Round Peg in Square Hole

Hard to speak of my new workplace since I still feel like a round peg. Always been one.

In a workplace that's perfectly made for squares. Circumstances ( i.e. work ) have made me conform as best I might to the dimensions of a square peg which is how I've assimilated myself into the nameless crowd of physicians. Praying hard that I don't stick out like a sore thumb in a medical collective that prides itself on regimented uniformity.

With the occasional release.

Otherwise I'd probably go certifiably insane.

Back in my pressure-cooker medical school, I always had what I termed my Wild Wednesdays where I could get away from the rest of the studious clones and break loose with my then boyfriend, my ISO. Classes ended early on those days usually before lunchtime which left me with half a day to fool around. Ah, those good old days of wine, men and... well not song since we both weren't much into karaoke anyway.


Boxed in!
Once I started working however, the few chances I had to release that pressure dwindled tremendously. Fortunately I still found kindred spirits around to help me goof off - but I realized that my psychotic breaks were coming along closer together as time went by. After all I needed a viable outlet for all my pent-up wackiness.

For the past two months, it has been steadily getting worse. Same workplace woes, I'm afraid - only multiplied tenfold possibly. Not only am I suddenly ( unwillingly! ) thrust into the company of a relentless battalion of square Gungho Ginnys ( Gannys and Gunnys! ), I seem to be the only round peg around! If you haven't heard about Ginny, she's one of the rare breed of medical students that thrive on textbooks, exams and working overtime! Hell these are folks who take their off days as an opportunity to hit the libraries and talk about medical journals.

Lemme borrow a recent example - something heard while I was rushing home from work.

Ginny : Sitting around like this is so unproductive! We should talk about the recent advances in medical science. Tell me, what did you study last night?
Genny : Oh, the latest British Medical Journal publication of course. What about you, Paul?
Paul : I read Cleo. Does that count?
Gunny : You read that? But that's shallow, sophomoric drivel. You should cultivate -
Paul : Up yours.

Starting to wonder whether they have surprise pop quizzes for fun on the weekends!

It's all good for them. All the best.

Just wish I didn't have to be part of that group :) Such relentless obsession with work would only drive me up the wall - and possibly end with me rashly indulging in a mindless orgy of crazed entertainment! Hence the need for the occasional psychotic break I mentioned.

Like today, I felt like snogging the surgeon just to get a shocking rise out of the Gungho Ginnys around ( between sticking my tongue out and flapping hands behind my ears ). Why? I couldn't say. I'm always that horny but he wasn't that cute. I just felt like it.

Sometimes it's hard to be square for so long.

Red Badge of Courage

Remember me saying that girls were an exotic rare breed way back in my all boys school?

Speaking along that vein, the Girl Guides were pretty much in the same endangered species category - at least from our point of view! - being cloistered behind the high walls of the convent only to be seen on the rare occasion such as jamborees and campfires. During the campfire dances, I spoke to them only to exchange pleasantries since I was far too busy minding the complicated steps ( while trying my best not to ogle some of the cuter boy scouts from the other troops ).


Boy Scouts out adventuring for their badge
So I always assumed that the Guiders were female equivalents of the scouts not knowing that they actually had certain traditions of their own. Though it does seem kinda lame now, we were all pretty proud of our badges back then - placing them proudly on our sleeves. But in place of our own merit badges such as First Aid and Hiking, it seems as if the Guiders had their own womanly pursuits to discover. According to Shameless Shalom, Needlewoman for instance requires sewing / embroidering an item of clothing while Childcare insists on thoroughly dousing an infant with soap and water.

You can imagine the astonished look on my face! Seems like the girls were given adequate training to be genteel ladyfolk tending to house, hearth and spinning wheel. Not that I find those tasks at all displeasing - hence my ambition to be a househusband.

Of course I immediately relayed this shockingly sexist piece of news to my ISO when I bumped into him online the next day.

My ISO : You're kidding me, right? Shalom wasn't a girl guide back in the 1800s?
Paul : Pray she was pulling my leg! I almost expected a badge for Charwoman, Washerwoman and Society Debutante as well.
My ISO : So while we were out conquering the wilderness, the girls were tending to the fire?
Paul : Don't forget knitting booties for the babies.

Makes you wonder what new badges they should make up for the modern day Gossip Girls of today.

Social Climber Badge
Attended three society parties ( without an alias ) in a month. Hosted one A-list event.

Catfighting Badge
Public verbal disagreement with a fellow student. As an additional proficiency, ties in to the next three badges further down. Extra points for physical throwdowns ( i.e. hardened bitchslaps and hairpulling ).

Adulteress Badge
Being the raison d'etre for the split of a committed couple of at least six months duration.

Gossip Central Badge
Implicate an enemy in a scandal and disseminate the news in the space of a week. Gossip should spread to at least three different guiding companies in the same town.

Skank Badge
Bagged three guys in a week. Extra points for bagging brothers / best friends.

I know. We're both really awful. :) But to proof that we're not total misogynist pigs, we're supposed to get back and think of more badges for gay scouts instead. Gay merit badges anyone? Hairstylist Badge? Circuit Queen Badge? Fashionista Badge?

Waiting Room

It's been so long since I've been on a date that I've forgotten exactly what that entails. Date with a girl, I mean.

Being a gay man, I've found myself relatively immune to the debilitating effects of dating women. Had a few experimental dates way back in high school when I was still vacillating whether I actually was a raging homosexual. Pity the poor girls I dated since I must have seemed the most awful, bumbling clown ever.


Waiting.
Knowing their innate foibles, I used to give the girls a half hour's grace to get ready. But quite obvious I must have blocked out that entire sophomoric experience of dating - since I totally forgot how long a girl takes to get ready for a night on the town.

Especially a girl like Lissome Lorelei :)

Paul : Hey, are you about ready yet? I'm getting my shoes.
Lorelei : Wait. I just got out of bed.

Paul : Should be getting out by now.
Lorelei : I just finished bathing. I'm putting on body lotion!

Paul : Lorelei? Should I wait downstairs?
Lorelei : Looking for my eyeliner! Gosh, where's my lipstick!

Paul : You're down! I'll get the car.
Lorelei : OMG. My shoes don't match. Lemme change.

Obviously it takes time to transform into a glorious swan! :) Takes close to an hour actually - though it seemed like forever while I was waiting there at the door impatiently knocking.

Certainly a downside to dating a woman. Gotta pity those poor straight slobs.

Don't get me wrong. Gay boys can be rather tardy when they're busy primping at the mirror flexing their muscles as well. And let's not get into their obsession with getting that perfectly tousled - yet ruthlessly arranged! - hair. Fortunately not all of us are into men make-up yet ( though I have my suspicions! ) so the waiting time's sliced just that hairsbreadth shorter.

All except me of course. Being a bad gay man - meaning somewhat a slob, I usually spend only seconds on my hair ( evidently! ) and maybe a quick glance at the hall mirror to make sure my shirt's not sticking out the back before stumbling out of the house.

The White Knight

If you haven't figured it out from the title, spoilers abound here so if you haven't caught the Bat, go pay Gotham City a visit first.

Is there any doubt that I'd watch the Dark Knight? It's the Bat - and I've been a fan of the billionaire playboy turned night-time crime vigilante since forever. Well, ever since I got my first Detective Comics as a kid. The movie picks up just some time after the end of Batman Begins and it features two of his most memorable villains, the Joker and Two-Face.

Frankly I've never been much of a fan of the psychopathic Joker - sheer evil for insanity's sake isn't my cup of tea. Much prefer a more methodical, calculated villain rather than an unpredictable lunatic in clown make-up. I know the critics all raved about the wildly cackling ( far more sinister! ) Joker as Heath Ledger's swan-song - and yes, he did it amazingly well - but has anyone even taken a look at Two-Face?

Now to take Harvey Dent, that doomed role of the White Knight we all know will disintegrate into disfigurement and madness - and then make him look oh-so-deserving of sympathy, now that's a hat-trick! And Aaron Eckhart does it beautifully.

Good boys gone bad have always been a weakness of mine.

Of course even having Harvey Dent and Bruce Wayne fighting over the girl could not have made the sole female character any more memorable. Really, is anyone surprised that the girl died? Come on, Rachel Dawes practically had the bull's eye sign painted on her forehead marking her as a helpless victim ever since the first movie - and her sheer lack of charisma made it nearly impossible to sympathize even when she was blown up to smithereens. Zero chemistry between her and the two men in her lives - possibly the reason why the Joker saw it expedient to be rid of her.


Call me, Batman!
Ask me out for dinner dammit.
Hell, the Dark Knight had more chemistry with the White Knight!

Even in Rachel's last scene - sadly forgettable - being tied up with explosives and oil tanks, it was hard to dredge up even a shred of sympathy.

Paul : Is that supposed to be pitiable?
Sarah : Die already!
KABOOM!!!
Paul : Finally.

Still I felt cheated by not getting at least one shirtless eye candy scene. Damn. The least Christian Bale could do as Bruce Wayne was to take a shower! Three hunks in a movie and barely a hairy pec in view?

Good Boy Gone Bad

Toss a Bible back in my old schooldays and chances are you'd hit an altar boy quite easily. Those prim, proper, preppy boys who travelled in an orderly flock, quoted bible verses by heart while steering clear of the notorious black sheep around ( coming close only to deliver the obligatory holier-than-thou sermons! ). Me, I usually turned a deaf ear to continue on my unholy course.

'Course there were a few I wouldn't have minded taking a tumble with behind the church organs. After all like the proverbial apple in the garden, the forbidden is always deliciously seductive - and I've never been all that great at resisting dark impulses.

Given time, the endangered breed of altar boys soon found themselves assaulted on all sides with sinful temptations of wine, women and song leading them astray. Hence the slow but steady extinction as age ( and devilry ) catches up with them. Of course there are a couple who seem to have been left behind in the seminaries as everyone else goes out to play.


Good Boys Gone Bad!
Seems like I've found the last one at my workplace.

A true babe in the manger. An untainted altar boy newly escaped from the claustrophobic confines of the cloisters for a night out on the town ( and despite the fact that it was his hometown, desperately needed a holy GPS tracker to get him around ). I didn't know they still had one of these in the city! Seems like it was my duty ( along with my pagan compatriots Statuesque Sarah and Fabulous Fiona ) to bedevil him.

Jesus, it was an almost impossible task to tempt Pious Peter. He said no to drink. He said no to women - even after Sarah completed the dance of the seven veils. He said no to song - not a karaoke fan and possibly condemning such a sleazy den of iniquity. Our celibate saint here said no to every one of the seven sins!

Peter : Let us pray to the Lord.
Paul : OMG.

I bet that was what St Paul said way back as well.

But during a pregnant pause, Peter accidentally slipped ( slip of the devil? ) that he had fallen from grace once before. Obviously we all three literally pounced on that juicy item. And when we finally had him confessing to us - after forcing a single drop of margarita down his throat, all we actually got out of him was a story of Peter hiking up the mountain to retrieve the lost commandments with his newly anointed apostles.

Far from titillating - and this was after Fiona and I had already recounted our endless litany of sins. But that doesn't mean we're giving up on our wicked mission.

Seriously. Next to this innocent lil fella Peter, I feel deliciously stained. A corrupting evil influence leading a good sheep astray.

Who the hell knew it could feel so good.

Ladies and Menhattan

Break out the Manolos, darlings. Carrie Bradshaw and company have finally arrived on these shores. But hey, please keep those condoms in your Louis Vuittons! Since it's Malaysia - and the overzealous censors have been keeping the scandalous movie under wraps for weeks, the movie's better termed as sexless in the city.

Odd considering that sex seems to abound in this city what with exploding mistresses and intern sodomy going all around - but then I guess the scissor-happy censors tend to turn a blind eye to all that. Better to keep us all innocent, docile sheep entertained with bland PG-13 stuff.



Hold it. Gotta drown my anti-censorship rage with a sip from my Cosmo. And maybe a NSFW shot of the single sexy hunk at the end of the post.

Still it was nice trading quips over cocktails with my four gals from Sex and the City all together again - despite the fact that I had to sit through an hour of champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries before the movie started. Though I imagined the premiere to be full of sexy singletons in heels looking for labels or love, there were a surprising number of men quite as madly in love with gals.

And not all raging homosexuals with a shoe fetish as you might have imagined.

I might have been the only guy in heels an inch thick though. Blame it on my new leather half boots! But everyone only had their eyes for Carrie Bradshaw's sinfully sexy heels as she strutted about New York looking all flirty, fabulous and forty. How not to look radiant when the ultimate single gal's about to tie the knot with Mr Big in a delicious Vivienne Westwood gown. With the biggest closet ever for her trousseau. At long last.

For those expecting a splashy summer blockbuster ( such as the dozens of disappointed critics ), you'd be sorely disappointed. But if you're looking for another dinner date with the foursome to catch up on their busy lives over cosmos, then this could be the ticket. See Charlotte with her new husband and Asian Lily, Miranda bringing up baby in Brooklyn and yes, Samantha Jones trying her best not to vamp it up for her sexy neighbour Dante. For a guy who's practically grown up with them ever since he caught them late nights on HBO... well you can be sure I showed up on time all dressed in their signature pink.

Of course I forgot to mention a certain other friend of mine who's similarly obsessed. Since he only made it only at the last minute, I didn't catch sight of my ISO walking in till just before the lights dimmed in the cinema.

Paul : WTF.
My ISO : Did you think I wouldn't be here?
Paul : How did you get in?
My ISO : I screwed around to get tickets.
Paul : Liar!
My ISO : Who's that you're with?
Paul : Sis-in-law.
My ISO : Hmm. So no sex and the city in the men's room after?
Paul : Get me the shoe closet first.
My ISO : Call me Mr Big first.

Reason enough to hurry out of the cinema in my slippery heels! Fortunately I didn't reenact the same infamous Carrie stumble ( fashion roadkill! ) on the runway.


Sizzling Dante tempting our shockingly monogamous Samantha Jones!
But hellfire, with all the censorhip going on I never did get to see Dante's pitchfork!

Thank God for youtube.

Meeting McBastard

Social etiquette prescribes rigorous codes of conduct to restrict the ways in which people interact with each other, based on respect for other people and the accepted customs of a society. According to the snooty grande dames of polite society, without such refined conduct it's quite clear that the rest of us would degenerate into a rag-mannered bunch of barbaric peasants incapable of saying hello without a violent club to the head.

So what's the proper thing to say when you meet the McBastard who purposely broke your friend's heart and then heedlessly trampled all over the tattered pieces?

The genteel Miss Manners would certainly adjure us all to look away and ignore the unconscionable fella - but modern day Gossip Girl rules led by their vengeful teen queens would of course advocate Machiavellian sociopolitical plays to even the score. You cheat on me - I max out your credit, break your toys and tear your reputation to shreds?

Surprisingly I did neither.


No bloody punch-em-ups, I swear!
Since I honestly didn't even know he was the adulterous McBastard in the first place! My mistake, I swear. Mistook the name when we were introduced earlier today. Of course according to Fabulous Fiona, we really have to demote the McBastard by stripping the Mc from his name ( evidently a sign of hotness which he severely lacks ). Can't argue with that since I found McBastard shockingly pitiable.

Paul : Is this fella your McBastard?
Fiona : Oh yes he is. He cheated on me. Be mean to him.
Paul : That unworthy fella! Darlin, what were you thinking of when you dated him? Even I look better.

Which is not saying much judging by my troll-like looks.

But after doing the polite social schmoozing with the fella, I couldn't very well haul off and whack him ( verbally! ), could I? Not only totally against Queensberry Rules but sudden unprovoked verbal abuse would make me look vaguely schizophrenic and possibly criminally insane - not recommended at a hospital benefit with rabid psychiatrists around.

Maybe I could plead Tourette's?

But honestly the first thing I could think of when I saw the unscrupulous McBastard was this - Thank God Fab Fiona made a clean getaway.

Now, isn't that insult enough?

What's Sodomy, Daddy?

Seriously.

Free-wheeling bachelors like me wouldn't even think twice about mouthing the occasional swear word - or ten. Even a prim mealy-mouthed fella like me. After all without the pitter patter of lil feet in the house, there's very little fear of lil ears around to eavesdrop - and then for lil potty mouths to imitate! Embarassingly enough. Doubt there's anything quite as unnerving as an adorable pink-cheeked five year old with pigtails screaming Muthafucka for all to hear in the sandbox.

So what happens when they find something even more shocking to tell?

I've mentioned in passing the horrific sodomy scandal that has swept across our political stage. Yet again. With the frequent ( annual? ) accusations, who knows in time buggering cases could possibly be as common as horny political interns.

However it never occurred to me that concerned parents would be quite as appalled with the sensational news reports for far different reasons. Seems like such reports are peppering the innocent thoughts of the young with shocking scandals of sodomy and rape! So much so that a nine year old would look up from the sunday papers with guileless eyes and ask her mom exactly what two men can do together that could potentially land them in prison.

Or two boys are gonna wrestle in the public schoolyard only to have one of them blithely yell Sodomy ( probably derogatory ) to spice things up! :)

Boy #1 : Take that, you bugger!
Boy #2 : Get off me, you sodomite!

Fun times when kids start asking what's sodomy.


Wonder what other positions I could get into with this guy!
Sure, I could address that pertinent question with several graphic sketches ( I can seriously imagine dozens of unnatural positions two men could get into together! ) but I don't think such X-rated viewing would be suitable for minors. Not sure how my colleague answered her ingenuous daughter when she asked though - but I'm sure she must have choked on her breakfast pappadams - and the unwelcome thought.

Why, even the title of this post gives me pause especially since the cheesy line smacks of nasty incestuous gay daddy porn.

I'll admit to hiding a secret smirk when she told me. Fortunately my colleague didn't retreat into a wild homophobic rant forcing me to raise the cudgels in defence. In fact she actually found herself far more irritated with the news-hungry journalists spreading such tawdry tabloid stuff rather than concentrating on more worldly issues.

Though I know I'll find myself flabbergasted if I had such a query posed to me by my hypothetical child as well. Sex talk with curious rugrats freaks me out. And you know how bloody persistent kids that age can be with their overly inquisitive questions.

Nate : What's sodomy, daddy?
Paul : What the f- frickin chicken! Who taught you that word? Have you been reading daddy's bedtime stories again?
Nate : No, I read it in the papers. What's sodomy, daddy?
Paul : Look, there's a bird at the window.
Nate : What's sodomy, daddy?
Paul : Daddy will buy you a present today. Isn't that fun?
Nate : But what's sodomy, daddy?
Paul : Ooh look at the time. Eat up your breakfast, Nate. It's time for school.

Hey, I don't have the answers to everything.

The Calvinettes : Steel Surrogacy

If the hags hate ya, the fag don't date ya.

Or at least that's what I heard. Certainly not gonna risk that - so when Charming Calvin planned a reunion on his return with his Calvinettes - the trio of Steel, Stone and Solicitor - and insisted I came along, I admit to suffering a significant qualm. Or two.

Good move though. Meeting the hags has got to be quite a significant milestone in the homosexual relationship, right? Surely it means that I've gone up from the trashy one-night-stand anxiously hustled into the closet when a friend drops by to the reasonably sensible fellow you wouldn't mind introducing to the scrutiny of your judgemental friends.

Not sure whether the Calvinettes are as judgemental as me and my friends :) Sure, I'd met the Calvinettes individually during separate occasions - managed to be on my best behaviour each time! - but I've never actually sat through dinner with the entire coven in attendance. Who knows what kinda trouble the Charmed Ones could cook up all together in their bubbling, boiling cauldron?


Maybe I should have worn a bullet-proof vest!
After all who knows what kinda awful impression I made before! Racked with a case of terminal bashfulness, I know I occasionally come off ( erroneously indeed! ) as a snotty, arrogant fella in front of strangers! Though Calvin assures me that I passed muster with his friends before, I doubt the good fella ( oblivious as he is sometimes ) would even realize if his Calvinettes were busy hatching up a wicked scheme to be rid of me with spells, chants and lil voodoo dolls in horn-rims, sweaters and khakis.

Even worse if they were to blame me - as his blessed mama surely did - for plunging him into a sickening morass of homosexuality.

But never let it be said that I am faint of heart since I rose to the occasion and arrived ( almost! ) on time for the appointment despite my initial fears. Had my blessed crucifix clutched desperately in hand though.

Turns out the Calvinettes aren't quite as sinister as I painted them - a coven they might be but there was nary a newt's eye or dragon's fang in sight. All three sat aligned on the sofa looking as benign as could be. Unless Stone hid her athame well in her voluminous handbag.

With political topics dealt with in about ten minutes - turns out our Solicitor had turned Socialista behind our backs - I then asked them about Calvin while he cringed inwardly. Seemingly all thre burst forth regaling me with hilarious tales of Calvin during his schooldays. Turns out he was quite the sweet mama's boy. :) Which didn't altogether surprise me.

So we delved into topics such as schoolroom hijinks, bad boys and yes, Steel surrogacy. Seems like Calvin playfully broached the idea of surrogacy to one of his Calvinettes - and his housemate, Steel the night before. And though she made some token protests, Steel didn't seem entirely averse to the idea!

Though she had some peculiar demands up front.
- Yoga classes prior to delivery. No doubt part of her healthy living lifestyle - agreed since it would improve her flexibility and probably help joint movement ( helps during labour, I'm sure ).
- Maid obviously. Something I couldn't agree more.
- A home in Alaska. I am confused about this but she mumbled something about mobile igloos not needing constant housework.
- Fat farm treatment after delivery.

Now what do you make of that?

Manny Diaries

You know when providence just hands you a gift? Certainly don't say no when a cute guy knocks on your door with two tickets for a movie!

Since Big Bicep Barry was in town for the evening - and my schedule turned out to be yawningly empty, I saw no reason not to step out for dinner and a movie. Been a while since I've caught up with him so we had plenty to tell each other from his recent jaunt to Hong Kong to my own exploits in Bangkok.

Barry : Seriously. A club full of gyrating half-naked men.
Paul : Just flood the place with chocolate syrup and you'd have my version of heaven.
Barry : And you groped them too!
Paul : When they squeezed by, sure! Trust me, half of them were thrusting begging for more.
Barry : Daring bugger!
Paul : Why, Barry, you want a personal demonstration?

Obviously talk of dancing boys and entrepreneurial beach shacks kept us entertained till the movie started. Revealing that secret mushy side hidden beneath that muscleman exterior, Barry chose an obvious chick-flick. In a nutshell, the Nanny Diaries was a pretty sweet feel-good vehicle where a recent college grad stumbles into nannyhood by accident finding herself changing as she discovers the social niche of the Upper East Side complete with spoiled brats, snooty mummies and sleazy dads.

Although it came with one major flaw.

You see, the nanny had a delicious beau dubbed the Harvard Hottie - providentially just a flight up her Upper East Side apartment - practically begging for pathetic scraps of her precious time. Like just how unbelievable is that?!

The man's intelligent, rich and gorgeous with a summerhouse in the Hamptons and a law degree in the future. And may I remind you, he's the walking orgasm known as Chris Evans.


Go out with me, please?
Despite pulling out all stops to get her - including the usual stalking, repeated phone calls and the old cliched long-stemmed roses - even then the nanny kept saying no. Obviously she slams the door when providence comes knocking! Okay, I know dating's not allowed in their Upper East Side version of nannydom ( banned by the pill-popping alcoholic momzillas ) and it could get her fired. But come on, it's Chris Evans.

So step aside, foolish lil Nanny!

Chris : Hey, maybe we could go out some time.
Paul : FUCKIN YES!
Chris : That would be great. Guess I don't even have to beg, huh?
Paul : NEVER!
Chris : Uh. Could you get your legs off my waist so I could get my keys?
Paul : Oops.
Chris : And your hand out of my pants?

Seriously. The man needs to even ask? I'd be all over him in a shameless New York second.

Then again, make that two flaws in the movie. Chris remained clothed throughout. What a waste. Now if ever there was a man made to be gloriously naked and slathered in baby oil...

Is it any wonder that at the end of the movie, Big Bicep Barry reached over to wipe my chin and tell me with a playful wink, 'Hey, you're drooling'.

The L Word

In case you weren't aware of the fact, I actually had a girl in my bed last week. No doubt the very idea would have the original misogynist Lanky Lex heading for the hills!

No worries. Despite the government's fanatical anti-sodomy mania these days, I haven't started swinging that way yet. Knowing that her lack of a penis kept her relatively safe from my predatory advances, Lissome Lorelei felt free enough to even prance around in her La Senza in front of me. Well. Almost. :P

Since she was down in the big bad city only for a few days, we felt that it was imperative that we ply her with alcohol. To make her talk, you see. So while Charming Calvin has his loyal Calvinettes, what I get are Three Lushes ( hence the L word ) in stilettos with delightful cocktails in hand.

Figures. :)

Or maybe I should call them Charlie's Angels with the indispensable Paulsley in tow. That would be Lissome Lorelei, Statuesque Sarah and Fabulous Fiona. Three Girls and a Gay Guy. Can already imagine them striking the infamous vogueish Charlie's Angels pose now. Not sure who has the Fawcett hair though.


Drinks at Alexis?
Met at Alexis ostensibly to listen to latino jazz.

That was the plan anyway. Just amazed the barkeep didn't see fit to have the lot of us thrown out for inappropriate drunken behaviour. Not only did we spend several minutes thinking of ways to seduce a particularly hunky waiter, we also practised our seductive pouts each time he looked our way. Accompanied with acres of long legs criss-crossing Basic Instinct style for his wide-eyed edification.

And that's before we started humming Kelis' Milkshake when a lady with shockingly generous papayas sat right behind us. Swear to God the wholesome twins were almost reaching her waist.

That was after the Charlie's Angels booed loudly when a poor sap interrupted the jazz band to mumble a sad proposal in broken English to his bride-to-be.

Man : W-will you make me happy by marry me? I l-love love you velly much.
Woman : OMFG. You didn't give me prior warning!! Everyone's staring at me - my dress is not on straight, my fucking hair's a mess and I'm half drunk to boot!
Man : Make me y-yours? My love for you is like a river that has...
Woman : Whatever. YES. Get me off the stage now!
Charlie's Angels : NO! Tell him NO!

Would have been so much better if he'd given up and done it in Mandarin. I still cheered loudly for the man though. Gotta give him kudos for having the guts to pop the question.

Yes. After a few drinks, we get mildly rowdy. At least we didn't get to pole-dancing yet - though I have a feeling Fiona would have given us a free tap show if we'd given her an extra mojito.

Obviously since I was the designated driver, I didn't drink much. Just enough to loosen me up into wondering what it would be like to fuck a bartender behind the taps. Keeping my libido in check though, I channeled the energy into phoneflirting with a youthful gentleman trying to get him to give it up to Lorelei! Seriously. When did it happen? Straight boys these days are real prudes! He couldn't even give me a good time through phone messaging!

Red Cliff

Just mention the names of Liu Bei, Guan Yu and Zhang Fei - and every Chinese scholar will sit up to take notice.

Pretty sure the famous canonical tale of the Three Kingdoms is practically hammered into the skulls of all Chinese students way back on the primary school bench. Somehow I've always imagined them chanting it daily by rote Communist-style! In a shockingly summarized nutshell, it tells the tale of third-century prime minister Cao Cao's quest to unite a divided China. Think of it as a Chinese version of the Knights of the Round Table. Hell, some bits of the story even managed to trickle down into my brain hence my scanty surface knowledge of the infamous characters brought to life in that classical tale.

Bringing such a legendary story to life would be a tremendous task to undertake - since everyone's bound to have their own take! - so I can already imagine the number of critical detractors. But when I was offered a free screening of the John Woo movie Red Cliff 赤壁 ( ostensibly based on the novel - and particularly the battle of the same name ), I practically jumped at the offer. Typically kiasu, I know.

Horse's mouth. Free gifts. I don't say no.



What can I say about the movie? Quite obviously a prelude to the grand climactic battle but it sets the essential foundations needed for the next. Great actors ( offering a who's who of male actors from the Chinese diaspora ), lovely cinematography, amazing fight scenes. You wouldn't expect any less from John Woo.

And then there's the brilliant military strategist Zhuge Liang. They definitely managed to put their own spin on the wily character! Never imagined that the renowned scholar - one you'd expect to be crabby / absentminded! - could turn out to be such a seductive fox.


His instrument of choice
Seriously. The intimate scenes between Zhuge and his warlike co-conspirators were so thick with sexual tension that you almost slice it with a knife. Even while making his diplomatic rounds at court, Zhuge Liang managed to entice the neighbouring king with his bewitching gaze under the shocked eyes of the officials.

What more with the king's trusted general Zhou Yu later that night! Just read between the lines and you'd wonder if you'd accidentally stumbled onto badly directed gay porn. Add that to the significantly heated eye-fucks they were giving each other and yeah... it could be possible.

Zhuge Liang : Why don't we play a tune together?
Zhou Yu : I believe you're only keeping your secret talents hidden.
Zhuge Liang : I'm sure we'd both make beautiful music if we manage to combine our talents in a duet.

Then again, Zhuge Liang was played by the extremely hawt Takeshi Kaneshiro so I'm not surprised that lots of folks were interested in playing his instrument.

I certainly wouldn't mind strumming his erhu.

Breakin Dishes

For a group of youthful fellas ( at least younger than me! ) supposedly full of vim and vigor, these lot I've come with seem surprisingly sapped of energy :) Why else would I wake up at 8 in the morning only to find myself alone at the breakfast table?

Sigh. They don't make boys the way they used to :)

Still the lot found themselves wanting to go the touristy route visiting the klongs, temples and palaces, so I opted out for the day. After all, I have vague misty memories of doing the Bangkok city tour years back when I was a tween. So while they paid homage to Lord Buddha at his temples, I made a solo pilgrimage to my own marble halls of worship.

The shopping malls.

With my credit card as an offering to the supreme tai tai of shopaholics. Providentially Bangkok was having a city-wide sale celebrating the gods of retail.


Family meetings
Seeing that I was going to walk the shopping mile, I made a call to meet my cousin for a leisurely lunch. Fortunately the coach ( a nick I named my cousin the teacher ) returned my call just as I was about to make an imprudent decision regarding several costly shirts at Ted Baker.

Met a chic Greyhound cafe where I handed him some souvenirs from back home while he gave me a respectful wai. The coach hasn't changed much - possibly bulked up a lil in view of his time teaching sports. Sweet boy that he is, I always remember him as a 6 year old in blue shorts - certainly not a strapping twenty-something.

Shocked him with the sinful number of shopping bags clustered around me but he managed to find his tongue after a while. Stuttering in his accented English, he regaled me with some horrific tales about the family over there - turns out the estranged kids do get together once in a blue moon.

No breaking dishes fortunately.

Coach : Cousin Bee lost her job again.
Paul : As long as she's not going out with the sleazy pad thai noodle seller again.
Coach : I hear they are going out again.
Paul : Pray to god I don't hear of Bee selling her wares in Patpong.
Coach : No no. She won't do such a thing.
Paul : She had better not! Far from a thai beauty, she'd probably have to resort to offering discounts.

Fortunately that bit of snarkiness was too much of a stretch for his limited English and when the coach asked for an explanation, I just shook my head with a smile. No need to corrupt the innocent.

Especially when there are many other cute go-go boys I could corrupt in Bangkok. :)

Though I'm sure he can already tell what mischief I've been up to. Bet the coach suspects I'm a raging homo though since I almost twisted my neck trying to catch sight of the luscious man-candies strolling by.

Sell Me Candy

It's a weekend in Bangkok. We're tourists.

Obviously we're slogging it out in the sweltering heat of the world-famous Chatuchak Weekend Market. Not my first time there obviously but it certainly struck the rest of my friends as shockingly ginormous - as I told them, even I've never covered the entire area myself. Has anyone? :O

Place hasn't changed much - hundreds of stalls selling everything from porcelain ware to puppies with vendors haggling for prices with customers while indigent street children wail a song for their supper.

And I had my mini cream puffs yet again.


More clothes for me HAHA!!
Being gay men, my friends went a lil crazy over the bargain clothes selection. Crazed enough with the low, low prices that they seemed to have forgotten all about bargaining.

Shopkeeper : 200 baht for a pair. Really cheap, sir.
Jared : Okay. Here.
Paul : WTF. That shiny glittering skirt-pant contraption isn't that expensive. Ask for 80 baht dammit.
Jared : Oh God. Cheap cheap. Gimme more.

And then he'd buy three for the asking price instead of haggling. But oh what the hell, as long as you're satisfied with the purchase, I see no reason to scout for prices.

Sun came out while were there literally spit-roasting the entire market area. A lil change in temperature certainly didn't pose a problem for serious shopaholics like me but fragile blossoms - Dashing Dan and Lanky Lex - were soon found to be wilting. Hence a return to civilization - and air-conditioned comfort of MBK Mall - not long after.

Being culture freaks, we soon headed off for the Siam Niramit. Certainly a spectacular cultural performance worth the ticket price though it didn't compare with the amazing dinner we had right afterward. Our resident tour guide, Jaunty Jared turned out to be surprisingly at a loss to what else to do on our itinerary ( no doubt exhausted from not bargaining! ) so we had to resort to begging for directions.

I'll admit to some qualms as we were hustled by an area with go-go gals pouting their pretty lips for service. Fortunately the ushers at Siam Niramit certainly knew their stuff and we found ourselves ensconced in a lovely lil out-of-the-way restaurant called the Leelawadee in the outskirts of Bangkok. Obviously catering to the locals ( since no one spoke a word of English and we had to stumble through the menu ), the place was delicious, cheap - and yes, it had a pretty cute waiter as well.

A perfect end to the evening.

Please Don't Stop The Music

You'd expect that going to one gay club would be pretty much the same as another. Shirtless gym bods gyrating mindlessly with their muscular arms waving up in the air while screaming diva-ish pop rock pumps through the speakers at ear-splitting decibels.

But in Bangkok, what you get is serious gay whiplash! Might need a neck brace soon. While bopping your head to the beat, you keep getting distracted by this really cute guy. That topless muscle mary behind you. And oh, over there, the other hot guy on the podium. Trust me, they seem to be growing them in abundance out there in the thai paddy fields.

And with the suffocating crush of hot bodies ( forcing all to dance in place like curiously vibrating atoms ), they certainly aren't shocked by the inadvertent grope. Hell, some of them actually press up harder for a closer preview. :P


Please don't stop the music!
Through a haze of vodka and Rihanna, I watched a trio of gorgeous thai boys feel each other up right underneath my line of sight. Well, more like these two aggressive hunks tried to grope a bashful third possibly to add to their shocking menage. Took a while but it wasn't too long before the third had his shirt off revealing bronzed pectaculars.

Hunk : Oh come on, take your shirt off.
Shyboy : No no. I shy shy. Not in here. People will see.
Hunk : Here, take a drink.
Shyboy. Oh no. No. I drink enough.
Hunk : One sip.
Shyboy : Alright.
Hunk : Feel better? How about getting that shirt off then?

Crude technique but it works obviously. Wasn't long before the hot sticky rice trio were doing an indecent frottage with crotch manhandling right there on the frenetic dancefloor and I figured I'd better get off the balcony before I tumbled over for a closer look.

Though the boys deny it, I'm sure there are more than a few out to earn a ( honest? )living. How else would I - possibly looking particularly desperate & man-hungry - have received a few suggestive winks on the way up the stairs? Even a dark-eyed mustachioed fox flexed his tattooed biceps. Of course I was a bit too tipsy to make a proper reconnaisance by then - had to pay attention to the suddenly wobbly steps after all!

Good Girl Gone Bad

Seems like we've been planning this trip for ages - well perhaps more of Jaunty Jared and the gang since I wasn't all that enthused - started on a whim when someone mentioned cheap tickets way back when. In fact so long ago that I've almost forgotten all about it in the endless rush. Needed a message on my calendar to remind me about the trip.

And yet here I am right now. Blogging to you from the Land of Smiles again!


Finding gems deep in the urban detritus of Bangkok
Much to everyone's surprise, we managed to get the entire boisterous gang into the plane in time without leaving someone streaking desperately down the tarmac with feather boa in tow. After all, our gang's notorious for tardiness.

Got separated during the seating of course but it didn't stop us from communicating throughout the flight supposedly sotto voce. Surprised we didn't get bumped off. Then again, we no doubt discomfited the other passengers with our extreme loud X-rated chatter - not helped much by the fact that Jared had somehow picked up an authentic thai accent along the way ( aided by the help of a guidebook he'd purchased ). If I didn't know better, I could have sworn he'd been brought up as a kid in the lush paddy fields along the banks of the Chao Phraya.

Which is how he managed to talk a taxi driver into bringing us into the city on the cheap. Still Jared found that he had to make a token gripe about the steep prices from the airport. Of course I managed to shut him up with a misplaced snog - much to the green-eyed Lanky Lex's consternation.

Left it all to our efficient Jared to handle the details of the trip - though I must admit we forgot to factor in his penchant for finding the oddest places. Holes in the wall, I call 'em. God only knows how he ever managed to find this peculiarly situated bed & breakfast in Silom. But then again, seeing as we're all gay men, I bet they wouldn't want to be all that far from the action.

Then again, look who's talking. Darlin, the boys in Bangkok have never looked better.

And hey, guess what... I do have a single queen size bed to myself tonight :)

Fair Game

Would you poach on a married man?

I can already hear the aghast screams in the background signifying disbelief at such a depraved notion. Well, let me put it another way - how about a man already in a relationship?

Any takers? Still a no?


Excuse me, kind sir. Before you ravish me in heated passion, could you possibly tell me if you're engaged to be married?
Well, it does seem like I'm quite the unscrupulous immoral fellow when it comes to inadvertent boyfriend-stealing. Not that I'm involved in the matter! But when Lissome Lorelei found herself nearly falling into just such a tricky triangle, I just couldn't help myself from giving her that last shove.

Of course all her lil angels ( halos all around! ) around her keep telling her to say no to helping infidelity. Does that make me the Devil's willing errand boy himself?

Lorelei : But he has a girlfriend! Or at least that's what they claim.
Paul : Not married.
Lorelei : Well he never told me has a girlfriend. But wtf does it mean when a guy replies how do you define a relationship?
Paul : Not married. And searching. Possibly interested.

For me, obviously the point is he's not married :P And even then I might still weight the pros and cons.

God, I AM unprincipled.

Something tells me that I might have been a cheating mistress in a past life.

Not sure why but I've always thought that it takes two to end a relationship - certainly not the much maligned third person. Eventhough the third person might be the proverbial seductive temptress of ancient times, I doubt the committed relationship would flounder and sink at the irresistible call of the bewitching siren if it sailed on clear, open waters.

Let's face it, that usually only happens with relationships obviously close to breaking point - otherwise such small niggling tdoubts wouldn't surface to split them up. Sure that third person might be guilty of adding that last straw but hey, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

After all, all's fair in love and war. :)

Home Sweet Home

They say home is where the heart is.

Mine is in a double-storey Moorish-style bungalow set away in a quieter part of town. From my usual perch on the window seat - even with my eyes closed - I could picture the rolling lawn in the back where I'd played with my GI Joes and Barbies under the shade of the flame of the forest. My two dads always insisted on equal opportunity after all.

Yeah. That's two dads. Pa J and Dad P.

"Great to have you back, Nate. We've missed you." My father's lazy, methodical drawl washes gently over me and I open my eyes. Slow and steady, that's Pa J for ya.

I did have my reasons for coming home sooner than expected. Though he's busy scanning through the morning paper, my other dad, P is already looking at me with growing suspicion - possibly formulating dozens of reasons for my return ranging from the mundane such as teenage pregnancy to the horrific such as flunking out. Judging from his previous tirades on the importance of education, I'm sure Dad P would much prefer the knocked up scenario.

However we only talked about everyday stuff during the ride back from the station. Hope Dad P hasn't guessed the truth yet. Then again, what the hell am I saying! He probably already knows. Probably drawing it out to torture the truth out of me. "Just needed to get back for a while, pa. College's been bugging me."

Ever understanding, Pa J pushes a mug of steaming coffee into my hands and I smile. Though he doesn't drink it, there's always a warm steady pot ready for both me and Dad P - the caffeine-addicted duo. Setting a plate of home-baked breakfast muffins in front of me, he glances at my face in worry. "You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep first."

Taking a sip and sighing, I lean back against the recessed wall. "It's alright, pa. Just a really long ride on the tube. I'll be okay after some coffee."


Standing by the window
From his spot on the breakfast table, Dad P raises a cool eyebrow. After more than two decades of steady partnership, he knows how to keep his counsel - and his bitingly sharp tongue. Getting some rest immediately after travel wouldn't be his idea of fun. Dad P would claim that it's for wimps.

And it's true - for him at least. Never actually seen him sit still. Like a buzzing livewire held still, Pa J claims he'd probably explode from the sheer tension.

That's Dad P. Always involved in one project or another ever since I was a kid, forever rushing in and out of the door at a breathless pace. It's no wonder that the exhausted students at the medical school call him Professor Sonic ( the Hedgehog ) behind his back. Ever omniscient, Dad P knows of his stern taskmaster reputation but doesn't mind the occasional unflattering sobriquet. After all, he's dreamt up handy nicknames for half of his students as well.

Even now though he's scaled back dramatically on work, I've noticed that the home decor has changed dramatically since the last time I was back. The curtains were new as was the beautifully-aged cabinet in the hallway. No doubt he'd reupholstered the sofa himself as well - cursing himself black and blue. Even the mug I held had been made by him for my 6th birthday.

And I didn't need to ask if he'd baked the breakfast muffins himself. After all, we'd perfected the recipe together last summer.

No, indolence isn't Dad P's style. But it certainly suits Pa J to a T. How many times had I come home only to find Pa J snoring away on the hammock he'd hung out back during his regular afternoon siesta - the Sudoku he'd half-finished fallen to the ground - while Dad P potters around the house with his DIY tools looking for a project, ear-strapped to his mobile while writing up a storm in his PDA.

Dad P finally puts down his paper and fixes me with his searing gaze. I've seen his shaking interns sweat just from that one look. "So what are you planning to do while you're here? Meeting up old friends and such?"

Always dangerous talking to Dad P. Unlike Pa J's slow-as-molasses speech, Dad P speaks in sharp, rapid staccato pistolshots.

Pleasant enough opening but I knew enough to be wary. Though he can be a laugh a minute, I find he's forever taking down details and analyzing, possibly entering data into profiling. Gleaning facts just from an inflection of speech. As a kid, I was sure that he'd been indoctrinated in a secret Gestapo training camp.

Of course he also taught me to keep a poker face in the face of ruthless interrogation. Praying that I'd be able to pull it off as smoothly as he did, I rambled out a reply. "Not really, dad. I have a writing project to finish before the semester starts again."

That received a spark of interest. "Good, how about I land you a hand in the project? I've got a few days off."

"Uh."

Sensing my hesitance, Dad P smiled wickedly. "Nathaniel?"

Shit. I'd been caught in a lie.




From the diary of Nate, Summer 2029.

Question Existing

Somewhere in the City of Angels, there's a part of the family that I rarely talk about. Well, almost never.

No, not because I'm ashamed. Few Mrs Rochesters locked up in the attic for sure. Far from being deranged oddities not fit to be seen outside of an asylum ( those are my nutty cousins from my dad's side up north! ), they are actually regular average joes.

Sure the two might be the bastard children of my maternal uncle's unsanctioned second 'marriage' but hey, who's counting the occasional illegitimacy. Serves for interesting family dynamics.

But eh, they couldn't be worse than the children from the first marriage - the spineless samaritan and the snake-oil salesman. Long backstory there that would only raise my blood pressure if I were to recount their numerous failings from unfilial piety to financial irresponsibility. No matter truthfully ( no water off my back ) if only their problems hadn't served to inconvenience us.

Again and again.


Certainly not close enough for a family huddle yet...
But I've never actually gotten close to the candystriper and the coach - yes, I describe them as such since it would be nigh impossible to recall their true Thai names, long as they are. And yes, I do have an embarassing habit of making up nicknames for most everyone I meet.

Reason I never got close to the candystriper and the coach is a serious lack of communication. At best, we converse using a rojak mixture of garbled English, babbled Chinese - and sign language mostly! Not exactly conducive. Makes it hard to cement cousinly bonds when we can barely understand each other.

The last time I spent half a day trolling the stores in Chatuchak with my younger cousin - the shy teenage boy named Coach who was then still training as a teacher - and all we talked about were bargaining tactics with the shopkeepers. Then again, maybe the boy was deathly-afraid since I was flirting shamelessly with the cuter male shopkeepers, giving them suggestive looks all the while. But Coach remained bashful throughout, stumbling through the halting conversation with his charmingly accented English.

Maybe I should have tried harder. A pity I didn't - especially for a guy like me who stresses so much importance on family relations. So I sent him an email today. Which left me worried after a while. Seeing as half of my readers don't understand my gobbledygook, I wonder if he actually managed to finish even half the mail. :)

Hope he doesn't accidentally misinterpret it as an incestuous come-on.

Beijing Blitz

Lover #1 : OMG. Stay for me. Don't leave! How could I possibly live without you? My life will be miserably bereft without your beloved presence. I will watch the door patiently waiting for your return!
Lover #2 : Get a grip. I'm only going for a week.

Melodramatic. And certainly exaggerated.

But I've seen fellas weeping and wailing for a separation just slightly more than a month. Sure, it happens more when we're ingenuous schoolkids, where a week seems like a month - and a month certainly seems like forever and after. Remember when love-lorn teenagers forcibly separated by provincial borders would be cause for a clinical state of depression? I've had similarly besotted classmates back in school who've put their studies on hold just to be with their significant paramours - unwilling to be separated even for a moment.

But has it changed that much?

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.


Hello? Hello? Hello?
Du... Du... Du...
Methinks that's a crock. Absence is just plain that. Absence. Nothing else. Let's face it, life goes on even without the presence of a loved one. New lives get intertwined with ours as we continue in our own separate ( steadily more disparate ) paths. Sure, the little threads we call love might still remain but the seemingly unbreakable connection gets inevitably unwound with the passage of time.

Unfortunately not everyone has the will and patience to stitch the severed connections together.

So when Charming Calvin was asked to consider an extension for his stay in Beijing - and he put that loaded question to me, I found myself wavering with a reply. Yes, another Beijing Bombshell. My immediate answer would be selfish and self-serving of course - but forcing me to make a decision for someone else ( despite the inalienable fact that I'm a monstrous control freak! ) would be a serious anathema to my right-wing liberal ways.

So let's just say I wouldn't whine, weep and wail for an immediate separation if he stays. Neither of us are crazy/hysterical enough to sever intimate connections over one more year apart. Diplomatic ties would be continued of course.

But I'm not made to be a sailor's wife patiently walking the widow's walk forever watching for the ship to return. Let's face it, I don't really believe in long-distance relationships. Always thought it utterly doomed to failure. And let's face it, I'm far from your celibate saint either. Next time I see a cute guy I'm vaguely interested in, I don't know if I'd be able to resist holding out a friendly hand with my call number scribbled on a cheap napkin.

Okay, that sounded a thousand times meaner ( and sluttier! ) than originally intended. So to relieve the pain of the blow, listen to this instead.

Miz Borgia Meets Her Match

There is a traditional conservative Chinese family based in a small provincial town. Three children in the family all grown-up. Elder siblings - a boy and a girl - both successfully married. Unfortunately the new daughter-in-law - reputedly wicked, self-absorbed and prone to dagger-drawing - prefers to rule the roost, making the lives of all in the family utterly wretched.

And then there's the rebellious youngest who not only flew the coop but turned homosexual to boot. Then bringing home their latest in-law much to the disgust of the staid respectable family. Three strikes but he's far from out.

Sound like the spicy ingredients of a long-running Chinese soap opera? Well it's all too true and happening right here in the little town of Homosexoil with Charming Calvin cast in the unenviable fey role of the youngest.

Which would put me in the role of the submissive youngest in-law. And you know I don't do wimp.

Shuddering at the hideous thought of my presence sullying their family dinners, Calvin foresees a disharmonious family environment - possibly filled with petty catfights and internal family squabbles so much loved by overly dramatic Cantonese serials. Never imagined myself holding such a subservient role of course but I'm sure my experience as a keen player of Rose & Camellia - the shockingly true tale of a meek daughter-in-law's bloody climb up the family ranks - would stand me in good stead.


I will see you out of this place, Miz Borgia!
Fortunately I'm reasonably accomplished - after all I'm already the lord of feminine battle with my ready bitchslaps and vicious counter-attacks. Since the elder daughter-in-law ( hereby dubbed Miz Borgia ) is causing such palpable misery in the family, seems like it's my family duty to slap some good-old-fashioned sense into her. Figuratively of course. From what I hear of her seeming prowess, I'm sure the poor dear's no match for me.

Used to having her frivolous demands met without question, the spoiled debutante Miz Borgia won't see me coming at all.

Miz Borgia : What is the meaning of this? Have you forgotten the pity we took in taking a lowly creature such as yourself into our illustrious clan?
Paul : Begone, tramp. I am husband to Calvin, youngest son of the Homosexoil family. This house is his rightful inheritance and I will claim those rights by any means necessary. Even if I have to leave my stiletto-marks all over your back.
Miz Borgia : 不要臉的東西! Why, you presumptuous little...
Paul : 狐狸精. Don't tell me of your feeble aspirations, you illiterate gutter wench. I have attendants with claws sharper than yours. You are not even fit to kiss my dirty slippers.

Unlike my ongoing power struggle with the shrewd player Madame Borgia - Calvin's venerable mama, I don't think I'd have to resort to similarly Machiavellian machinations to gain an upper hand with the inexperienced Miz Borgia. Verbal sparring with the occasional snide jabs should be quite enough to have the pampered princess snivelling in a dirty lil corner of the kitchen clutching her tear-stained sleeve.

I'm sure Madame Borgia would thank me. After all I'm the crazy bitch around here :) Of course I'd have to pick up some choice bitch-phrases in Mandarin first ( though Calvin tells me there are few ).

BTW if you're wondering about Rose & Camellia?

The Wasabi Covenant

Speak to us of the future!

At the stroke of midnight, four men gather at the edge of a pool, the stillness of the pool acting like a mirror to reflect the mesmerizing glow of a full moon. The deadly thrum of an ancient tribal beat breaks the silence of the night. Oblivious to the music, the eldest stands in a cloak of glittering black with his devil-eyes seemingly focused on a glowing ebony ball, muttering vague portents of the future - while the other members of the coven listen on intently, hands desperately clutching their vials of sacrificial wine.

Not forgetting their wasabi-laced nuts.

Far from being the arcane setting of a supernatural thriller, that pool's in a sky bar, the four are slightly soused with cocktails and all are staring into a magic 8-ball for answers to the mysteries of life.


Staring incredulously at the Magic 8-Ball!
For some obscure reason, my eminently practical sister-in-law handed Charming Calvin the magic 8-ball as a present. Not clear the reasons why - unless it's quite obvious to all ( except me! ) that Calvin's wrestling with some pretty heavy questions that only the ball could answer! Bet he stared at the gift for a few minutes wondering just WTF.

Fortunately he brought the magic 8-ball along for supper though - since Zany Zinedine had frantic questions aplenty after getting past his first traumatic break-up over sashimi and green tea. He always did love things Japanese. Though I think the sushi store will never be quite as zen after that particular blow-up.

So we knew we had to get Zinedine partially sloshed. After all, what better way to cure a broken heart than with cocktails, nuts and fortune-telling?

And rebound sex.

Paul : The Ball sees all! Will Zinedine lost his precious V-Card in the next three months?
Zinedine : WTF!
Paul : Hmmm... the Magic 8-Ball says doubtful.
Zinedine : WTF!

BTW Looks like Charming Calvin will be getting an apartment here and I have to find a maid.

At least according to the Magic 8 Ball.

Bad Babes and Bye-bye Bullets

At the very core, men are primarily beasts. Centuries of civilization might have tamed the wild creature with the superficial trappings of culture and sophistication - but peel the surprisingly thin veneer and you'd still find that raw savagery just underneath the surface.

Certainly an unimaginable lust for bloodshed.

Hence the immense popularity of gladiator arenas, rugby sports - and yes, shoot-em-up action movies. Been watching movies almost constantly this past week. From the hilarious antics of bumbling secret agents to the vicious stratagems of secret assassins. Not sure why but I find myself preferring the former :)

Though I won't deny the seductive allure of being part of an ancient band of assassins capable of sending a goodbye bullet hurtling through the air - and then impossibly swerving around an obstruction to hit the target. The ultimate curveball.

And that's not counting shooting the wings of flies.

At least that's what the bad boys ( and gal ) of Wanted would have you to believe.


James McAvoy taking a breather
Certainly it's a dripping wet dream thousands of overworked, underpaid office drones would want to believe. Salaried average joes who fantasize about stepping out of the dull monotony of everyday life into a dangerous world where big guns, bad babes and bye-bye bullets rule. And oh yeah, where your dad just happens to be part of a clandestine pack of super-assassins called the Fraternity.

Kill one. Save a thousand.

All seen through the dazzlingly blue eyes of Wesley Gibson - played by the delicious James McAvoy. Or at least delicious after stepping out half-naked and dripping from a rejuvenating pool! Wonder exactly what they put inside that pool. I could certainly use that hot bath.

Wouldn't mind dating Wesley either.

Paul : What awfully slow service, Wesley.
Wesley : Give me a moment. I'll check with the waiters.
Paul : Be polite, Wes.
Wesley. Of course.

[ insert chaotic moment at the counter as guns are pulled out, faces are bashed into tables and ignorant waiters catapult out of the restaurant windows ]

Paul : Nice. New move?
Wesley : Thanks. Been practising.
Paul : My beef carpaccio coming soon?
Wesley : Yeah, they said they'd work on it.
Paul : You've got some brain on your shirt. Let me get that for you.

I don't always have to be the wicked one, you know.

Despite the extreme ( and occasionally unforgiveable ) violence of the movie with dozens getting their brains blown out in a bloody spatter, there is a recurrent theme about wresting back control of your life which would surely play well to the wish-fulfillment fantasies of beaten-down pathetic sheep everywhere. Snapping back at that manipulative office bitch. Beating down the guy who stole your girlfriend. Walking out of that dead-end job.

Jaunty Jared and Strapping Shane enthusiastically applauded the overwhelmingly gratuitous violence which had me looking askance at them. For me, I love the Goodbye Bullet. Certainly the best way to end a relationship if you ask me. :)

The Revenge of Milady Borgia : House of Flying Forks

Like any wily chessplayer, Charming Calvin's mama has kept her motives inscrutable for a good long while - possibly leaving Calvin contented enough to erroneously believe that she has finally settled down into a seeming tolerance ( if not acceptance ) of his alternative lifestyle.

Me, I'm ever-watchful - especially when it comes to the quiet ones.


Lady Borgia : Pack my bags, ladies. We are going on a trip.
Wise decision it seems since Lady Borgia has finally made her opening move. A surprising attack motivated by sheer ennui.

Seriously displeased with the abominable taint left on her beloved hometown by the creepy perverted Homosexoils, Lady Borgia has decided to leave the accursed town of Sodom & Gomorrah - without looking back else she turn into a pillar of salt! At least that's what she claims. Though I half-suspect she's leaving due to a case of sheer boredom from a lack of worthy opponents.

However she can find no rest here in the great city as well. Sensing my wicked presence in this depraved urban sprawl through her reliable sources, Lucrezia Borgia has shrewdly planned her fiendish strike by inveigling herself in Calvin's coming travelogue instead.

For months now, there's been talk about travel but we haven't made any firm plans as yet - especially with our recently packed schedules. But it seems that Lady Borgia herself has pre-empted our plans by suggesting a tour of Bali with us. Not sure exactly what Calvin must have thought of that charmingly conceived plan but surely he must have blown a small aneurysm in his head.

Lady Borgia : Maybe I could accompany you on a holiday?
Calvin : Really?
Lady Borgia : And meet all your lovely friends. Was there a Paul you mentioned? I'm sure I'd love to meet him.
Calvin : I think I just suffered a stroke.

Masterful. That's what I call an effective check - though you'll have to agree I'm far from checkmated by her aggressive strike.


Calvin : She has made her move.
Paul : No worries. The queen will find that these little pawns have gambits of their own.
Little wonder Calvin found the trip back extremely uncomfortable. No doubt after that, he must have shuddered inwardly over the daunting news with horrible recurring nightmares replaying an explosive meet between his mother and me. Curious why though since I'm sure it'll be quite as civilized as afternoon tea and crumpets with the Queen herself.

Lady Borgia : Evening, Paul.
Paul : So glad. Come, join us.
Calvin : Don't fight. Please.
Jared and Lex : Maybe we should take our leave now.
Paul : Don't be silly. Of course we won't fight. Tea? More sugar?
Lady Borgia : Certainly wouldn't mind having some. Two lumps. Lovely weather we're having. Pity about the company.
Paul : Oh, don't be so quick to blame yourself. You have had such an embalming effect on this expedition. Oops, sorry, I meant calming quality.
Lady Borgia : I heard what you said. You deserve that I should stab you with this fork.
Paul : Please try it. Think you can raise that dessert fork after I've poisoned your tea? Two lumps you said?

Of course after that mutual exchange of pleasantries, there's the prerequisite spitting catfight with forks, knives and scones a-flying ( before my poison kicks in ) while Jaunty Jared - an ever helpful soul - tries to separate the snarling combatants. Calvin would no doubt be trying to catch the flying forks.

Calvin has quite the imagination.

Seriously. That's not how I play the game. Hardly going to allow matters to degenerate to such a bestial level. After all I don't deal in sloppy street brawls. Please. This is a civilized game and I kill my enemies with kindness. So much neater a stratagem with little need to get my hands dirty! Nor get myself accused of sexism / ageism for attacking the seemingly powerless queen as my counter-gambit. What an awfully lowering stigma that would be.

In truth, I'm sure we'd deal extremely - and make delightful travelling companions during the trip. Who knows, I might even bond with Lady Borgia over crazy bargains for wooden statues in Ubud. Maybe even get matching best bud tees.

But I'd prepare some of my special tea in the luggage just in case. The best players always come prepared.

Kissing Frogs

I know girls are supposed to go around kissing frogs before they finally land that prince. But sometimes I wonder whether locking lips with tadpoles grown in a muddy dating pool is really worth it. Especially when it seems like the world's an endless mucky swamp where dastardly frogs abound. And princes seem to be scarce.

Yet these intrepid damsels seem to soldier on their determined quest to find their prince, falling for repulsive frogs all the same. Not sure if it's their charming croak or the way they hip hop but somehow princesses seem to forget their boundless dignity in stooping to pick them up.

Seriously more than a few I'd have preferred sauteed slowly over a grill. Frog legs anyone?

But just take a glance around town and you'll see the Princess and the Frog Syndrome all around in dozens of guises - while you'd find it hard to catch the opposite. Close to miraculous to glimpse a rare sighting of the Prince and the Beast.

Guys just don't go for frogs.

Sure the forgiving ladies are reputed to be able to look beyond the superficial to find the budding prince within.... but sometimes I wonder whether they realize that some of these frogs are just plain frogs. That no matter how deep you pry, you ain't gonna find Chris Evans amongst that disgusting muck of boils and warts.


Are you my Prince?
But some girls persevere - as Fabulous Fiona did - hoping to find their happily-ever-after. Though I never could see any noble quality in any of the frogs. Far from attractive, far from charming, far from intelligent - I sometimes wonder what redeeming quality these despicable frogs could have to endear themselves to the ladies!

Hell, the cheating frog Fiona once dated? Even I look better - and that's not saying much, believe me. Amazed me that Fiona would even deign to speak to such an adulterous specimen. I was incredulous. Yet according to popular report, that particular frog seems to have left dozens of broken female hearts strewn all over the swamp. Even managed to find a scullery maid to serenade with his croaks whilst carousing with Fiona.

Maybe that frog purchased an irresistible love potion. Maybe he had a particular enchanting lily pad.

Or maybe the damsels love a Fear Factor challenge.

Whatever it is... dammit to hell it seriously makes me wanna swing straight! Seems to me that breeder boys do have it easy when it comes to love. Gay princes certainly wouldn't sully themselves with abominable mudcritters ( what a mess it would make on their tunics! ) but it seems as if the pampered princesses don't have any such squeamish qualms when it comes to slimy suitors.

If frogs can have such a good deal on land, surely I could land a princess or two myself. :)