A man and his stiffy

I tend to say and do the strangest things after a really busy overnight on-call at the hospital. In that groggy, inebriated state, I tend to lose all sense of inhibition afterwards - kinda like a guy on hypno-sedatives.

Looking back on my last post, I am tempted to withdraw what I said or perhaps run it through a strict censor - and I just might in a day or two, after a few moment's reflection. In case you don't see my last post, it's about me, a cute patient's incredible bubble-butt and my rampant erection. Before you jump to any wrong conclusions, my erection didn't come anywhere near that near irresistible bubble-butt - although several lewd and graphic images did flash past the X-rated porn screen in my head. However with my strict code of ethics, I don't fraternize or indulge in amoral behaviour with my patients, no matter how sexy or attractive they might be. I know I never will either.

Even Chris Evans and his amazing abs would be safe from my groping hands if he were to come in as my patient. But he'd better watch out once he's discharged from my care. :)

On the wild chance that he might read it online one of these days since he's an avid net surfer, I confessed the entire embarassing tale to my ISO when he came over to wake me for lunch. On principle though I had to bitch at him since my hair was standing on end, there were heavy bags under my eyes and I felt as if someone had stuffed cotton in my mouth - and he was right there looking hale, hearty and sexy in a tank top.

Over noodles and lime juice, he told me again that I needed to get laid. According to Dr ISO's diagnosis, one good fuck against the wall would do the trick. I declined the thoughtful offer.

Dammit. He's right.

Stiffy

Gotta write this before I lose my nerve but I got a stiffy today. And all this from something that happened at work. Not gonna say more but if you wanna know, all you'll have to di is send an email :)

Was that a lil too much information? :) Excuse me if it is since I'm still a lil groggy ( and inebriated ) from work. It's after a busy on-call that I write the weirdest, most truthful comments since my mind's in a blurry, zombiefied funk state.

Coming out of the blog closet

How many of you are out?

Let me clarify, I don't mean out of the homocloset... but out of the blog closet. Kudos to my hunky pal, Scotty for having the damned balls to come out to his partner/honeybunch about his secret blog affair. I am certain his once exciting now crazy life will never be boring again :)

The idea of coming out to my friends, colleagues - and especially to my ISO gives me the shivers. Hell, I'd run for the hills. A few of my friends know that I frequently blog, and my ISO definitely knows especially after I've told him about the way I've ruthlessly, shamelessly skewered his personality and character on my blog. With some of my more lurid, wicked comments, I can imagine he'd probably tease me till the end of his life ( I'd have to put a period to his life after bearing the brunt of his ribbing for some time ).

I can be terribly frank at work, but certainly not as blunt and unforgiving as I am online. I like the fact that a blog is at least semi-private, away from the hectic part of my life. A way of expressing our ideas and feelings without censorship and political correctness... kinda like the lil secret diary I kept as a kid way back when...

Hard meat

Didn't have the time to corner Handsome Hui this morning at work since I was much too busy trying to stabilize a 4 year old kid - who had a slew of medical diseases! And then decided to come in for a check of his subglottic stenosis. Little children make up the stuff of nightmares for regular anaesthetists - and unstable kids with on-off pneumonia and a weak heart... they actually give me palpitations.

To reward myself for a job well done - since I managed to guide the procedure, I had a big piece of hot, hard, succulent meat for dinner. A sizzling steak to be precise. Would have loved to have a taste of the other sort of meat but I didn't have any offers pending unfortunately. My ISO would have been all too willing to make an indecent proposal but since he's not due to be back till Saturday...

While I was eating it though, I had pangs of guilt as I wondered how many years ( and pounds ) I was putting on. Damn the shallow superficiality of gay life :) Just look at this hunk of a swimmer, Alexander Despatie... I bet he's been a good boy and hasn't eaten a steak in years.

The kid's only 20... and damn, with a face like that ( and a body like that - with the impossible spineless flexibility of a pretzel! ) he's bound to go far. What the hell, he can go far into my bedroom right now! :)

Gay vibes

You always assume you know the guys you're working with but sometimes you start to wonder.

I certainly did today. I have made some mention of my colleagues at work sporadically here and there... guys that are close to me such as Tiny Tim and Tina, Shameless Shalom... We've worked together for a couple of years - and with all the trials and tribulations we've been through, it has only brought us closer together. Although I'm friendly with most of my colleagues at work, it's not easy getting close to all of them, especially those who joined the department much later than I did.

There's a much younger guy that I know, a guy two ( or was it three ) years younger than me who joined not too long ago. Handsome Hui's an affable, good-old-boy type but kinda quiet and secretive which makes it hard for a gregarious guy like me to get to know him. Slim, attractive with dimples - if you like the sort :) I took the time today though to take him out for a bite of the infamous beef noodle I once mentioned.

Nothing like the steaming spices of the beef soup to loosen up the taciturn tongue of his. Oddly enough throughout the conversation ( I can be quite the interrogator when I put my mind to it ), I started getting some pretty strong gay vibes from him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part... but a guy who brings his granny around for trips, hardly ever mentions a girlfriend ( and denies having on anyway ), goes to the gym with a bunch of buddies to stay fit...

A card-carrying member of the Gay Luck Club?

Drugged notes

Yeah, I have a late evening tutorial tomorrow! Spent the afternoon going through the various opioids I used at work - going through morphine and fentanyl... the molecular compounds, the pharmacokinetics, the pharmacodynamics... but as the hours grew late, the television beckoned and I started finding it hard to resist. The irresistible urge was there, just a small, niggling impulse at the back of my head that grew steadily worse as the hours grew late.

It's starting to get so difficult to decide. My dull, boring pharmacology textbooks or Jesse Metcalfe's rock-hard abs. What to do. What to do. So hard to think! :) My cut-and-dried academics or a hot, hard man?

Hell, which do you think I'd pick? :)

Clobbering Time

Hell, I've seen my future husband. He's hot, hard and hunky - and goes by the name of Colby Miller. One of those sexy dark-eyed, dark-haired Filipino boys, he's a video jockey for Pop Inc on MTV Asia and I'm gonna quit my job to bake scrumptious Lemon Lime Cheesecakes and knit pullovers for him. I'm willing to toss away all my scruples just for a chance to sit in his pants :)

Just kidding about that - although I have to admit, at the moment, I would leave my job in a New York minute if I had a better offer ( hint! hint! ). What can I say? I didn't have such a great day at work today. It wasn't the work in the hospital since that went swimmingly. It wasn't my studies - problematic as it's getting to be. It was as usual the work politics that I mentioned once a long while back. Work would be perfect - without the damned politics.

Those who tune in occasionally to medical dramas would notice the dangerous undercurrents beneath the neat, orderly world of medicine - all that sneaky politics and the occasional bitchy backbiting. Not to name names but I have a handful of superiors at work who love to nitpick on the smallest details to find fault with their medical officers. Instead of looking at the good, they insist on seeing the bad side of my colleagues - looking for reasons to nag and rave all day long. And it's up to me as the senior to listen to their litany of complaints - and try to reason out the various inadequacies of my colleagues.

I'm not a violent person ( I'm obviously lying about that :) ) but it was all I could do not to yell 'It's Clobbering Time!' and just lash out. I knew it was time to walk away when I felt my pressure rising and I had the horrible image of me headbutting the ranting ravers.

Never let it be said that I don't have a handle on my temper.

In the mood I'm in, no wonder I got this...


Sirius Black is your Hunk Burnin' Love.


Who Is Your Gryffindor Hunk of Burnin' Love?
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Gift of the Gab

Talking to strangers always has me tongue-tied... it's the stumbling block that has stood in my way since I was a kid. When I'm introduced to someone new, I feel all my glaring inadequacies come crashing down on me, and I'm suddenly the blithering idiot mumbling mindlessly through an introduction - or even worse ( as some of my friends have told me ) I turn into a icy, nose-in-the-air snob.

It is only with time.. ( a whole lot of it, believe me ) that I gradually thaw down my defenses and warm up to a person, though obviously still not as hot as Johnny Storm. Then I turn into the chatterbox who just doesn't quit. Back in school where I pretty much knew everyone, I was the classroom equivalent of a circuit party man-whore, trading my wit and conversation for a length of time before moving on to the next - usually at the behest of the desperate teacher who obviously preferred her auditory disturbances - ME - more spaced out in the class.



So it was with some surprise that I've been given the Chatty Cathy Award from brettcajun. Guess I still have that awesome, terrifying power - the gift of the gab. I'm working on the shyness with strangers thing - and I have to admit that I'm getting much better with that. My bedside manners are impeccable... hell, I can charm an old lady with a broken hip in a second - and have her pledge her sexy grandson to me in another five.

Obviously can turn up the charm on overworked interns too since I managed to talk Yummy Yee into bringing over some dinner. All throughout dinner, I still got a bunch of straight vibes from him but it's okay, he makes nice eye candy - and like the good boy scout he is, he washes the plates.

Out of curiousity, I nagged him about the Paxil. He said no. Emphatically. Guess some guys really are unfailingly cheerful most times.

Lonely weekend

It's gonna be a lonely weekend this week. My parents and my brother might not be able to make it down this weekend ( like they sometimes do once in a while ). Even my painfully maligned ex, the infamous ISO, might not be able to make it this weekend to alleviate my boredom. I am on-call tomorrow but I'm perfectly free on Sunday. Wondered what I'd do.



Actually thought of sleeping in since I mentioned my insomnia problem earlier this week. Definitely in need of some good NREM sleep. Maybe an hour or two of REM where I might conjure up that nameless stud who haunted my dreams a week back. Then once I get over my on-call, perhaps some time to write since I've been putting that off for some time now - and the natives are getting restless :)

That choice however was literally taken out of my hands when I complained rhetorically to myself at work... that kid house officer I befriended, Yummy Yee, offered an afternoon of tennis but I figured I'd probably be too semi-conscious to lift a racquet ( and boy, I actually hate to lose! ). Still I agreed to an evening of watching FRIENDS and munching on chips.

It's breath-taking how such a guy can remain so ... unflaggingly enthusiastic about medical life even after several months of mindless slogging in the trenches. Sometimes I wonder whether he's taking Paxil or something. That perpetual shiny Colgate smile and that ever cheerful demeanour is starting to make me feel old and bitterly cynical.

Ideal Husband

What turns us on?

Perhaps it's a combination of indefinable chemistry and insatiable pheromones... maybe it's something else, I think turn-ons tell a lot about a person, about their likes and dislikes, about things that have gone on in their lives to influence their choices and decisions...

Sure, we all drool over Johnny Storm's amazing, enviable physique ( and hell, who wouldn't want to lick him from head to toe? As you can see, I still haven't gotten over those wicked daydreams of mine ) but really, honestly, I doubt I could live more than a week with a guy like him. Why a week? Cause that's how long I think I'd need to get him out of my system. :) Hey, he's still sinfully sexy - and I still have a pulse.

But soon I think his hotheadedness, his irresponsible behaviour and that brash impulsiveness would drive me slowly insane - and hey, does he look like the sort who would be content to stay home in a monogamous relationship? When he shoots that easy grin of his, I get a feeling of deja vu. Been there. Done that. I'm more a slow, methodical sort who likes my things planned out perfectly ( with the occasional psychotic break where I pull some weird, unconventional stunts ) so sorry, Johnny boy, but one week of pure pleasure is all I can offer you. :)

Someone like sweet, responsible Pete ( played by the adorable Richard Ruccolo ) from the old sitcom Two Guys and a Girl would be more my style. I want someone staid and responsible, a guy who pays the bills on time, a guy who remembers the date to service the car ( not really that fussy about anniversaries and all ), a guy who can commit wholeheartedly to an adult relationship.

I know, I can be such a whiner sometimes - and I keep on sliding in the occasional jab at my ex :) I'm so dead if he ever caught sight of this.

Caught in skintight spandex

Don't know why but the oddest things seem to trigger me of these days. Always been there, I guess, this queer lil idiosyncrasy that drives some of my friends crazy - I tend to laugh or snigger at almost anything. But when you burst out laughing right in the middle of a discussion on the rising cases of ventilator-associated pneumonia... it's weird :)

Didn't get much sleep last night either since I got the same problem again. The visiting insomnia comes on and off in unexplainable bouts but at least I managed to pick up the right clothes ( that matched! ) this morning - instead of the psychedelic nightmare yesterday ( along with the skimpy black thong underneath ).



You guys wouldn't believe it but I actually saw Chris Evans' abs twice this week. Did I say his abs?... I meant Fantastic Four. Ahem. Really. And hell yeah, he's a man ( paraphrasing the Accidental Boyfriend ) I'd literally crawl across broken glass just to grope his bare ass. I never believed anyone could look sexy in spandex but he has proven me so wrong with that exceptional swimmer's physique poured into blue skintight spandex...

Then today at the meeting, I imagined myself in a spandex suit ( after imagining Chris Evans in and out of a spandex suit since hell, it was boring talking about nosocomial infections ) and started laughing. That would have made an ever odder spectacle than me in a black thong.

I'm weird. :) And in need of sleep.

Confessions

It wasn't easy going to sleep last night. Every once in a while, I get the odd insomnia attack - usually defying any sort of explanation. It keeps me up staring at the walls and the ceiling for what seems like a lifetime.



Perhaps a dark-haired hunk had a hand in keeping me awake and hell, it isn't that easy trying to ignore someone else in bed besides you. Books have a habit of creeping into my bed when I least expect it - and when Tony Romero came to bed with me that night, I certainly found it hard to resist. Confessions of a Casanova by Chris Kenry tells the story of.. well, a gay casanova of course. A charming ne-ér-do-well who specializes in the chase but doesn't do well with the happily-ever-afters.

Can't say much about the book yet ( since I'm juggling the unappealing main course of my textbooks along with the occasional appetizer of a gay casanova ) but I can tell you that I am engrossed in the story. The main character carries shades of a man I know so well - and yet I find myself sympathizing with the low, cheating bastard. It's like an accident that I know's gonna happen and yet I can't help wanting to know more. :)

Still, the damned book kept me up way past my normal bedtime ( damn, I've become a creature of habit ) - obviously affecting my internal clock. And when I woke up this morning, I was at my groggy worst. Not only did I spill the oats for breakfast, I buttoned my shirt the wrong way, snatched up an acid-green tie to match my pink shirt - and also picked up the wrong underwear. Imagine wearing a skimpy black thong to work. Not a good idea. :) It was a trying time in the changing room, that's for sure.

First crush

Work finished early so I planned a quick get-together for dinner with some of my collleagues. Since most of us are in the same department, talk usually revolves around work ( and some of our more... *ahem* memorable patients ) but somehow today someone brought up the topic of a first love. It's a topic that raises a lot of laughter, recalling how stupid we once were, and for some bittersweet memories. I didn't speak up then since I could hardly recall anyone that I had a crush on. Later when I came online and checked out the picture again, I knew.

The picture I posted on my last post - the Bollywood actor, Kiran Janjani - well, I mentioned in my reply that he resembled my ISO - if I squinted really hard. Something about the way he smiles and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges. If there are some residual feelings there, I'm not even gonna say it. :)

Mentioning the fact that my ISO surprisingly looked Indian brings to mind one of the guys I once had a crush on, way back when I was in upper secondary. Sexy Sanjeev. It was probably one of my first crushes since I can't recall having any before that. One of my schoolmates actually, and a really nice, sweet guy in my all-boys school. A quiet, soft-spoken guy who never broke the rules, did all his work in time and always coloured inside the lines. I was still pretty young myself, and I never thought farther ( certainly nothing as vividly X-rated as my recent sweat-soaked dreams ) than just kissing those sexy lips and perhaps rubbing that hard chest of his. Boy, that would have given him a heart attack for sure.

Well, that juvenile crush was all way before Mr Straight Boy discovered girls. :) And the fact that the majority of the giggling girls would fall head-over-heels all over his good looks. Attention from fawning schoolgirls brought out the vain narcissist in him - and that effectively dampened my ardour. A guy who spends hours in front of the mirror isn't the guy for me, no matter how good he looks :)

You might wonder what has happened to Sexy Sanjeev. Well, once every little while, I'd flip open the papers and see his face in the ads and I'd wonder what would have happened I'd actually kissed those lips.

Gay Tolerance

I could be a good Catholic boy and tell you that I've been studying all weekend but that would be a white lie, of course. Reading boring textbooks all day long on pharmacology and physiology only makes me as testy and grumpy as an old bear so weekends are definitely a time of rest for me - and my books are usually laid aside for a two-day hibernation period.

As treatment for my general nastiness after an intense bout of studying, shopping somehow acts as the perfect panacea... calms me down from vicious, bloodthirsty acts of carnage, brings down the spiking blood pressure and reduces the heart rate - and generally makes me a genial, companionable soul that's easy to live with.

My devilish ISO understands this shopping addiction of mine - and occasionally acts as an enabler. There is a home furnishings store that I occasionally venture into in Damansara, a store specializing in exquisite soft furnishings imported from India - bedcovers, silk runners, pillow cases, the odd lamp or two... and I simply can't resist the bright, shiny stuff. I also can't resist sexy, dark-eyed Indian men too but that's another story altogether.

There were a few silk/velvet bedcovers that I had my eye on - that I knew would look perfect in the guest bedrooms. I'm notorious for being just a tad too friendly with the sales staff so as usual, I flirted with the Malay salesgirl ( or person if you want to be PC about it - but hell, if it had been a guy, I'd have done more than flirting ) and as we bargained over the price of the bedcovers, she casually mentioned that her boss was actually gay - and therefore wouldn't be in the least bit interested in her. Don't ask me how I even managed to stray away from the topic of the price to her boss' sexuality...:)

The queer fact just spilled out in such a blasé, matter-of-fact way that I stared at her blankly. Obviously from the way my jaw fell to the floor, she must have thought that I had some homophobic tendencies since she hastily backtracked. Just as quickly I corrected her assumption and told her that I was buying sheets for my boyfriend. Another white lie but it was just so fun coming out like that!

It's always surprising to meet such easy acceptance by a common salesgirl, especially a conservative Malay girl. Just an everywoman who treats homosexuality as another shimmering facet of a person's character. Nothing odd or scandalous to be whispered about, nothing to be derided or commented upon. It might be nothing to speak of in a Western country but over here in Malaysia, it is something of a surprise. Guess we have progressed in tiny baby steps after all - and I, for one, am glad.

Me, Myself and I

A reader of my blog mentioned that I usually talk about my daily dealings in life - but not often enough about myself. Is that true? :) Well, what is there to say about myself? Just a short recap then.

You guys already know I'm an overworked, under paid ( well, hope that's about to change! ) doctor in the anaesthesiology department. Must have mentioned that some time back since I do occasionally gripe about my work - although I am loving it... seriously. The daily work is something I love... talking to patients, knocking them out with anesthetics if they're talking too much ( kidding! ) and ogling them if they're really cute. I just can't stand the work politics - and the wickedly painful on-calls.

Still single as I've mentioned before. Like the country song says... desperately searching for love in all the wrong places. At work, I'm seriously sober and conservative in dressing so it isn't that easy trying to pick guys up there. I have had thoughts of wearing feather boas and talking with a limp wrist but I figure that doesn't exactly add to a patient's trust. Since my working schedule pretty much precludes an active social life, I don't have that many ways of meeting up with eligible gay bachelors.

Only had one serious relationship and that's with my ISO. He's a cute, funny guy who can occasionally be found picking up guys in gay bars. Nothing much to say there except that I liked monogamy and he liked men of all persuasions ( not that I don't like men like that but hey, I do have some restraint! )... :) But he's still a really close friend and I depend on his credit card for food on the occasional weekends.

I'm tongue-tied with strangers but once you get to know me, I can talk your ear off. Can be funny.. and I can be damned sarcastic too. Occasionally I spend too much.. and I'm a lil too obsessed with shopping but hey, everyone needs a hobby, right? And I am somewhat gainfully employed which means I can pay off my credit :)

So. *Deep breath here* Would you date me?

Cockles by the drain

I don't normally do something this dirty and filthy. As a doctor, I wouldn't recommend such an unsanitary act - just imagine the diseases! It's an absolutely disgusting habit that I'm trying to discard but... I can't resist. Especially when my ISO asks me to do it.

Eating cockles and clams by a drain. Really ( what didja think?! I'm a good boy! ). It's an institution in my town actually. Situated in one of the side alleys by the most unsanitary drains in town, there is a small stall that has sold steamed cockles and clams since forever. I have a feeling they probably served the Portuguese when they invaded Malacca. There are rats, spiders and cockroaches crawling up all over the walls and the alleway. Just opposite the little stall ( lit by a row of dingy incandescent bulbs ) are a row of garbage and back doors. The cockles and clams are dropped into a steaming hot pail of water and served - almost raw :) Certainly not a pretty sight for anyone not used to the odd eating idiosyncrasies of the Asians.

And yet the place is usually packed with customers, squatting by the drain in short stools. Including me. I can't resist seafood. What can I say? It's an addiction - and since I dropped caffeine, I need something to feed my crazy desires.

Medical incentives

There are many ways of getting people to do what you want. Short of brutally forcing them to heel, there are gentler, far more civilized ways of persuasion. The soft way, one would say. But when you run out of cajoling, you gotta offer some incentives in exchange for what you want. Even the most Machiavellian techniques require some sort of carrot to dangle. Almost everyone has their price - and mine is a hot blond hunk who yells 'Flame On' but that's something else entirely ( hell, I can't get the image of Chris Evans out of my head ).

During my morning rounds this morning, one of the house officers, Yummy Yee interrupted me with newspaper in hand. The kid was grinning like an idiot waving the papers around. The thought that I might have preferred that he wave something far more substantial in my face didn't cross his mind ( since he continued to press that delicious gym jock body against mine ) as he pointed to the headlines on the front page.

I've mentioned before - and reiterated the fact that the doctors ( in the public hospital anyway ) over here are miserably overworked and woefully overworked. Recently the government has been trying to retain and attract new employees to the ailing and poorly underpaid health services. Our allowances and our claims has been increased and just today, they mentioned a possible pay rise. Such incentives would certainly help ease the shortfall of manpower in the service - but does that mean I can't depend on my ISO's credit card anymore? :)

Still, Yummy Yee has a raise too - and he owes me lunch.

Household Censorship

Those who have been to Malaysia would have the same complaints about this. Censorship. It's a dirty word over here. Look, I'm not about to stand on a soapbox to rant and rave about the overzealous censors in my country with their scissors ever-ready to snip any scenes ready to corrupt our easily swayed youth with immoral sex, gratuitous violence and undemocratic politics. OK, so I do have a foot on that damned soapbox.

My ISO, my faithful corrupter, came by with some episodes of Desperate Housewives a few days back and we delighted in every salacious antic - although we couldn't indulge in any antics of our own due to parental supervision - and also my own miserable code of ethics. What is there not to like? Hot barechested guys cavorting in a Stepford community riddled with scandals? So it was with some anticipation that I greeted the arrival of this deliciously wicked series locally.

Unfortunately, there were snips. And cuts. And slashes. Something akin to a movie edited by Freddy Krueger on Prozac.

I do know that censorship laws are there for a good reason - although on certain times like tonight, the reason eludes me. But Desperate Housewives is being shown late in evenings. By theory, most kids should be asleep by then ( and if they're not, I bet those naughty kids would have better things to do than watch the telly! ) so why was the series censored? How could it possibly corrupt? Are the adults abnormally titillated by the sight of Jesse Metcalfe's impossibly hard abs? Do they find themselves stricken with an irresistible urge to run their tongue down James Denton's square jaw?

OK, that's all just me but then again I'm an irredeemable pervert who gropes men in the dark. Like the wicked secrets hidden behind the picture-perfect image of Wisteria Lane, there's always been something dark in me ( hidden deep inside my conservative, bookish exterior ) that loves to bend rules - and occasionally break them. :) I seriously doubt anyone else feels the need to jump Jesse Metcalfe and fuck him senseless against the wall.

Assuming everyone else is relatively normal without any borderline psychotic impulses, so why the need to censor?

Boyfriend Policy

Manic Mondays are usually the time I sort out my mail and place the bills into neat stacks. Boring, dull and one of the many responsibilities dumped on us as adults. Whoever wished to be a grown-up so soon? Certainly not all it's cracked up to be :) Been checking through my bills - which I have a bundle and I found my insurance policy in the stack. Like the good, responsible Asian kid, I had it done when I first started work quite a while back. And at the moment, I simply don't know what in the world possessed me back then.

There's no need to explain stuff to me, I'm not a brainless himbo after all and I do know the reasons for an insurance policy! After all, it's a form of risk management used to hedge against the risk of potential loss, and with a loss of life and limb, it takes away substantial earning power for a household. But I'm a single gay man without any dependants. Why do I have an insurance policy? Who does it actually benefit? It actually has me thinking :) Hell, I need my financial analyst of a brother to correct me on this misconception obviously.



The benefits of a policy are obvious to me, just not that obvious when it comes to me. After all, all of us know that nothing is guaranteed in life - but a policy certainly helps weather the storm. I think it's time the insurance companies issued a boyfriend policy. Kinda like if you're 30 and still without a partner, they'll issue you one :) Or in lieu of that, a huge amount of dough as compensation.

Now, that's a policy I wouldn't mind paying for.

Desperate Househusbands

Knowing my TV-addiction, my ISO came by with a DVD! Well, that's nothing new, I suppose since we have our regular DVD marathons every once in a little while. It keeps us from killing each other - or from doing other things that my dirty, filthy mind might come up with. :) Having my parents around as chaperone this weekend also kept me from doing anything like stick my hands down his pants ( hey, my fingers are cold! ). It's hard to believe how great we interact now we're not in a relationship! Can't believe I'm saying this but I guess breaking up is sometimes the best alternative for everyone.

I did make a mention of Desperate Housewives some time back, and obviously my ISO picked up on that obsession. Damn, but Jesse Metcalfe looks really good. Are those dreamy eyes for real? :) I wanna look like that when I grow up! Guess I can put another hunk into my list of guys I'd walk naked across broken glass for ( thanks for the indelible image, AB ). Told my ISO that he was no contest and he growled before stuffing my face with a cushion.

It is weird though. Perhaps there are guys out there who need a challenging, exciting life, a high-flying career that gives them drive and purpose in life. But not me. I always envisioned myself as a ...desperate househusband for want of a better word :) A house, a home and a family. I have always dreamed of having the perfect suburban life, the perfect house, the perfect kitchen. You know the drill... getting the house perfectly spick and span during the day, mopping and dusting the cabinets, making the perfect gourmet dinner for the hubby's return, keeping my hands off the hunky gardener.... I have a horrible feeing that in a past life, I must have been some 1950s Stepford wife ( or even the impossibly perfect Bree van der Kamp! ).

I want to stay home and bake cookies for the family ( perfect, delicious chocolate chip cookies that would have the other mothers crying in envy! But of course I'll have to learn how to make them first but I'm sure there are some excellent cookbooks out there! ). I want to wash the clothes and hang them out to dry. I want to make lovely cushions and curtains for the house with a trusty sewing machine. The only thing I draw the line at washing plates and crockery. Oily, crusty gunk that's sometimes quite impossible to scrub off. I hate that so a dishwashing machine is a must. :)

After I told him, my ISO tells me that I'll go insane after a week of staying home playing househusband. Anybody willing to give me a try?

The morning after

Had a really exhausting call last night - and I feel it in my ( aging :) ) bones, that are still aching miserably from last night. Even my head feels like it's been wrapped up in cotton wool! One of the worst cases I had was a three day old child with Down's Syndrome. Came in for a segmental volvulus at some ungodly hour of the morning and he looked really ill, really septic and I seriously doubt he'll live past the week. Then again, children can surprise you sometimes - and there are always miracles to pray for.

Dragging myself home, I flopped myself on the couch, snoozed on and off while I channel-surfed. Surprisingly I caught an intriguing new series called The Collector. I wouldn't say the acting's stellar but I'd say that the premise of the series sounds interesting enough. Morgan Pym, a 14th century monk in Nuremberg, trades his immortal soul to the Devil for a forbidden taste of love and happiness with his dying inamorata. After 10 years of bliss, the terms are done but he manages to strike a deal with the Devil to become one of his Collectors.

For six centuries Morgan plays the part - finding people and notifying them that they have 48 hours until their deal expires, and their soul is sucked down to Hell. When Morgan meets a young girl named Maya - who reminds him strongly of Katrina - he is inspired to renegotiate his deal. Now he can help his "clients" seek redemption, and hope that one day he, too, will be redeemed. Of course, Chris Kramer, the Canadian actor playing the Collector in search of redemption... looks sinful enough :) Certainly worth sacrificing an immortal soul for.

The idea of an immortal soul and redemption brings back memories of catechism. God and the Devil, redemption and eternal damnation, Heaven and Hell - and everything else in between. It isn't that easy to shake off a decade's worth of missionary school teaching after all. :)

London Burns

There was a time years ago when I'd walk up from Leicester Square Station every morning, walk down I'd have some dim sum in nearby Chinatown (or a coffee in Soho ) before heading down for slow walk to Charing Cross for a browse at some of the lovely bookstores. And yeah, to share a quick lunch with my ISO. When I think of London, I don't see damp rain, thick smog and grey buildings... I recall idyllic autumn evenings sharing walks in the park with my wicked ISO, fighting with him over kebabs. :)

So it was with some shock when I caught the news on the radio driving home that there has been a series of devastating bomb blasts in Central London. Stunned in fact when I thought of it happening to one of the places dear to me. It would be quite impossible to have not heard the news especially when it's been splashed all over the news that there have been explosions this morning between Aldgate East and Liverpool Street tube stations; between Russell Square and King's Cross tube stations; at Edgware Road tube station; and on a bus at Tavistock Square. Hardly a need to condemn the act as barbaric since it was that - and more. It is close to impossible to calculate the number of casualties but I can easily imagine with the rush hour crowds streaming out of the tube stations.

My prayers to all those involved. And a special salute to all the speedy emergency services being mobilized over there - especially the admirable doctors and nurses working overtime.

Sexless in the City

Another tutorial tomorrow ( dang! have I mentioned how much I hate studying? )and I just have a short while online before I get back to barbiturates and volatile anaesthetics. Dull work there, believe me.

You guys definitely hit the nail on its head - and I didn't even realize it at the time. Just yesterday, three of us were actually sitting at a sidewalk cafe sipping ice-blendeds while talking and catching up on each other's lives! Hell, just edit the sex ( and the gender ), add in the slinky Manolos and we'd be Sex and the City - minus one.

It was great finally having a bunch of guys to talk to - openly. The last time I sat around with a gaggle of gay men to talk was way back in medical school with Eye Eddie and gang. We did have some fun times way back then, sharing our wicked fantasies and our far tamer experiences. But now with my rainbow pin more discreetly placed in the hospital, it's been a little more difficult picking out the gay men amongst my newer colleagues at work ( and for other alternatives - it's almost impossible to have a decent conversation with gay men busily head-bobbing away to raucuous hip-hop in the clubs :) ) - and I haven't been able to emulate the warm camaraderie I had with my medical school gang. Not that easy bringing up the topic of groping my ISO in a conversation with my colleagues.

And with the SATC reference you'll be asking, which one am I?

From the quiz I took, I found myself pleasantly surprised since I placed neatly in between Carrie and Charlotte which I guess sums up who I am. Like Carrie, I guess I do come across to people I know as the brash, gregarious guy who talks to everyone in sight - and frequently steps on the conversation, I'm sure. I have the occasional odd impulse too that drags me into the oddest situations. But of course I have a terribly romantic, conservative Charlotte side who weeps over old movies, sighs over the dashing, dominating all-male alpha stud ( eventhough I'd probably strangle the presumptuous bastard in real life :) ) and dreams of a life baking cookies for the perfect suburban family.

Three Gay Men

There are gay men in this part of the world after all.

Amazingly I just went out with two other gay boyz in Malacca. Don't faint from the shock ( like I almost did ). I expected gay men to be a dying race in this old puritanical city with the remaining survivors escaping to larger locales more tolerant of the gay subculture such as Kuala Lumpur or even Singapore.

One of the guys I mentioned earlier, I met him in town a month or so ago and had a great time with Dashing Daniel. The other guy was a new guy Daniel brought to the party, Square-jawed Sebastian - a singularly husky looking guy :) So three gay boyz in a small town had a nice time over green tea, wasabi and sushi.

It's starting to look like a Joy Luck Club.

Celibacy kills

Enforced celibacy has obviously been driving me insane.

Since I'm a hapless victim of horrific insomniac spells every once in a while, it is quite a relief that I actually manage to fall into quite deep sleep when I finally go under. So I rarely get dreams that I can recall with any accuracy.

So it was with some trepidation that I realized when I woke up this morning that I was literally covered in hot sweat. Early this morning, I had the most vividly erotic dream that I've ever had. It was so incredibly clear - almost blindingly real - to me that I can still recall the little droplets of sweat on his naked shoulders, the dark, little curls on the nape of his head, the cute little waistband of his pyjamas tucked into his slim waist. I could recall the taste of his salty, circumcised cock, the heat and musk of his shaven ass pucker.

Amazing.

My hormones are obviously going all crazy.

The Wild Man

The spectre of my course, and the insurmountable work load ( and the dull, monotonous studying/research! ) looms over me but I refuse to think about it today. It's much to depressing to think about my studies when there is a lovely Sunday ahead. Sundays are one of the days that I get away from work, from my responsiblities - and from everything bugging me actually... and laze around with a good book.

It actually amazed me that I never heard of this author before and when I decided to get her book at a whim, I found myself more than pleasantly surprised. I was in love with the Wild Man. The word bullfighter immediately brings to mind an image of a foolishly brave man, dressed in frilly laces and satin, and yet remarkably macho despite the surprisingly feminine accoutrements. This book plays partly with this odd paradox.

The Wild Man, a book by Patricia Nell Warren brings us back to old, painfully conservative Spain in the 1960s, a country just out of a brutal Civil War, under the reign of an aging Generallisimo Franco. To be anything out of the common, especially a homosexual would be an unpardonable crime - and to be a homosexual torero would be unimaginable.

Trapped in a closet of his own making, the famous, aristocratic torero, Antonio Escudero, finds himself slowly sinking in a pool of loneliness until a brief chance meeting with Juan, stirs his cold heart. Juan, a lusty, gentle peasant youth, has a gift for healing and a burning passion to become the finest veterinarian. In an era of homophobic repression and persecution, the scandalous love affair between these two macho somehow finds a way to take root and blossom - just like the dry wilderness that plays such a large part in the story. The story is certainly imperfect, and unabashedly romantic in a grand old style - but hell, I like it. :)

Ah, old-fashioned romance. I'm a sucker for that. Just have a guy whisper words of endearment ( in some foreign language - hopefully Spanish :) ) in my ear and my knees go weak.

Avoidance maneuvers

I'm just a regular guy.

Perhaps I am not the best-looking bloke around. I'm certainly not the wittiest, nor the most charming nor the richest ( trust me, a heavy wallet is still a potent attraction for many guys out there ) fella around either. Just a plain average guy. So the idea of someone literally 'stalking' me around just strikes me as plain weird. :) What is the damned attraction?

Months back I made a mention of this insurance guy - and the infamous bank lady. If you recall, the insurance guy had a boring spiel about funds and overly amorous hands. Well they are not the only ones harassing me for a meet.

When I moved in to my new place, I bought a few appliances and stereo equipment from a store near by. The owner is a nice, married guy about my age with a kid on the way, really cute in his own hopelessly straight way ( I actually find something attractive about most men I meet :) I'm pervy that way ) with a wide smile, dark, sexy eyes and a nice, tight butt. Call him Cable Guy. Along with the stereo I bought, he gave me a short but interesting lecture on saving money in some endowment plan for my future. Nodding away like an idiot, I told him my pockets were pretty much empty ( especially after blowing a wad on the television and the fridge and the numerous electrical appliances that make our life worth living ) and I left it at that.

That polite refusal didn't seem to do the trick and he has been calling and leaving me messages for the past few months asking for a meet. Although I've tried to sidestep as much as I can, he still insists on doing the dance. Flat out refusing doesn't work too since it only starts him on that 'saving for the future' lecture I mentioned. Seriously, am I actually a good candidate for all that? I am seriously financially challenged - and I doubt I could even dole out that small amount every month, what with all the bills I mentioned. So why is he making all the moves?

I've seriously considered going out with Cable Guy and putting the dirty moves on him. Perhaps a grope or two would scare him off. :) Damn, why don't I get sexy gay men stalking me like this?

I want blood

Something quite hilarious happened at work today... I know I shouldn't laugh about the poor lady but I just had to recount it here. I've heard of a fear of blood - and obviously we've all seen the effects replayed on the various medical dramas that we've seen. MEdical students swooning at the sight of blood and all that.

To tell the truth, I've actually never seen it in real life, well until today. A ( an overly anxious! ) lady came to me for a caesarean section with a whole litany of her complaints that I tried to drown out as much as I could. Apart from gagging her iwth my stethoscope, I didn't know what else to do. As she was complaining about the condition of her ward, I stealthily tried setting a brannula for her! Stunned by my obvious deceit, she shifted her arm and the brannula flew out - with some fresh red blood spurting of course. One sight of the bright scarlet stain on her skin was enough. Before I knew what was happening, her arm went limp, she made a gurgling sound and her eyeballs rolled upwards.

For a moment, I was secretly stunned but then I automatically reacted by giving her two deliberate slaps to my nurse's amazement ( since I actually abhor violence to women ). Tender loving care be damned. :) Drastic though it was, it worked in resuscitating the poor unconscious woman who obviously harbors a phobia to her own blood.

Still I gave her some extra midazolam.

Surprisingly after taking the RealAge test, I am younger than I thought. With all my unhealthy living babits, my RealAge is only 22?! Who knew! I'm practically a child still wet behind the ears. But I am supposed to...
- drive a lil slower ( but how can I with so many dawdling idiots on the road? )
- exercise a lot more ( my ISO would be pleased with this acknowledgement )
- reduce red meat in my diet ( how can I?! I love beef! :) )
- take more Vitamin E and tomatoes ( yuck! )
- floss everyday
- need to build an even larger social network ( do you guys count? :) )
- take more time for myself since taking care of other people's health needs can put my own health at risk ( hell, I'm quoting from the plan here! )