All About the Toe

And crunch. There went the toe.

Those who know the both of us well would have heard of the toe. Specifically Charming Calvin's toe.

Obviously there'll be many twisted versions out there on how the poor fellow broke his toe. From imprudent sex games involving swings and whips to a Rihanna-Chris-Brown domestic abuse case. There's also mention of accidentally falling from ladders while housepainting. If only the story were that simple.


Tale of the Broken Toe!
Permit me to tell you one more version. Imagine a lone wooden pavilion set amongst towering bamboo forests with two masters on the verandah exchanging wuxia secrets.

Calvin : It's against everything I've been taught by our clandestine sect. My old master will never allow me to learn such a heretical martial art.
Paul : That boring old prude won't? Like I give a damn. Here, take my 18-Dragon Subduing Kick.
Calvin : Hmm. Although it's not canonical and possibly a little evil, that was quite an efficient stance.
Paul : Just picked it up meditating up in the cold mountains. A subtle though unorthodox variation of the 9 Ying Mantra.
Calvin : But could you move your foot a little?
Paul : Why? Did I step on your acupressure point?
Calvin : Just a little.
Paul : Well okay.
Calvin : Ouch. My toe. Maybe it's broken.

Alarmingly our fellow seemed to show a delayed response to pain. Possibly learned from his vaunted martial arts master? An obscure secret method of dulling the pain?

Or maybe his internal energy chi has been weakened by the polluted waters of the city? So much so that a simple step injured his toe?

Whatever it was, my Nine Flower Dew pill only served to numb the excruciating agony. Even an exchange of internal energies didn't work. So Calvin had to make the painful journey of a hundred li to seek the help of a Western practitioner of medicine. Only to get five days enforced rest at home.

A simple yet effective prescription that cured his crippled toe almost immediately.

20th Anniversary

Seems like even our hags are starting to notice the ephemeral quality of our fleeting relationships. After all most gay couples tend to last but the flicker of a candle. All it takes is the mere whisper of a tempest to snuff it out.

Sad fact that.

But what made me smile just the other day was a passing comment from Fabulous Fiona. Teasing her on her recent penchant for all things Bollywood ( including the men ), she tried to distract me by talking about Charming Calvin instead.

Fiona : You've been dating like forever!
Paul : Doesn't seem that long.
Fiona : Well for gay men, a year of commitment's like five!
Paul : Ooh. Since we've been together around four years, can I start celebrating my 20th Anniversary?
Fiona : A china wedding! How appropriate!

One year is like five for a heterosexual commitment? Ouch.

But well, 20 years. So what to do to commemorate this momentous day?


Paul : Wow. 2 decades! Who'd have thought!
Fiona : An old married couple?
Paul : No complaints there.
Fiona : Time for a baby?
Paul : Maybe. A Penan baby perhaps?
Not that we've settled on a particular day. Unlike some cooing lovebirds, neither of us can recall the day we got together. Being the indolent sloth that he is, I doubt Charming Calvin even remembered to note down the date.

Fortunately we managed to get this far without being ascribed one of those annoying hybrid names given to couples such as Brangelina or TomKat. Or even my adoring friends Jelanis. But maybe for the china anniversary, it would be fun to try a combination.

Calvin and Paul.

Maybe Palvin? Paulvin? Caul? Calul?

Eh. They just don't have the wow factor. Maybe an autumn honeymoon in Shanghai to celebrate instead? :)

Attack of the Lizardmen

Beware fair citizens! Keep your women and children safe at home! Shut the windows and bar the doors!

For in the dead of night the beast roams the streets of the city!

Even now I hide curled up under the thick bedcovers with a single flickering candle lit against the creeping darkness. Listen to the eerie snicker made by the cunning critters as they scurry across the tiles. Though the doors are locked tight with multiple steel bolts yet the evil monsters come knocking. Teeth shiny sharp and flesh icy cold yet with glittery eyes full of wicked glee.


Hello? Help! I am being attacked by lizards!
Who knew that this city by the sea has been lethally infested with creepy crawly lizards.

Seriously. In every corner. In every crevice. Under the table. Under your shoe. They seem to be everywhere. Possibly even more lizards in the house than there are people in the city. That's the wild jungle for you!

Cleaning the house doesn't seem to do the trick. Shutting all the windows and doors don't seem to work. Spraying the area with anti-lizard works but just for a lil while. Short of razing the entire village into the ground for miles around, I doubt there's much I can do to get rid of them.

Tried googling of course but all I got were weird herbal remedies. Getting pussies to prey on them? Broken eggshells by the windows? Peacock feathers in pots to scare them away? Do these actually work? Surprised no one's suggested a rain dance to get rid of these pests.

Seriously. Why doesn't Martha Stewart come up with a lizard repellent?

Boys in Roundabouts

A short drive around the lil city that could would emphasize one fact.

There's a helluva lot of roundabouts over here. From the really tiny ones smaller than a hubcap to the gigantic ones large enough to site a football field. Still not sure why the small town folks here have a surprising predilection for them but perhaps newfangled traffic lights mystify the lot. After all most of the drivers here haven't yet fathomed the puzzling complexities of a roundabout!


I give up!
Witness how they spin round and round the circle without making an exit. Perhaps confused by the plethora of options? Maybe head spinning with vertigo after the merry-go-round?

Alice : Ooh roundabout. Ooh the cars are going so fast. So scary. Where do I turn? To the left? To the right? Do I make a u-turn instead?
Paul : Move it dammit!
Alice : Round and round we go. Ooh so many choices. I am confused. How do I choose? Where do I go?
Paul : Fucking stick to one lane dammit. Stop swerving.
Alice : There's a football field in there. Ooh even a mini oil platform.
Paul : @%^&%@!!

I know I'm supposed to chill. But it's hard to remain zen when you're stuck behind an undecided nitwit hemming and hawing over the turns. All the confused drivers spinning around like muddled teacups on a Disney ride, I tell ya.


Fortunately the town planners have offered a convenient distraction for hotheaded fellows like me.

Shirtless boys in roundabouts. Pure genius. Not only do you get to see them deliciously sweaty chasing after a ball, you also get to enjoy a turntable 360-degree view as you drive around. Brilliant. With a turntable for sexy bois, who said they aren't gay-friendly here! Only way they could have outdone themselves is by spraying the boys with a combination of water and lube, then placing them under hot spotlights.

With numbers on their naked chests so we can bring them home after.

Ah. Sweet.

I just wonder how the ballers managed to make it across the crowded roundabout.

That Loudmouth

Speak softly.

But carry a big stick.

At least that's what the usual adage is. Over here though, seems like most of the country folk take the saying as speak loudly. Obviously to compensate for a little stick.

Otherwise why would the graceless yokels here talk at the top of their voices in public? Do they think everyone else in this small town is hopelessly deaf?


Hush.
Though I come from a long line of honest kopitiam owners, I don't think I'd have gotten away with yelling out the lunch orders in the shop. Neither would my cousins. My exacting grandmother certainly wouldn't have us all behaving like ill-bred, uncultured hooligans. An eagle-eyed glare would be followed with a stern two-minute homily on proper kopitiam etiquette.

Caterwauling, hollering or screaming incessantly across the length of the shop isn't allowed.

Being quite a bit younger than the rest of us, the family black sheep Richie Runt missed the Miss Manners lecture.

Paul : Did you take the order for table three?
Richie : Sure I did! Black coffee two!! And one egg with toast! Got that?!
Paul : I think you should lower your tone of voice before grandma comes -
Grandmother : Good gracious, child. Richie, what was all that improper yelling all about? Were you brought up in a fishmarket? Good money I paid to have you sent to a proper school.

Obviously not the adage learnt by the folk over here. Don't they know that while the underlings and lackeys tend to shout, true Godfathers always whisper? After all, you only need to raise your voice if no one cares to listen.

Little sticks I tell ya!

The Pauper

Such a pity for the Prince.

Just yesterday I mentioned Yang Kang 楊康 - that cunning ( and meltingly dreamy! ) anti-hero of the Condor Heroes 射鵰英雄傳 - having to make a choice between his natural father, the ertwshile vaudeville artiste, and his adopted father, the mighty emperor. Seems like an easy enough choice for me since I'd have kicked the deadbeat dad to the kerbside. But since this is a Chinese wuxia serial that places much emphasis on supposedly noble Confucian values such as mindless loyalty to the family and country, you can imagine which father he finally chose.

So Yang Kang tries the straight, narrow and unsurprisingly destitute path.

You can only imagine how such reduced circumstances chafe on the pampered prince turned penniless pauper. Exchanging silken sheets and sedan carriages for tattered homespun rags and straw-woven slippers isn't that easy. Not only does our poor Yang Kang have to give up his wealth and privilege for a poverty-stricken life, these folks expect him to perform feats of martial prowess and acrobatic stunts on the filthy streets to earn a living.


Wanna see my spear?
How the mighty have fallen. Having to be pummelled with wooden logs by insignificant ( and shockingly spiteful ) peons for pitiful pennies.

And then bullied by ignominious minor officials.

Prince Paul : You filthy idiots with the logs, get out of my way if you want to keep your heads. You're not fit to stand so close to this noble fellow.
Yang Kang : Good morning, sir!
Prince Paul : My my... all sweaty and sexy.
Yang Kang : Fine sir, stay and watch my martial arts performance. And if you like it, please show your appreciation.
Prince Paul : I'm appreciating you right now, pretty boy.
Yang Kang : Thank you. Watch how I hold the Yang Family Spear.
Prince Paul : Delicious lil martial artist, maybe you could show me how you thrust that dangerously long spear in my quarters.
Yang Kang : Oh yes, my lord!
Prince Paul : If you're a very good boy, I'll teach you the Splitting the Fragrant Peach position as well. Matches the Straight Thrusting Spear technique perfectly.
Yang Kang : I will try my best!
Prince Paul : Very good. This bag of coins will suffice for your services? Come along then.

whispers sotto voce to menial servant

Prince Paul : Come here, sniveling worm. Hand this bag of coins to the pale, undernourished lass standing over there. His weakling fiancee Miss Mu I assume.
Menial servant : Yes, master.
Prince Paul : Tell her he's not coming back tonight.
Menial servant : Yes, master.
Prince Paul : Then again, don't tell her anything. Foolish girl's going to die from the poisoned coins anyhow. A surfeit of saccharine sweetness irritates me.
Menial servant : Yes, Master East Venom!
Prince Paul : Then see these idiots holding logs? Return later with our soldiers and kill all of them. How dare they defile my man!

Yes, vengeful monster that I am. But seriously, I'd be so much better for Yang Kang than his idiotic goody-two-shoes fiancee.

Unfortunately Yang Kang hasn't sunk to such depraved depths yet. A pity.



But poor Yang Kang. I don't blame him for turning bad. Frankly I'd go crazy myself. And probably run amuck slaughtering the innocent villagers and razing it to the ground - after battering said peons to death with their damned logs.

I don't think our arrogant aristocrat Yang Kang is gonna take it lying down either. At least not for too many episodes! I'm sure he has some wicked scheme up his sleeve. Thank God for that since I hate spineless protagonists who wring their hands helplessly while fate sweeps them hopelessly along. Better to have someone forcefully take the reins of their own lives.

Fools who hope for change to happen without lifting a finger deserve to be pummelled with logs. I'll probably give them a good whack myself.

The Prince

Doubt I'd have made a good hero for a Chinese wuxia serial.

All that virtuous emphasis on knightly chivalry would just drive me insane. Chances are I'd have been one of the wicked, scheming anti-heroes out to foil the plans of the just and righteous. Don't you just despise those pure saintly do-gooders? Probably turn into the needle-and-poison wielding East Venom like I mentioned before.

Sheer bucolic boredom in the backwoods has driven me to unearth some of the old dvds that I own. Including an old favourite. The Condor Heroes. Well actually the prequel to the one I talked about several years back.

Worthy upstanding heroes are all very well and good - but is it any surprise that I'm empathizing with the much maligned villain Yang Kang?


The Prince?
After having his commoner father supposedly die at the bloody hands of the enemy, in a fortunate twist of fate Yang Kang is claimed by the opposing side and brought up as their pampered prince instead. The adored adopted son of the conquering king, Yang Kang grows up arrogant, cunning and worldly.

Far different from the diffident country bumpkin hero of the series.

So when Yang Kang's real father literally rises from the ashes, do you blame the fellow for refusing to accept his long-lost father? Denying a handsome princely heritage with all the accoutrements of wealth and status for that of an unknown pauper? Expecting him to just turn traitor on his adopted country for the sake of genealogy?

So what if it means he's just a tad power-hungry. I would be too if I were a prince. Surely you can't expect me to be satisfied with only tens of thousands of li. I need more!

Queen : I swear that dirty beggar is your father.
Prince Paul : Get real. Even if this dirtbag really was my natural father, I wouldn't recognize him. Guards, go drag that filthy creature out. Whip him while you're at it.
Queen : But you have to take up your true heritage. Return to your people. Uphold the just. Protect the weak.
Prince Paul : Whatever. Justice is as I see it. As a prince, I shall oppress all brainless fools who oppose me. And for the weak? The foolish peasants can toil the fields.
Queen : Boo hoo hoo. How can this happen?
Prince Paul : Get over yourself. And what's with all this spineless snivelling! You're a queen. Maintain some decorum in front of the commoners please.

Seriously. I would have kicked the decrepit deadbeat dad down a deep well. With my 18 Stance Flying Dragon Kick. And then I'd have conquered the entire known world while subjugating ( and repeatedly kicking ) the downtrodden peons.

And ravishing their virile young farmer sons in my palace.


Certainly earn the disreputable name of East Venom then.

No doubt I'd have earned the ire of Charming Calvin since he'll obviously be on the side of the *yawn* sadly oppressed.

Mean Queen

Beginning to understand how Charming Calvin turned out to be such a placid fellow. After all he has to blend in with the rest of the indolent crowd plodding along unhurriedly in this small town. Active, energetic balls of tension causing ripples and quakes certainly don't fit into the slow meandering way of life here.

Meaning city boys like me.


Time to chill?
Seriously I might be too mean for Miri. Starting to fit the comedic stereotype of the uptight, highstrung yuppie coming to stir things up in the bucolic backwoods.

Doctor : Perhaps we should open up more beds in the wards. Just expand the north wing, get more beds and monitors.
Paul : And where would we get doctors to man the wards? Find a Ready-to-Mix blend and just add water?

Paul : It's already 815 H. Where have you been? Rounds should already be starting like yesterday.
Doctor : Oh? But we usually trudge in slowly till about 9.
Paul : And why? Taking the cows for a walk around the pasture?

Doctor : Oh could you reconsider? Maybe extending for another hour?
Paul : I already gave you a half hour to finish. That's quite enough.
Doctor : Another half hour then?
Paul : Does this face remind you of someone who would reconsider? No.

And worst of all, I actually used that immortal line from the infamous she-devil boss Miranda Priestley.

Paul : By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.

By then I realized that I was morphing into a devilish monster. Judging from the astonished looks on their cheery sunshiney faces, obviously no one has spoken in such a tone... like ever. Even the flowery teacups hung in mid-air before their gaping mouths. Obviously a congenial country lot.

That never had the ill fate to deal with a PMS-ing mean queen.

I really need to take a chill pill.

The Beginnings of Ecoterrorism : Plantnapping

Go green.

Well at least that's the usual tagline being touted by the zealous tree-hugging eco-activists! Saw no reason not to heed the environmentalist call especially since I figure every house needs just that touch of green. Even one situated right smack dab in the midst of a lush tropical rainforest.

Even with leafy plants growing wildly amuck all around us, the nurseries here don't seem to be charging less for what I could probably pluck from the neighbouring jungle. Running short of funds after a thorough refurbishment of the dilapidated interiors ( not to mention the leaky waterworks ), I knew I needed to find a far more economical method of obtaining quality flora.

Either beg, borrow or steal.

So I resorted to the first with my erstwhile mother-in-law, the solemn Madame Borgia. Unsure of her reception - knowing she's not exactly fond of the fact that I'm corrupting her baby boy - so I approached her nervously with my thoroughly green request. Hailing from hardy farmer stock with a hereditary green thumb ( though it skipped a generation with Calvin ), she surprised me by sympathizing with my sadly plantless situation and immediately offered an olive branch. Figuratively.

And literally too if you count the bouquet of leaves she handed me.

Supposedly to stab randomly onto the fertile ground praying hard that it would take root.

Of course such surprising beneficence from Madame Borgia makes me exceedingly wary. Burdock root? Poison ivy? Utterly disbelieving, Charming Calvin half suspects that the proffered plants may be poisonous and has adjured me to keep it at least 10 metres away. Doubting his cagey mother's intent, I don't disagree - and so the shady ( and highly suspect! ) plants have been exiled to the farthest perimetre of the yard. Beware evil trespassers for Borgia plants lie await.


Hunting for greens.
Even with the spray she'd given me, still left me with plenty of room for other flora. Doubt there's a suitable lending library for plants in these parts - so I decided to get inventive. Always a dangerous idea for a morally ambiguous soul such as me.

Combined both borrow and steal for the last so I plantnapped.

Or at least I liberated captured flora - suffering under the care of feckless caretakers - for the betterment of all.

Pertinent details of the dastardly deed left out since I could be held liable for such a petty crime. Left a note so they would know of the loan - since borrowers can get such a lousy deal these days :) So in the dark of night, I stealthily crept in, picked a pot and made a quick getaway. All very cloak and dagger.

And hey, presto, I have some pretty potted plants at home.

Gilmore Boys

Obviously staying alone in a country house can lead to blue melancholia.

Made even worse by a major saccharine dose of Gilmore Girls.

Not that the award-winning drama series is in any way morbidly depressing but the affectionate familiarity shared between the Gilmore Girls only makes me nostalgic. The quick snappy banter with endless run-on sentences full of fancy bombastic words between the main protagonists only reminds me of my friend.


An old friend of mine actually.

You know how it is when you know someone well enough that you complete each other's sentences? Someone who automatically understands all the obscure pop-cultural references you make without asking for an explanation? When the words start falling out so fast that to others listening in it seems as if you're both rambling endlessly?

So very in sync. I miss that.

And yes, I do miss my ISO. Bastard that he is.


Boys from Gilmore Girls
Seems like it's been months since I've seen him when it's actually been a month. Obviously boredom ( and the bucolic life ) is driving me batty.

Or it could be the haze.

Paul : What you doing?
My ISO : Hotwiring a stolen car. Thinking of robbing a bank.
Paul : Lucky you. I'm riding a wild elephant through the Borneo jungles.
My ISO : You're not doing anything in that bumfuck village. Bored stiff yet?
Paul : Guessed that right.
My ISO : So what's up with the transchinasea call?
Paul : Well I'm bored and I missed you.
MY ISO : OMG. Did I hear right? Did I just get a brain aneurysm? Sentimentality from you?
Paul : Shucks, I blame the fresh country air.
My ISO : Waitaminute, do I hear the Gilmore Girls theme behind you? Awwww.
Paul : Shut up.

It's all good fun.

New in Town

Always been a dedicated city boy through and through so it hasn't been easy adjusting to life here. Don't be fooled by the high-falutin city tag - for all intents and purposes, it's still a cosy hamlet albeit with surprising pockets of urbanized culture. The simple pleasures afforded by a small town with its lil cafes, neighbourhood stores and narrow lanes just doesn't seem to interest me all that much.

Gimme the traffic, smog and unfriendly city folk anytime.


Of course nature has its peculiar way of getting its own back by handing me the horrible choking haze instead.

Fortunately a light shower has cleared the hazy air allowing the small town to return to its slow humdrum routine.

Tips for an urbanite to survive in a small town

1) Throw away your clock. Get a sundial instead

Don't even think of staying up late in a small town. The sleepy locals set a different clock here based on daylight savings time! So expect to be woken up by glaring sunlight ( oh heavens! I'm burning! ) at an ungodly hour of the morning and in the reverse, kindly expect to be tossed out of a closing restaurant at about 9 pm. And unless you favour dingy, disreputable bars, forget about late-night suppers.

Obviously the suspicious locals don't trust these newfangled inventions called electric lamps. Who's to trust something that came about just a few years back? Better to trust in the sun.

2) Drive slow and walk slow

Not that many places to go in town so there's never a rush. Driving at a fast and furious pace in a circle around the city only takes all off ten minutes. Trust me. I tried. Now I know why Charming Calvin plods along with the rest of the country slowpokes.

And honestly they really don't know how to use roundabouts, swerving recklessly from one lane to the next without much thought. Do they think they are riding on crazy whirling teacups in Disney World? In the real world, the cups do smash and break.

3) Time your work to finish by 4


Damn. What am I gonna do today?
At least if you want to get anything done. The majority of shops here close by 5. Don't ask me why. Who do they expect to be walking about purchasing items during th usual 9-to-5 working hours? Layabouts? Housewives? Bartenders? So you have me speeding off from work ( fortunately I work through lunch so the hours compensate ) just to settle bills and stuff.

4) Expect leisurely meals

Seriously. Waiters here are a privileged bunch. From the surly waitress I got in Tudan to the bubbly blonde bimbo ( at least she's blonde inside! ) who handed me the wrong orders with a giggle in Morsjaya. Not only do they mess up the orders, they also get the prices hopelessly confused - and by god they really do take their time sending the meal.

Seriously. Don't crawl in from the burning desert expecting instant meals! These provincial folks live on small-town time so expect to wait.

For a really long time.

5) Expect crabby service

Despite what you hear about sweet country hospitality ( certainly a myth! ), the local salespeople here don't seem to have received that particular memo. Far from being friendly, most shopkeepers here seem a lil pissed to be at work. Resentment seems rife in the air so begrudging service is what you get at best. Don't even hope for a smile.

God forbid you leave the shop without purchasing anything.

Then again, maybe they just have it in for city boys.

Masturbate Away

Seriously. How ludicrous can we get!

Practicing personal hygiene and wearing masks has been advocated by the health authorities to ward away the recent pandemic flu. But obviously some folks beg to differ.

According to these supposedly learned scientists ( though I have far less complimentary names for them ) - to keep away the viral H1N1 flu, you have to avoid masturbation and homosexual activities. Or at least that's according to an eminent practitioner of complementary therapy in Malaysia. Seems that such shockingly indulgent practices cause the body to develop friction heat which in turn, produces acid and makes the body prone to H1N1 infection.

Surprisingly heterosexual unions seem to be the exception from the rule.

How very convenient. Obviously there's neither friction nor heat there. If that's true, those poor breeder boys surely don't know what they're missing.


Avoiding heated friction?
I can't even begin to comprehend how the crackpot therapist came to the conclusion that homosexual couplings can be all that different from heterosexual ones. Sure faggots fucking can be unconventional but it's not that far out. Item A still enters Slot B - at least most of the time! Does he think gay boys have sex with their teensy toes instead?

Foolish. Now how is he gonna prove this half-baked theory of his? Infiltrate the iniquitous den of Marketplace to find willing volunteers for a sample of acidity? Perhaps after some heated friction?

So to avoid the flu.... No masturbation. No gay sex. Obviously there's nothing much I can do for satisfaction these days.

Beware the Plague

Nope.

I haven't been quarantined for showing signs and symptoms of the dreaded H1N1 flu. At least not yet. Though I have a nasty suspicion that I might have battled a milder variant last month.

Probably should have placed myself in voluntary seclusion then.

Alas a rising number of cases - and a worrying trend of increased mortality rates - have driven quite a number of patients to the hospital in seek of medical treatment. And also a healthy dose of assurance.


Damn. Am I quarantined?
Of course I didn't realize that the increased presence of such contagious patients would brand the hospital as a forbidden no man's land in the unschooled eyes of the citizenry. No doubt on the naive assumption that a virulent, infectious miasma surrounds the hospital grounds threatening to inflict disease at twenty paces.

Hence the reluctance of the laymen to set foot within the undesirable environs. Without our knowledge, we'd been unwillingly turned into pariah outcasts.

So you can imagine how difficult it was to have my purchased items delivered.

Worker : And where would you want the goods delivered, sir?
Paul : At the hospital?
Worker : Mother of God! You stay at that accursed place of death! Unclean! Get thee away from these grounds!
Paul : What are you talking about?
Worker : You have come with the plague! An abomination!

Talk about persona non grata. I might as well have been an untouchable.

But seriously, these huge strapping fellows refusing to dump a couch at my quarters behind the hospital? All because of twisted misinformation? Even after my earnest, detailed explanation on the disease - which took the better part of an hour - the fearful workmen refused to budge.

And all the while they stood at least three feet away from me. Think they were minutes away from running for protective gear. No doubt they decontaminated the entire area after I left.

Ridiculous.

I should have sneezed on them.

Southern Speak

Order me a measure of some mint julep, sweet chile. It's sweltering right over here!

Melting under the recent sultry heatwave, Ebullient Eve and I are lazing right there on the front porch fixin' the new curtains I purchased at the general store while desperately fanning ourselves with palm leave fans. Nary a cool breeze these past few nights.

Damn. Some Long Island Tea would go down right well!

Eve : Land's sakes, such menial work is wearing me out! Haven't worked this hard since Aunt Agatha dropped by during the spring revival!
Paul : Reckon this ain't no work for gentlefolk like us!
Eve : Afraid you can't find good help around these parts - not like we used to have back in the days. Bless their hearts, I love them but such plain ignorant they are! Trust them only as far you can throw 'em.
Paul : Fortunately I have you then!
Eve : Trying my best here but all I can do now is give it a lick and a promise.
Paul : Good enough for me, sweetheart.

Swear the weather's here quite as oppressive as the seventh level of hell. Even sitting here in the house with the electric fans turning, we are both covered in a slick, sticky layer of perspiration. You can imagine what's gonna happen if I take a quick walk to work now. Practically dripping wet by the time I reach the doors of the hospital.

If not already dead from heat stroke.


Fanning the fire!
Evidently some mindless fools have to resort to open burning on peat soil just about this time of the year. Adding to the torrid heat - and starting a stuffy haze that covers the city for miles.

And with the dry spell, there's no water to drown the flames.

Now I can imagine what a burning Atlanta feels like.

Fortunately I have curtains to block out some of the unseasonable heat.

The Shuffle

Yesterday the Legal Beagle sent a universal tag to all - for a meme that has been making the rounds - and I did it cause I found the meme irresistibly cute.

Answering questions through the mysterious hoodoo of the iPod shuffle? Sounds right up my alley. After all, the music we listen to everyday certainly tells a lot about who we are. That vegan PETA yogamaster with his hippie tunes. The sulky Goth princess with her angsty feminist wails.


Wanna find out what I have in my iPod?
And then there's me. With Charming Calvin calling his gadget iBlair, I dubbed mine my very own iChuck!

But for the meme, here are the instructions:

1. Put your iPod on shuffle.
2. Press forward for each question.
3. Use the song title as the answer to the question.

Q: What does next year have in store for you?
Mercy by One Republic. Hmm. Hopefully I do get plenty of it.

Q: What does your love life look like next year?
Can't Take That Away by Mariah Carey. Sounds quite promising for next year then. Good news for Charming Calvin and me.

Q: What do you say when life deals you a bad hand?
Genie in a Bottle by Christina Aguilera. Oh yeah, obviously I do a lot of wishing, hoping and praying.

Q: Song that reminds you of good times?
Marie's The Name by Elvis Presley. Not even sure why I have Elvis in the playlist but I guess Calvin thought I would enjoy it :)

Q: What do you think when you get up in the morning?
Making Memories by Keith Urban. No arguments there.

Q: What song will you dance to at your wedding?
Like a Star by Connie Bailey Rae. Just perfect! How did the Shuffle guess! Talk about spooky!


Q: Favourite place?
Dirty Sexy Rich by Lady Gaga. No idea what this means. But I do have a propensity for visiting dirty, sexy, rich places.

Q: What song describes your best friend?
Labels or Love by Fergie. Not sure who this describes exactly but oh yeah, it definitely covers all my friends including the shopaholic Lushes.

Q: What song describes your ex?
February Song by Josh Groban. So sad and melancholy. Gotta read the lyrics before I can comment on this.

Q: What song describes yourself?
Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Michael Buble. Umm. I'm a supportive fellow?

Q: Where will you be in 10 years?
I Wish You Knew by Mariah Carey. Guess I'm not supposed to know as well! And sometimes it's nice not to know.

Q: Your love life right now?
Please Mr Postman by Human Nature. OMFG! So appropriate! With Calvin miles away on the mainland, oh yeah, we're definitely depending on the postman.

Q: How will you die?
I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry. Guess I'm not gonna start turning straight anytime soon. Obviously girls have cooties!

Hey, the Shuffle's pretty good! Surprisingly appropriate answers here! Obviously some hidden magic voodoo inside the lil iPod.

Caught Wet

Or otherwise known as ditangkap basah in Malay.

Always wondered how that quaint local phrase came about! Imagined dozens of native girls and boys clad in batik sarongs discovered amongst the jungle bushes in the throes all covered in sexsweat. What the colourful phrase actually means is being caught in close proximity with a nubile member of the opposite sex.

Which obviously brings to mind all sorts of lewd, wicked immoral pursuits.

Exactly what I was guilty of this very afternoon.

With Salem.

Remember my hunky workman Sexy Salem? Well this afternoon I finally got my wish - had the deliciously tanned fella cornered under the shower all wet.

And I didn't even plan this.

First our Sexy Salem came knocking at my door wanting to fix the new showerheads. Which was after the entire scathing lecture I gave to him and his crew ( do it on a weekly basis ) on the shoddy maintenance of the plumbing fixtures in my house.


Umm. Could you hand me a bigger towel?
Turns out Salem isn't all that cocksure when he's left without his supportive fellow workmen behind him. Easy enough prey for a menacing vulture like me especially when I had him trapped in my bathroom.

Despite his apparent pretty boy looks, Salem actually has a functioning brain that screamed alarm when I watched him with hungry covetous eyes. With the sultry summer heat causing nervous sweat to start beading at his lip, Salem with his big brown eyes looked like a terrified gazelle under headlights. Nothing like making a confident man lose his composure.

Salem : Wait. W-why are you locking the toilet doors?
Paul : Relax. I'm checking to see if it works. Good latches by the way. Love hard burnished steel, really tough and solid.
Salem : Umm. We try to give our best.
Paul : Nervous? Why don't you focus on the shower head?
Salem : Umm. Okay.
Paul : Check if the pressure's good. Whether the connection's screwed hard.
Salem : Umm. Okay.
Paul : Got it really fast and tight?
Salem : Could you try turning the pressure valve?

Next thing you know I accidentally hit the pressure valve. He didn't exactly tell me how much to release. And whoosh. We were both wet. Sexy Salem more so than me.

Certainly took away much of the rife sexual tension in the heated room - especially with Salem drenched from head to toe. Can I say Salem has some really nice ripped abs? Perfectly smooth as well with a tiny treasure trail going down into his wet denim.

Lickable.

That One Night Stand

So what's your stand on it?

Certainly an issue that most of the girls I know have an unequivocal response. Straight fellas out there, take note, I'm telling you most of these modern Miss Independents wouldn't stand for such adulterous affaires. Far from being irreplaceable in their lives, your shirts, shoes and gym bags would be tossed out on the lawn before you know it.

Lorelei : Never! If he cheats on me, I would raise the very oceans to smother him in my boundless fury.
Paul : Wow. Angry much?
Lorelei : All the creatures of the sea would wage war on him to claim my vengeance. They would feast on his flesh.
Paul : It's only a cheap one-night-stand. Probably means nothing.
Lorelei : It means everything!

Hell certainly hath no fury like a sea urchin scorned. Watch out sushi bars.


Umm. Hope my boyfriend's not seeing this shot.
For the guys though, it's surprisingly not as clear-cut. Though I reckon there are younger, more idealistic fellas who would rant and rave over a mild flirtation. Even winking after getting dust in the eye could cause a minor relationship squabble. Then there are those who actually enjoy - and demand - a bit of irrational jealousy.

Girl : You see that cute fella? He asked me out but I said no.
Boy : Eh.
Girl : Why aren't you just the lil bit jealous! He was flirting with me!
Boy : Eh.

Odd those.

Perhaps it's age, maturity or higher tolerance but even I have changed my stand on the issue of infidelity.

Maybe I used to say the same in my fiery youth - that I'd probably huff off in a insensible fit of anger and I actually did so once upon a time - but after looking back in retrospect, I realize that I could have been a little hasty. Perhaps weighed my options instead of throwing away all I had with my ex.

Sex is sex. I don't think guys out there equate sex with emotions such as love and adoration. I certainly don't. So a drunken one-night-stand? That's just smacks, sweat and semen. I'd probably be more pissed if he'd had a long-term internet affair where he's shared his ideas and thoughts.

Then surprisingly Charming Calvin - that staunch conservative - agreed with me!

Hmm. And this is a fellow who gets stalked by lusty geriatrics in the local clinics. Should I be suspicious?

Two Gay Boys, A Girl and A Calamity

You know how they say you sometimes get what you wish for? Well I wanted life in this lil town to be more interesting.

Turns out I did get my wish. Of course interesting over here means I'm standing alongside a storm drain with my broken-down car idling by the road while a mini storm threatens overhead.

Fortunately I had company. Fellow exiled urbanites Fabulous Felix and his shockingly resourceful pal, Piratin Patty. A Miss Independent herself, Patty looks as good climbing up metal platforms in muddy boots and stained overalls as she does strolling the streets in skirts and Manolos.

Thank God for that.


Umm. Do I have to get out and push?
Since left to my own devices - and possibly Felix's - I'd probably be wailing piteously by the roadside while waving the red triangle for help. What's a gay guy supposed to do with a car breakdown!

No doubt in this dangerous vice-ridden town, we'd have been mugged and left for dead as well.

Surely you don't expect me to peek under the hood and attempt a MacGyver, do you?

You know how I am with my cars. Pathetic. All I know is that a car has an engine that drives the four wheels to move forward - and that's about the extent of my meagre knowledge! Embarassingly enough, the things I know about the combustion engine wouldn't even begin to fill a quarter of a post-it. Hell, I wouldn't even know how to name half the things under the car's hood.

Back home I'd have started scrolling through the list of reliable mechanics that I know but over here, I wouldn't even know where to begin! And don't even suggest AAM since I doubt they have coverage over here.

Well for us we had Piratin Patty along. When life gives you car breakdowns, you start looking for Patty. Who not only knows her way around the engine - at least that's what we hope - but she wields a heavy spanner quite handily too. Despite having alarmingly thin wrists! Hurray for women's lib.

Patty : Maybe if we cut of the supply from the battery to the engine. It could just give it that added kick.
Paul : Which one's the engine?
Patty : You're pointing at the battery.
Paul : Okay. That's the engine?
Patty : Yeah. Failing that, we should look for cables to jumpstart the car.
Paul : I'm not expected to hop around am I?

But after poking around the inner workings of the engine, even Patty was at her wit's end.

Fortunately when all else failed, she had dozens of helpful boys ready to lend ( her ) a hand at a moment's notice. Thankfully one of them was a full-fledged mechanic :)