May Day Sales

With my odd, uncharacteristic penchant for shopping, it would surprise you all to know that I actually eschew any and all sales. Or at least the first day of the sale. Somehow or rather, fending off a dozen or so screaming frenzied lady shoppers / datins / tai tais, shoving aside their respective bodyguards and slapping their hands away from the valuable merchandise just doesn't seem as fun - especially when it's followed by literal trail of shopaholics waiting to pay at the counter.

Not my idea of fun which is why it was certainly not my plan to hit the May Day Sales. Since Big Bicep Barry happened to be in town on that day - and didn't show any abhorrence to tangling with the crazed fashionistas, we went to the sale. As you might have guessed, I carry the member card of almost every chain department store ( and several chain stores too ) in the country - except for Kamdar and I'm not sure why exactly I never got around to it! - so I regularly receive brochures and newsletters on the latest sales which leaves me drooling in envy especially when I'm literally miles away.

Including the pre-sale held in Isetan last night. As you all know, pre-sales are held to be THE sale to go to - where prices are liberally slashed like Freddy Krueger's out on a gruesome killing spree at a sorority of giggles. Wannabe KL fashionistas literally raid the store leaving counters like MNG looking like a war-torn zone in Iraq - and the salesgirls left resembling confused, bewildered orphans wandering the empty shelves with their mouths agape. Certainly a sight to savour, I'm sure.


What should have been on sale instead!
Still yesterday was another milestone in my road to full adulthood. Whereas before I'd be getting my fill of tight jeans along with the one-size-too-small baby tees that gay men favour, this time I took my time going through the rows of business shirts, khakis and cufflinks with the rest of the workaholic salarymen. Raoul was having a sale after all. God, I am getting old! Got a couple of button-down shirts but six-packs like the ones above weren't for sale.

Oh yeah, about my non-skanky resolve the day before? Was good while it was lasted but it got boring fast. Just for fun, I pinched Barry's nipple as we waited at the counter. Nothing sexual. Just to freak him out. The nipple happened to be there calling me but I innocently claimed I was reaching for the parking ticket in his pocket. Not sure if he believed me though.

What can I say? I get my jollies from freaking people out.

The Good Samaritan

Bless the Lord and all the Saints above. I've finally received something akin to a revelation tonight. Sensing that I'm desperately eager to be emancipated from my undeservedly wanton reputation, fellow blogger Studly Shiong has seen fit to whisper wet words into my ear about why I haven't received my share of commandments from up above. A fellow Samaritan, that boy - despite having a taste for spirits in drowned glasses.

According to his wise words - to achieve my own personal nirvana, I shall have to refrain from any mention of the s word ( hell, you know the one I mean! ) - or any particularly salacious reference to the naughty act that Adam and Steve did behind Eve's back just underneath that infamous tree in the Garden of Eden. My thoughts have to be as pure as the red-vested cardinals in the hallowed halls of Vatican City ( hmm, I doubt that but still I get the point... )

So I shall be a good boy tomorrow. No mention of muscular arms or tight tees. No tugging men's nipples. No whispering sly comments in their ears. No saucy winks at Big Bicep Barry or Handsome Hui.

Tomorrow, I shall sit demurely with my hands folded on my lap and only talk about the weather, what we had for breakfast and what's playing on television. Normally I would also mention the fact that the guy in the picture looks like he'd be a good tumble in bed ( with pinchable nipples ) but I shan't.

That's because I'm a good boy. By hell or high water, I shall prevail!

The Undeserved Scarlet Letter

You know what they say about reputations. Like a leech that grows each time it feeds once it sticks to you, it's almost impossible to shake it off - and somehow along the way due to no fault of mine I'm sure, I've managed to pick up an undeservedly skanky reputation! Just how did that happen!

Not sure what it is about me - perhaps a lecherous face ( which I have come to seriously doubt since I'm Mr Plain Average here ), something about the way I write ( is it particularly salacious? ) or perhaps my easy, frank way of talking leads people to assume that I'm a tramp / slut who readily bends over each time the soap falls in the shower. Sadly though, the rumours simply aren't true. Unfortunately, hot eligible bachelors are not banging down my door, my Turkish rugs are not worn out by the boots walking in ( old rugs, I swear! ) - and I really don't have a revolving door attached at the back for easy exits either ( and take this literally dammit! ).


Gee, I heard Paul is joining us! That true?
Hell, last time I even did anything particularly X-rated was four months back - which is seriously a lifetime in gay men time. By that token, I'm practically a celibate saint ( albeit a saint who tweaks men's nipples when they're not looking but that's just friendly fun, isn't it?! ). Hell, I'm already halfway to joining the monastery.

As I was totally unaware of my stained reputation, this only came to my attention when Handsome Hui and I had a discussion about home decor - or should I have said the disheartening lack of his. Stray rats and spiders simply aren't fit pets! Somehow or rather he stumbled onto some mention of my infamous Balinese door.

Hui : Curious about your door though.
Paul : You should just come over and check it out. Perhaps have a sleepover.
Hui : Hmmm.. and what exactly did you mean by that?
Paul : Huh?
Hui : Yeah, I know what you want. Saint Wicked.
Paul : GASP! What did you mean? It's only a sleepover, not an orgy!
Hui : That's what they always say.

I swear I didn't make any moves - didn't even reach over and lick his ear! :)

Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe

Most of us don't actually end up following the dreams we once made as little kids thinking our deep thoughts back in preschool. A pilot. A doctor. A fireman. And sometimes the dreams that we follow don't actually turn out to be what we wanted it to be.

Back in university when I was crammed in together with a bunch of high-flying, overambitious medical students who would give up an arm ( as long as it's not the one holding the scalpel! ) and a leg to be doctors, I found it utterly nerve-wracking. The boys and girls over there literally ate, slept and dreamt of medicine only - and yet once I started work, bitter disillusionment seems to have crept in amongst my colleagues in the hospital, surprisingly even amongst those who have just started their lives as doctors. Inhuman working hours, the neverending back-biting politics and the everpresent stress at work seems to have dimmed the lustre on many of my friends' rosy dreams.

Yet for me, it has turned out almost the opposite. Medical school was never my first choice. If I had my way, I'd have certainly found my way to art school in a second but after weighing my choices, I obeyed my practical brain instead of the zany impulses of my fickle heart. Let's face it, doctors might be poorly paid but it's still a relatively stable career - in comparison to being a struggling, nameless artist.

Sure, I might occasionally - hell, always - gripe about the stress at work but in my quieter moments, I would admit that I finally do enjoy what I do. It would never have occurred to me back in the pressure cooker of medical school that I would actually enjoy medicine.

Still, that doesn't mean I've stopped dreaming. As he voiced out his dissatisfaction at work during dinner, Big Bicep Barry's woes triggered off a certain dream that I've always held - but never actually realized in my conscious moments. The man asked what I'd always wanted to do and I had this vision of what I wanted clear in my mind. And it had nothing to do with having him hot and naked on my couch.

Shopping has always been a passion of mine, bargaining certainly one of my hobbies and since I come from a line of shopkeepers, I've always wondered what it would be like to have a shop of my own. Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe as it may. Something small and cosy selling books, antiques and the odd curio.

Anyone care to invest in a dream?

Gym myths

During my workdays, I live something close to a vampiric life and find it almost impossible to face the sun. After all I wake up too early for the sun to rise, spend the rest of my day cooped up in a dark labyrinthine office which is shielded and then by the time I get back, I find the sun already fast sinking in the far horizon. Sometimes I start to wonder whether getting hit directly by the rays of the sun might just make me sizzle and spark before decomposing into a pile of forgotten dust. Not exactly the best way to get an all-over tan.

Which isn't what I'm looking for anyway. Although getting dark has never seemed to be much of a problem for me since I tan easily, it has never occurred to me that there are Asian boyz out there who actually wish to get darker. Comes as quite a surprise to me since it's been the usual sociopolitical gripe that a number of Asians have this odd post-colonial hang-up over being preternaturally fair. Rather than being naturally tanned as their wont, they lather on tons of moisturising creams and skin whitening solutions hoping to resemble the pale, anaemic creatures of the Underworld. Generous amounts of sunblock with SPF 1000 are layered on to hide their magnolia skin from the damaging rays of the sun.

That doesn't seem to be the case for the obsessive gym freaks however. Since I heard it from at least three unbiased sources in as many days, I figure it had to be pretty true. It occurred during a sunblock purchasing expedition that turned into an educational experience for me. Instead of getting the highest possible SPF, my surfer dude pal decided on a cheap skin lotion that's just masquerading as a sunblock ( such minimal SPF that it might as well not have any protection! ). According to the surprisingly well-read Big Bicep Barry, getting an all-over tan helps accentuate the contours of the body and enhance the muscle definition.

Whoa now, is that true? Perhaps if I sat in the sun an hour longer each day and got a shade darker, I'd look more defined!

Island Chase

Since Big Bicep Barry took off for his biannual dose of sun, sand and sea recently, it actually gave me the inspiration to check out some surfers. Online that is. Being at home certainly doesn't stop me from shopping at all. Especially these days with so many online stores available at the click of a button.

Since I live only minutes away from the nearest beach, the allure of the sandy beaches have never been all that clear to me. One or two days lazing at the beach with a good novel in hand sounds alright by me but any longer than that and I'd grow heartily bored. That doesn't seem to be the ase for Barry - who simply adores the sea - and of course for Kimo Kanapa'aka.

Browsing along the shelves online, I found the tale of a sexy, macho detective in Hawaii who leaps on a surfboard on his off days. Oh yeah, and Kimo's also gay by the way. Amid the tropical flowers and the thundering surf, this hard-boiled cop battles sexual discrimination as he finds himself inadvertently outed in the middle of his most dangerous case yet. Like any good mystery, there are interesting subplots simmering apart from the main plot, a host of faintly mysterious characters - and as always the omnipresent role that the Hawaiian islands play in the background.

And at the end of the day hoping to forget his troubles, Kimo takes to the sea with a surfboard in hand. Since I'm not such a strong swimmer, it never occurred to me to even try surfing although I've always admired the ease and skill - alright, and the bodies - of the surfers I've seen.

Paul : So have you ever surfed?
Barry : I am poor. I can barely afford scuba diving!
Paul : Liar.
Barry : My camera fell in the ocean. I am poor.
Paul : Start a donation box. Sort of a Save Barry's Camera Fund.
Barry : Good idea. And how much would you give?
Paul : Depends on the going rate.
Barry : I think I'd need more than that from you.

See why I have the sudden interest in surfing?

What about Hui?

It took me a while to realize that I am not a minimalist fan. When I first purchased my own place, I seriously imagined that the plain simple Scandinavian modern ethic would suit me so I shopped around with that in mind. After all if IKEA suited thousands of other gay men, why not me? After a few weeks of haunting design showrooms, I realized that the clean-cut lines, the white, blond wood and the light pastels didn't suit me at all. If there's a way to describe my style, it has to be the exotic romantic - a touch of the Paris Apartment chic, the Shanghai Bordello glamour and the sweet spice of the Indian harem. I like bold, saturated colours, sheer silk and organza, chandeliers and Turkish lamps, gleaming gold and copper.

Nothing plain for me, that's for sure. Sheer, unadulterated decadence which is certainly a hallmark of a Scorpio male. No matter where I live, I tend to leave my mark... feathering my nest if you will. Perhaps a wall tapestry here, new draperies here, a carpet here, a Turkish lamp at the side.

Obviously not everyone shares my opinion on interior decorating.


Someone needs my advice sorely!
Not everyone's invited to this eligible bachelor's swinging pad but I finally had the opportunity to visit Handsome Hui in his cave - and I finally understand why he doesn't exactly throw wild, uninhibited parties over at his humble abode. Not only is it humble, it's certainly a cave.

Living in squalor was the best I could come up with as I shook my head in sheer disbelief. Apart from his somewhat well-maintained but spartan bedroom ( I say that kindly ), the rest of his home seems to have been left to ill disrepair - if not disrepute. Not only did the front porch look as if it'd been firebombed during the Iraqi invasion and the lawn flash-fried by the following inferno, there was an odd rusted swing set that looked almost ominous rattling with the chilly breeze. Thick cobwebs lined the edges of his living room ala Shelob's cave, crater-deep pockmarks dotted the walls and there was a prickly eerie sense that I'd literally entered a stereotypical long abandoned haunted house.

Confronted him on his sad housekeeping skills and urged him to seek an interior decorator - if not an exorcism - as soon as possible. Told him that his house certainly wasn't fit for human habitation ( since it was obviously a danger to everyone's mental and physical health ) and should be immediately fumigated. The sole tenant himself should be stripped to the skin, thrown into a steaming shower and scrubbed hard ( okay, I didn't say that but I certainly thought about it - it's five seconds after all and I had to think of naked men )

Justly reprimanded, Hui grinned as is his wont and I decided to spare him my petty judgements for a little while at least. What can I say? Cute boys in shorts always win me over.

Back to School Meme

Not sure where the rest of you guys got this School Meme but since Wingedman Will tagged me, I'm obliged to reply in kind - despite being maligned mercilessly :)

How many schools did you go to?
That's easy enough to answer, I guess. Went to an all-boys missionary school - extremely common in these parts of the world actually. Unfortunately unlike cheap gay orn, nothing untoward ever happened that I ever knew. Cute boys showered and divested themselves of clothes but no sucking and slurping noises followed immediately afterward. Still, school was an idyllic time for me :) Since we were all classmates since primary, we didn't exactly have all that many cliques in school.

Was I the studious nerd or the last minute hero?
Despite what most might think, not all doctors headed the nerd team back in school. Although my hideous homely features would suggest my inclusion into that select group, I was actually on the fringes of the goody-two-shoes group - and there were actually a number of others who would certainly qualify for biggest nerd. I was probably what would count as a last minute hero back then. Always cracked the books at the last moment. Oddly enough, despite my sadly average results in school, I somehow slipped through the cracks to enter medical school.

Only started mugging on a daily basis when I hit medical school and realized everyone else there was an exiled mutant nerd 'I'd chop off my left arm to be a doctor' from hell. Totally different world over there but I learned to survive amongst the mutant nerds.

Was I the class 'taiko' (troublemaker) or the teachers' pet?
Outwardly I guess people would expect me to be an angel but that's only if you don't notice my wicked streak. Played pranks like crazy all the time but I wasn't the class troublemaker that's for sure. I was smart enough even then to make sure that I didn't get caught of course. Reason enough that I never actually became a prefect even though I did go for the interview. So I became one of the rotating class monitors which is even worse btw.

What was the biggest rule I broke in school.
Umm... it's not exactly something I'm proud of and slightly illegal so I'm not gonna mention it. Still I did other more mundane stuff such as planting gum on seats, sawing off the legs on the stools, left dye on the prefect's white trousers and generally being quite the pest. Half the bigger boys wanted to beat me up, I'm sure, but I had really fast feet except that one time when I came back with bruises ( don't even ask about the other guy ). In comparison to those days, I'm practically a dead boring saint now.

Three subjects I enjoyed the most
English. An obvious choice since I loved to write even then. Always enjoyed penning little essays and poems to the delight of my teachers - who always thought I'd probably amount to nothing :)

Art. Another obvious choice since I've always loved sketching and doodling on the exercise books. Used to pencil out cunning caricatures of the teachers who most annoyed me - and then drew real-life stakes running through them. Yes. I was vicious even then. Of course I've improved vastly on that with my recurrent tragic endings for Bountiful Betty.

History. Something about it always intrigued me. What happened to others in the past? What they did? What they wore? What inspired them? All these questions have always made me wonder and I readily devoured every history book given to me. Certainly outstripped my teachers in certain fields of history.

And no, I didn't enjoy science all that much. Despite what I'm doing right now, I've actually always leaned towards the arts.

Three teachers that inspired me
Seriously. None. Can't imagine a single teacher who actually inspired me. No hotties either.

Not gonna tag anyone in particular so anyone who wishes to many write :) Sure most of y'all have had some hijinks in school so tell me all about it!

Singing your heart out

Sometimes outwardly friends simply really have nothing in common. He's an alfalfa-munching, weight-lifting sales exec and I'm a chocolate-cake-eating, internet blogging freak. With Big Bicep Barry's obsession for diving and photography and my obsession with interior decorating and hardcovers, it seems that the twain shall never meet. Except of course for our shared predilection for movies - and recently American Idol.

Come on, who hasn't blogged about the Idol by now? For once I'm gonna name my favourite since he doesn't seem to have caught on with the rest of the American audience ( and I have a feeling he isn't going to be around till the end since popularity polls always have him scraping the bottom ). To those who have commented on the smooth shiny exteriors of the hunks I have on my blog, let me present Elliott Yamin who is far from the gleaming, air-brushed gym-bod perfection that you normally see here. Don't be shocked but I'm not all that shallow :) For me, I think he has one of the smoothest, clearest voices ever - and certainly stands heads and shoulders above the other male singers in the contest presently.


Unfortunately, his shy sincerity, his slightly hunched attitude and his admittedly quirky looks doesn't seem to have impressed the American voters. They like their contestants bright, bold and brash and let's face it, the man is certainly no pretty swan out to sway the audience with his good looks ( for some quick male eye candy we have the irrepressible Ryan Seacrest after all ) - and a quick dental appointment after the show wouldn't be amiss for him.

One comment I gotta make is on the judges. It is always odd to see the stern judge Simon Cowell being booed down for his admittedly nasty, acerbic comments. Let's be honest here, it wouldn't be at all uncommon over here in Asia. Not that I'm a fan of tough love but overblown praise is certainly a no-no over here and more often than not, the comments we normally receive at work and school do sound eeriely similar to Simon's worst taunts. Never liked it of course but honestly though I'd much prefer well placed, constructive advice rather than neverending, seemingly sincere sugar coated comments.

Then again, I'm a Scorpio.

Ballsy men

With the recent talk on the upcoming football world cup, it always surprises me that I've never actually gotten involved with sports of any kind. Most guys I know at work seem to be utterly obsessed with the beautiful sport and here I am, a guy who wouldn't even have ESPN at home if it hadn't come as a package together with the other news networks. Sure I'm an interior-decorating, cookie-baking homosexual with a particular distaste for perspiration ( unless it comes with Chris Evans on a platter ) - and therefore sports but that doesn't mean I didn't mandhandle my share of balls in my time.


Somehow back in school, I never really got into the spirit of football. Sure the obvious advantages of ogling virile male eye-candy in really short shorts were abundant but after a while, all those bulging thighs and biceps tend to pale in comparison to the sheer boredom of trailing the spotted ball across the sea of green. Seeing that ball scatter from one end of the field to another has me slipping into a semi-comatose stupor in bare seconds - and not even Michael Owen undressing to a skimpy athletic jock can keep me awake.


Come do the haka!
Rugby is more my style since to be honest I like it rough occasionally - and there's nothing more violent and exciting than a hollering bunch of brawny brutes ready to wrestle you over just to get their hands on your ball. Leaves you with a few muddied bruises at the end but I have to admit it's worth it. Not only do I get to pound my frustrations on the nearest musclepacked idiot but I get to rub thighs with him in the mud too. A win-win situation if you ask me. Truth to tell, it's also one of the only games I've actually bought a ticket to watch.

Still, the sport I played often enough in school was hockey. Can see all you guys staring agog at the computer screen but it's actually true - not saying I did it all that well but I actually played hockey for at least 4 years back in school. Tennis and badminton was out for me since I had zero hand to racket to ball coordination. Found it much easier to handle a stick.

Perhaps the words dribbling drew my attention - or perhaps I always knew that I'd have the forbidden inclination to run after hunky athletes with a hard wooden stick. Nothing like wielding a powerful stick to ward off would-be opponents who wished to wrest my ball away from me - then again sometimes if they were hot enough, I tried to give them some leeway. :)

Grey's Anatomy

Don't worry, the recent Holy Week hasn't inspired me to meditate in relative seclusion on a hillside sanctuary about the mind-boggling vagaries of unfaithful homosexual men. And I haven't actually gone insane and taken up a certain someone's impulsive last-minute invitation to go diving on some island resort. Apart from the obvious advantages of staring at half-naked male eye candy, I doubt I can imagine myself lugging oxygen tanks for hours just to ruminate in the deep dark sea while communing with the blubbering fish. Just not me.

Far from it actually. Apart from wild insane bouts of retail therapy ( I got a pair of lovely leather stools from Sri Lanka! ), I've actually been spending the weekend with my ISO clearing some of my increasingly mounting DVD debt. Really. There are so many new movies and television series nowadays that I wanna watch - and yet I hardly have the time to do any of those things which is why I have a towering skyscraper of DVDs just waiting on my desk. Figured I'd better get down to the task before they toppled over on an unsuspecting visitor.

Perfectly innocent weekend honestly. No lewd propositions or uncalled-for gropes despite what you guys might think ( seriously, how did innocent boring old me suddenly develop a thoroughly undeserved reputation? ). The only thing even vaguely sexual was a brief moment when I wrestled my ISO onto the carpet for the remote when he complained that he'd had enough of the melodrama on television. The man certainly doesn't have any respect for boundaries. :)

Watching medical dramas always make me sigh and recall my hectic days as an intern - or lowly house officers as they are called here. I frequently tell those who care enough to ask that my first year of internship turned out to be the most interesting and eventful year in my life and yet there is no way I would ever want to relive those crazy, wild, insane days of course ( I don't even know how I managed to go through that living nightmare! ). Working 48 hours in a stretch call with no sleep and then running down to manage the problematic patients in the clinic - all that with an empty stomach and the early symptoms of a flu coming on.

It surely brings up bittersweet memories when I see the enthusiastic interns battling it out in Grey's Anatomy. Though from recent revelations I now realize that we did have our share of scandalous exploits back then just like the lusty interns in Seattle Grace, not everything turns out to be true in reality. For one thing, none of the other interns ever looked that good ( not even in their dreams! ) and surely we had way nastier residents who literally chewed up upstart interns for breakfast but I believe we all shared the same hopes, fears and dreams as we embarked on the first year of the rest of our lives. Seems like such a terribly long time ago now but looking back, I'd have to say that it was a good year.

Not sure how the rest of my colleagues would classify me but I guess I'd have to say that depending on the hour, I'm a cross between the cool, nasty bitchiness of Christina and the sweet, inane goofiness of George. Didn't know what the hell I was doing at all in the beginning - our first day of work is akin to being tossed into the deep end of a vast Olympic swimming pool while everyone else assumes that you can swim - but I struggled on nonetheless since there wasn't much else I could do. Learnt some nifty moves of my own along the way but I'm still pretty much an amateur wading carefully in that vast pond.

Barry's Kryptonite

Since I felt pretty safe with a disapproving someone far away on a short holiday - and certainly not close enough to give me his disappointed sighs and blank stares of recrimination - I decided to take a wild risk! True to his surfer dude attitude, Big Bicep Barry has decided to take off for a weekend of sun, sand and sea, armed with his board shorts ( not skimpy Speedos unfortunately ) and his new camera. You might be asking about me - but hell, do I seem to you like a guy who goes surfing?

Still, I confirmed his position by sms several irritating times but still kept a watch just in case he lied, the sneaky bastard, and jumped on me to prevent my bad behaviour. Making sure that none of his erstwhile gym buddies were watching, I sneaked out of the house and made my way to the nearest joint for my cholesterol fix. Should have been safe enough surely since no alfalfa-munching, desperately-dieting gym freak would even hang around close to such depraved communities. It might be his Kryptonite after all but for me it was sinful, delicious fried chicken that I could really take a bite into.

Poultry abuse. Growth hormones. Cholesterol. Fuck all that. Let's just say the good ol' Colonel surely knew what to do with his eleven herbs and spices.


Fine. It's a watermelon but have you seen a guy with those pecs eating fried chicken?
No way in hell I'm gonna get those six-packs now but if some seriously minging guys can get somehow bribe or sleep their way into Cleo's Most Eligible Bachelor List this year, I'm surely not all that bad. Certainly not chopped liver. Unfortunately even as I chowed down a chicken wing, none of the guys I knew seemed to support my wrongful doings.

Calvin : I'm eating crackers.
Sally : Snore.
Barry : How could you! It's evil!
My ISO : You're eating KFC again, aren't you? Bad boy.

Obviously I need new friends.

Road Hog

I'm a bad driver.

Really. As opposed to the faintly slanderous adage that lady drivers are the worst ever, I can honestly admit that I might be just a shade more dangerous than them. Not that I drive recklessly along the highways gunning down little children and old ladies hobbling helplessly across the road of course - though underaged kids careering mindlessly on motorcycles had better watch out if I ever run amuck!

Although I can't say that I blame them. There's nothing like letting loose on the road for once and... well, let me explain, I drive a small, compact little Honda car that's a smooth, easy ride. Since it's also a little low on the ground, it always irks Big Bicep Barry when he has to stoop to get inside so we decided to try his ride for once. For the uninitiated, the man drives a huge, black, hulking SUV which matches his bigger bulk - he claims it's essentially for his work but I think the coolness quotient had to be factored in. After all that battleship he drives guzzles up oil like Saddam was never ousted and squats like a mountain slammed onto the side of the road.

Barry : Here, take it.
Paul : You have gotta be kidding. It's so big!
Barry : Don't worry. I'm sure you can handle something this size easily.
Paul : That's what they always say!
Barry : Just take the keys and let's get going.
Paul : Fine. Just don't blame me if I hit the fender on a pillar or something.

Took a while to acclimatize to the thinner air up in his SUV after climbing up the steps. Let me tell you that maneuvering a freaking tank down the road is certainly an experience. Nothing like looking down from a superior height at the dinky cars driving beside - knowing that you could probably nudge them aside into the drain so terribly easily. Yeah, I'm a monster on the road. I know.


Roam if you want too...
After several death-defying Hollywood stunts as I road-hogged my way through the town - including a John Woo extravaganza as the nifty vehicle sailed over Malacca River after a bump on the bridge had us literally airborne for at least 4 seconds - a visibly shaken Barry reached over and held my hand down on the wheel. Trust me, all those workouts have given him really strong hands. Rather than a lewd proposal, all he had to say was this.

Barry : At least let me die after my dinner.

Maid in Malacca II

It's a public holiday tomorrow but surely not everyone's out there shaking their fine booty at the nearest gay bar with the thumpa thumpa music humping in the background? It always makes me wonder what other gay men do at home in the late evenings. Every once in a while, I get people onlne wondering why I'm always multitasking even while I'm sending messages through the net.

Simple enough to explain actually. In spite of what a significant minority of readers have inferred from my blog, I don't actually have a thousand men banging at my door wailing my name and asking for my hand in marriage. If that were true, there would be a tasteful gold band on my finger, there would be a sleek BMW ( hey, it's a fantasy! ) parked in my driveway and lovely gilt-edged, cream-coloured invitations would have been sent around to my friends and family for the June commitment ceremony.

Sigh.

More often than not, I find myself utterly bored crazy after work without any sort of social agenda in the offing which leaves me wandering the streets for a while before making my way home. Once I get back home from work, I'm usually swamped with a thousand little chores - literally sometimes! - to cover all by myself. Not only do I have to some light housework - perhaps even cook up a small snack for myself ( though my cooking skills still needs some polishing before I achieve cooking diva status ), I also take some time to go through some of the bills I receive and schedule some time for payment. Certainly part and parcel of becoming an adult! Then there's time for some light reading, perhaps a glance through the daily paper and then a quick runthrough of my medical textbooks.

After the boring, mundane tasks of everyday life, it's time to settle down for some of my more pleasurable tasks. Unfortunately none of the tasks involve hot, sizzling men with the bodies of Olympic athletes, the flexible spines of an eel and the morals of an alleycat rolling about on my Turkish rugs blissfully naked. It's usually either music, television or the internet - and frequently all three since I tend to only have an hour or two left on my hectic schedule for such sinful pleasures. Hard enough to concentrate on only one since I'm one of those guys who never seem to have enough hours in a day!

Yeah, I freely admit I've been a tv freak since I was a child and I usually follow a couple of television series almost religiously. Right now... it's LOST, 4400, Desperate Housewives, Supernatural, Charmed and then the occasional OC and One Tree Hill. That doesn't even count the comedies and the reality programmes yet. Yet I find myself irresistibly drawn to the lewd lures of the internet which is how I end up multitasking. Kinda the way I was watching LOST earlier, sipping hot chocolate, updating my blog and sending replies by email at the same time. That didn't even count the quick call I made to my mom on the cellphone while simultaneously typing with the other hand.

You might be wondering about my tv obsession but come on. Have you seen the all but irresistible Dr Jack Shepard lately? How could anyone not want a personal physical examination from that man? Now, that piece of hot manmeat is something I want knocking on my door :)

Dirty talk

For most of the doctors in the public hospitals, a regular day at work usually means hectic morning rounds, dealing with the various headaches - and patients - from the night before, clerking new patients at the various clinic and fending off the calls of insistent nurses. It doesn't leave much time for mindless gossip - that comes a little later at night when things start to slow down - and definitely doesn't allow for any sort of hanky panky seen in the lustful halls of television drama hospitals.

Or so I thought. As a guy - and a gay guy to boot, I'm usually oblivious to some of the rampant breeder couplings going on around me. Have a hot new male physician make his way through the corridors and my susceptible head would swivel around instantaneously but the neverending affairs of the female nurses / interns and their so-called betters somehow slip by me. Unfortunately amongst the male staff in the changing room, talk usually revolves around boring work - and the occasional near-obscene pornographic joke - but talk about relationships and personal lives are kept to the barest minimum. Hell, it might be general knowledge at work but no one whines about the fact that he's been cuckolded and left sexually starved at home with crying infants. Dammit. We're still guys after all.


So how about giving me a personal medical check-up tonight...
That is until my far more attuned female junior colleagues at work see fit to fill my innocent ears with the salacious goings-on at the hospital. Obviously girls tend to huddle together for a bit of gossip during their century-long visits to the ladies'. It always amazes me to hear exactly what goes on behind closed closet doors. Suffice to say, even the long-running soap General Hospital would find it hard to beat the reality.

Jealousy. Back-biting. Catfights. Scandalous extramarital affairs. Kinky sexual acts. Hunky male attendants rattling the beds with the nurses. Dreamy doctors who obviously dream of being cunning linguists taking oral exams together. Yes. We all have it here at work too.

Guess I joined the right line of work after all. If only I'd gotten my share of all that action. Sigh.

...***...

Just an addition to tell y'all to catch Gubra. Not only to support our budding Malaysian cinema - and the lovely storyteller, Yasmin Ahmad but also to watch a film that talks of love and betrayal - more often than not committed unto us by people who love us; not people who hate us.

Two distinct stories are told this time, one the tale of a bilal and his wife who befriend two prostitutes and also the continuation of Orked's story. For Orked's part of the tale, the ensemble cast from Sepet was brought back with the small addition of model Alan Yun as the brother of Orked's former flame. Despite Alan Yun's awkward acting, I have to say that at least he made some pretty male eye candy waking around shirtless in the hospital ( believe me, handsome hunks walking half naked in the hospitals are a rarity! ).

Spoilers here but you have to watch a hilarious scene where daring Orked makes a grab at Alan's hairy nipple. Can I admit that I was a bit of a cheap skank and did the same to Big Bicep Barry in the cinema? He did grin over at me however and asked sotto voce whether it was as hairy as Alan's.

Our neighbourhood clubkid

Two days is certainly long enough to get over my earlier transformation into the mindless sex-crazed beast and today I even managed to have a civil conversation with a cute guy without even fantasizing for a minute about dragging him over the lunch table for a quick bite. Thankfully, normal working hours with a lot more breathing space gives me the time and energy to turn away from the dark side - therefore enabling the return of my more sedate, conservative ( certainly less sex-obsessed ) alter ego.



Due to some scheduling conflicts, the odd circumstances at work have led to me and Handsome Hui sharing our daily lunch together this week and I've certainly taken the time to know the kid better. Needless to say, the desperate secrets pouring out would make Betty Applewhite seem almost boring. I'm sure everyone has their own dark, wicked sides and it's certainly no different for our boy here but what he confided in me stunned me. For a guy who maintains such a wholesome, all-Malaysian boy persona at work, no one could possibly guess that the weekend nights transforms him into a hip-shaking, booze-swilling clubkid.

Certainly comes as a surprise to me since I can't imagine anything more terrifying than heaps of sweaty, shirtless men packed to the brim in a steamy, smoky nightclub with the thumpa-thumpa music pounding in my ears. Talk about claustrophobic. No doubt I'd probably be raising my hand - not to enact the classic Travolta move but to be carried out of the heaving, steaming mass of manflesh and miles away from the techno-tronic hung-up disco divas with the hips that don't lie. Sure, you might wonder at my sudden sophomoric squeamishness over discos and loud music but lemme put it this way. Mindless marine orgies might sound fine in theory but after a while, the grunting, the sweating and the tangled limbs can get real old - and oddly enough I think I'd prefer a one-on-one encounter after all :) Just Chris Evans would do, pretty please.

Does that make me sound old? Stunned by my sudden old-fogey words, Hui certainly stared at me when I told him my own version of a nice outing. A handful of guys on a couch ( not in an entangled, half-naked jumble of muscular limbs on the couch as you'd expect but seated sedately in public ). Muted jazz in the background. Caffeine and light snacks. A little understated dive by the riverside.

You know what. I think that makes me officially an aging adult - and I actually don't mind all that much.

Milestones

As we walk down the path to adulthood, there are several stops that we make. Certain events that make a significant milestones in our lives. Our first paycheck. Our first car. Our first night. If attending weddings on a monthly basis seems to be a certain milestone that signifies certain adulthood, wearing black to the funeral of a friend's father is certainly another. Although a sadder milestone that comes with passing age.

Dressing up in sober colours for the solemn, sombre affair - as Shameless Shalom put it... ash gray, dust-to-dust brown and charcoal black - certainly marks the occasion and it's hard not feel how fragile mortals actually are when you're standing close enough to the crematorium to imagine - if not feel - the heat of the undying flames. And it had to come at a time when I'd just managed to finish the last season of Six Feet Under which had one of the most terribly final conclusions ever made for a television series :) Death certainly made itself felt in that last episode.



As a doctor, laypersons frequently ask me what it's like to work with death on an almost daily basis. With the hours I log in at the intensive care unit, it has become such a common daily occurrence that it's hard not to feel almost blasé over the fact that someone is actually dead. Fortunately, it's still almost and despite the trying situations I'm exposed to, I haven't turned dead inside yet. There are times when I still feel a slight pang but mostly I feel... a keen sense of how short life is and how much we should enjoy and appreciate how much time we have left here.

And how wonderful love can sometimes be - that it can last even beyond death.

All these sobering thoughts went through my head even as I wondered how anyone ( that Shalom! ) could possibly buy hideous blue dahlias for a funeral bouquet.

Losing my Inhibitions

I've mentioned the fact that urban legend states that men - being the oversexed horny dogs that they are- frequently fantasize about sex. Usually around the average of seven seconds at the least but on some days though, I find myself wondering whether it's more of a recurring thought with salient, logical, non-sexual thought-breaks in between. Man, we gotta breathe some time after all.

During the usual working hours, I'm the epitome of the conservative, boring average salaryman but after working round the clock, something happens to me just past midnight. Not that I start developing fur on my chest and start popping claws from my hands but it's a close enough metaphor. Don't know what it is about being being grumpy, overworked and sleep-deprived but it obviously lowers my sexual inhibitions quite significantly ( not that I had all that many inhibitions in place anyway ) and somehow even the most innocuous action starts to take on the most obscene connotations in my admittedly sex-soaked brain.

Then bit by bit, I slowly start to transform into one of the legendary creatures from a classic gay horror movie - the hooded, sex-crazed fiend who trails after gorgeous ( but admittedly silly ) young men in shower rooms with something long, hard and pointy. Even though I might be a groggy, semi-functioning zombie at the end of a grueling 24 work day, that doesn't make me any less dangerous to pretty young men... far from that actually since it actually makes me even more of a sex fiend.

Even guys who aren't usually my type start getting my juices churning.


Need some meat! Fresh manmeat!
Here's just an example of what kinda crazy-ass Jekyll monster I turn into when the clock strikes twelve. There was a particularly dishy intern Hairy Hafiz who came down to lend me a hand with one of the more problematic patients just past the witching hour. Just a routine examination and prep for transfer to the intensive care but damn, I found myself unable to keep my eyes off him. Even the mere wisp of jet black curls peeping out from the collar of his slightly torn tee was enough to get me going. Not that he was particularly irresistible Chris Evans like but that time of the night had turned my rampaging monster loose and I was just this close to shoving him into the nearest supply closet for a quick fuck.

And just this morning I almost fell on Handsome Hui's naked nape. Poor kid was just bending over to write some notes for the morning passover and I had this almost overwhelming urge to bite his neck. Even his passing mention of serving up some fresh milk in the pantry had me thinking up all sorts of salacious possibilities. Called me Saint Wicked again when I whispered my X-rated thoughts into his ear.

I really should be locked up after my on-call. Seriously. Cute guys simply aren't safe from me.

Now, you gotta excuse me while I get a much-needed cold shower.

Travelling compadres

Exotic foreign destinations has always been something of an irresistible fascination for me. Since the day I could climb up on the stool to twirl my grandfather's faded globe, I've always dreamt of travelling. After several months of being homebound, I start feeling that near overpowering, familiar itch in my shoes - a feeling that becomes worse when I see others return from distant lands with that dreamy look in their faces and various doodads in their bags. The Piña Colada song starts playing in my head and I start dreaming of my next escape.

So when someone asks me to join a trip abroad, I'm always one of the first to agree - and with my bags ( and my ever-ready passport insitu ) readily packed too. Then after waving goodbye to my friend, I realized what Graceless Grace actually meant was a trip. With her. Together and alone. In a darkened chalet in romantic tropical Bali.

WTF. Although I assume she hasn't planned an unforeseen ambush from a trio of drunken bridesmaids and a hastily bribed pastor for a gunshot wedding, you can imagine my consternation. Lovely singletons are asking me out and yet I find myself in a quandary. Seriously, why don't I get irresistible invitations for backpacking trips from single, eligible gay men?

Despite my admittedly hideous homely features and my innate inability to walk away from a bargain ( believe me when I say I shop ), I'm a relatively dependable, resourceful traveller with sadly limited funds but an irresistible thirst for adventure and a fabulous sense of humour ( or so I'm reliably told! ). And although I might develop a heady lustfulness for my travelling companion from a tad too many sangrias, a relatively firm no should be enough to save any assumed innocents from untoward molestation.

Surely if it was Charming Calvin, I would have agreed without any reconsideration since it's obvious that both of us need a break - although I admit he sorely needs to practice some financial frugality especially if he has any serious plans of purchasing that dream condo of his! :) Surely if it was Big Bicep Barry offering a sun-soaked, clothing-optional weekend at a beach paradise, I wouldn't have had second thoughts - although I would have vehemently refused any cloying attempts to make me dive for hours searching for that perfect slug / fish / coral.

So, next on my list is Morocco. Italy. Or perhaps Spain. It's obvious enough that I haven't fully made up my mind but any takers? Six-packs and a tendency to lose clothing would be a plus.

Men who lunch

Certainly nothing like being a man of leisure - which certainly warrants my shameless search for a sugar daddy :) It's just such a pleasure to be able to hike my way down to the nearest Starbucks in the morning, laze around with my caffe mocha ( only one cup a day due to my strict caffeine embargo ) and just watch the working men rush about in their suits and ties. Doesn't happen all that often since I'm usually caught in the hospital during working hours.

When I'm watching the world go by, I frequently make up fantastical stories for the people who go by. It has become quite the past-time for me since it gets my incipient creative juices flowing. Like the fashionista pushing the pram hurriedly while she blathers on in her Nokia handphone - surely a lady of leisure / desperate housewife, or even the kept mistress of some reclusive businessman bringing her illegitimate spawn for a makeover! Or even that elderly man shuffling through the corridors clutching his bag - could he be carrying the Da Vinci Code to some secret assignation?

Of course any sort of made-up stories comes to a standstill when it comes to young, virile men zipping about in their suits. Then it's time to stop, dream and imagine all kinds of possibilities. Recurring sexual fantasies in less than ten seconds, surely.

And it amazes me that so many hot men remain in this gastronomical paradise of Penang. Surely by now, all the cholesterol-laden wonders of laksa and fried kway teow would have put their trim waists into near extinction. As I watch endless six-packs stroll by, that doesn't seem to be the case however which places me in deep envy. How the hell do they do it? Bulimia? Liposuction?

Still, all this warranted an exchange last night with a friend of mine ( who eschews food after 9 - or was that 8? ).

Paul : I'm taking supper close to midnight. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Barry : Terrified. I'm cowering now.
Paul : Fried oysters. Char kway teow with duck eggs.
Barry : Omigod. Stop in the name of your waistline!