All's Fair in Love and War

Relationships are all about compromise.

Charming Calvin tolerates my insanity, my arrogance and my eccentricities while I do the same. But that doesn't mean we don't have the occasional fight. Unlike certain lovey-dovey saccharine-sweet couples who coo and cuddle at every turn ( you know who you are, don't hide yourselves! :) ), Calvin and I do have what I term ... our weekly disagreement. Which I'm secretly glad for since living with a spineless yes-sir creature with no opinion of his own would drive me crazy insane.

Sometimes though I do tend to voice my opinion a little louder than usual. I place the blame squarely on my ISO's shoulders. You see, my ISO and I had a totally different relationship dynamic. The fights I have with Calvin could be considered insignificant border skirmishes compared to the devastating nuclear assaults my ISO and I launched at each other. And that doesn't even factor in biological warfare and political assasinations yet. Think a metaphorical version of 300 with the guts spilling and the heads rolling with my ISO as the sculpted, square-jawed Spartan and me in the role of the hideous, misshapen enemy with bow and arrow.

Hell, I might be puny but I still won the battle. But we had our daily monumental brawls and fractious catfights with no quarter given. My ISO is an alpha male after all and I'm... whatever, I just hate to lose. Especially to him.

I laugh at defeat.


This means war!!
Guess we knew after all that no matter how far we might go, we still had an unbreakable bond... of friendship, if nothing else. Hard to dismiss someone I've shared nasi lemak with during primary school recess.

This time around however, things are a little different with Calvin and I sometimes forget. You see, my Calvin here is a more sensitive beta fellow. Each time I even throw him my evil eye, he flinches and I feel bad. Try to tone it down these days but sometimes on the rare rainy days Saint Wicked inevitably seeps through. It's hard keeping evil down after all.

But don't raise your arms to defend the fella yet. Monstrous though I can be, that still doesn't stop Calvin from going all crazed bitch with me sometimes - since he knows a tough guy like me can take the punch.

Compromise. We're learning. :)

Crouching Lunch Hidden Dinner

Certainly was an unusual Sunday to say the least. After the unprecedented act of wailing into the mike during karaoke on a Saturday night, I spent the Sunday morning recovering from such hedonistic excesses. Not for long though since I got a call for lunch from Charming Calvin.

I swear this isn't going to turn into a food blog :)

Seems like one of his trusted Calvinettes, the one they call Solicitor Sally, planned to throw a farewell lunch for him. A carnivorous craving for lamb and mutton led the gang to a Chinese Muslim restaurant reminiscent of Silk Road fantasies. Think Moorish arches, beautifully tiled courtyards and delicate Muslim calligraphy. However we seemed to have stumbled onto a desert mirage as well since none of the waiters ( well they only had a sole waiter for some odd reason, perhaps there was an unseasonable strike ) seemed to take notice of us, fading in and out of the idyllic scene without noting our presence.

Though I'm sure Solicitor Sally fumed ( possibly drafting a scathing letter to the beleaguered manager as we speak ), I found the experience amusing to say the least. Dishes were flying all around us - leaving us hopelessly salivating - and yet none seemed to land on our table :)


Has our lunch arrived yet...
Then of course to balance our unusual lunch experience, the Gods of Fine Dining saw fit to point us on the way to dimsum in the evening. Over here, most people would associate the trendy Starhill Gallery with overly priced frou frou foods.

I found them overly generous instead :)

Since both Calvin and I had missed our regular weekend dose of pork dim sum, we adjourned to Luk Yu Teahouse for dinner. Totally pork-free unfortunately but we stopped complaining once the dishes came. Not only was the food wonderful and the service excellent, the enthusiastic staff seemed to fall over their feet handing us dishes - that we didn't even order. :)

Paul : Umm.. Did I order this?
Calvin : No, I don't eat prawns.
Paul : Where did this come from?
Calvin : Who knows.
Paul : Hmm.. more for me then. Perhaps a bonus? Buy one free one?

And yet again, they sent us an extra canister of har gau. Followed by an extra helping of dessert. By then I was seriously astonished at our good fortune - and getting a little bit worried about the bill.

Did I sleep with the chef before or what?

But when it was time to pay the piper, none of the extra dishes were there. Seemed like the dim sum had all gone into hiding. To tell or not to tell, that was the question. :) I'll let you figure that out on your own ( though I certainly wasn't gonna argue with the bountiful blessings of the God of Fine Dining ) but you can be sure I'll pay a visit to the overly generous teahouse again. Talk about gaining an instant fan.

Karaoke Queens

Stereotypes are surprisingly easy to live up to. So what do you get when you have a bunch of Chinese boys ( well most parts... ) with several hours to kill on a Saturday evening?

If you guessed filthy dirrrty orgy like I did, you'd be dead wrong.

Seems like Chinese boys can be quite prudish when it comes to such delicate matters. Shy Asian blossoms, the lot of them. However they certainly didn't seem to have any qualms about thoroughly humiliating themselves by screaming their voices hoarse on the microphone in public.

Or at least that's what I used to term the dreaded bane of many, karaoke.

Since it was an impromptu farewell for Charming Calvin, I acquiesced with little demur, falling in with their enthusiastic plans - rather than follow my original instincts which was to run hysterically screaming as far as I could from the sleazy karaoke joint. After all Calvin's a typical Chinese communist indoctrinated fella - along with the Mao Red Book, they must have instilled the mantra to love karaoke.


Dang, why is he butchering my song?!
Over salty chips ( to get us all dead thirsty, clever these Red Box minxes! ), chicken wings and mountains of cream puffs ( my one weakness I admit ), we managed to make it through an entire repertoire of English and Mandarin songs from the terrifying 80s to the solemn 90s. Well my karaoke-phile friends managed to do so. I on the other hand butchered the whole lot by squealing inappropriately in unexpected intervals.

Of course with a bunch of fag wannabes in the midst, there were the typical musical showtunes ( The Phantom seemed to have made quite a surprising hit! ) to torch songs from Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive. From bootylicious gay icons such as Madonna to Abba's Dancing Queen ( and even to the gay-dont-wannabe Mika ), it wouldn't have surprised me to find them branding the lil karaoke room with a pink triangle.

Surprising to note though that the younger folk don't even know Madonna's Like a Virgin! Seriously what's the fabulous gay world coming to. Soon they might tell me they don't even know about Barbra! :O

But I did manage to view a surprisingly homoerotic music video from 2moro.


Guess Chinese boys aren't that prudish after all.

Meet The Simpsons

If you'd told me that I'd have spent an enjoyable hour and a half watching the Simpsons ( and paying ten bucks ), I'd have snorted and laughed. Homer Simpson would probably have given a signature D'oh in reply!

Still the boys had voted nearly unanimously and I fell in easily with their plans. Glad I did though. Sure the movie is just an extended version of the regular TV series but hell, we all know the Simpsons are a barrel of fun. And terribly gay-friendly as well judging by the endless hilarious references in the movie ( including two amorous cops who end up tussling ala Brokeback Mountain into a sleazy motel ).

And who can forget the quietly adorable Waylon Smithers, sycophantic personal assistant to Mr Burns, the demonic tycoon of Springfield. Ah the love that dare not speak its name.


But of course none as oddly humorous as my Charming Calvin. You see, the reticent fellow failed to remind us that there was a short skit at the end of the credits where the Simpsons family sat down to actually watch their own movie.

Paul : Should have stopped us from running out of the cinema!
Calvin : How!?
Paul : Just tell us before we leave.
Calvin : You are unstoppable. Do you think I just met you yesterday?

Gosh. I sound like a freakin' force of nature.

Insecurities

Insecurities.

Everyone has them. Little niggling doubts and fears that we try to bury deep inside hoping no one sees. Even the most seemingly confident have their achilles heel, perhaps hidden beneath multilayers of pompous false bravado but it's there, that little inextinguishable weakness and self doubt.

Even Sweetheart Sam this seemingly smooth, self-assured guy finds himself doubting his relationship. Look, I honestly find Sam one of the most awesome guys I know. If you're in trouble stuck in a ditch somewhere, this is the guy you'd call. ( Of course if you murdered someone, I'm the guy you'd call ) Cute enough, certainly no ravishing male model - and why would he want to be? - but he's just about the nicest guy ever. Seriously he's so sweet, diabetics can't even go near him for fear of falling into a coma.

God probably planned our meeting so I'd repent for my sins. Me, I think his boyfriend is one lucky bugger.


I'm a nice guy! Really! Ask anyone!
And yet he finds himself doubting his relationship, searching for faults when there are none. Afraid that he might be too much of a Mr-Nice-Guy, just a slippery slope from that dependable doormat who gets taken for a ride. Mixed metaphors, I know. But seriously, when did being a nice guy turn into a fault? According to his bosom buds, a surfeit of goodness leads to inevitable boredom in the long run.

Hell, did Prince Charming know all this?

So Sam worries.

But then I tell him all of us have doubts of our own. Charming Calvin with his monthly dose of insecurities, Big Bicep Barry with his gym bag of doubts... hell, even me. Sometimes I look into the mirror at the veritable Hunchback of Notredame in my reflection and I wonder. But that moment of weakness is brief. I know my self worth. It's not based on something as ephemeral as looks ( though I wouldn't mind transforming into Chris Evans ). Not even based on my wealth of which I have none.

Sam : How do you remain so ...
Paul : Arrogant, overly confident bastardlike?
Sam : I wasn't going to say that.
Paul : Because I know myself. I know my faults. I know my weaknesses. If you don't like me then you can just fucking shove off the nearest gorram cliff.
Sam : That's what I mean.
Paul : I think it's the crunchy cereal I take in the morning.

And if being a Mr Nice Guy leads to his boyfriend leaving him, I'd be happy enough to lend some poison.

Book This

Those who know me will know that I'm a booklover, first and foremost. I adore books. I practically live in a bookstore ( unlike that one lucky guy in Kinokuniya who I suspect actually lives there ). Bibliophile they call it. Hell, a large portion of my admittedly miserable paycheque goes to the greedy booksellers each month - and it would be safe to say that by last February, I would have easily exceeded the meagre tax break given for books by the government. What was it? RM 700 - or the equivalent of perhaps 20 paperbacks a year? Do our learned parliamentarians even know the price of books these days?

Since books are expensive. Let's not doubt that. In this country, just a regular paperback would set you back possibly three regular meals at the least. Much less a new hardcover from JK Rowling. And to read, we have to purchase the books since our ( largely inaccessible ) public libraries seem to a share a curious distaste for popular fiction.

Don't they know that Dickens was once popular fiction as well? Who knows, Sophie Kinsella might even one day be lauded as poet laureate in the future.

So I don't blame the beleaguered consumers from taking up arms in the latest price war - certainly far greater a threat than any Harry Potter faced in the Deathly Hallows :) Within days, rotten tomatoes and brickbats have been hurled back and forth between the publishers, the bookstores and the buyers.


Read a book today!
I stand to the sidelines. Why? Because although I empathize deeply with the hard-pressed bibliophiles ( I want cheap books! ), I know exactly how the bookstores think as well. Sure, I know we would all love books at a cheaper price, novels slashed to half the price to make it all the more affordable for the great unwashed. But think a little further. Bookstores are businesses, not charities. Profits they make from such vaunted bestsellers are channeled not only into the deep pockets of the investors - but also to bringing out much less known novels to the attention of many.

Sure, it would be simple for the large chainstore bookstores to slash prices for the bestsellers. But then where would that leave them?

Everything comes with a price. To offset the price slash - and the inevitable loss - would mean getting more volume of sales. And to get higher volume would mean depending largely on the higher bestsellers. So let's only get the bestsellers. And where would that leave the other lesser known authors? Why bring in new fiction when you can depend solely on the sure bets like our moneyspinner Miss Rowling? Surely no one reads Kafka and his unusual treatises. Surely no one would take a look at the gripes of an overworked intern about the aptly named House of God. Surely no one wants to know about that quirky, esoteric curious incident about a dog in nighttime.

In the backbin, that's where they'll be. Or at least sidelined somewhere we'll never hear of. And wouldn't that be a pity.

That said, books could afford to get just a tad cheaper :P

Smash Em Up

My ISO : Aiya. You really stress meh? Go kill a few folks lah.

I did take his advice actually.

Not literally of course. You know how difficult it is to get blood stains off a white shirt? Last time I even inadvertently stabbed someone was...

Hmm.


The taste of blood!
So where do guys with a lingering bloodthirst ( and some modicum of intelligence ) go when they want to beat someone up? Lowdown hangouts, leather bars and other places of ill repute? Come on, I don't have a deathwish. Since I didn't have a Playstation or even a Wii to play with ( with Charming Calvin still MIA ), I had to hike myself to the nearest arcade. Felt a little apprehensive at first since I feared being the oldest geezer on the block but to my surprise, there were a few suits and ties there as well. Guess I'm not the only kadult around with a secret arcade fetish.

Though I rarely play arcade games these days. Apart from chaperoning Strapping Shane on his embarassing Para Para excursions ( to smirk and deride at will ), I haven't stepped into an arcade on my own for the past decade at the least. Not that I haven't been intrigued by the latest technological schemes to inveigle gullible adolescents into parting with their shockingly hefty allowances but I seem to find too little time on my hands for such juvenile pleasures.

And then I got a break. No doubt I'd sound like a caveman just released from hiding but... dude, do you see the awesome graphics? Damn they surely didn't have that back in my day, young'uns.

And hell, I gotta admit the young'uns are looking purtier and purtier each day. Barely have the time to grab a toggle before I'm swivelling around to catch sight of another prettyboy. But I digress.

What games do I play to release stress? Of course I head for the violent smash-em-ups. I don't do freakish dance movements in public, I don't whack drums mindlessly ( why bother when I prefer breaking skulls ), I have practically no hand-to-eye coordination so no beat-em-ups for me. Come on, I'm a rabid road rage warrior. Encumbered by authoritarian traffic rules in real life, I find myself going just a mite crazy on virtual highways. Though other highstrung folks might enjoy gunning for the proverbial finish line, I find little pockets of insane joy in smashing into the other unsuspecting aspirants and slamming them into walls. No victory laps needed for me.

Competitor : Yes. Yes. Yes! I'm this close to the finish line!
Paul : You think so? Well then finish this!
Competitor : What the - Bloody @&@%$#!!!!

Ah, see them spin and twirl in that elegant balletic fiery dance of death. Burn, baby, burn. Yes, folks when I'm in that driver's seat in the arcade, I'm the God of Destruction.

Of course that is when I'm not running down pretty blond princesses with chihuahuas and elderly grannies pushing prams. :P

Take a Break

In a normal day's work for me, I hardly sit still. Work work work. That's all I do from the minute I clock in till the minute I leave. Just like the well-choreographed dramatics on medical dramas such as Grey's Anatomy, the hectic work continues non-stop just like the neverending patients who come streaming in to the hospital. When the adrenaline's pumping, the hours seem to fly by. Vitals crashing, patients destabilizing, medical staff yelling... never a boring moment that's for sure. Of course, there are brief moments of relaxation that we manage to steal, escaping for a five-minute kit kat break just to catch our breaths but those precious moments come few and far in between.

And then it's back to the madhouse.


Do I look stressed to you?
So when due to a surprising turn of events I find myself given a short spell of relaxation ( blame it on tons of leave backed up for months ) for the past few days, I find myself feeling almost guilty. Blessed miracle it may be but it's starting to make me look bad. Feels kinda weird going to the office to find that there's actually not much work to do apart from twiddling my fingers staring at the clock. I read. I do some paperwork. I check some medical journals. I look up and barely an hour's passed.

I read some more. I check in my locker. I look up again and it's barely ten minutes. Like shouldn't I be breaking my back working hard? Shouldn't I have something for me to do with my hands? Surely there are patients out there who need my help?

Then when I find myself breathing just a bit too hard, I rush to look in the mirror. Surely I haven't turned into a freaking workaholic / adrenaline junkie! One of those insane weirdos who break down when there's no work to be done?

Damn. This is my break. I just gotta relax.

Speak Serenity

The sand on the ground crunched under my new leather boots, spitting gravel as I walk towards the town. Silk and satin didn't exactly make it a good fit in this sultry weather but I hadn't had time to change after getting the distress call. Slick shiny citywear, the captain would call it with his signature smirk. Not exactly making a stealthy appearance but then again, I'm not exactly equipped for that. A showdown would no doubt have me riddled with bullets in seconds - not unless I manage to bean the assailant with my hefty medic kit.

My tranq gun would have to do for now though. Or even my acupuncture needles. But from what I knew of the brigands who traded here, I wouldn't get close enough to do so.

Wish I could say that I was running down to save lives because of my vocation but 他妈的. Gorram my ISO for getting into this business. Wouldn't have minded leaving him behind on the godforsaken planet to rot but he was the best captain around. And possibly the only one who could fly us the hell back out of this place. Only a milk run, my ISO had derided the latest job. A walk through the park, he'd said.

And so Calvin had tagged along. Weird enough to have my current flame being buddy-buddy like with my ex but now they were jetting off on missions together? Obviously I was the only one finding it crazy assed insane since everyone else wanted a piece of that action, everyone else in the crew including Shalom. Leaving the ship's doctor and the companion, Preity Posh behind waiting.

Exactly what did they expect the both of us to do?

Fortunately Preity seemed pretty well versed with a taser gun. Wonder exactly what they taught in the Academy. Fending off unwanted advances with a bullet?

Preity winced a little, a minuscule wrinkle on her perfect brow. And then I heard the sound I hated most in the world. The mechanical click of a rifle cocking.


Dr Simon Tam
Then I woke up.

Yeah. Don't sit through a weekend marathon of Firefly and nachos if you don't want space frontier dreams. Same advice goes for Dim Sum by the way. But munch enough nachos before falling asleep after five consecutive episodes of Firefly and you just might find yourself centuries in the future flying around in a clunky spaceship speaking an amusing gobbledygook of Chinese and English cobbled together.

And if that still doesn't scare you, your ex just might be the captain.

Just last week, I finally purchased the series - after getting tons of online recommendations, egged on by my ISO. Seems like he'd seen an episode or two before, liked it and came around this sunday to join me for the marathon with tidbits in hand.

Now, which sci-fi / internet geek hasn't heard of the hype surrounding this particular series with the overzealous fans rallying when their beloved series was to be cancelled due to poor ratings. The dedicated Browncoats were right though - and I'm definitely a convert. Glad I finally got a chance to watch Firefly since I'm loving the series. And the quirky characters that populate the nifty ship ironically enough named Serenity. Joss Whedon wanted the original nine characters to view their journey in entirely different ways and he certainly managed to do that. From the heroic cowboy captain to the elegant witty companion, from the brash lawless mercenary to the urbane young surgeon.

My ISO : I'd have been a sheriff for sure. A good guy.
Paul : Get real. You'd have been the baddie. Probably even a petty thief.
My ISO : Whatever, I'd have been good, doc.
Paul : Hey, I could be the saloon owner dispensing gin with advice. The lawman arresting criminal deadbeats like you.
My ISO : Yeah right, Dr Quinn wannabe. City doc fraternizing with the yokels, I'd bet.
Paul : Probably have jabbed you with the biggest needle I could find then.
My ISO : You do that anyway.

Well just to prove him wrong, I decided to hunt down one of those quizzes you find everywhere on the net these days.

Hmm... guess my ISO does know me after all.

You scored as Simon Tam,The Doctor. You have a gift for healing that goes beyond education. You took an oath to do no harm, even when your patients have tried to kill you. You are out of place where you are, being used to refined society. However, if you take that stick out of your arse you should be fine.

Which Serenity character are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

Spill the Beans

Surprise parties aren't easy to plan. There's always a tendency to slip especially when a large multitude of people are involved. Someone always manages to spill the beans.

Or at least a bean.

In today's case, a particularly oblivious neighbour of mine almost let fall the secret but we managed to retrieve that little nugget of information before my perspicacious mother managed to piece together the pieces of the puzzle. I do come by my snooping skills honestly after all.

Fortunately I had my friends close at hand. Or at least Big Bicep Barry ( since Charming Calvin is away tending to familial upheavals ) who managed to keep my increasingly suspicious mother busy while we were busy setting up the stage. It was a hit surprisingly and no one could have been as pleased as my mother to have a surprise party planned for her.


What's this I hear about a party?
Of course she couldn't have been half as surprised as I was when the unsinkable Fanny Flake made an unprecedented appearance, not only intending to share in the just heavenly birthday cake but also obviously to make off with some forbidden man-candy as well.

I doubt Barry was as pleased by the fact since he was obviously the scrumptious man-candy in question :P Seemed like our brawny hero had made quite a hit with her before - though it seemed to take her a while to rev up her rusty engine to respond. I would have made my move a long time since. I had some inkling of her manhunt the week before when she sent me a message asking about the man's current availability.

Since she'd made her last disastrous appearance woefully underdressed earning two thumbs down from the disapproving critics, Fanny had decided to overcompensate this time by dressing up to the nines in strappy skyscraping heels and a scandalous micromini. Seemed like she'd decided to make a last ditch attempt to gain his attention since she found herself fortuitously glued to his hunky side from sofa to buffet table. Surprisingly quite tenacious this little lady.

Quietly amused, I watched in increasing awe as the slinky predator cornered its lean, mean, sex-machine prey, weaving an endless web of prattle from Harry Potter's Deathly Hallows to boggling misadventures with board games. No doubt she was this close to suggesting a one-on-one adult version of Twister. Just like the last time, Barry's charming affability didn't fail to dim even a little though I saw that he was looking a bit stressed out at the end of the day.

Barry : A bit tired, I'm afraid. I gotta get some rest soon. I'll see you tomorrow.
Paul : Sure you wouldn't want to chat a bit more?
Barry : Ummm... a little sleepy. Just tell everyone I said goodbye.
Paul : Even Fanny? She might want to say farewell and...
Barry : No! I mean, don't call her. I gotta go.

Wonder whether I could get her interrogated for lunch tomorrow.

While You Were Sleeping

I slept with a man at work yesterday. And it wasn't Charming Calvin.

It was a brief interlude no doubt but we were still lying in the same bed, sharing the same pillow in the still of the night. Our hands ( and... *ahem* other parts ) almost touched making it feel like the beginning of an illicit affair. Scandalous? I know. What makes it worse is that I half suspect my erstwhile colleague could be a friend of Dorothy's as well since these days my previously rusty gay-dar seems to be working overtime.

Before you start reaching for some sharp stones to pelt the adulterer ( namely yours truly ), you gotta hear me out first. Listen to this bedtime story.


Come back to bed!
It was early in the morning, the wee hours of the morning when I finally made it back to the oncall room. My back was aching, my head was throbbing but I was still thankful that I'd actually survived ( rather than having one of those awful disastrous calls ). Picture this. The room was pitch-black, tomb-silent and ice-cold, just so terribly tempting to just sink myself into the nearest mattress. Fortunately all the bunks were happily empty so I made my choice and settled myself in for the night. Unlike Charming Calvin who plummets straight into Non REM sleep the minute his head touches the pillow, I took a while before finally slipping into the land of Nod.

Not knowing that someone else would have the same idea barely an hour later. By that time I was already sound asleep ( anyone who has worked twenty hours straight would know the feeling ) and barely noticed that someone else had stumbled in to join me in bed until I drowsily turned over to find myself face to face - and nose to nose - with Brash Brandon.

I know. I thought the same. WTF!

But it was possibly three in the morning, my head was still floating and the words just wouldn't form on my cottony mouth ( otherwise I'd have eviscerated him for waking me up ). We all worry about things that go bump in the night but I'd never expected one to drop into my lap literally. Took my groggy head a while to even grasp the untenable situation.

Surprisingly Brandon didn't seem the least bothered. Perhaps playing musical beds was one of his talents. One would think that the fella would be hopelessly abashed or possibly dying of embarassment at finding himself sleeping in some other man's bed but he only grinned, his white teeth flashing brazenly in the relative darkness.

Brandon : Oops.
Paul : G'morning.
Brandon : Hi.
Paul : Your feet are cold.
Brandon : Heh.
Paul : Bad night?
Brandon : Yeah. *yawn*
Paul : Move over. I don't do strange men. You gotta buy me dinner first.
Brandon : I didn't realize you were sleeping here. Sorry.

After another enormous yawn, he nodded sagely, promptly crawled out and deposited himself in the opposite bunk.

Still want to stone me? Of course Brandon was just lucky I wasn't in the passionate throes of some wild wet dream involving Chris Evans and suntan oil. Bet he wouldn't be smiling then :P

A Man Worth Fighting For

My cousins seem to have a peculiar sixth sense when it comes to finding that particular empty space in my work schedule available for them to come crash. Somehow they always manage to make an unprecedented stop in town - coincidentally! - just when I've cleared my work for the week.

Which is how I ended up wining and dining Fabulous Fanny yesterday when she came down for her annual general meeting. Not easy getting ahold of this busy queen bee but I managed to con her into sharing a roast peking duck.

When she's not busy tracking down gullible clients to talk them into parting with their generous wallets, Fanny's usually trying to avoid the bevy of equally gullible men trailing behind her offering their hearts. Wouldn't surprise me if they were one and the same :P Despite the fact that she cleans up real nice, it always astonishes me to find her fending off persistent admirers - but then again, I'm the older cousin who has seen her rising up in the morning to stand in line for the communal family bathroom with her fair face utterly devoid of make-up and cosmetic artifice with unflattering bedhead and morning drool.

Unaware of the disastrous morning transformation, the men still do come knocking on her red door ( lucky her dammit! ). Including a certain clingy ex-boyfriend who stuck to her desperately like a leech when told that it's over.

Fanny : I finally dumped him.
Paul : It's only been six months. But that's a record, I guess.
Fanny : Very funny. He's an approval-seeking mama's boy, he can't make any decisions for himself... hell, he can hardly stand up for himself. I practically have to prop him up with a pretend spine.
Paul : Uh. Yuck.
Fanny : I certainly wouldn't want a macho macho man like the guys in the family but I wouldn't want to date a wimp either!
Paul : Dump him then.

Couldn't agree fast enough. Of course we talked for hours on her stringent criteria for the perfect boyfriend going through several pots of black tea - in between various tidbits on the scandalous affaires of my other cousins.

She did make some good points.


Do you really have to do this? See, I do actually have a spine!
Although I thought Fanny could be a tad critical at times, let's face it I'm certainly no different since I found myself nodding along as she ranted about her mating misadventures with Pew Wimp Herman.

Since I have no real desire to play the role of the dashing prince charging to the rescue, I wouldn't want someone who'll cling to me like a spineless limpet either. Seriously rather than praying blindly for the arrival of some mysterious dashing benefactor, I'd expect the guy to rescue himself ala MacGyver!

Mama's boy he may be but I would expect the guy to be able to make up his own mind. I wouldn't want an undecided simpleton depending on me to make the decisions all the time, desperately waiting to be taken care of. God knows I'm no surrogate father material. Not when it comes to my boyfriend dammit. If I wanted someone to take care of, I'd get a pet chihuahua.

Monstrous, aren't I? But then my boyfriend definitely won't be placed on a shiny pedestal to be worshipped, to be perceived as perfectly infallible and utterly flawless from head to toe. Iconic saints don't work for me - and I certainly wouldn't want him to look at me that way either. It would be mighty disconcerting to be held up to such impossible ideals since I'm far from a charming prince and closer to a toad, warts and all.

I want a marriage of equals with a man who'll stand tall by my side. Not that I'm in any need of rescuing but it would be nice to know that he'd be strong enough to lend a hand if I needed it.

Old Man Jeremy

I've come to realize that I am aged. Senile. Decrepit. Bring on the walker and the Segway.

Or at least I should be at my age.

You see, Jaded Jeremy dropped by for a visit yesterday. And no, he didn't drop by as in falling heedlessly from five storeys above to land with a sickening thud. Evidently after his recent nervous breakdown, he hasn't decided to put a period to his life by leaping off the nearest tower as we all feared.


Ouch, was that my knee?
Seems the man is alive - though not hale and hearty as we would suppose. Seriously. Just today I realized that Jaded Jeremy is not only jaded, he's also riddled with multiple medical illnesses usually associated with the elderly. Yes'm folks, evidently I'm at that advanced age where I could be prone to osteoarthritis. Somehow that word brings to mind octogenarian grannies whining endlessly about their rheumatism as they hobble through parks in blustery January wind.

These days though when I think of aching knees and medicated plasters, I'd have to think of creaking Jeremy instead. Not only does he have osteoarthritis ( can we say knee replacement in ten years? ), he also has gastric reflux, migraines and assorted tendinitis here and there. He's just past thirty fergodssakes! And this from a man who's always been far more concerned about his health than I am about mine! I mean I do feel the occasional twinge here and there especially after a bad 24-hour stretch at work but I'm not reaching for the walking stick just yet.

I was astonished by the sudden revelation to say the least - not to mention reluctantly intrigued. Yes. A medical quandary indeed. Can we get Dr Gregory House to come give a suitable diagnosis?

Spare the Rod

Teachers and the cane.

I think we'll have this particular thorny issue plaguing us for the next little while as our presumably learned lawmakers battle it out over the proposal to spare the rod in schools. You know the rest of that controversial idiom.


Hand me that rod, baby...
Me, you know I'm a strict disciplinarian. Surely child activists would balk but I'll probably be an infamously monstrous domestic tyrant not seen since Attila raged across the central asian grasslands. I doubt I'd allow my children to run wild amuck around the household - and even less so out of the house. They might be used sparingly as a last resort but canes would still be easily accessible near every main door in the house ( even in the car since uncivilized baboons leaping around in a moving vehicle frequently rouse my ire ). And like my ancestors did before me, I'd be the first to bring my child to the teacher and present them with a light cane, adjuring them to treat the child as their own.

Look, I don't advocate excessive violence in dealing with juveniles but I don't believe that non-punitive approaches works all the time as well.

Spare the rod and resort to psychological approach? In the long run, has that actually been proven to work? I seriously doubt chidren these days are becoming more disciplined and well-behaved. Just look at what positive reinforcement has done to spoiled kids raised wild running rampant in urban communities. Teachers have become toothless, parents have become spineless - so these Home Alone Rugsrats grow up without any authoritative figure to speak of careering madly through the marble halls of suburban malls.

As a child myself, I doubt I'd have listened to positive reinforcement of good behaviour such as praise, love, tokens for younger children, recognition, rewards and treats. Sure I'll have taken the treats ( who wouldn't? ) but I'd probably roll my eyes cynically afterwards as well. Positive discrimination such as removing benefits such as television time and pocket money wouldn't work as well since I'd probably find a way around that in time. Please, I'd probably have scoffed at such pathetically lame-o attempts at ensuring good behaviour.

Teacher : Do you believe you did the right thing?
Little Paul : It wasn't right but I like breaking things.
Teacher : Did that solve your problem?
Little Paul : No, but it was fun. Should I break more?
Teacher : No. That was very naughty. What did the other boy think of you breaking his things? Maybe you should apologize?
Little Paul : Like I could give a shit. Maybe I should punch him too.

By then of course I'm sure the well-meaning teacher would have been driven maddeningly insane - possibly requring intensive psychiatric help. But seriously, how do you deal with that then?

I know what the trained psychologists and counsellors would say. Stick Little Paul with community service, you say? Go tend to a neighbour's flowers and plants as punishment? Come on, have they been watching one Hallmark Presentation too many? That might work with remarkably unimaginative biddable children but have they thought of crazed mischief makers?

No, Little Paul won't be as rash as to uproot all the plants but in the next few weeks, I think the neighbour shouldn't be surprised to find a whole new plague of tenacious weeds growing wild between the beloved rosebushes.

Won't you be searching for that rod by then?

Hot Men Hazard Warning

Hot guys, you know I love them. As the Weather Girls tell it, whether tall, blonde, dark and lean, rough and tough and strong and mean, I love them all. Only perhaps some of them should remain hopefully fully clothed near important intersections.

Let's face it. I'm a guy. I like to look. Unlike other heterosexual guys though, I prefer my unwitting prey to be hairy, broad-shouldered and yeah, chock-full of testosterone. Hooters still don't do it for me.


Am I man enough?
So just the other day I was driving straight into the inner city at my usual break-neck speed only to come almost to a full stop as I noted a strapping fella doing his regular exercises on the open field by the road. Damn near had a whiplash trying to catch sight of his heaving pecs since not only was the man strapping, our Mr Wonderful seemed to have misplaced his shirt in the extremely sultry weather we've been having lately. Obviously hopelessly lost in my sex-soaked reverie, I failed to notice the moving traffic - so watching Mr Wonderful jog lazily across the field, I almost rammed straight into the car in front of me. Just a fateful hairsbreadth from a disastrous fender-bender.

Wouldn't be surprised if the driver in front had spent the time ogling Mr Wonderful as well.

So really, shirtless hot men can be a hazard. Not only can they be dangerous to our emotions, they can be helluva detrimental to our general health as well. Can't we just round them all up and place them in a safe hot zone for us all to troop by and admire? We could sell tickets.

Something LeStrange About This

Midsummer's right about here and what better, more enchanting time could there be for a boy wizard and his wand-flashing friends to come take a visit.

Seriously. I know I'm supposed to concentrate on Harry Potter battling teenage angst - not to mention the upcoming O.W.L. exams, the rogue Dementors launching domestic attacks, the increasingly authoritarian Ministry of Magic and worst of all the suspiciously tittering Dolores Umbridge, an overzealous bureaucrat later turned reformist headmistress. The boy wizard has his magical hands full this time - and not only with the nubile Asian nymphette curiously named Cho Chang.

Not easy squeezing a veritable encyclopaedia of Pottermania into a reasonably brief 2 hour movie and I applaud the director's overzealous summarizing efforts. Seems like dozens of characters slip out of the cracks in Order of the Phoenix. Easy enough to see how the movie would disappoint the loyal readers since lots of minute details and intriging plot points were dropped out. Fascinating Nymphadora Tonks barely spoke two sentences and poor Bellatrix Lestrange was reduced to screaming hysterics in seconds.

And all I could think of was Harry disturbingly naked patting a horse.


Come take me for a ride...
Fortunately the boy is partially legal now. At least in some liberal countries. Not sure about the legality of bestiality though! :P Still it's extremely weird watching juvenile Potter and immediately flashing to a scene of him horseriding in the buff.

Still I am pleased to note that spellcasting seems to have taken the forefront this time with magical duels playing a role in the final confrontation between Dumbledore's Army and the far more experienced Death Eaters. Extremely dull watching the kids playing around with simplistic Expelliarmus for episodes on end.

Pretty sure I'd have been a prime candidate for the House of Slytherin myself. Parseltongue...resourcefulness...determination...a certain disregard for the rules... Hell, I'd have broken a few rules, tossed a few hexes and possibly got thrown out of school for attempting Unforgivable Curses. Don't speak snake though. Then again I might have joined goody-two-shoes Dumbledore's Army since I would have thoroughly enjoyed sneaking about under the nose of authoritarian regimes.

Unfortunate Orderly : Doctor. Doctor. I'm sorry to disturb you this late but I need to...
Paul : Cruciatus!
Unfortunate Orderly : Eeeee... have mercy!
Paul : Avada Kedavra!

Immediate expulsion to the prison of Azkaban for sure.

Capers of Chatty Carmen : Donuts & Dumplings

Little girls are made up of sugar and spice.

Well, that's true for at least an hour a day. Maybe two at the most. Especially when they've just graduated from the terrible twos into the terrifying threes. At least that seems to be the case with Chatty Carmen - who invariably morphs into Crabby Carmen according to the varying phases of the moon. Believe it's linked to the sugar level in her blood as well. Far as I know, a sugar rush seems to soothe the savage beast.

Finished work early today and decided to take Carmen out for a walk ( to free her exhausted mom for some much-needed retail therapy ). Slipped an emergency syringe of sedatives from work in my pocket just in case. Who knows, I might get so raving mad that I'd need to calm myself down.

True to her vaguely Gypsy-sounding name, Carmen remains all rough-and-tumble tomboy with skinned knees and scuffed jeans. Since her mother shares a similarly curious aversion to frilly ruffles and curls, Carmen came out all dressed up like a denim ragamuffin Pippi Longstocking - alas minus the red pigtails.


Come take me for a ride...
One would think I was taking my little Huck Finn for a river raft trip down the meandering Mississippi.

Mounting sartorial issues didn't trouble her as much as everything else did however. Seriously. Carmen's at that curious age where every sentence invariably ends with a question mark. Where a silent period seems almost like a hushed profanity.

Carmen : Why are you looking at that uncle?
Paul : Because he looks hot in a tanktop and he has arms I wanna lick?
Carmen : Lick?
Paul : Look! It's lunchtime.
Carmen : What's lunchtime?
Paul : What do you want for lunch?
Carmen : Why do you need to have lunch?
Paul : I might be putting on weight but I'm not starving myself.
Carmen : Starving yourself?
Paul : Sigh. How about some chinese food?
Carmen : Why chinese food?
Paul : Because it's nice? Because I like it?
Carmen : Why Chinese?
Paul : Because you're much too Westernized?
Carmen : Why too Westernized?
Paul : Because your father's an Anglophile?
Carmen : What's an Anglophile?
Paul : Someone who doesn't eat chinese.
Carmen : What..?
Paul : Look! A plane!

I admit I hate to lose as well. Especially to a pint-sized sweetheart :) But we were attracting curious attention aimlessly pointing at shop signs in the middle of the crowded walkway ( and despite my hushed whispers, she tends to speak in ear-pounding decibels no doubt thinking that I've gone prematurely deaf in my approaching senility ). Unfortunately had to keep my wandering eye safely on the ladies who shop since I didn't want her catching me drooling over some strolling gym stud.

Well. At least not twice!

After a short game of rock, paper and scissors, we ended up with donuts and dumplings. A compromise.

Beach Bum Barry

With his guileless smile, his glib tongue and that easygoing charm, I would assume that Big Bicep Barry would be the perfect candidate for a man dealing with sales. I mean, how could someone resist his sales spiel? Trust me, the man could sell an igloo to an Eskimo ( provided they like guys with big guns ).


Yo, care to buy a bridge in Brooklyn?
Seems like the man's getting tired of chasing down clients all the way to the Arctic. Unable to reconcile with the endless slog in the family company, Big Bicep Barry has decided to branch into other paths instead. Somehow or rather drinking heavily during the other night has left him with multiple epiphanies. Weary with the neverending back-breaking obligations, he sent me a message this evening asking for some brainstorms. Since my first idea of working as a part-time gigolo cum pole dancer wasn't exactly to his discerning tastes, I managed to come up with several alternatives instead.

Accountant

Dead boring, I know. But it does play to his skills - and obviously to his original job specifications. And hey with thick black frames and tie, he'd make a pretty sexy accountant.

Barry : It's been years. You do know that I can't recall anything about accounts now, right?

Diving instructor

Sure he'd love this job. Ferrying customers and students back and forth to the deep blue sea. Spending the other half of the time as the proverbial beach bum shelling, strumming the guitar and gazing at the waves. Not sure what his workaholic parents would think though ( would probably have a stroke come to think about it ).

Barry : Make that multiple heart attacks.

Club Med GO

Can't believe we never thought of this before. It's just perfect for a gregarious, amiable sort like him. Me, I would clam up and stare at people in bovine stupidity but I'm sure Barry would be happily chatting the Gentils Membres up in minutes.

Barry : Would they hire me?

Lounge singer

Last I heard he's still pretty much a karaoke king ( horror of horrors ). This renaissance man can strum a few tunes, mumble a few lines and he sure isn't afraid of the glaring spotlight. After all he did it all very well some time back. Anyone with a stage care to let him try?

Barry : Uhh... no woman no cry?

Shopkeeper

Seriously. His idea, not mine. Supposedly the man has a mini nest egg stashed somewhere and wouldn't mind investing. Not sure what he's gonna sell though. Even with his vaunted charm, I doubt we could sell second-hand board shorts only ( since he has an endless collection from Billabong and Quiksilver ). What could he sell? Maybe he could open ye olde curiosity shop peddling reproduction antiques and I could be the buyer!

Barry : Hmmm...

We'll let him sleep on that.

Divine Homosexuality

Despite the religious rhetoric spouted by some of his overzealous followers, God doesn't want me to be straight obviously.

If you'd recall I actually had a date planned this week - the inevitable results of Machiavellian machinations by a couple of matchmaking minxes. Before you stare in shock and wonder whether I've gone off the monogamous course, you'll have to know that I deftly talked a bewildered Miss Jardine into going on a blind date with me. Yes. A girl. My first hesitant dip into the waters of heterosexuality. :P

Not as exciting as a bath in the River of Jordan but hey, still as eventful in my life.


Baby, it's not you. It's me...
Now I'm not sure if I can even make it for the heterosexual meet since I've been feeling a bit under the weather recently. Especially after the excesses of last weekend. Caught a bug. Or two. Feel woozy enough at present that I might just unwittingly swoon into her lithe arms if I were to go on the date as planned. Not exactly romantic for a guy to do so - especially if it's followed by an ungentlemanly bout of coughing and retching.

Is this a sign from up above? Has that omniscient being we call God ( or some call a delusion ) finally gotten wind of my shocking defection from the fabulous pink army and decided quickly to put a stop to it by divine intervention?

Pretty sure it's not a psychosomatic disorder. Doubt I could ever psyche myself into a fever. Of course Charming Calvin would have it that I lost my temper with several irresponsible relatives once too often last weekend - severely unbalancing my inner chakras / yin and yang. Much too long a story to repeat ( at least not without me fuming and spouting flames again ) but suffice to say, a few of my far-flung relatives have a peculiar sense of filial piety.

They don't have any.

Calvin : You should have seen your face.
Paul : Scary?
Calvin : You were too hot. So angry that you looked like you were on fire.
Paul : Smoke rising from the top of my head? Yeah, it felt like it.

Maybe he has something there.

So I shall have to meditate to cleanse all my ill feeling.

Blue Spanish Eyes

With relatively free-seating during Chinese banquets, you can count yourself lucky if you're not seated between irksome relatives and bothersome frenemies. Or that amiable though mindlessly chattering fifth-auntie you're obliged to invite. Fortunately in my family we like lists - and table seatings are a prime favourite.

A fortunate circumstance since during a prolonged Chinese ten course dinner, you can find out the most peculiar things about your friends. Guess the free-flowing river of alcohol helps loosen the tongue. Unfortunately Big Bicep Barry's shirt remained puritanically buttoned despite my determined attempts to get him thoroughly soused.


Rock on!!
Okay. I admit he did unbutton a bit as the dinner progressed since the restaurant was turning unbearably hot. Being the gentleman that I am, I refrained from leaning over to squeeze lime on his chest and lick the deep cleft between his pecs.

Not to mention Charming Calvin was watching with evil eye barely metres away as he chomped suggestively on his durian chocolate cake.

Still... over abalone and shrimp, Barry managed to let fall several of his secrets from eschewing shark's fin ( a budding environmentalist this one ) to his fantasy of turning into a crazed guitar-banging rockstar.

Barry : I could wear hot leather pants, break my electric guitar and scream on stage.
Paul : You can do that right now.
Barry : Nah, people watching.
Paul : You could unbutton your shirt. Rockstars always unbutton.
Barry : Very funny. I was even a woman once. A Spanish seniorita.
Paul : You're a Spanish woman?
Barry : In a past life, si senor.
Paul : Holy transsexualism Batman!

And then he started to wax lyrical over Yang Guifei chanting favourite lines from a classic poem no doubt memorized back in school. Me, I count myself lucky if I can recall Three Blind Mice. Wouldn't have surprised me if Barry had been a reincarnation of that particular besotted poet since he seemed hopelessly enamoured of the rumoured full-figured Chinese beauty of ancient times.

Or it was the vodka talking.

Say My Name

Somehow over donuts and coffee Shameless Shalom and I stumbled over an unusual topic of conversation. Our children. Unusual since neither are us live in any expectation of fathering ( mothering in her case ) progeny anytime soon.

Unless it's by divine immaculate conception. With my sins, I seriously doubt I'm in line to receive any such miracle.

Shalom : Doesn't matter to me if it's a boy or a girl.
Paul : But your family name!
Shalom : Shalom so?
Paul : The name will die out!!
Shalom : So?

Have to admit it came as a surprise to me that Shameless Shalom didn't place much store in the family name. Come to think about it, could it be that most girls think that way?


Pondering the value of Confucian values in a modern society
Maybe I'm shockingly old-fashioned ( or a budding neo-conservative at best ) but I've always thought it important to carry on the family line! Such an odd thing to say, I have to admit but I think most Asian men would quietly agree that it's almost an obligation. Not a matrilineal race so my family tree is traced across the generations of far from illustrious men that have come before me - seriously, we actually have a genealogy record with revised editions every five years.

Terribly sexist, I know - but militant feminists out there would be pleased to know that after numerous protests from my outraged female cousins, the ladies finally made an appearance in the family lineage a few years back.

Still it's sad to imagine that I might actually be the cause of a dead stump on the family tree. Certainly an act that would rouse the anger of neo-confucian scholars who frequently cite that to die without offspring remains one of the three gravest unfilial acts.

Obviously one of the reasons I greeted the arrival of my nephew Rambling Raoul with much aplomb - and much relief, I have to admit. With the arrival of another nephew of mine in Penang - the son of my cousin - it practically ensures the continuation of the family name into the next half century at the least, taking a heavy load off my shoulders.

Doesn't stop my grandmother from calling me up every once a month to remind me of my family duty though.

Disrespect! Disgrace! Dishonour! as Charming Calvin would put it.

Unless... like an increasing number of gay families I were to hopscotch over dozens of bureaucratic red tape to adopt an orphaned child from some troubled, war-torn third world country. That would certainly appease my ancestors, I'm sure :) Charming Calvin would prefer a sweet little girl all clad in sugar, spice and all things nice ( probably wants to play dress up if you ask me :P ) but by God, I'd prefer a boy. More biddable if you ask me. Ask around folks who have been around children and quite a number would surprisingly claim that boys are easier to handle.

And yeah, you know it would be nice to carry on the family name. :P

Pieces of Eight

Probably time for my monthly ( or so ) meme. Since I was tagged by one of my longtime friends and blogging companions, Sassy Sue, I couldn't help but reply in kind.

Always difficult to write about something you guys wouldn't know about me - since let's face it, I've written most everythingthat has happened in the past two years. But here goes, eight things you never knew about me.

1) I'm particularly obsessive compulsive. You can imagine how long I take to check all the locks in the car and my house. No one knows this better than Charming Calvin especially since he's seen me taking ten minutes just to maneuver my car perfectly into the parking lot, symmetrically aligned with the drawn lines. Simply cannot imagine how pissed off I get when I see some misguided idiot parked haphazardly without regard for the parallel lines ( are they freaking blind? ). Still it's remained a bit of a quirk, haven't crossed the line of no return into partial insanity.

2) My classmates claimed I once bullied a kid out of primary school. Since my memory's sadly failing, I can't exactly recall who or why - or even if it actually happened ( come on, I'm a shy wallflower! ) - but according to various skewed reports, I was quite the wicked schoolyard bully. And a traumatized Morgan ( that was the boy's name ) went wailing out of school never to be seen again. Maybe he was run over by a schoolbus outside the gates.

3) I'm also a bit of a pseudo-kleptomaniac. Scary, I know. Illegal, I know. Certain to put me behind bars, I know. Not that I've actually stolen anything - so far I've been able to resist the call of the dark side but every once in a while, I find myself wondering ... so what if I were to just slip something insignificant into my pocket. And then I figure if I were to get caught for stealing, I'd rather risk it for a million - and Chris Evan's ass.

4) Never was a prefect. Despite being in a thousand clubs and societies, I never wanted to be a prefect. I was called up for the interviews and just said no - no doubt to the horror of the teachers. Not only didn't I want to strut around in the shockingly see-through white slacks ( I ever tell you guys about the hot prefect in red briefs? ), I didn't want to be a gatekeeper or valet either. Then I was made the class monitor by unpopular vote.


Crazy-assed kicking
5) I once punched somebody out in school. It was semi-accidental ( though the intent was there ) but it still left a minor bruise over his cheekbone. Me, I had a torn shirt pocket. When the discipline teacher asked, we claimed he'd walked into a door and fell onto me.

6) I once bungee-jumped somewhere Down Under. Almost lost my lunch. Unfortunately I lost my cert instead. Damn.

7) As an experiment felt up a girl before. Boobs are nice. Soft and squishy. Nice pillows. Didn't get any sorta charge though which pretty much confirmed my gay theory. Even the nape of a handsome man gets me hot.

8) Once had an odd, vaguely incestuous crush on one of my second cousins. Really hot, tanned hunk with biceps, soulful dark eyes and a bristly six-o-clock shadow. Spent the time shadowing him as he worked part-time in his family's little sundry shop down in South Thailand. Lunchtime slurping noodle soup while fantasizing of supping on his heaving pecs. And then later at night my itchy hands accidentally slipped down his shorts. Thai men are good to guests. Wonder whether he's married now.

Crazy Clubbing

When I was in school, I practically joined everything. If it had a roster, a club charter and cute boys, I was in the club. From the Scouts to the Red Cross, from English Debate to Maths & Science, from the Choir to the Chess Club - and even to the Cricket Club ( don't even ask! ).

Even had a short memorable stint in the Student Counsellor's Club, believe it or not! Learnt way back then that being an agony aunt wasn't for me since I spoke much too plainly even then. More than a few troubled boys went wailing out of that counselling room, I can tell you that :P


Come join us!
( And I did! )
Seriously. I collected club memberships like other boys collected stamps or soccer player cards. Crazy juggling the entire lot but I somehow managed the near impossible. Not sure exactly what was my motivation was back then but it seemed like a fine idea at that time to reach out and socialize - I was a shy, tongue-tied wallflower back then but that didn't stop me from spreading myself around as the resident wallflower for as many societies as I possibly could.

Anyway it looked great on my resume.

But I steered clear of certain clubs. Two to be precise - the Brass Band and the 12 Drums Lion Dance Committee. Purely because they held activities during the weekends ( come on, wake up early on a weekend just to go bang on a drum? ). And partly because of the pure geekiness factor, I have to admit. Have you actually seen the unconventional uniforms? Somehow or rather these two clubs never held any appeal for the general masses - at least not in my school. Saturday Detention ( ah, mission schools and their love of penance ) and the two societies mentioned were synonymous - and obviously associated with juvenile delinquents and quirky society outcasts.

Schoolboys can be cruel, I know.

Well at least that's what we all used to think.

Paul : Horrible but true.
Calvin : But I was a charter member of the Brass Band. I played the oboe.
Paul : OMG.
Calvin : We won competitions!
Paul : You know, I might have locked you in the boy's toilet once. Maybe even gave you a swirlie.

Ironic. The guy I'm going out with actually attends Brass Band Competitions - until now! How cute is that! According to an earnest Charming Calvin ( not that I believe a word of it ) only the elite kids get to be chosen for the oh-so-cool brass band. Must make him dress up in his band uniform and let him play a tune for me :P

Then I can corner him in the men's room.

Holy Matchmaker II : Matrimonial Mania

I think I will turn straight.

At least for the space of one evening.

If only to get two harpies off my back. Somehow or rather the tenacious Schoolmarm Sally has found her conniving way to my matchmaking mama's side - and horrifyingly enough they have joined forces as evil spirits are wont to do, these malevolent minxes of matrimonial mania. Not exactly sure what the terrifying duo have cooked up in their bubbling cauldron of iniquity but it surely bodes ill for me.

No doubt collaborating over eye of newt and tooth of dragon while concocting an updated list of blushing debutantes - beginning with the paragon-like Miz Jadine at the top. Not sure how or when I suddenly turned into eligible bachelor Number #96 on her list but evidently Schoolmarm Sally believes so ( quite a confidence booster admittedly ) despite my manifold flaws. Why else would she continually hound me over the shocking availability of her saintly niece Jadine?

Finally caved last week after repeated admonishings from the both of them, took the offered number sullenly and shoved it in my pocket. Had half a mind to toss the number into the rubbish after setting it on fire but I figure... why not?


Ahem! Aim that arrow someplace else please...
Have any of you ever tried picking up a girl? Seriously. Embarassing as hell picking up the cellphone to chat up an unknown stranger but I steeled myself this evening, immediately segueing into the role of smooth bass-voiced casanova - hoping that she wouldn't uncover the baldfaced lie easily.

Jardine : Hello?
Paul : Well, hello Miss Jardine.
Jardine : Do I know you?
Paul : I'm sure you don't but I'd like to get to know you.

Just hope I didn't come off as a lecherous middle-aged twit ( perhaps she's already alerted the neighbourhood police to trace the prank call! ). But I guess I managed the ballsy hetero act well enough since I somehow managed to talk the thoroughly bewildered babe into going out with me. More like busy steamrolling over all her vague remonstrations. Drop the voice an octave, butch it up a little and censor any inadvertent mention of Barbra, Christina or Chris Evans.

Worked well enough considering.

And hey, I can pick up women! Shall practice on guys next - while Charming Calvin's away. :P

Not sure what I'm gonna do with Jardine now that I've got a seeming date with her. Maybe I could pick her up dressed in a pink feather boa and heels. Certainly would get the point across but I figure some subtlety would go over better.

Paul : How was dinner?
Jadine : Oh it was lovely.
Paul : Not as lovely as you. By the way, I'm gay.
Jadine : I knew it! Not fucking again! What the hell is wrong? Is the damned world full of gay men?!
Paul : Really? What makes you say that? Do you have a single gay brother?

Then again maybe I should keep it to myself.

My Hubby to Be

I think I might have stumbled over the perfect husband.

Of course I'd have preferred to have tumbled the guy but them's the breaks.

Gregory Montgomery. Sure he's married to a certain dizzy blonde hippie environmentalist named Dharma but hell, I think I could take her. With her belief in the kindness and goodness of strangers, she's certainly trusting enough to eat the special organic carrot cake I'd make - and then later I can spend the entire wake soothing the hunky widower and his bereaved pets, Nunzio and Stinky.


My husband Greg and his late wife, the blond Amazon!
Don't think I've gone off the marital bend and betrayed poor Charming Calvin this time. All this only happens in situational comedies on television - specifically the perky Dharma & Greg that ran for a measly five seasons way back ( and recently released in DVD boxsets! ). The staple of television comedies with the perennial tale of opposites attract - this time with the straight-laced, blue-blood attorney impulsively hitching himself to a free-spirited, hippie yoga instructor.

Cue the laugh track.

Well at least for the first season or two.


You would think that I'd be the kind who'd go for the growling bad boys of steamy afternoon soaps but you'd be wrong there! I've always gone for the good fellas - such as the hunky Gregory above. The squeaky-clean mama's boys who predictably slog from 9 to 5 only to rush home to prepare gourmet dinners in their perfect kitchens.

Paul : What's the rush, honey?
Husband : It's 7.03, my coffee's two degrees too hot and I can't find my work underwear!
Paul : Well it's probably in the wash so you can get extras from your emergency work underwear drawer next to your extra buttons for monogrammed shirts compartment.
Husband : Too true. Sorry for snapping at you.
Paul : Not a problem, sweetie. Get me some organic bran muffins on the way back.
Husband : If I get back early, we can probably schedule in some make-out time after dinner at 9!
Paul : Sounds lovely. Get some lube on the way out too. We're running out.

Sounds really Stepford, I know.

I leave the wicked hunka burning loves for the more adventurous ( suicidal? ) souls amongst us. Me, I like them stable, reliable and a bit of a fuddy-duddy sometimes. If I want excitement, I can always get tickets for the roller coaster.

Betrayal in the Banana

An early evening in the meandering historical enclaves in Malacca as two friends met up for Bailey's Irish Cream Cheesecake. Big Bicep Barry had called me out earlier for the hilarious mockumentary Surf's Up - incidentally the perfect animated movie for a laid-back surfer dude like him. Though I had some serious doubts, surprisingly enough surfing penguins with koa surfboards actually work :) A pity they didn't have Jack Johnson strumming his tunes though.

Still Barry had other more important things on his mind.

Paul : Seriously. You got a new place to avoid bad funk shui?
Barry : Seriously. Hoping for a reversal of fortunes.
Paul : You couldn't get new underwear instead? Maybe red Aussiebums?
Barry : No. So where's Charming Calvin? Thought he was coming down this weekend?
Paul : Yes, my poor dear. All alone.

Or that's what Calvin would like me to assume. For almost a year now he has led me to believe that he leads the life of a strict seminarian observing piety and chastity in his secluded hermitage / apartment during the weekends I go home.

Do not be fooled! Well he plays the sympathetic role of the discarded boyfriend weeping over a dinner of Ngan Yin peanuts and soya milk in his derelict abandoned apartment but I now know better. While I'm away for the weekend thinking with some heart-rending guilt that Calvin's sitting pitifully rejected by the phone waiting for it to ring, in reality he's actually out having the time of his life partying without restraint at the new Banana!

Really! While I was gone, it seems my man spent the time drooling over Sean Ghazi's tight bubble butt in Banana Republic. Wholly bewildered, I don't know which I'm more jealous of - the Banana or Sean's banana.

More likely Sean's.


Seriously. Go listen to Semalam!
Come on. Sexy. Intelligent. Articulate. And the man can seriously sing.

And did I mention his ass? Which even my taciturn Calvin didn't fail to mention which tells us something. There was even a naughty bit about Mr Ghazi's perky nipples as well but I shall keep that to myself ( unless Mr Ghazi himself wants to know and then he's more than welcome to mail me :P ). Though I hear from my sources that the man's already taken I can still dream, can't I? Sean Ghazi naked on a grand piano - that's my new fantasy of the week.

From what my reliable partner tells me though, seems like the Malaysian crooner performed a few songs at the opening of the Banana Republic.


And I missed it. Damn.

Then again if I had been there... I would have followed Mr Ghazi to the parking lot ogling his delicious ass. Then spent the night in jail waiting to be bailed out for stalking. Hmmm...