Shameless

Probably gonna wish that I never said anything to anyone ( since it doesn't paint me in very good light ) but since I've started with the truth, I'm gonna tell you what I've been up to these few days. Though I might wish it unsaid later.

I've had a tryst.

There, I've said it. Even as I say it, I feel myself all flushed up - not sure whether it's due to shame, embarassment, desire or an insane mixture of it all. You'll be forgiven for thinking that I finally got Big Bicep Barry into the sack after all this time ( hell, I'll put up pictures when that impossible day finally arrives ) but that would be the farthest thing from the truth.

Gonna say it in a short summary since I'll probably lose my guts to say anything after a while. After a long while of not seeing him - ever since college actually, a friend of mine - Smiley Sam - came over for a visit. Took him for a whirlwind tour of my historical city since he hasn't been here in a long while. Still cuts a trim, dashing figure that hasn't changed all that much since our university days. Perhaps it has even gotten better since he's put on some muscle over the years with the obsessive gymwork gay men are known for ( well, except lazy me! ). I had the opportunity to view that new, improved body for myself when he asked me to scrub his back in the shower.

Shameless I know.

And I'll leave it to you all to guess what happened after that.

Damn, I should have known I'd be easy prior to New Year. Starting to be a damned annual affair. To avoid any temptation - or any other potentially titillating events ( and any other desirable men ) that would deal my already shaky reputation a killing blow, I have decided to spend the New Year's Eve with family.

Principles of Avoidance

Isn't it funny how we try our best not to think of something and yet it's sitting right there the whole day waiting to be noticed like a large pink elephant in a frilly tutu?

Not as easy trying to stop thinking of Big Bicep Barry as I imagined. Spent the evening out with my friends at a seaside bistro/bar downing cute little alcoholic drinks with umbrellas while we caught up with each other on our various Christmas frolics.

Quite an eventful one for me actually. From the last post during Christmas, I actually made a resolution to slow down the single-minded obsession to overwhelm him with my presence. As I started thinking about it, it started to sound more and more like a carefully planned military campaign - and I felt like a calculative, Machiavellian cad. Moreover, it occurred to me that there's still a possibility that he is hopelessly straight - despite what my rotten ( and utterly biased ) gaydar is telling me. Perhaps he even thinks of me as a... younger brother!

Excuse me while I barf!

Certainly not avoiding him but I've tried my best not to initiate anything so far! For the last few days have tried not to think of anything remotely connected to him so I avoided the gym to the best of my ability - some restaurants that we frequented and every record store that I could think of ( since we're both avid music fans ).

Didn't work all that well though :) Aided no doubt by the alcohol flowing, I managed to forget about any such resolution throughout the night as my colleagues and I gossiped about everybody else in the hospital. Trashed some reputations and demolised a handful.

But then just as I was getting into the car, I saw the CD that he gave me peeking out of the dashboard and I had this sudden compulsion to play it. It was the same song he sang weeks back and it made me smile.

Yeah. What a sap. Falling for a straight guy. How clichéd!

Boxing Day Aftermath

Well, it was Boxing Day after all so what better way to spend the day than watching King Kong doing his share of boxing.

Lame, I know :) Despite my recent moratorium on avoiding Big Bicep Barry, I couldn't slink myself out of this date since the tickets had already been bought. And I guess you have to reward the man for being so damned resourceful especially since we've been hunting for those damned tickets forever! What with the recent school holidays, the cinema here has been crammed full to the roof with screaming schoolchildren and it has been almost impossible to get a seat.

Somehow through blackmail, threats or illegal sexual favours ( that he should have shared with me, dammit! ) the man managed to get us seats right in the center of the cinema. It actually amazed me that some of the kids were actually watching such a movie. Although it was rated PG, we had blood splattering half the screen. With all the gory, almost gratuitous bloodshed, I don't think I've seen such an extreme body count ever since Pete Jackson's last magnificent oeuvre :) For some inexplicably morbid reason, he seems to enjoy tossing broken bodies into fathomless pits/ravines ( not to mention having blond New Yorker dames thrown against walls ). Despite the penchant for mindless deaths, the special effects were simply out of this world however and there's nothing quite like having the Kong going toe-to-toe with a T-Rex.


I have an amazing body. Really!

And Adrien Brody - despite that abnormally large nose - has an amazingly fit torso to make up for it :)

Love Actually

On a lazy Boxing Day, what else is there to do with your friends but veg out and catch an old feel-good movie? And nothing fits the holiday season as perfectly as does Love Actually - with its quaint, charming portrayals of love in all its various guises.

Sometimes we tend to associate love only with the one shared between a pair of lovers but I think that's where we sell it short. In fact this sweet movie shows us that love does occur in the oddest places - between a doting stepfather and his son, between siblings, between best friends, between colleagues and even oddly enough, between an aging rock star and his faithful manager. There are quiet moments when it gets a tad sentimental - perhaps even a little too schmaltzy for the more macho guys amongst us but hell, I still love it.

My ISO : Fuck. Not again!
Paul : You didn't complain last year.
My ISO : ( waggling his eyebrows lasciviously ) I wanted some sugar.
Paul : Not getting it this year.
My ISO : That shirt I gave you cost a bomb.
Paul : Thanks very much. Now, eat your candy and shut up.

Perhaps it really is the umpteenth time I've seen the movie since I actually had my ISO complaining when I placed the disc in the player but hell, it's Christmas. There's certainly no better time to get all gooey and mushy, is there? And there's always the meltingly gorgeous Rodrigo Santoro for the prerequisite male eye-candy.


Rodrigo taking some time off

So my surprisingly obliging ISO provided the prerequisite alcohol ( in the morning, how decadent! ) and the gripes while I stuffed him full with my remaining Turkish Delight, then sighed and sobbed all over my delicate Turkish cushion covers. Still, in spite of his vehement complaints, I saw him flick away a manly tear when love didn't exactly go the way it should. :)

A little bit of perspective for Christmas

Christmas mornings are spent - like everyone else - lazing about the house with breakfast and presents. The usual suspects made their usual appearance in my pile - ties, books and shirts of course. An incredible silky green shirt - that's gonna look great with my new tie. Lovely Didius Falco mysteries from a certain gentleman in Jersey Island. The fantabulous Calvin & Hobbes Collection. Sigh!

And then my ISO decides to drop in with his little bit of Christmas cheer. There are times that I bitch about my ISO calling him names that he thoroughly deserves - and can't defend himself after all since he has yet to find my blog - but after all the shit I pile on him, he is still a good friend who does know me inside out. And deep inside that veneer of wicked good looks is a sweet man struggling to find himself :) Sometimes though it's admittedly harder to find.

Wait. I promised myself no evil thoughts today.

It sometimes takes a good friend to offer a fresh new perspective on things. This morning when the damned bastard came by with gifts ( Oops, I slipped and called him names again! ) to exchange, I finally broke down and told him what's been happening in my life. This was of course after he regaled me with tales of what he bought with his enviably large Christmas bonus - which includes the lovely green silk shirt he bought me. After a long tedious explanation of my odd relationship with Big Bicep Barry ( with some of the more lurid details omitted - not that there were that many to share ) ending with our last monosyllabic phone call, he burst out laughing for lengthy period before sending me a cocky grin and telling me, "Paul, I've said it before but you're a very scary man."

After whacking his head with the book I received, I started thinking. I was astonished to note that Barry did say something similar a while back. Once I started telling my ISO what's been happening, I realized that it does sound like I'm a crazed Machiavellian dictator plotting the downfall of an enemy with a deviousness and cunning unmatched since Atia of the Julii - or at least as she's wickedly portrayed in the television series, Rome.

Or as my ISO so elegantly put it, an obsessed predator single-mindedly hunting down a particularly delicious gazelle standing alone in the African plains. Not that Barry resembles a gazelle at all ( anyone with biceps the size of his bears no resemblance at all to a slim, lithe gazelle but the relentless grass grazing does sound hauntingly familiar ) but I was appalled at the decidedly uncomplimentary metaphors. It's only been three months since I've known him and I've been hounding the poor hapless man like the deranged furies out for vengeance. Just short of a psychotic stalker, I'm sure. No wonder the poor man's been looking at me recently with the stunned, wide-eyed stare usually reserved for doomed Bambis caught under the menacing headlights of a runaway Mack truck.


He's coming to get me!

So curbing my King Kong alpha-male tendencies to take action ( rather than twiddle my passive thumbs doing nothing ), I have resolved to slow down the insane, mindless pursuit and to allow things to develop as they should - if they ever would. Perhaps it is time to take it down a notch. So if you're reading this - whereupon I shall take the next immediate flight to a cloistered Tibetan monastery in the upper reaches of the Himalayas to hide from the utter shame! - the ball's in your court, Barry.

Oops. Okay. The resolve starts after tomorrow night since Barry already reserved tickets for King Kong.

Midnight mass

I'm not all that religious. Seriously. I admit I only attend church on the holy days, a handful of weddings and the occasional funeral. But Christmas Eve is a special time over here. There is a significantly larger proportion of Catholics in my state compared to the rest - aided no doubt by the larger number of Portuguese and Dutch descendants staying here - and one tradition that we always have here is the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass.

It's the one night the parishioners are allowed to hang around in the vast church lawn, raising their voices to the heavens ( okay, some are just caterwauling away like whipped cats but since it's a time for giving, we shall forgive them their sins ) under the midnight sky. Which is such a blessed relief seeing as the church itself can become quite unbearably humid with the faithful squashed inside amongst the pews.

Of course I don't think the priests in church know about this but it's also the one night the good, conservative Catholic girls let down their hair, hike up their skirts annd climb into those racy stilettos to parade outside the church :) Surely an annual spectacle that any red-blooded heterosexual teenage boy would find hard to resist. Unfortunately there's nothing much for the gay boys to see - unless a certain hot priest is giving the sermons tonight.

Since I was a monster before with Barry last night over the phone ( check out the earlier post! ), I decided to make amends by inviting him to the Midnight Mass. He's not Christian - if that's what you're asking - and I doubt he'd know the difference between a crucifix and a cheesecake. :) On second thought though I am suddenly unsure if I want him to come along since I just realized that my ISO will be there too - and that right bastard will see right through me!

Mindless Chit Chat

Conversations on the phone have become an anathema to me, a fact that my father will probably greet with some glee if only he knew since I spent inordinate amounts of my adolescent years miraculously surgically attached to the telephone - thereby raising the phone bills to astronomical limits that oddly enough matched my father's blood pressure when he saw the total.

I blame it on the hospital. Seriously. Pointless chit-chat over the phone is discouraged obviously since time is usually at a premium ( gossiping is not encouraged as well but there's nothing much anyone can do about it ) so most of us at work end up talking in something akin to morse code, presenting only the salient, indispensable points in monotonous grunts - which actually turns progressively Neanderthal brute-like as the hours grow long.

This actually leads to the point I'm making. I have wonderfully thoughtful guys who call me only to receive curt, dismissive monosyllables worthy of the uncivilized ape-man mentioned above - due to no fault of their own. This is the long-awaited apology you all have been waiting for. Although in my defence, I have to say that years at work have sapped me of any sort of gracious telephone etiquette. Unfortunately in the middle of the night, polite conversation is shoved unceremoniously to the wayside as I bark orders over the telephone and this reprehensible behaviour is obviously carried forward to the next day.

The sudden epiphany came to me today when I received a call from Big Bicep Barry from work. Not only was I somewhat abrupt during the conversation ( since I was only half-conscious from my 24 on-call ), I probably sounded like the far-from- charming Neanderthal mentioned above.

Barry : Hello, Paul?
Paul : Yeah.
Barry : Hey, this is Barry. You free?
Paul : Ugh.
( Of course I know it's him! The name's on the bloody cell! )
Barry : How was work last night?
Paul : Gah.
( Bad. Dammit! I felt like throwing the irritating relative off the third floor! Would that be wrong? )
Barry : About the movie... you're okay to talk?
Paul : Yeah.

Monstrous, I know. And somewhat oblivious to it all, he seems to imbue the conversation with such ebullient joie de vivre that I find it so hard to slam it down - despite the fact that I can feel myself slowly morphing into the barbaric phone monster. Obviously munching the occasional alfalfa sprout induces the feel-good enzymes in Barry ( helps perk up those pecs though ).

The question everyone seems to ask - and that includes the handful of doomsayer friends such as Eye Eddie & Jumping Jack who are privy to the details of this tremendously odd relationship and are predicting dire consequences such as endless heartbreak and suffering for me - is where we're heading with this. Simply put, I have no fucking idea and surprisingly - despite the fact that I have improbable fantasies of throwing Barry down on my couch and ripping his deliciously tight shirts apart to bare his rippling pecs - I am quite content to let it remain as it is. Movies and dinners. Hell, I might pride myself on my independence but that doesn't mean I particularly enjoy watching movies alone ( although I have done it dozens of times before and probably will do so again! ). I'm no sadist :)

That said however, the alpha dog Neanderthal side of me doesn't know how long to passively wait before taking that next leap.

Raging rumours

A hospital sometimes feels like an island. Since the staff numbers in the thousands, the grounds are understandably extensive to support the facilities - and most of us are duty bound to remain ( usually against our will ) in the confines of the hospital for the larger portion of the day, it can be assumed that a hospital does resemble a closed community of its own separated from the rest of the population - with its own idiosyncrasies, its own inexplicable language and its very own dark humour ( that is unfortunately usually misinterpreted by the general public ).

And like any closed community, we do more than our fair share of gossiping. Let's face it, although we are running ragged with work most of the times, we do have our quiet spells ( brief though they may be! ) cooped up together in the hospital and we have no choice but to probe insistently into each other's private lives ( we also do the occasional digging into the patient's personal lives especially the more intriguing ones but that's just plain being a bloody snoop :) ). Such probes are occasionally followed by the occasional fumbling matchmaking attempts but I've expounded on this before.

Still there are some rumours that even I haven't heard of - despite the fact my rumour radar's working fine ( as opposed to my unfortunately rusty gay-dar that can't even pick up Big Bicep Barry's hidden sexuality ).


Do you think they know about us?

It was at work last night when my ears perked up ( thankfully since I was nodding off )over the fact that there are some interns who actually suspect that Handsome Hui might be gay. According to them, a man who's in possession of looks, some degree of wealth and a career should be in search of a wife - and if not, he shall be deemed a raving fag. Certainly not what Jane Austen had intended, I'm sure. And they all agree that he as a certain quality. Although I've had my suspicions for some time, I've never had it confirmed since the boy's been disagreeably mum about the matter despite threats and blackmail. Since then I've kept my suspicions to myself and it surprises me that there are others out there who share the same suspicions. Does two gay rumours make a fag?

God knows what the hell they're saying about me. Nothing good, I'm sure.

Midnight movies II

What do they say again? Never say never?

I might have mentioned my love ( okay, obsession! ) of sleep a while back. Don't have much of a choice actually since I have this horrible neverending battle with insomnia ( and the prerequisite sleepy mornings the day after the battle ) since childhood and it's only lately that I've finally managed to make some peace with it, buried the hatchet despite the seething animosity between us. Lately it has been getting better after the recently declared truce with only the occasional bloodless skirmish to keep me up till all hours in the night.

Hardly anything would make me give up sleep. Sweaty nights wrestling with an insatiable hot man would be one thing but extracurricular activities like that have been few and far in between for me lately. :)

Obviously I have found something other than sex to make me lose sleep. A late night movie and Big Bicep Barry. After all this time, we've finally made our way into the damned wardrobe to step into the magical world of Narnia. The damned door to the wardrobe has been crammed with worthless schoolkids since forever! It took some time for him to persuade me though since I'd resolutely set my face against showing up at midnight movies.

Barry : Uhh.. wait... I know how you hate watching late night movies....
Paul : No. Not going. Gonna sleep.
Barry : They are good seats, I swear. ( starts digging in his shirt pocket for the tickets to wave them frantically )
Paul : On your lap?
Barry : Uhh.. No. Come on, I know it's kinda late notice but...
Paul : My prrrecious.... My precious sleep.
Barry : It's the day after my birthday. I am getting older. I need something to cheer me up.
Paul : You're seriously going to guilt me into a late night movie with that!
Barry : If I have to.

Okay, I wasn't such a melodramatic drama queen ( neither was he ) but you do get the gist of it. How could I say possibly no to that stubborn, mulish expression on Barry's serious face? So off we went to greet Aslan, the Great Cat and the extremely English Pevensie children ( from the comfort of our good seats! ). Anymore English and we'd be having afternoon tea with crumpets and clotted cream.

Think a censored PG rated version of the Lord of the Rings and you'll have the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was a pity however that I never got to watch the movie when I was a kid. It would have been so much more inspiring and wondrous if I'd seen the movie right after I read the book - which was years ago in upper primary :) Certainly would have oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments during the movie - such as when little Lucy found the sole gas-operated lamp in Narnia, when the kids stumbled their way through the wardrobe and near the end during the war, when the griffons took majestically to the sky. And of course, undeniably delicious Turkish Delight that swayed Edmund Pevensie:)

Of course this morning I paid the price for my late night jollies by being too sleepy to even keep my head up. Walked around the wards like a groggy zombie and almost stumbled over my own feet! :)

The occasional meme

I've been sent a meme from the wicked Darien. Here are the rules:
Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot.
1. Kory and Scott
2. Nathan
3. Jellygnite
4. Darien
5. Paul

Not gonna write any names but hey, anyone who's interested in doing this meme are certainly welcome to join in :)

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Slogging it out and burning the midnight oil in medical school :( If not for the friends I'd made there, i'd have gone a little crazy, I'm sure.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Getting depressed over a recent break-up and trying to drown my sorrows in egg nog.

Five snacks you enjoy:
1. Chocolate chip cookies
2. Chocolate ( Godiva's! Yum. )
3. Turkish Delight
4. Cheetos
5. Kit Kats

Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1. Sway - Michael Buble ( couldn't recall the original singer, dammit! )
2. Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
3. Freedom - George Michael
4. Slow - Kylie Minogue
5. Stickwitu - Pussycat Dolls
( Only five! I know the lyrics to hundreds! )

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1. Join in with Wingman Will to open an island of MenmEnmeN... Buy sexy menslaves that look like Chris Evans :)
2. Invest in stocks and shares
3. Open a lovely bookstore
4. Get a bigger house
5. Share with the family

Five bad habits:
1. Procrastination
2. Impatience
3. Talking too much
4. Perving
5. Much too obsessed with neatness! Almost crazy sometimes

Five things you like doing:
1. Reading
2. Writing
3. Shopping
4. Travelling
5. Sex

Five things you would never wear again:
1. A school uniform... I mean dark green pants and a white shirt. Yuck! :(
2. Altar boys robes! Totally agree with Darien on his picks actually.
3. Leather pants
4. Satin shirts with frilly collars
5. Ties with antelopes, reindeer or any other cutesy animals.

Five favorite toys:
1. My imagination
2. My laptop definitely
3. A hot man's dick
4. Cluedo?
Can't think of any! Guess I am not a toy boy :)

A new book

Although it's a puzzling thought, my friends and relatives actually gripe that it's impossibly difficult to find gifts for me. Perhaps I do shop quite a lot ( an understatement, I know! ) - which has me getting most of the things I do want but hey, I still don't see any shiny Tiffany cufflinks on my desk. :) Apart from the ties and shirts that I normally get ( hey, I like design as much as the next man but come on, I have to draw the line at dancing reindeer on a tie! ), books are the usual present found under the tree for me but that's always a risky bet since I tend to get all the latest bestsellers ( and often some of the more obscure authors out there ) that I can find.


Dying for a good book!

Since I haunt the bookstores on a regular basis ( hell, it's amost my second home ), it's almost impossible to beat me to a new book. And as a rabid completist ( can't find another word for it since my vocabulary only stretches so far! ), I tend to search under every rock and stone for the entire series - and every damned book - written by any author that I particularly like which makes it even harder to find a book for me. That explains why I have books piled up in stacks in every room in the house.

Of course, hunting like a crazed man for books tends to makes it difficult for me to find a new book to read ( since I literally pounce on the new books once it gets on the shelves ) once I've finished the lot and waiting for the next publication. So it always puts me on a high when I find a new author to love. So lovely to rifle through the first few pages to find that you've found something new to enjoy. Indescribable actually... explaining how it feels to open a new book :) It's the joy and ecstasy of finding a new lover, an uncivilized foreign expanse yet to be explored.

Pancake night

Since my schedule lately does seem to be a little too full of Barry Barry sweetness, I took a break to go out with some of my colleagues last night for a few episodes of Desperate Housewives. Obviously with the enthusiastic ( and holidaying ) schoolkids flooding the cinemas, we haven't been able to get through that damned wardrobe to the magical world of Narnia yet.

Let's face it, cute guys may come and go but good friends do actually last forever - if you don't start the occasional nasty hair-pulling, claw-scratching catfights over the cute guys of course. Since most of my colleagues here are heterosexual - on assumption, I haven't had the opportunity to have a drag-down mud-slinging brawl yet.

Handy-in-the-kitchen Preity Posh marvelled us with her delicious pancakes ( and some store bought popcorn ) while Shameless Shalom regaled us with some of her tamer exploits. Handsome Hui provided the prerequisite alcohol and Silent Sally of alien Borg fame ( well, she's not so silent anymore obviously! ) added the necessary touch of sobriety.

Sure, most of our friendships aren't as cosy and intimate as those embodied by Carrie Bradshaw and her Cosmopolitan drinking bosom bows. Still we paid homage to them with our pancake night. There were the neverending litany of gripes about work as usual and the prerequisite complaints about being single this close to our 30s - but we tempered it all with pancakes and a veritable sea of maple syrup.

I wanted so much to whine about my hopelessly sad crush on a pair of bulging biceps but I decided to keep it mum till I had more to say. However when the singlehood complaints started up, Handsome Hui couldn't resist teasing me about my alleged indiscretions and whispered sotto voce in my ear. Since I still haven't seen a Tiffany diamond on my ring finger ( and Big Bicep Barry might still turn out to be desperately straight *albeit confused* man with a nubile Vietnamese child bride stashed in the closet somewhere ) I disregarded Hui and tossed buttered popcorn at his leering face.

Pancakes and Bailey's. That's us.

P.S. In other news, you can also vote for my blog at Best Gay Blogs. It's great enough to be nominated amongst the other great international blogs. :)

Myths and Legends

Just some gripes I had since I was the chosen one to run the clinic today. Doctors are a pretty secretive clique, I admit - and the fact that our odd hours and schedules make it hard to socialize with others outside our milieu makes us even more alienated from the general public. But it's only when you're down in the clinic dealing with the common folk that you get to hear some really unusual beliefs that patients hold about doctors.

One of the great myths that patients have about doctors is the very odd idea that all of us are on intimate terms with each other. Although the numbers aren't that large, surely we can't know all the doctors in town. I'm here to tell you guys that they don't actually produce doctors from some dodgy, makeshift factory in Puchong ( no matter what the tabloids might say :) ) - and despite what everyone believes, we don't actually attend regular golf luncheons on the weekends getting to know each other. Hell, I don't even own a golf club.

Patients also believe that doctors can recognize all kinda of meds. They come into the clinic with bags of white pills that are impossible to differentiate. Seriously, pharmaceuticals make all sorts of generic drugs that come in a million colours and shapes - and that doesn't even include the fake illegals coming from that dodgy factory. And you wouldn't believe the number of drugs that come in circular white.

Along with recognizing every single drug in the world, patients expect us to know a little about everything - even about things way out of our milieu. About taxes, people? How could I know? If I knew everything, I'd be the omniscient wise old man hiding out on a mountain.

Told the story to Big Bicep Barry and we had a laugh today during dinner. I had a quarter roasted chicken with side orders of macaroni & cheese and mashed potatoes - the dieting boy/man had a bowl of salad. What is it with him and healthy, leafy vegetables? Later, I forced a pity wing on him when I noticed him salivating desperately over the rotisserie. Those curious enough would be glad to know that I actually held his hand for a full minute today at a public restaurant. Not only was I devious and evil in my intentions, I pretended to check for his pulse and held his hand captive.

Barry : Feel anything?
Wicked Paul : I'd actually like to feel more.
Barry : Very funny.

(Pause.)

Barry : I need that hand to eat my chicken, you know.
Wicked Paul : I'd prefer eating you.
Barry : Finish your chicken first.


I know. I can be so unbelievably forward ( and somewhat of a slut ) sometimes that I amaze even myself. So how could he possibly not know that I'm somewhat interested?

Perhaps Love again

Surprisingly I actually can't find anything much to talk about today. I am practically speechless.

It's not that I've had a really bad night during yesterday's call since it was actually a pretty good on-call. Nothing too pressing happened all night long - no dire, heart-thumping emergencies dealing with life and death and certainly no urgent midnight calls from the nurses ( there was a distress call but it was about 10 at night which is still an acceptable hour to deteriorate :) ). Enjoyed an evening of music at the operating theatre - yes, Pussycat Dolls and Gwen Stefani to the utmost horror of Big Bicep Barry, I'm sure. Don't be shocked but we actually do listen to really, really loud music at the operating theatre especially when heads start to nod and eyelids start to droop.

Mostly I talked to Handsome Hui about the movies. Since he hasn't given me a satisfactory reply on the state of his sexuality, I took it upon myself to slip all manner of sexual innuendo into the conversation that left the poor boy flushed pink to his ears. Surprisingly, he let fall that he actually caught me ogling Barry's pecs at the cinema one night - and here I thought I was being so discreet. What can I say? The movie, Perhaps Love, dragged at some points and under his gray tee, Barry's pecs were hard and perky enough to invite appreciation.


Pecs to die for!

Still, for me - the eternal optimist, every movie has its own redeeming quality... sexy actors who'd be better getting naked than speaking lines that they can't pull off, great cinematography but crappy, disjointed script, a great plotline that would have worked better with better editing. Well, every movie except for Himalaya Singh which stank so bad I couldn't find anything worthwhile to save.

Perhaps Love tells the story of Lin Jiandong, a famous Hong Kong actor who finds himself being paired in a new movie with an old flame, Sun na - who literally walked away from him to reach for the stars. Unfortunately for the poor guy, he has never really gotten over his love for her. I have to admit that Perhaps Love wasn't the best example of a great Chinese movie. Instead of paying homage to the classic Mandarin musicals of the old-time Shaw Brothers and Cathay musicals, the movie actually bears a startling resemblance to the spectacular Moulin Rouge. Unfortunately it's only a passing resemblance since Perhaps Love only manages to shine when it comes to the quieter scenes, the gentle, subdued love that the couple share in earlier times.

Still, the songs are catchy enough... and certainly the movie picks up considerably with the memorable dance sequence in the alley - lit up with the glow of a thousand brilliant lanterns - with trashy hookers gyrating unashamedly in an alleyway screeching about love and lies.

Hmmm.. so much for saying nothing. Obviously I can actually talk endlessly without any topic in mind. My God. My ISO is right. Damn him.

Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful

No matter how much we might rile over the unassailable fact, all of us know that looks actually do matter... even more so when it comes to the shallow, superficial world of shiny gay boys with their gym-toned muscles and perfectly teased hair. Surely somewhere in the seedy backrooms, there's an unwritten rule in gayland that the pretty princes shall not date the lowly beasts - and vice versa unless the Beast expeditiously happens to come along with a shiny Ferrari, a swanky Bukit Tunku mansion and an extra large credit account.



I'm more than my gorgeous abs!

Someone I know - let's call him Trendy Trey - was left high and dry in a coffeehouse waiting for a guy who never showed up, and even worse sent an SMS that they wouldn't suit. Yes. A fucking SMS - almost as bad as Carrie's dumping via Post-It.

First thing I actually felt was contempt for the unknown man. Surely, even a Beast deserves an honest face-to-face encounter before being summarily dismissed. Makes me feel that the man is actually a spineless jerk who misplaced his balls several evolutionary steps back. :) And second, all I can tell my friend, Trey, is that he's well worth getting rid of such a spineless creature who judges a person based solely on their looks. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.

Looks do matter but it surely isn't everything. I'm no saint and I'll admit that although I'm certainly no Brad Pitt, I am also guilty of making snap judgements based on a man's looks too. Short of guys who are visually challenged, everyone does snap judgements like that on some level ( let's face it, most of us would automatically assume that Chris Evans is a nice, sweet, charming guy - and we'd also hope that he has the loose morals of an alleycat but that's something else entirely ) but it doesn't form the basis of my entire outlook on a man's character.

With my ISO, I never actually obsessed over his looks. He kinda grew from a best friend I'd confide in to someone whom I'd fuck against the wall just for looking so damned sexy and fine. His good looks crept up on me over the years and suddenly, it's just right there in my face demanding attention. :) I'll admit that with Big Bicep Barry, his looks did attract my attention at first but if I'd obsessed over his biceps and smile, I wouldn't have found out what a sweet man he is, how good he is at belting out karaoke melodies - and what a seriously deep reader he is. Come on, he actually reads about religion, science and space theories that would put me to sleep in seconds ( a freak, I know! ). Sure he might turn out to be straight as hell in the end but that doesn't mean I'll regret making a friend :)

Work in a hospital and you'll see that muscles do sag and shiny teeth do fade - and God, I've seen what sexy tattoos look like on pecs that aren't so perky anymore and it's not a pretty picture. But even with the ravages of age, a sense of humour, a semblance of integrity and intelligence does stand the test of time.

Unfortunately most of us are much too shallow in our youth to spend the time searching for these unpolished gems, preferring to rifle through shiny trinkets that actually don't amount to much in the end.

Gay vague

Let's be honest here.

There seems to be a recurrent theme going on these days and I have been mentioning Big Bicep Barry quite a lot in some of my latest posts. Swear to God I have no idea where I stand with Big Bicep Barry - whether he sees me as a good gym buddy ( God, I can hear lots of people laughing out loud at this comment, including me :) ), a shopping/movie-watching/food-critic faggot freak or perhaps more than a friend. Seriously, if I knew for sure, I'd be making haste for the altar immediately. With the stacks of wedding invitations I've been getting lately, I have decided that there's nothing much I can do to beat them so I've decided to join them in a bid to recoup my monetary losses.

Unfortunately, finding a groom is proving to be the stumbling block. The sheer paucity of gay men in this town is simply disheartening since I've been led to believe that most of them have emigrated to greener pastures. The question of whether Barry is even a registered member of the Pink Squad is still up in the air since I really can't tell. Not only has my rusty gay-dar been out of commission for ages, it's almost impossible to tell with a man like Barry. Last time I pressed him with the Question, all I got was a vague non-committal answer and a smile. And recently when I pressed him for an answer again, all I got was a quick feel of his hard nipples and abs ( contrary to what he says, he does have something cut there ), a quick grin and an admonition to behave myself in public. Okay, we were standing in line for tickets to a movie so it was kinda weird.


Maybe I'd need my super-X-Gay vision..

If he really isn't leaning in my direction, then why are we still going out? Surely I'm not such a scintillating conversationalist ( hey, I know I'm definitely no Chris Evans so it can't be my looks ) that he would take the time and the effort to meet up with me each time I call? Isn't it odd that an obviously gay man and a straight/ambisexual/gay vague man would meet up on a regular basis?

Not sure how I'll ever know the answer for certain... well, unless I strip him down in the gym shower and go at him with my wicked tongue. But if he's still partially in the closet, I'd still likely end up with a fist in my eye ( at the very least ). Then again, I might escape unscathed from his wrath since the man has claimed to be a wimpy pacifist ( so why the hell hasn't he offered to make love not war? ).

So what do I do when I have such funny semi-suicidal thoughts in my head? I head for my blessed sanctuary, the one place I can clear my mind in peace and solitude ( sort of ), breathe a little while and think. The shopping mall. Sigh!

So after I found out that I had a free two days and my ex ( yes, my ISO is still very much alive, never fear! ) had a hotel room in Johor Bahru, I packed my bags and headed down south. What can I say? Wingedman Will's saucy bits about his latest Singapore expedition and his exploits with various hot dogs left me a little homesick for Orchard Road.

So that's where I've been for the past two days or so, blowing my recently resuscitated finances on Christmas gifts. Somehow or rather my ISO - who knows way more about the techno stuff than me - has managed to rig up his computer to be able to surf online somehow. Evil bastard but still a brilliant bastard. Then again, anyone would know much more than me since I actually know nothing :) Almost embarassed to say this but it's actually taken me a while to even master messaging on the cell. Don't even ask me about multimedia messaging.

Perhaps Love

It is late and I just returned from a movie. Has been a while since I've actually been to a Chinese movie in the cinema - as in a Mandarin/Cantonese speaking movie. Usually I save it for the Chinese New Year when a whole rowdy group of my cousins block book a few rows to catch whatever dumb flick is opening that night. Last year I caught the worst movie in the world with my cousins ( and that's a fucking two hours I'd lost that I'll never regain and as one of the eldest, I paid for the lost hours! ), a horrible Chinese flick called Himalaya Singh that is so bad that the director should be taken out and executed by a firing squad.


Takeshi Kaneshiro... meltingly hot hunk

Still this time, I didn't have much of a choice since a bunch of abnormally patient preschool critters stood in line at the cinemas for hours ( seeing that it's a freaking school holiday! ) waiting to open a musty wardrobe. So the wonderful world of Narnia - should I say endless winter - remained closed to Barry and me.

So I ended up pondering the constancy of love.

Ten years this guy waited for his girl to return his love. Ten freaking years, people! Perhaps it really is love.

Midnight movies

It's official. I am an old man.

Certainly not complaining about the age this time since I'm getting used to the fact that I am approaching 30 on a rollicking non-stop roller coaster... much too fast to get my freaking brakes on so what the heck. I'll get there being the great guy that I am ( yeah, I'm feeling full of conceit today :) ). Still I remember when I was younger and able to stay up till all hours without feeling the pinch.

Two intriguing movies are opening tonight at some ungodly hour tonight... Perhaps Love and the Chronicles of Narnia. My first thought when I read the papers was who the heck could possibly attend the screening at midnight apart from hapless street hookers and zealous movie zombies ( and Clay! )?

And then I received the oddest call this evening from Barry who actually wants to go! The man works six days a week from 8 in the morning till almost 8 in the evening and he's still up for a movie at midnight?! Where does he get the energy? What the hell are they feeding the boy/man? Not only is Big Bicep Barry older but he's obviously filled with far more stamina than me - must be all that obsessive weightlifting and freakin' disgusting veggie juice that he guzzles occasionally - since he's still raring to go at midnight! The musclebound freak! :)

Despite the fact that I'm dying to watch both movies ( did you guys know that I'm obsessed with the movies? ), I'm a practical kinda guy though so I said no. Not only do I have work tomorrow, I don't need a recurring sleep debt to knock me out at work - especially when I already have leaking anaesthetic gases to do the job for me.

I guess I am more than a little morbidly obsessed with my sleep - or the sheer lack of it. Since I've always had a problem with sleep ( the fucking insomnia, dammit! ), I guard my precious REM and non-REM hours jealously and jump straight into bed almost religiously at the same hour on a daily basis. Guess Barry wouldn't know that. :)

Still. Yum. Did I mention his stamina?

Matchmaking mamas

Once in a while I moan about the fact that I don't have any potential candidates for a lover but that's where I'd be lying. In fact I actually have more than a few. Unfortunately... although I am looking for someone sweet, funny, charming and masculine, my overly ambitious nurses seem to excel in covering all the bases except the last. Yeah, the masculine part seems to have been conveniently misplaced in their criteria.

Yes. Following the old cliche of eligible doctors ( who must be married off at all costs! ), these budding matchmaking mamas do actually throw their marriageable daughters at me.

Unfortunately I'm not much into catching them. Any other straight guy would have been puffed up in their conceit but I was unmoved. Impersonating a Chinese matchmaker of the past, one of the more persistent biddies shoved a photo album of her darling daughter at me today, extolling her manifold virtues. Not only can the girl quote molecular biology, she can also cook a gourmet meal, sing operatic arias and rescue little stray dogs from speeding buses. Okay, so I am exaggerating more than a little. As I spent my time trying my best to assume some modicum of interest, I started squirming uneasily on my seat since it was highly embarassing for me - and I would assume somewhere in the hallowed halls of a English college, a poor innocent girl is blushing right to her ears.

However I did my best in turning the offer down, claiming a prior engagement. I bit my tongue to keep myself from blurting out the fact that an eligible son or nephew would have been more palatable to my taste.

Okay. A moment to ponder the image of Chris Evans naked and oiled on a platter with grapes. Sigh.

See why I need a permanent boyfriend to ward away such attempts?

Cellular

Talking about bad calls, well that's what I had last night. Literally running ragged all day long till 8 this morning and it's been damned tiring. Lots of careless boys on rusty bikes and a handful of amnesiac octogenarians who conveniently forget their medications ( What? I still have hypertension? I am shocked.. oh whoa, what's that pain in my chest! ). Okay, I shouldn't be making fun of them ( poor taste, I know! ) but these are the times when I wish curfews and severe punishments were placed on some patients :)


Dude, didja see my husband Paul? Seem to have misplaced him.

Managed to resurface sometime late in the evening just in time to catch my future husband, Chris Evans, running around in a tight red tee wrapped deliciously around that muscular torso. Damned lucky shirt. He does manage to get the T-shirt off for a few moments but certainly not long enough in my opinion.

Somehow or rather the poor guy gets an inconvenient phone call on his cellular from a damsel in distress unsurprisingly locked up in an attic. Since he's a pretty sexy, delicious ( in a wanna-slather-him-in-honey-and-lick-every-inch-kinda-way ) but utterly self-involved fella, he dismisses the call initially but once his nascent conscience starts kicking in, he finds himself getting in way over his head over kidnapping plans and a buncha thickheaded thugs lead by another dead-sexy... Jason Statham.

Still it was interesting watching my darling hubby play around with his fabulous Nokia - and all the added functions. For a technohimbo who has only recently mastered the art of SMS, it is certainly incredible to see exactly what the cellular can do. At work, I see my colleagues tweaking their PDAs and their cellphones, sending e-mail, MMS and God-knows-what. Downloading videos, taking pictures and stuff is certainly mind-boggling enough for me :) Hell, what next are they going to think of!

More than a lil green

A lazy Saturday spent in bed certainly warrants two posts in a day. Actually missed a wedding today and I am still feeling a little guilty about it. Not that it was a really close friend of mine but still...

What can I say? Each time I attend a wedding, I can't help but feel that slight pang of jealousy that someone has finally found their significant other, their soulmate, the person they're going to spend the rest of their lives with and hopefully the same someone they're able to share their thoughts, hopes and feelings with. And horrible thought it may sound, I sometimes feel myself wondering what the hell's wrong with me. Hey, I like myself - egoistic though that might have sounded - but I can't help wondering about my obvious inadequacies when I find myself still single when a number of my peers have been snapped up like so much IKEA items on a megasale. And honestly ( and I feel like a monster here! ) some of them are irregular, uneven, used benches and chairs that should have been better put to the trash compactor.


My God. The Couch!

Sure, I wouldn't put myself in the range of high-end Italian designer leather furniture since I'm more the regular, utilitarian stools on sale in the IKEA bargain basement but hey, I'm at least still salvageable. And a new coat of paint will jazz the stool up anytime.

So anyone out there in need of furniture?

Pirates and Scissors

On evenings that I find myself relatively free, I occasionally cruise around the town hunting for the locations of pirates. Certainly not the swarthy, swashbuckling types equipped with swords and eye patches but the more mundane kind that we find here. The rough, fast-talking, dyed-blond Chinese boys ( why are they usually Chinese btw? :) ) who lean over overcrowded tables to advertise their wares. And as much as I'd like to play with their ample wares, I usually ask only for their stash of pirated discs.

Sure, such piracy isn't as common as it is in other bigger cities such as Kuala Lumpur but Malacca does have its share of notorious pirated dvd stalls. Not that easy to find anymore but still they are still around - in various secluded nooks and crannies that I shall not divulge in case some overzealous cop is reading this. Due to the recent crackdown in such illegal activies, the pirates have become more than a little paranoid and their shifty, furtive eyes frequently scan their environs, waiting to make a quick getaway in case the boys in blue come on their witchhunt.

But I actually hope they manage to survive. We do need them after all.

It's not the price - although I do find the prices a little steep for my taste. But what I object most is to the censorship - and it seems that the government has finally come to realize that one of the reasons we all flock to the bootleg discs is because of the heavily censored movies shown here. As all of us know, the censorship board in this country have talents ( to slice and dice ) that would do Edward Scissorhands proud - and I have certainly ranted about it before. For some inexplicable, the censorship board here persists in the assumption that Malaysians are innocent, simple country folk whose naivete is only rivalled by a convent of cloistered nuns in the inhospitable Himalayas and even worse, so terribly weak in their principles to be swayed easily by the slightest hint of immoral sex, gratuitous violence and undemocratic politics. Still their editing certainly has warped values and at times, it seems they would prefer us to watch gruesome scenes of victims being butchered mercilessly rather than a gentle kiss between two consenting adults. Obviously Make War not Love is their motto.

Okay. Deep breath.

This Big Brother mentality certainly gets on my nerves sometimes. As much as I would like to support the artists ( who I assume are already making enough driving in their pimped Cadillacs and living in their Bel Air mansions ), I would also prefer not to have an overzealous guardian watching over me - and editing out portions that they deem unfit for viewing.



And if they had their way, I certainly wouldn't ever have a chance to watch Brokeback Mountain. A film with two cowboys in love? Good heavens. What could possibly happen if the film was shown here? In the simplistic minds of the censors, they immediately extrapolate nightmarish visions where all the men in the country are irrevocably turned to their dark gay side giving in to their animalistic impulses after watching the two cowboys canoodling in the mountains. Wild, immoralistic decadence would prevail over their so-called traditional values and civilization as we know it would slide slowly into hell.

Seriously. Does that actually come to pass? As much as I'd enjoy the titillating fantasy, I don't think any of my straight friends are likely to switch sides and leap into the sack with me if they were to watch two guys kissing. If that actually worked, I'd be far too busy trying to convert Chris Evans to my side.

I, for one, am waiting to watch Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal find love in the mountains - and lately, hunting down pirates in dark lanes seem to be the only way to go.

Financial insolvency

Today I finally got a huge load off my shoulders. During a short break at work, I went to the bank ( such an adult thing! ) and paid off my huge credit card bill. Astronomical actually especially after the terrible blow dealt by my absolutely insane expenditure in Turkey. With the amount of cash I spent in Turkey - thereby lending aid to the bustling local economy, they should have gift-wrapped a gorgeous Turk for me to bring home along with the Turkish Delights.

That would certainly have been a consolation after receiving the hefty VISA bill last month. Instead I was left with several amazing rugs, a couple of lamps - and nervous palpitations each time I drove by the bank, keeping my guilt-ridden face carefully hidden from view with a variety of ingenious disguises. I freely admit it. I am one of those obsessive, tight-assed weirdos who actually pay their credit card bills in full every month - thereby incurring the incredulous wrath of the devious bank credit managers.

But I didn't do so last month. It was the first time in almost five years.

How could I possibly do so! The sum was astronomical and sadly enough, I don't earn in a month ( a year? ) what Bill Gates makes in a minute. Or even what the Wingedman makes ( can you tell that I am envious as hell :) ) Surely I am debunking the patently false myth of doctors making money hand over fist but that's all a huge lie perpetuated to lure innocent students into the heinous world of medicine. Although there are a handful of high flyers in the private hospitals having sinful bags of money thrown at them, the rest of us working doctors are usually paid a pittance in comparison.

It is barely enough to support the lifestyle of a goldfish - much less me :) Which is why I actually depend on the kindness of strangers - and occasionally my ISO - for free meals. Half the time I feel like prostituting myself just to make ends meet ( it's an honest living, dammit! ) but I doubt I'd even earn a decent buck.

Maybe if I looked as good as Chris Evans.