Ballroom dancing

Well, if you might recall, I talked about being a romantic sap the other day. That post was actually inspired by a movie I was watching at that time. Shall We Dance. Yeah, it's the ballroom dancing movie featuring Richard Gere.

You all know I can't dance. I have two left feet and every ( victim! ) guy I dance with is in danger of being permanently disabled. I don't exactly dance... I kinda shuffle along with the crowd, trying my best not to trample over the bopping twinks. But deep inside my shuffling exterior, I have always cherished dreams of tripping the light fantastic, literally stepping over the dancefloor with feet as light as the air just like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers did. Terribly gay. I know, just short of a pink tutu.

Still the movie inspired me enough to walk around town in search of a dance studio. Not many in a small town like Malacca but I managed to get a few numbers. Surely, ballroom dancing burns up calories too... and it would be so much better than going to the gym which actually bores me to hell. Hey, how many times can you lift that barbell? What are the musclebound guys actually thinking when they lift weights a million times a day? :)

Not sure who I'll ask for a partner though. I doubt my town is ready for gay tango partners on the dancefloor - and hell, I don't know any guy who'd volunteer!

Evil raw fish

I am so wicked sometimes.

Big Bicep Barry felt extremely guilty about his ascetic grass-and-alfalfa-munching diet today - and I helped fan that guilt. After the extremely dull, boring case in the operating theatre today, I felt utterly famished - and could have eaten a freaking horse ( could have eaten a fucking porn star too but that's something else entirely ) so I called him up to beg him to meet me for an early dinner... and then chose sushi for his diet's sake. ( God... sushi, diet, sake... all Japanese! ) After all, I have been recently obsessed with sashimi - nothing like the taste of raw fish on my lips - and it's always fun watching little plates go round and round on the belt. Don't forget the neverending cups of green tea that keep on coming.

Unfortunately no matter how much you grab from the kaiten belt, there's only so much that you can take before the rice fills you up. So when he looked at the meagre portions I was taking ( since I usually consume a hearty meal involving sinful portions of wild beasts ), he started feeling guilty and kept hoping that I hadn't chosen sushi for his sake.

Barry ( looking worried ): Are you sure it's enough? We can go elsewhere -
Wicked Paul : Starving as hell but we're doing it for your abs.
Barry : You want another plate?
Wicked Paul : The carbs!

And I felt happy. :)

Still I went home to study and he went to the gym to burn calories ( he asked but I told him no since I was far too dizzy from a lack of food to do reps ).

A sap for romance

Someone said I'm a sap for romance once. Twice. Perhaps even three times.

And it's true. I might present a serious, conservative, perhaps even invincible ( intimidating? ) facade for all to see but deep inside, I am soft as melted butter in the sun. Romantic movies make me swoon. Little love notes in my work satchel have me sighing. Moonlight serenades, highly embarassing thought it may be, would have my knees turning to mush.

I blame it on the sinful number of romance novels that I've read all throughout my life. Let's see... it could be about 2 a week and I started reading when I was primary school. Add in the number of mushy romantic movies / chick flicks I've sat through ( and occasionally sobbed through, I admit.. well, manfully flicked my tears away anyway! )... and you can imagine how that has all warped my view of life. Fucking rose-tinted glasses, my ISO says.

Fucking sap... but I can't help it.

A Love for Rome

Just another lazy Sunday over here - well, as lazy as it can get after the early wedding lunch I was forced to attend today. Forced. Really. The arrival of one of those red wedding invitation cards is akin to a royal summons to arrive with cash in hand. The Chinese are as practical as ever. Wedding gifts might not be to the liking of the bride and groom - but cash and cheques are always welcome. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy going to weddings... it's just that I am frustrated over the fact that I might never recoup any of the cash I spent!

To compensate for the loss - and the ignoble thought, I lazed around all afternoon long munching on peanuts - while keeping my eyes glued to the television set. Almost reminiscent of the Romans lounging on their settees with the slaves sending a breeze across with their fans.


Can I say I'm liking Rome?

The first episode of HBO's latest original series just premiered over here and I am liking it ( just as I loved the quietly malevolent Carnivale ). The story begins with the friendship between two unlikely protagonists, the handsome, conservative Lucius Vorenus and the brash, pugilistic legionary Titus Pullo - and they are cast against a vivid background of larger-than-life historical luminaries such as Julius Caesar, Pompey and Mark Antony. The violent savagery. The hedonistic debauchery. The delicious decadence. The sly treachery.

Hell, something tells me I might have just fit in quite nicely :)

Yam Seng time

What can I say? December seems to be the month for weddings over here. Unlike beautiful summer brides in temperate countries, couples over here actually seem to enjoy getting drenched, spattered and flooded for their monsoon weddings. Perhaps see-through rain-drenched gowns liberally splattered with mud present better photo opportunities :)

Not only do I have two weddings held tonight ( I picked at random to see which I'd attend ), I actually have four more to go in the next month. Yes, I'm actually a serial wedding attender.

Nothing actually makes you feel older than going to a string of wedding dinners and realizing that not only is everyone you know busy getting hitched ( damn the lucky bastards! ), everyone else available seems to be untouchable jailbait - far too young and immature - and your biological clock ( well for me, it's my lust timer ) starts to tick noisily away! Not only do your so-called friends painfully point out your lack of a spouse, they also provide various opportunities for matrimony by throwing all the eligible singletons together.

Hell, if they knew what I actually wanted, they would have thrown me and the best man into the closet together. That would have given me a chance to really put the alcohol to good use.

Dueling Doctors

Finally revived myself from my coma-like stupor just before dinnertime. It's been a busy week of on-calls - my second in five days so I've been a lil tired - and disinclined to write any posts ( since nothing much happened that warranted a post since I was busy sleeping and recuperating post call ).

Still it has certainly been an eventful week for doctors in the news. Just yesterday an amusing article about clashing doctors caught my eye. Let's face it, the thorny relationship between a surgeon and an anaesthetist can be compared to a pair of bitchy, quarrelsome spouses bound together on a most uncomfortable marital bed. Certainly there are good days when both manage to rub along tolerably well but that doesn't last for long. With the insanely large egos most doctors are credited with, neither side will ever give in and see eye-to-eye on a large number of issues in the operating theatre - but for the sake of the patients and their work, they remain handfisted together. Till death do they part.

But obviously, some doctors aren't simply content with waiting for death to make an appearance. Every once in a while these domestic squabbles do lead to physical abuse - and that's what happened recently in one of the hospitals here as a pair of dueling doctors made the news. Obviously subscribing to an extended version of the Hippocrates Oath that advocates dealing out pain, a prominent surgeon lashed out and slapped the anaesthetic medical officer - thereby laying down the gauntlet ( or in this case, the bloody gloves ) for retaliation. No wilting Asian cherry blossom herself, the medical officer gave back as good as she got with the One-handed Furious Fist of Death.

With the insane levels of stress at work, it doesn't surprise me that most doctors are a jittery bundle of nerves just waiting to explode at the slightest provocation. For myself, I deal with the stress by swallowing a large dose of inane humour but that's me. It always surprises me however when someone so steeped in learning ( supposedly! ) sinks down to such depths of uncivilized barbarism - and acts out in behaviour more befitting of a pack of bickering baboons in the jungle battling for supremacy. There are little squabbles in the operating theatre but we certainly don't resort to bitch-slapping and karate chops.

Really. Suddenly I am not amused.


What happened at dinnertime however did amuse me. As I recounted the hilarious kung fu fighting tale - and gave my own account of egoistic physicians - to a delighted Big Bicep Barry ( who knew that serious, stoic face could display so much hilarity? ), he suddenly stopped me midway and told me that I was intimidating. Just out of the blue, this guy with the biceps of death ( surely enough to throttle me without breaking a sweat ) calls me intimidating?

Seriously. Moi?

I'm aghast

I am aghast.

Came back this morning after another on-call - which started pretty well but became progressively worse actually. Without naming names, there was an idiot who did something stupid which took longer than he expected. See, I promised myself I wouldn't blare his name out in public but I needed to vent some wicked bile. I know it makes no sense.

Covered in the funk of a whole day's work, I usually manage to drag myself home and flop onto the couch for several minutes before making any attempts to freshen up - which actually means a mug of cereal, a quick shower and precious sleep. Occasionally like today, I even manage to check some e-mails before I zonk off for several hours of much-needed sleep.

A quick glance through my last post left me really stunned. Good God. Where did all that come from? I came across as such a desperately whiny, needy creature! So terribly Bridget Jones of me! God, I should really deal myself a few slaps to wake me up from this holiday funk. Guess you guys wouldn't know this but I actually despise weakness - especially in myself.

Hell. I need a drink. :)

No man is an island

I miss having a boyfriend.

Seriously. Such depressing, melancholic thoughts run through my head at times like these. Christmas, New Year... I see couples walking by in the malls holding hands. I see couples cuddling in the back row of the cinemas. I see couples giggling as they share a caffe mocha ( nauseating but hey, I still miss that ).

And I feel green with envy. A touch of sadness. A lil tug of lust if the guy's hot and hunky. And an odd, almost overwhelming sense of nostalgia - kinda like hey, I did that way back when. Is it any wonder that I slipped during Christmas and fell back into my ISO's arms a whole year back? :) No man is an island after all.

Still, I doubt I'll ever be the perfect boyfriend. I can't whisper sweet nothings into a guy's ear unless what I'm saying is perfectly true. Honesty is important to me so no empty compliments from me, that's for sure. I can't be the guy who's gonna call at every second of the day. With the nature of my job, I can't make it for every date or occasion - and certainly can't be exactly on time as promised ( though I'll try my darned best ). I need my space, sometimes even time alone when I get cranky or bitchy. No matter how hard I try, work does get to me sometimes and the pressure makes me wanna hit something hard. Thank God for punching bags :)

And I received this odd epiphany during Harry Potter yesterday. We got our tickets late and we were separated in different seats but I didn't mind as much. To them, watching a movie alone seemed to be an unforgivable social solecism. Some of my friends were surprisingly distraught ( can I say screaming mimis! ) by the fact that we would all be separated but I was perfectly fine with it. Hell, it's a movie, it's only for two hours. The separation wouldn't kill me.

I can sit alone. I've done it times before and I will probably do it again.

Still, it would be nice if I had a warm, buttery hand playing with my fingers when I reached for the popcorn.

Music

Yesterday was my day of rest. It's the day I hang out at the mall and imitate a teenager lepaking as much as I can - slouch, look bored out of my skull and stare at cute teenage boys roaming in protective packs ( not that it can protect them from my penetrating gaze ). It's fun. Even saw a fledgling underaged stud with baseball cap turned backwards and his leopard print boxers sticking out of his low-rise pants. Felt like snapping the boxers but I restrained myself. Not cool, kid. You're trying too hard. Now, don't even get me started on this weird trend of straight boys getting all covered up in XXX-sized loose asexual attire. What's up with that?

Of course I don't spend all my time drooling over seemingly straight boys. In between ogling sexy specimens of youthful manhood, I try to fit in some sushi, some caffe mocha, some movies and some shopping.


Caught Harry Potter at the cinema obviously - since it just opened recently. Although the Goblet of Fire certainly wasn't my favourite book or movie, it is still worth a shot ( and all of us who read the book will watch it after all! Brilliant marketing, JK Rowling! ). Amazingly the accomplished director managed to compress the encyclopaedic novel into something less than three hours.

Not sure what the screaming kids at the cinema would say but the highlight of the movie for me was the hot Bulgarian. What can I say, as Wingedman Will has said in his review so succinctly, sinfully scrumptious Viktor Krum ( played by the suitably husky, athletic Stanislav Ianevski ) can come over to my place with his wicked wand anytime. And that sexy growling accent of his ( although he didn't speak much since the man is a physical kinda guy... ) would sound so delicious the morning after...

Sexy European men aside, I even got my hands on several CDs since I spent the larger part of the day hanging out at the music store just testing out some new compilations. Finally gave in and bought Pussycat Dolls ( a choice that left BBB and my friends inexplicably stunned ), Jack Johnson's In Between Dreams and Madeleine Peyroux. A lil bit of hip hop, a lil bit of slow rock, a lil bit of jazz.

Though I did play the album, I have to admit that I didn't get Madonna's Confession on a Dance Floor. You're all gonna say it's homosexual sacrilege but I simply can't listen to dance music all day long. Sure I love Hung Up but having it played all day long in my car would drive me insane. I know. My pink passport is so gonna get revoked.

.....

On a totally unrelated note ( well related to my last post ), I slept last night in only my pyjama pants ( without the matching shirt ). Under my duvet, I was freaking cold but I assumed I looked cool in my sleep.

Getting out of bed

Just woke up with the realization that I must have the most boring sleep attire known to gay man.

With the sunlight slashing its way through my window ( yeah, I have a bedroom facing east ), sleeping through till lunchtime isn't all that easy and I'm by far too fastidious to pull the curtains across since it's already tied back in the perfect fall - showing off the delicate designs imprinted on the cloth and catching the light in its myriad folds. Don't get me started on the curtains. So even on weekends when I'm not working, I'm usually up by 9 at the latest. Got online and chatted with some guys that I've met through the blog and out of curiosity asked them what they were wearing since I was still in my comfortable jammies.

It left me flabbergasted. Obviously comfort doesn't mean style - or sex appeal.

Gay men everywhere dress - or should I say undress - to sleep in the most appealing sleep attire from plain shorts and nightshirts to boxer shorts to briefs ( ?? ) to absolutely nothing. The naked skin brushing against clean sheets boggled my mind ( and I have to admit, titillated me as well since we all love a hot naked man in our beds, don't we? ). Although it isn't that cold over here and the temperature swings from oven-baked to sultry, it does get a lil cooler in the evenings - and I can easily imagine how chilly it gets in temperate countries. Don't they get cold lying about in the altogether?

Am I the only guy who goes to bed in flannel pyjamas?

I hear a silence. Hell, now all I need is bunny slippers.

More of the same

What do they say about aches and pains?

I promise I'll listen a little closer - and far more sympathetically - when my elderly patients gripe about the pain in their joints. After a long hiatus from the gym, I finally gave in to the recent health lecture/nagging/guilt trip I received from Big Bicep Barry and joined him for a workout. Well, mostly I stared in envy while he lifted some really heavy weights ( would it be so wrong of me to goggle like a giggling sophomore? ) since I almost dropped from exhaustion after barely half an hour. God, I am a wimp :) And kiasu as I am, I hate not being able to lift those weights and each time he offered to help, I became even more pigheaded!

Which is why my back and my arms were screaming by the time I crawled back home and it was all I could do to nudge the door open before I fell onto the floor. I don't know how it could be possible but I think even my fingers are aching.

Still you can't keep a good man down so I found it in me to drag myself off the carpet - my beautiful Turkish carpets!! - to finish my Christmas decorating. Every year, I make my usual pilgrimage to our local home furnishings store Metrojaya to ooh and aah over the fabulous decorations, imagine the decorations on my mantelpiece and load up on additional tinsel. Somehow I make it a point to get a new bauble or two for the tree every year. All brilliant reds and golds these days - a little more traditional, I suppose - and it fits so much better with the Asian decorative accents I have around the living room. There's such a warm sense of tradition and continuity when I place up the glittering baubles... and I can easily imagine doing it year after year at exactly the same time of the year.

Would be so much more fun though if I had a pair of manly hands to help me lug the tree out :)

Sightless

Slow night. Gotta save up on those sleep hours since I've been going out late every night for the past week. No posts last night since I was out downing several mugs of beer with some chips while my colleagues and I talked about the upcoming weddings. A woozy head doesn't a good post make - only makes me randy and horny as hell actually.

Took a blind tip today and decided to check out a new series ( suggested by my ever-friendly pirate DVD guy who shall remain unnamed ) called Blind Justice.

Sure, Ron Eldard might be a sightless homicide detective in this series but that doesn't make him any less yummy :) A lil older but still delicious in his suit and shades. Wounded in the line of duty, this stubborn cop makes it a point to get back on the force despite his own misgivings - and the crap he's dished out by his colleagues on the force.

All of us have our own handicaps, whether it has to do with our six senses ( yeah, I did say six! ) or something else. We can't help it, we're all human after all. No one's perfect, not even that hunky, muscular guy guzzling beer at the end of the bar who might have a hangnail or a sixth toe on the foot - well, except for Chris Evans who's just perfect in every way :)

I have more than a few handicaps of my own, and I've mentioned more than a few of them here. And I actually like them - as odd and kooky as some of my handicaps might be, as I'm sure I'd love the idiosyncrasies of yet-to-be-found boyfriend. We all hear of Prince Charmings coming by with their chargers but seriously, who'd want someone impossibly perfect? I certainly wouldn't want the shiny, spotless facade of a paragon since the reflection of my own inadequacies would drive me slowly insane for sure.

Coming out again

What is it with straight-forward honesty?

Lately I seem to have developed a problem with asking THE question. No, not the marriage question that straight couples seem to dread - and hope for - depending on who you're asking. Perhaps it's the way I phrase it or the way I violently shove younger men into darkened alcoves when I pop the question but these days, all I seem to get are gay vague answers.

All I got out of Big Bicep Barry the other day was a bashful smile, a nod/shake/twitch of the head and a cryptic comment on having commitment issues that left me a little discontented. Was that a yes ( oh, come to me hot papa! :) )... or a no... or a maybe?

And then when I pressed Handsome Hui on the same topic again today, he gave the same unequivocal response. Kinda like an interrogating Gestapo officer, I cornered him at work in the morning and grilled him over the clinic desk with my trusty torchlight shining into his unblinking pupils. Obviously well prepared with his defence this time, the boy didn't goggle like a dying trout this time but managed an easy laugh and made a cheap quip about wanting to sleep with everyone. Since a patient was coming into the clinic, I restrained the urge to bash him over the head with the tendon hammer.

Am I terribly violent in wishing that I could shake ( throttle? ) the answer out of them? Hold them down and slap them around till the answer pops out of their ears? There are decidedly more unsavoury methods that I could resort to ( think whips and chains ) but extolling those points would make this post decidedly NC-17. :) Sure you're gonna be wondering why the hell it should matter whether they are a member of the pink posse - and I'm actually wondering myself. Maybe I like peppering cute guys with loaded questions that leave them agog with their mouths hanging open. Maybe I am actually actively recruiting members for the Gay Luck Club. Till I can find a better, more logical reason for it, I'm gonna blame it on boundless curiosity.

Seriously. Can't they just answer the question?

The road less travelled

The course I mentioned a while back is giving me some problems. It's been a while since I've really gone back to the back-breaking grind of cramming ( horrible post-traumatic flashbacks of med school ) and somehow it's much worse now - what with a full-time career, my responsibilities and an already dwindling social life to juggle. It would be tempting to turn my back on these impassable hurdles but...

a) I am a bastard who doesn't give up easily - and I'll be damned if I have a classmate doing better, dammit!
b) Until I get a better offer ( such as a househusband offer by some eminent suitor ) I am stuck on the path I've chosen!

Don't get me wrong. When I'm not griping bitterly about it, I admit I actually like what I do ( certainly turned out better than I'd imagined ) - and I've always wanted to better myself. Still, I've always wondered what would happen if I had taken the road less travelled.

Akin to the Chandler Bing Boring Job Syndrome, I always imagined myself doing something more creative.. more artistic... more exciting... more fast-paced. Do I actually look like a straight-laced, responsible physician? Guys who've known me since primary school would be astonished to hear that I've actually made it out as a physician. Certainly never occurred to any of them - and to me - that I'd dabble in something as heavy as medicine. Back in school, I had a penchant for art and I did the occasional sketch and painting. My exercise books were literally covered in little scribbles and caricatures of the various teachers.

When the choice finally came to me, I mailed an application to medical school ( based on my results ) and another to a design school. Seriously, it was a choice between dull stability and an uncertain future. Guess which one I finally accepted.

Perhaps some uncertainty would have been interesting.

The Gay Virus

An interesting article in one of the leading newspapers here had me pondering the writer's rather refreshing views on homosexuality in Malaysia. This is what he says when questioned about his book on tantric sex.

How can it be published in a country that is so sexually uptight that it views homosexuality as a threat to the nation. Incidentally, I have never quite figured out how a gay minister is a greater threat to the nation than a corrupt minister.

Seriously, I always wonder what the deeply conservative section of the nation is thinking? We have all heard about how allowing gays to exist would lead to a serious decline in the moral values - and therefore lead to the downfall of the nation. How they would rather flip over and die rather than have a gay minister.

Really? Do we truly stand on such weak ground that a tiny gay minority ( I seriously refuse to believe there is as many as 10%... it's probably less ) can lead to such depravity and licentiousness that the whole nation would fall into the immoral abyss? Are the straight men so weak in their sexual identities that a fag slinking by with a feather boa would tempt them to lose control? Or do they believe that homosexuality is really a disease - perhaps even a rampant viral infection that would lead to a radical mutation in the chromosomes leading to a change in their sexual identities upon contact? Hell, if that were true, I'd be much too busy converting gorgeous straight men ( ie Chris Evans - hell, I might as well start with the best ) into the pretty pink fold to write this blog.

And the question of a gay minister? Anything wrong with that? Is it possible they believe that a gay minister would be far too limp-wristed and too involved with the colour of his tie ( hopefully matching the decor in hallowed parliamnent ) to field questions on socio-political issues? Or perhaps far too busy fornicating in the mindless orgies gay men are infamous for ( if so, why am I not invited! ).

Sure they might deem it an affront against their religion - and I wouldn't fault them for it since a large number of religious doctrines still frown on sweaty man-on-man action. Taking a throbbing 12 incher up the arse does seem a little crazy sometimes - and let's face it, unnatural. After all, the fornicating homos in Sodom were still drowned in an act of God for whatever reasons. But hell, am I inviting them to join in? Have I sent fliers to little children to buy tickets to the event? Are there packs of wild, orgiastic gay men hunting the grounds of the mosques and churches trying to draw the poor innocent priests and imams into their wicked, licentious embrace?

Seriously. What are they thinking?

A loaded pistol

Each time I think I'm a conservative, boring, dull stick-in-the-mud ( who's approaching 30 ), something comes along to shake me out of that depressing thought. My ISO calls it my psychotic breaks.

Kinda like the famed melatah in Malay ( and Peranakan ) culture, an unusual condition that is restricted to a specific ethnicity or culture - somewhat linked to societal repression. Simply put, a lifetime of repression makes them burst out suddenly in unusual, nonsensical phrases when they're shocked or amazed. Seriously, it's hard to explain without seeing for yourself what melatah is. Would recommend going up to a Nyonya girl and surprising her with a whack on the back - and she might give a reasonable rendition of melatah but you might also get a surprisingly mean right hook in return.

But I digress. What I meant was my psychotic breaks happen every once in a while when I do the oddest things known to man. Like cackling aloud during dull, boring meetings. Like throwing my ISO's handphone out the window when I was talking to him - still kinda a sore point but hell, he has plenty of new cellphones! Good God.
I am actually revealing way too many bad points about myself but any future boyfriends need not say that they hadn't been forewarned :) Bear with me, I do have some good points.

What I did today was confront.. no, it wasn't Big Bicep Barry but poor innocent Handsome Hui. He's cute, he's single, he doesn't have a girlfriend to speak of - and he has a multitude of photos in his cellphone - all male, suspiciously enough. There have been rumours going around the hospital grapevine about who's carrying a pink passport - obviously wouldn't surprise me if I am one of them but I never actually figured out who the rest were and no one was ready to tell me ( since hell, I am a suspected homo.. ). But after some clever finagling, I found out and I had to confront him about it.

A normal guy would ease into the loaded question into the conversation, slowly sliding in a few feelers and some cunning innuendoes. The fresh anaesthestic gases must have had an effect on me - or my insane curiosity must have possessed me - because I accosted him in the men's changing room while he was practically half-naked, shoved him against the wall and asked him flat out.

After my burst of testosterone, I believe the poor boy's still picking up his jaw from the floor. No reply yet but he is definitely getting a thong.

Pure disbelief

Something a colleague said today stunned me. Chilled me to the core.

It was during our regular sushi session and I had my mouth half full of sashimi and green tea - which almost came spewing out when Silent Sally suddenly blurted out that she actually didn't believe in marriage. Needless to say it had me, Shameless Shalom and Handsome Hui all gaping in astonisment.



Is that even possible? It could have been easily explained away as the gripe of a desperate and frustrated singleton but she sounded so calm and sincere - and there wasn't even a shred of doubt in her voice. I know what you're gonna say but there were no broken marriages in her past - or in her family - that I knew of. BTW, Silent Sally is another new member of the posse. A cool, calm, cucumberish gal with no nerves to speak of. Don't tell anyone ( especially the Star Trek gang ) but I actually suspect she might be a Borg in disguise.

Amazed me since marriage has always been on my mind. Perhaps a little too much these days especially with the deluge of invitations this week. Although I have had a failed relationship in my past ( damn! ), the very institution of marriage is still pretty much sacred in my mind. Simply can't help it since I've been brought up to treat a marriage ( or in our case, a lifelong commitment / domestic partnership / whatever-we're-calling-it ) as something wonderful, something we should all strive for. Certainly not something I'd turn my back on for a quick one-night-stand no matter how hot the guy might be - not even for Chris Evans and that's saying a lot :)

So for those against marriage - especially gay ones, check this out! Reading it makes you want to run out, grab the closest available single gay man ( not so easy to find after all ) and rush towards the closest commitment ceremony provider.

A Bree wannabe

Perhaps I might have scared some of you guys with my earlier post about my borderline psychotic completionist tendencies. It's true unfortunately... I need my books to match - and I need a complete set. I have two pillows for each design that matches. I have matching dinner sets - and always have this urge to toss the whole set out if I break a single plate. :)

Let me make a full confession since it's been a few months since I've done the whole good Catholic confessional thing. That's not my only weird, kooky trait. Right now, I have already started compiling my Christmas list and I've already bought half of the gifts. Is that terribly anal or what? Then I'll spend half a day looking for matching cards and wrapping paper - like what's Jungle Jack's favourite colour? Does Veggie Vanitha like recycled wrapping? Don't even get me started on the buttons and bows.

Weird but true. But for any future suitors out there... surely you can excuse these little idiosyncrasies :) I'm working on them, trying to break the habit. Really! I won't make straighten his collar or spit-shine his hair. Really.

Still, I have to say that men are surprisingly difficult to shop for. Not sure what to get the guy who has everything - my ISO - since what he wants, he'll already buy. Kinda like me actually so I'm pretty notorious in being difficult to shop for since I shop so much ( it's a disease! ). Already gotten some stuff for my brother and my sister-in-law. Some of my cousins. Even my movie posse...Shameless Shalom is getting a lovely image of the Madonna from Turkey. Handsome Hui gets a teeny tee - the better to show off his youthful bod. Not sure if I should get something for Big Bicep Barry.. what should I get? A barbell for him? A skimpy tanktop for him ( but probably inostensibly for me )?

...

Still, I managed to find the time to write something new for my Bedtime Stories site - still needs a lil tweaking but it's readable. Have a draft ready for the Marine story too but that will take a few more days.

Falling sky

After catching the hilarious movie ( that simply cannot be missed!! ), someone got me a cute lil Happy Meal Chicken Little toy without realizing my prevailing obsession ( and my fatal weakness, alas! ) - and now, I simply cannot rest until I have the whole collection! Can't help it. I'm a completist. Is there even such a word for a compulsion to finish a set for no particular reason?

Doubt poor Big Bicep Barry knew that he was feeding one of my crazy compulsions when he got me the chicken. He was actually a little perplexed on what I intended to do with the kid's toy since he's more of an adult than me - while I still have a whimsical kid in me. :) The man actually stared at the toy for a full five seconds as I raved maniacally over it.

Guess he's starting to be my enabler. Now I'll have to haunt McDonald's for the next little while - and damn, what would that do for my so-called diet?

To tempt a saint

If you recall a guy named Mormon Gordon, one of my old best friends... well he asked me out for dinner tonight since he's back for a short vacation to finalize the plans for his wedding at the end of the month. It has been a while since I've seen him though we've spoken on the phone a few times so it should be great finally meeting up for a drink. Of course judging by his previous encounter with alcohol - and the subsequent manhandling thereafter, I think I'm gonna restrict his drinking to simple non-alcoholic fizzy drinks. Certainly no need to tempt the saint.

Nudged Gordon's dinner to a late dinner/early supper though since I'm still meeting Big Bicep Barry for some makan before that. With his propensity for ordering minute portions worthy of scrawny, bulimic supermodels - and raising a terrifyingly blighting eyebrow when I take my usual cholesterol-high, heart-unfriendly meals, I figure I won't eat all that much anyway :) When it comes to food - and men actually, I'm afraid to say that I'm actually partial to large, sinful portions of beef that would have Barry fainting to the ground after calculating the astronomical calories.

The poor man. Don't know why but I have this horrible recurrent images of tieing the brawny guy up and force-feeding him large pieces of meat dripping with oil.

Yes. I am a bad gay man.

With four weddings in the next two months, it's really amazing the number of friends I have who are getting married - or for that matter the number I know who are already married! When I think of some of the wild, crazy antics that we've been up to ( only half instigated by me... I swear! ) I boggle at the idea of them settling down in relative sobriety. Hell, it's starting to make me desperate - and jealous as hell, I'd have to admit. Though surely not as desperate as my relatives who are all too willing to throw me at the nearest single, nubile Vietnamese boat refugee.

Hell, what do I tell them? Surely no one's as ready to transfer to the state of Matrimony but how to tell them that I'd much prefer a taller, darker, hairier groom? :) Finding the groom isn't as easy as I thought it'd be - and a far more arduous task than I'd imagined with the suitors few and far between. My list of requirements surely isn't that difficult to fill :) A healthy, intelligent male with all his teeth and hair - who loves me.

Taking a leap

Suicide is always a dirty word in the hospital.

Everyone expects healthcare workers to provide medical care, sympathy and TLC to patients who attempt suicide and we all try our best but unfortunately the regular doses are usually coloured with a teensy pinch of resentment. I might not like it in my nurses - and even myself occasionally - but that tiny pinch is always there. we are all human and we all have flaws. The medical fraternity makes the occasional joke about life and death ( we need the dark humour to survive unfortunately ) - but deep inside, all of us carry an innate respect for life. Everyday we see patients, young and old, battling so very hard and desperately for their lives and the very idea that someone would just throw away this precious gift disgusts us.

There. I've said it. A bad person and certainly far from politically correct, I'm sure but I'm battling post-call fatigue so I hope to be forgiven :)

But it doesn't actually hit you till someone you know - or someone you know who knows someone else... takes a flying leap off the nearest building and forgets the bungee cord. Or takes a lethal injection of potassium chloride. Back in medical school, we have all heard the urban legend about the medical intern who took a torch to himself but it certainly isn't a laughing matter especially when doctors actually consitute a significant number in the figures. Yes, doctors do take their own lives and unsurprisingly anaesthetists and psychiatrists head the infamous list. A prevalent view is that both biologic and psychosocial factors play a role - and interact - in the decision to commit suicide. Since theoretically suicides amongst physicians would lead to almost certain death, I doubt we'll ever find the reasons why - short of a successful seance.

Makes you stop and think. What actually drives someone to give up on life?

Fetish for the psychotics

You guys all know my recent obsession with Desperate Housewives... which has actually aired its second season in the US recently. Guys over here in Malaysia are doomed to wait another year before it finally hits our shores.

Luckily nowadays we have the internet. Though I'm still not as proficient at downloading stuff as Wingman Will, I have my moments - and a helpful ex who helps me do so. Been watching a handful of the new episodes on his laptop - currently so engrossed you wouldn't believe - and I'm seriously liking the crazy boy who made history when he cried homo after being confronted by his anal-retentive mom, the supreme housewife Bree van Der Kamp. And by that, I mean Andrew van Der Kamp played by the sweet all-American Shawn Pyfrom.

I mean, he is so quietly devious... so chillingly evil... so creepily insane...

I just have to like him. What does that say about me? :)

Kisses

It must be the lil bit of Bailey's that I downed ( and the sappy Something To Talk About they're playing on tv right now ) but I have to admit that I do miss one thing about having a boyfriend. You'd be forgiven for having awfully prurient thoughts if you thought it was the mind-blowing sex.

And it is :) I am certainly not a saint and several months of enforced celibacy are slowly driving me crazy but that's not all that I'm missing. The sex is all good and it's always a fun way to while away a lazy Sunday morning but I miss the kisses. Seriously. So sentimentally mawkish but it's true unfortunately. Not sure why some gay men are not that interested in kissing but I certainly am. Not only the crazy, soul-devouring kisses in the night but also the simple pecks we shared in the early mornings before work. What can I say? I am an orally fixated guy.

Caught under the spotlight

I know I come across as a pretty confident guy. Well, at least I hope so :) At work I can rattle off a list of instructions perfectly without a single tremor in my voice - despite the nagging doubts in my head - playing the role of the suavely confident, competent physician.

Last night I realized how wrong I was. After last week's hedonistic pleasures ( I am sure Big Bicep Barry would count three cakes as hedonism ), I decided to cap it off with a final night out on the town and ended up at a quiant ristorante in the historical quarter of town. It served delicious pasta, cheap beer and a lovely Filipino man strumming the guitar on the side.

Met some of my friends and colleagues over there - my usual working posse - and I actually invited Barry to come along since he was actually in the neighbourhood ( cliched though that sounds ). And though I had a bit of a sniffle, I picked the table closest to the cool night breeze so that Barry's hard nipples would be better appreciated. :) I shall not regale you with the fact that I ate pasta and several chicken wings liberally splashed with sauce and Barry had a soursop drink and two wings but hell, I just did that, didn't I? :)

But what happened during the meal stunned me even more. Just as I was polishing off my final wing, the Filipino strummer waved over to Barry ( who actually turned out to be a regular at the dive ) and just called him up to the stage for a song. Instead of fainting from the shock of being called up, Barry just gave me a wink and a smile. Surprisingly ballsy ( surely an understatement... the man has bloody big brass cojones! ), the man just went straight up to the small stage, coolly picked up the mike and proceeded to give me a minor heart attack by belting out a jazzy Mandarin song.



Secret talents. Who knew he was secretly a karaoke heavenly king! Crispy fried chicken and chocolate sundaes scare him but obviously being shoved unprepared under the spotlight doesn't.

Of course you'd actually catch me dead hanging out under the spotlight with a mike in my hand - it would take a whole truckload of alcohol and a loaded gun to my head actually. The sheer embarassment. The possible humiliation. Honestly, I have too many issues with self-esteem to pick up that mike in public. What if someone throws a sangria in my face? What if the whole unadoring audience just picks up and leaves the establishmen? What if they toss me out of the bar for disturbing the peace with my off-tone warbling? Obviously Barry with his surprisingly mellow voice - and his biceps - would be able to ward off any would-be bouncers intent on kicking him out. Lacking the voice and the biceps, I'd be literally splattered on the sidewalk before I finished the first intro.

I speak in public often enough - all prepared with my lecture notes and my powerpoint presentation but impromptu speeches give me the heebie-jeebies. What more to sing in public?

Guess my hidden talents will forever remain between the shower head and me.