After a long and hard battle with myself, I decided that the topic for today’s post would be either: A) Quasars, B) Gamma-ray bursts, C) Wormholes, or D) a combination of the these. I know what you’re thinking, “thank GOD he didn’t choose any of those, since they all seem to suck and be super boring”. But before––or after–– you think that, let me inform you that there’s nothing boring or sucky about those topics. I’ll tell you all about it, and explain why they are absolutely delightful topics.
But I’ll do that another time.
When I played around with my Twitter account the other day, I tried to be clever and hashtag some key words in my update. I was careful not to shamefully embarrass myself with incredibly lame hashtags, like “#tagsforlikes” or “#likesfortags” or something else that is very lame. So, kind of satisfied with my level of Twitter-lameness, I decided to hashtag the word “good”.
I wanted to see if my update showed up when I clicked my “#good” hashtag.
It did not.
I don’t want to go into details, but at the top of the list under this particular hashtag was a very zoomed-in picture of a woman’s…southern parts.
So I decided to delete my post and try another combination of words and hashtagged something else.
Recently, I was kind of bored and also way too absorbed with how my one and only suit looked on me, so I started to google random stuff related to men’s suits. For instance, I wanted to know how long a tie “should” be, and, unsurprisingly, my tie length was kind of right. It’s unsurprising only because I am way too vain, and I have googled this many times before.
Since I never google tie length at the same time as pants length, arm length, or how a suit generally should fit, I have to visit my tailor unnecessarily many times to make my suit look good on me.
And before you judge me for “having a tailor”, remember that I live in Bangkok where having a tailor is equal to “having a fridge” in most western countries. You don’t need to be rich or spoiled to have one, two or three tailored suits here.
When I first ordered and bought my suit in late November of 2014, I was a real noob when it came to tailors. Also, the tailors in Bangkok are skilled and ice-cold salesmen. It’s important to remember this.
So there I was, 5 guys from Nepal are taking my measurements, after I had ordered a grey 2-piece suit, one extra pair of black dress pants, and three shirts. All is good so far.
I arrive for a fitting the next week, and I am sort of satisfied with the things, although I feel they’re a little big––the jacket, pants and shirts all seem a bit large, like they’re not tailored around me at all. I ask them to make it more narrow, more slim, as I first asked for. A slim-fit suit was important––it’s modern, it looks good, and it’s modern and oh, it also looks good. If I wanted a misfitting suit I could’ve gone and bought one off the rack in some store. But I wanted a tailored suit, that’s why I went to the tailor’s.
They told me that they have been in this business for years and urged me not to make it any narrower, since I “wouldn’t be comfortable”, they said. Since they were the experts, I trusted them, took my new clothes, and went home. I wore the suit and all the other stuff for one week, and I still felt they were way too large. I went back and insisted that they made everything I bought at least one size smaller. They obliged, for free. Nice service.
I arrived a couple of days later for another fitting. I was happier, but not happy enough. I still felt they could fit better. Again, they insisted that I should not make it any more slim, since, again, they were the experts and advised me to listen to them. And I did.
Again, I wore my clothes for a couple of weeks, still not totally satisfied with how they felt, how they fit, or how they looked. Everyone else’s suits looked way better than mine––not so much the quality, but the actual fit looked superb. And I wanted to look that way too, since I am way too particular when it comes to suits.
So, I went back to the tailor’s once more.
I started to get the feeling that they were tired of me, coming back every 5 weeks asking for free re-fittings. Again, they said the same thing about my suit––”we can’t make it more narrow, trust us. Assface.”. I trusted them, but I insisted that they at least made my shirts slimmer. Reluctantly, they agreed.
Now, they were too tight. My dadbod was way too visible now.
Filled with shame, I had to ask them to readjust them. And somehow they managed to make the shirts fit kind of perfectly. I was happy now, except for the arm length on one or two of the shirts, but I let it be, just like the Beatles would’ve wanted me to.
Like a month ago, almost 6 months after I originally purchased my suit, pants and shirts, I went back once again, and asked for a smaller fit on my suit. They seemed annoyed, but I explained it’s because I’ve lost some weight (which is fortunately true, which helped my case). So they readjusted the jacket, which I’m very happy about now. It would make Don Draper look like Fred Flintstone. Although, I probably should’ve made the pants smaller too. But what the hell. I can always visit them some other time.
By the way, I see these guys on a daily basis, having to walk by their store every time I go for lunch. Needless to say, I’ve been handing out awkward “hellos” a lot the past 6 months.
It’s also worth pointing out that I suspect that I have overpaid for my stuff. It’s not like there’s any price tags on the clothes––you negotiate for the price. Outside the store, they have a big-ass yellow sign, announcing “Today’s offer: 2 suits, 467 shirts, one gazillion ties, and 49 extra pair of pants, for like 30 dollars. If you pay any more than that, you’re a huge jackass. Yes, we mean you, stupid foreigner!”. Not a polite sign at all.
And since I paid a lot more than 30 dollars for a lot less than that sign promises, I feel kind of ripped off. But so does also one of my colleagues, who’s also been there. This eases my suffering.
One time I decided that I needed some more shirts, but I sure as hell wasn’t going back to those off-rippers. So I went to another tailor located a few BTS-stops away, and had me some insanely handsome shirts. Since I’m the most awkward and silly human ever, it’s now even more horrible walking past my original tailor’s store on my way to lunch, showing off my rad shirts from another store.
I’m way too obsessed with what these guys think.
Despite their reluctance of making my clothes look good on me, they are always very polite and nice, and often offer me beer or water when I’m there. They even had me try food from their country once, which they had brought to the store. Also, they haven’t charged me one dime since I originally paid for everything––so they should have some credit for that.
But they are sneaky bastards.
They are kind of genuinely nice but also kind of genuinely tricking you into liking them. They’d charm me with phrases from my native language, or they’d brag and show off with a picture of fucking Steven Seagal in their store buying their stuff and posing in their suits looking satisfied as hell, or they’d always greet me by my first name, making me feel special.
Although, I guess it’d be impossible for them to forget about me since I’ve been there more times than anyone else.
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Whenever I “Save Draft” and continue to write while it saves, the site redirects me to the title line, making my current title be “n latlisteis, hhat m way”.
Looks like drunk Latin.
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Earlier, I mentioned that I’ve lost some weight since I came to Thailand. This is really strange, since I’m drinking more beer here than I do back home. Here, life is hell of a lot more casual––an after-work with your colleagues on a Tuesday is not frowned upon. It’s kind of encouraged. If you say no, you are a freak and you risk getting fired. Back home, you cannot drink that often for multiple reasons. Here are four:
- Society says you shouldn’t drink on weekdays––except on Wednesdays. Wednesdays are fine
- It’s too expensive
- You have to plan the after-work activity, which is annoying
- Back home, you have to actually go to the bar. Here, I pass like 47 bars on a 500 meter walk between my office and the subway. This means there’s a bar every 10.64 meters. I’m sure you agree that’s too tempting to say no to
Anyway, so I’ve been enjoying some delicious ice-cold Heinekens more often than I’m used to, which I thought would make me gain weight like crazy. Fortunately, I have not, hoping that I don’t jinx the shit out of this right now.
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Sometimes at the office, morale is low.
So low, that almost no positivity can arise from that collective mood.
Luckily, we have a way of snapping out of that mood.
Making a long story short, the CEO of our company has a friend who used to be the CEO of Electrolux in the Philippines in the 90’s. Back then, Electrolux released a jingle that, somehow, became one of the top songs in that country that year. This CEO told my CEO about this song, and it naturally became an instant hit in our office. Needless to say, if the office is in a somber mood, as soon as anybody (mostly me) plays this song, everybody gathers around and dances, transforming the office mood from somber into creepy.
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In my last post, I talked about trying to make longer posts, and that my usual posts ranged between 800-1300 words. As of this sentence, I’m at >1730 words, making this shitty post my longest one so far.
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I think too highly of you to end this post on that note, so I’ll leave you with this joke:
- Someone stole my Microsoft Office and they’re gonna pay.
You have my Word.