfectly crafted hiney, truth be told. Hey, some have fallen for the mind, the charm or the harm, some have decided on liking the 'tude which was born from too many nerve endings getting on my nerves and ending. I guess this one just likes the hine.
Hopefully other things too.
But what I adore about this one is that his delight in my happiness is stemmed from the happiness itself, as opposed to the expressed gratitude and 'returns'. But hedonism and vague desire to assimilate with the mentality of intoxication govern the rest, as may be expected. I suppose it is the simplicity itself which causes the fortitude, and not the simplicity of mind (he's not stupid) but that of disposition. The regard held is much less full of crap than previously seen, and the honesty is one I am partial too. And even when he does lie he's terrible at it, and its completely transparent.... so the honesty is not only delightful, but somewhat incidental.
Apparently you don't have to hurt each other in a perpetual cycle of hatred and passion to give a rats arse about someone.

Love,

Jhonnie Cat

Cry Me A Liver

Well, first off I suppose I should offer my apologies for it being so long since I last updated. It doesn't mean I will offer my apologies, it just means that I realize I should. Here we go.
If you have been reading this number for a while, you will no doubt be aware of the way in which I treated the general male population. One of the other models I work with puts it very concisely (as she too adheres to these rules) :
'use them, abuse them, and loose them.' ... This illustrates the general boredom that is felt within about nine days into a relationship.
Cute.

It has been an eventful two weeks, one crammed with lots of pretentious people all wearing shoes that are more attractive than most faces. I find there is a delight to be had in many of these people, as once you submerge yourselves amongst them, you feel as if you've grown some rights. The right to hold a champagne glass. The right to glance at someone's outfit and lift a quiveringly disdainful nostril. The right to think of a race as trendy. The right to insult people and tell them it is constructive criticism. The right to sweep the streets before you with exaggerated mascara and prod the peasants who dare cross your path (this path should be littered with jackets thrown down by lesser men).
I do this anyway, but if you are surrounded by these tightly buttocked men and women it seems more like a natural course of behavior.

I've recently done a few shows that have given me some things to mull over, not so much food for thought - as I'm fairly certain that food is seen as basically illegal at these events. At least judging by the chopstick wives and tai-tai lives.
One of them was over in a shiny hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui, the interior of which reminds me of sticking my head inside the silver surfer and swishing it around for a bit. Basically it was gooey and metallic. And may or may not have super-powers.
Bluey, the agent who casts me for most of these, made her usual witty remarks on the place while prodding us to hurry up. I did the show with Collar, who is probably one of the most attractive people I know. After we removed some of the slop painted on our faces, after the shindig itself, we headed to Kashbah and Dragon-I.
One of the fellows that took us to d-i has the first table and ordered champagne that was on fire. I took a photo which is now the background on my phone.
Its to remind me to be rich one day.

The week after this Collar and I did a show in the convention center, along with Spy. Spy is a lovely girl, who was very exited about her paycheck. Endearing stuff. I feel sorry for Collar and Spy, though, because their first outfit involved large false shiny things that poked them most uncomfortably. I was lucky, and ended up in a sequined thing that made my species questionable. I looked something like an ork that had decided to desert the red eye of mordor and seek out a life as a thai transvestite. The garment exposed my midrif, which is better than a side riff or bottom riff. Or even an ostinato, if I have any music nerd in the crowd tonight
*dum dum chhhh*
The second garbberment was essentially a kinky sailor outfit with bizarre shorts. There is such a thing as high-waisted, which I can understand. But these shorts looked like they wanted to escape to my lungs, and hide there stealing away my oxygen until I was dead. I can only assume that once I was dead, these shorts would steal away into the night, brandishing their dangerous waistline at other un-suspecting people. Beware of pants.

After an epic battle in the hair and makeup room, I bested these foul shorts, I had a bit of a frodo moment throwing them far from me where they will never live to cause harm to mankind again. I kept all my fingers though. I have small hands. They must be good for the egos of the men I date.

After this little escapade, I headed on over to wanchai with Collar and Spy. In trafalgar, we yapped and relaxed. Across the street was the dull light coming from that pit of vulgarity, Carnegies. s of bingo-wings and cheap perfumed armpits danced out onto the street from that vile hole. I wrote a previous entry regarding Carnegies and how shall I hate thee, shall I count the ways?

As for personal gossip, because you care so much, I shall pen up an entry soon.
Love in the time of Oliver's,

Jhonnie Cat.

PS. if you want to find that entry before when I was talking about Carnegies - word search 'Serpiente' for that is who I was dating at the time. photo reference, for those of you who have me on fb.

The Fact of The Batter

Hello there my kittens,
So sorry that I haven't been penning to you properly but I've been much preoccupied. The common rumour and rumination at the moment is that me and a dear friend of mine are on the dark side of the lawn. No not the law, the lawn.

In terms of my feelings towards the police at this current state of affairs, I've never felt so much rage against the machine. Granted, I am an semi-Asian girl with little to no respect for gravity so if I were to mosh with passion in the middle of a crime scene (brandishing come stereo typical noodles and bowing a little too much) it would be quite the sight to behold. There is a club here called behold. Golly gee.

I saw star trek the other day, and I'm sure your buttocks are now inching slyly to the edge of your seat to know what I think. I'm sure the perspiration is dancing a blotchy waltz about your face in anticipation of my opinion.
Well who am I to disappoint?

Its very good, and I should like to give particular kudos to whomever plucked spocks eyebrows. Really, they were very well done. Those eyebrows were about as precise as an obsessive compulsive chemist with symmetrical nostrils.

Toffee, I've got to fly soon, This is not due to the fact that I am fly. Those two factors do coincide with each other however they do not directly relate. If you are really interested in the fact that I must depart and the fact that I am undoubtedly groovy than you can hold a town council in your local area and get back to me on the results of the seminar or the debate. Conversely, you can use Cai squared to figure it out.

A friend of mine sent me a copy of 'Repo : Genetic Opera' the other day. Its just about the only form of media where paris hilton doesn't look like a stretched elastic fish about to take a marginally large crap.

This film does have a habit of taking thither to vaguely cruddy actresses and what not and transforming them into something halfway decent. I didn't like the girl from SPYKIDS at all, ofr example, but I have to admit she is truly superb in Repo.

Moving on, up and down.
If you are male and are reading this then I'm sure you had a good smirk at that one.

Crud.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

American Idle. Thex Thells.

... as I only blog when I am profusely bored and am in denial about having a drop of american blood in me.

So my kittens, where to begin?

Shall I say this, at the very least, dears? That desire does not now nor shall it ever be a healthy thing. The only healthy aspect of desire may well be the desire to ram ones body onto another persons flailing (usually unclad or otherwise user-friendly) body and perpetrate such action that involves flapping legs at each other and turning he kind of red that would make a baboons heated backside tremble with envy. The subsequent rhythm produced can often create either intense friction or an interesting clapping noise (all sorts of anatomy can applaud all sorts of action, my kittens).

This kind of behavior is usually a fine form of exercise, unless the other person in a great deal smaller than you, you are out in the sunshine and they decide to sleep atop you. In which case you will develop a very abnormal tan-line.

However, aside from the mutual naked twitching of over-active endocrine systems, desire can be immensely inconvenient.

I suppose all of this mental-mush is on my mind because of Blue J. Its all grown very wearisome, I'm sorry to say. Granted, I tell myself all sorts of lovely things (about myself, although I occasionally acknowledge that other people exist somewhere out in the universe.. or so I've heard) to make myself feel better and all that jazz, however I find these mantras of self assurance quite useless when in the company of Blue J.

Well, I knew this was going to happen... even though I did make an exception from my usual taste.

I believe he is Pavlov... showing me, the finest drooling dog to ever face this earth, large pictures of circles and giving me food... and then showing me eclipses and making me paranoid.

If you don't know about that case study than you can either kiss my fine pavlovian buttocks or console your own rump and its inadequate knowledge of psychology.

Come to think of it, Pavlov has not been prancing about the main stage of my noggin (otherwise known as 'first thoughts' or 'prefrontal cortex', if you want to put on glasses, tuck in your shirt and perspire with gusto). Its been more of a Freudian circus, what with thinking about this business of 'Desire' and what not... considering any family I have is a figment of my imagination I do not refer to the Freudian slush portrayed in popular culture, but merely to his obsession with fornication (huzzah for fornix).

Some of my dearest friends have been extrapolating on their experiences to do with desire both TO and AT me... much to my delight. My ears are greedier than my eyes, although neither are vegetarian like my mouth. It seems that hormones are all the rave (and, indeed, rage) and that there is nothing more hip that hips.

Female friends have been recounting the tales of a beautiful male who will soon swoop in from some other corner of the globe and for all I know stand around being blonde, tall, and apparently over endowed in pectoral breadth and rigidity... all thigns which I find mildy revolting as I like my males very slender, very dark-haired and, given my record, very evil.

'Prince Charming' would be an unbelievably corny thing to call this Aryan beast-man man-beast on this blog, because for one thing Oscar Widle did it first, and for another corn is packed with fiber of a rather dangerous and jolly color.

(I should hope my readers have the ability to give forth turds to the world in whatever color they choose, and therefore will not impose anything corny upon their minds and digestive tracks. I am not racist even with feces.)

This male will apparently, according to legend, swoop into our city for a visit with a shellacking of appealing characteristics. Judging by the things I've heard, I'm expecting him to stand upon a rock, gleaming with the kind of sun rays that jesus would begrudge, with a defeated lion or two under a manly foot.
Glinda can play hercules on the piano... maybe she can accompany him.
The Senator (his name) may even find a dragon or two in Hong Kong. Although they will mainly be big gold and tacky, not to mention pungent with fumes of the chinese food in the restaurants they've spent their days presiding in.

If I was a marvelously knight-like male like The Senator I wouldn't waste my time with dragons or lions... I'd be too busy standing around in bits of glorious sunlight laughing in slow motion (which is the proper way for beautiful people to laugh).

Glinda is having a party soon, its almost her birthday and we are born a day apart. If anyone is going to steal my thunder (and I'm a psychotic tenor, I can really REALLY thunder) then it better be good. Fortunately Glinda's parties go down in history (and legend, and religion, eventually passing into mythology where they sit around with Zeus and play strip-poker).
I'm more exited for her birthday bash, I say bash as I will hit anyone who inhibits it, than becoming a year further away from being squirted out of a pouch of amniotic fluid and other anonymous and probably self-satisfied goo.

Okay my kittens, I really must fly. I've got to get though a little more Descartes before I hit the hay/smack the sack/catch some Zzzs/catnap... or, you know, 'sleep'.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

The Motion of The Lotion

Hello there my kittens.... how does this fine day/evening find you? (I don't actually care but I know if I affect to give a flying/flaming/generally flamboyant turd I will appear a nicer person than I actually am, something I so not bother with most of the time)
Well then shall we tally ho about me?
YES. we shall.

Monday was an interesting day on many levels like a wedding cake. Of course if you read me faithfully me like a good little kitten ought to then you should know I'm a hula-hoop dancer amongst many other things that will get me absolutely no where in life. Every Monday night I attend Hong Kong Jugglers, a club here in the gorgeous and insane city of HK...

Blue J & Average came with me and took photos with big pretentious cameras with tripods. Then we were awfully artsy and sat around reading poetry and generally hating on the world. It is interesting to sit around on the ground with too much eyeliner and a slightly out of tune guitar when you are surrounded by approx 20 carnies with spinny lights and gaudy attitudes. Love.

Average, Blue J and I then went to hit up some raw fish languishing on rice, other wise known as japanese food... although we ended up consuming some jubilatory beverages. Average then went home, after more revelry, and Blue J and I went to the pier... where I threw a shoe with gusto. It was eight meters of gusto.

Yes, my kittens I have impressive toes, when I work them to their uttermost potential.

I have more to tell, and wittier to be, but I really must fly as I've got some serious... herbal essence to attend to.
So long, my kittens...

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat

Please Sir, Can I Have Some Whore?

Well if that title didn't get your attention then you need to either masturbate or read Charles Dickens.
My apologies for being a little crude there, but I bet you're reading this now, eh?

So then my kittens, as you may remember I was most aggravated at Serpeinte for his misconduct. If you have a truly fantastic memory, or ability to scroll down, then you may recall that I was actually ultimately glad of his being somewhat evil as it means I have an easy excuse for booting his ruddy behind.

Its all due to my Stickyfinger-Sister, who is possibly the most legendary Asian to have ever graced the earth wit her presence. Yes, my kittens, this is getting hyperbolic.
Let me set the scene, dears.

I'm incredibly aggravated at my then beau, for aforementioned rudeness. Stickyfinger-Sister and Glinda know this, Glinda being a fabulously intelligent individual she prodded me forth to break it off. I should remember next time that Glinda is always right. Stickyfinger-Sister lives on a separate island from Hong Kong, one that is a ferry ride away.

I had a job the Wednesday before the Easter break, a Spa add. (if you have me on face book, I should have it up). During the photo shoot my phone goes all out of wack and I can't exactly wrangle my spasmodic popularity into comprehension when my face is being lit and prodded by the wrath of a thousand Q-tips. So I continued contorting my visage into postures of relaxation and, truth be told, extreme need of caffeine. (I do not actually relax when lacking in coffee, in fact I start to gradually hate the world as I vibrate in quietly withdrawn rage... and I also loose the ability to jig)
My phone continues to shudder like me contemplating cellulite. Mystery....
The male model a worked with, Bow (only he knows why this nick name), very kindly offered to pay for the cab back from the shoot and so, rummaging for my phone I see that Stickyfinger-Sister has called.
When I returned her communication, I was slapped over the ears with a wall of exited sound.
"JHONNIE CAT! I FOUND SOMEONE PERFECT FOR YOU!" Her face bellows. In our dialect of spinglacantarinish (Spanish/Cantonese/mandarin/English, a language I'm fairly certain only she and I can understand) we discuss this person. I'm going to call him "Old Soul" on this blog. The primary description that gets repeated time and time again, and later by other people, is that he is me with a penis.
I said, ME with a PENIS.

I write a condescending blog all about myself, my life, my friends, and how much me me me there is to go around. In case you haven't realized I am a narcissist.
Please proceed to put two and two together. Or in this case, One and One.

Can I get a hell yeah from any random member of the audience?

You can better you're bottom dollar (and your buttock penny) I ditched Serpiente as fast as Nokia would allow.
...

So the next day my lovely sister introduces us. We meet in the timeless domain of Balalaika LKF, and I must say I agree with Stickyfinger-Sister on her reaction. Bless that girl to bits. Its gotten to the point I don't really need to ask if this or that is a favourite or not with Old Soul.
I had a very long discussion with Stickyfinger-Sister about why I had nicknamed him Blue Jay (in general, not on this blog) - that being because "Blue " = slightly dark or distressed people are more interesting and also J being a letter of relevance.
Although its been settled on some thing else, obv.

...

On another note, a Tramp, Slut, Coquette, Whore, ect. is defined by a female who takes other peoples mates or has more than one at the same time. I realize I've been skirting from both males and females rather quickly but I should like to add this.
None of them had significant others to any degree, never more than one at the same time.
Flower once redefined 'slut' as : 'a woman with the morals of a man'. I'm not sure weather this is right or not. I'd better ask Glinda.

On another note again (thus completing a rather nice chord), I've started my fourth book having finished the first three. Having a Muse again is wonderful.

That's all for now, my kittens. More later.

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.

I Do Believe In Baileys!

My kittens, what tidings...
First of all, my dears, I must teach you all to hunt and kill snakes, like good cats.

Do you remember the individual whom I so fondly nicknamed on this blog, 'Serpiente'?
Well he has managed to aggravate me to a level that eczema would be envious of... he has far outstripped any diaper rash that has ever trailed its woeful spell across the many buttocks of infants worlds wide, in terms or pure irritation.
Okay, I've been good to this one. I have.

A friend of mine is developing a new kind of Jell-O, one that is supposed to resemble a species of cocktail and he needs to do a lot of research for it, including interviewing bartenders. Serpiente (my apparent beau) is the bar tender to Maya. If you want my opinions on wanchai then read a couple posts ago, they are obnoxious and accurate.
I'd set up an interview date.
I was intended to record a piece of music for a very important portfolio, myself being the singer and Serpiente playing the guitar. I can play guitar but he is more accurate if otherwise musically crippled (although he can identify different kind of car by their unique song of flatulence).
I'd set up a date and time for him. I'd also asked him to accompany me as an escort on a gosee (it sometimes not being a good idea to venture into such matters on your own) and he'd agreed. Also another shoot I'd had coming up at the time.
Well he managed to forget all such engagements and appear in affectionate photographs with another girl on facebook over the weekend.
WHAT A GENTLEMAN!
Tell you what though... I'm all rather glad of this.

I may gripe about his misconduct... but truly, better fruits have been born from it.

Thanks to my lovely Sticky-Finger-Sister...

Goddamn that girl is a legend.

See next post for why Serpiente can kiss my sweet asian ass.

All my love, Kittens,

Turrah.

Jhonnie Cat.