Anti Maid Syndrome

What would I do without a maid!

Seriously I don't even want to know the answer to the perplexing conundrum! Fortunately, for now and at least for the foreseeable future, I should be able to afford not to answer that particular question of whether I can live without domestic help. Apart from brief periods in my life, I've always had some sort of part-time maid in my house. Even here in Netherfield I have the inimitable yet oddly unintelligible Maid Mumbles to help out with the various domestic chores needed to keep the place vaguely serviceable.

And really, why would you even try to do without?

Domestic help. Such lovely, indispensable creatures. Maintains the manor in perfect order, all spic and span. Ready for a fry-up if the need arises. Ever-present with a cup of hot tea when you feel down.

Fuck egalitarianism. If I could afford an entire coterie of servants to staff my establishment, I probably would have. Just for starters, perhaps the housekeeper, the housemaid, the cook, the kitchen maid, the scullery maid, the chauffeur, the butler, the valet, the doorman - and that's only the bare minimum.


And why would you deny this strapping fellow his job?
So why does my sister-in-law Sassy Sue dislike having maids? Though most of us have broached the subject of hiring a maid to her, even the very suggestion seems insulting to Sue as a full-time housewife. Of course that's far from our initial intention since we just want to have her household burdens reduced with someone around to lend a hand.

Her adamant refusal seems peculiar though so let me just run through the stock reasons for not having a maid...

1) Financial constraints
Though having an entire army of maids would probably break the bank at the moment, I think my financially astute brother should be able to afford one at the very least.

2) Independence
There are some who prefer to do the cleaning, cooking, and cleanup on their own, citing independence and resourcefulness as a reason. Perhaps proving they are capable of handling the burden without help. And having a maid perpetually around in the background would really crimp their style. Yes, sure I might be able to manage without their services if need be but really, why bother if we can afford it?

3) Social conscience
A bit odd for a reason but I'll accept the validity of it. Though I gotta say the maids are getting their due for their hard work. Not like they are indentured slaves without choice. No doubt it's the best career option available to them at the moment so why not hire them?

Plenty of other more obscure reasons I'm sure. Pretty sure Sue has her personal reasons not to have a maid though, wonder what they are!

Four Days to Take-off

Unsurprisingly boys don't have as much hang-ups when it comes to sex.

Barring the spectre of sexually transmitted diseases, boys don't usually have to deal with the burgeoning aftermath of a sloppy one-night-stand for the next nine months. Easy enough to have thoughtless hook-ups when you don't have to deal with that kinda responsibility afterwards.

So you can imagine two horny gay boys with little or no hang-ups when it comes to sex. No, anonymous one-night-stands aren't exactly uncommon in our world.

Stereotypical depictions of homosexuality would have the boys tearing their clothes off even before they can reach for a condom. Not true however since gay sex - which includes anal penetration, possibly the hallmark of gay sex - necessitates some amount of preparation prior to the act. Protection, lube, perhaps the occasional enema. Without the proper prep, just an invading finger followed by a hasty fuck would produce some truly undesirable results.


Prelude to a kiss?
Of course then we have some boys who take special precautions while preparing for the event.

Felix : Well, he can't make it today.
Paul : Fuck-buddy too busy for anonymous no-strings-attached sex?
Felix : Says he can only meet up four days from now. He needs time to prepare.
Paul : Prepare for four days? Is he into some kinda wild kink?
Felix : He wants to save himself till then.
Paul : Save it? Like a fixed deposit?
Felix : Yeah, he wants to save up sperm for four days. Abstinence till then.
Paul : For the performance of a lifetime? Is he planning a gushing Vesuvius?
Felix : Obviously.
Paul : Well hello Pompeii.

Apart from porn stars prepping for their spurting debut, it's the first time I've heard of someone saving up for four days.

Turns out his fuck-buddy refrains from any and all sexual activity, which includes the occasional wank, prior to the much-anticipated tryst just to guarantee optimum performance. So why four days? Damned if I know. Perhaps the anonymous fellow has made his own personal study comparing volume and consistency of semen to days of abstinence.

Probably hoping to impress the judges with his... effusiveness.

Me, I have no preference. Whether a spurt or a dribble, does it matter?

Sex Barter

Lucky the boys these days.

Even horny fellas this far away from the civilized gay meccas find it easy enough to hook up with the immediate accessibility of Grindr ( and various other internet sites ) only a quick finger stroke away. Technology coupled with the availability of the internet everywhere has made the arduous search for one-night-stands almost effortless.

Sometimes one click is all it takes.

Obviously our randy Fabulous Felix has been eager enough to join in all the orgiastic fun. Although we have declared Netherfield off-limits to his amatory adventures - who knows if there are psycho axe-murderers around these parts - that hasn't stopped him from seeking pleasurable pursuits in other more questionable venues.

Kinda like the infamous roaming Toyota Alphards that cruise around pimping out nubile working girls.


Alright, now who do I have to fuck around here for a pomelo?
Except Felix is gay.

And Felix doesn't accept payment in the form of monetary rewards from his partners. Nothing so crass! Shockingly egalitarian, our accomodating fellow prefers the ancient method of barter exchange instead.

Paul : Is that a pomelo?
Felix : Yes, he handed me a pomelo as I walked out the door.
Paul : A pomelo as payment for services rendered?
Felix : Umm... possibly.
Paul : Not bad. Aim for a durian next, yeah?

Give a fruit to get a fruit.

At least he's well appreciated. Surely Felix must have done something right in bed to deserve the pomelo! Wonder what would earn him a fruit basket.

Irish Catholic Guilt

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Quite the worst possible ending a torrid one-night-stand could possibly have. Imagine getting up the morning after only to find your erstwhile lover kneeling at the end of the bed confessing a multitude of sins. Previous night's mindless orgy included with a muttered string of Hail Marys.


I'd certainly genuflect at his knees in adoration!
A surprisingly common occurrence in our multireligious country where Judaeo-Christian faiths, notoriously homophobic by nature, rule with an iron fist. Starting a relationship with one of the staunch, ultrareligious altar boys, despite how alluring they may be, comes fraught with unfathomable difficulties. Chief amongst them is the endless struggle they have with the abomination we call homosexuality. Takes but a simple snap of the fingers to have them renouncing their wicked, wicked ways only to run back to the holy arms of Jesus. Or even Mohammad.

Hence the guilt above. Is it any wonder quite a number of gay men turn their backs resolutely on organized religion?

However I never knew the unspeakable shame over depraved sex extends to heterosexual relationships as well. Much to the dismay of Torrid Tanya who found her new Irish beau going all Catholic guilt on her.


And I don't mean that in a good way - that being my favourite fantasy of a sexy naughty priest in white collar and black leather offering me eternal salvation in the form of profane acts of adulation. Bless me father indeed! Don't think Tanya would have minded that at all.

Tanya : It's actually kinda weird.
Paul : No worries. I've heard of the weirdest sex fetishes ever. Hit me.
Tanya : Well after he finishes the job so to speak, he screams out Holy Mother of God and Sweet Jesus when he comes, then makes the sign of the cross over me.
Paul : Did you bite his neck and drain his blood?
Tanya : I'm not a vampire.
Paul : Is he trying to convert you?
Tanya : Like that would work. Wish he'd credit me for the orgasm rather than random religious icons!
Paul : Worship you instead? Maybe to him, you already are the Holy Trinity! Probably Mother, Daughter and the Holy Spirit!

Not exactly the happy ending Tanya had imagined.

Meet Me at the Carwash

Though I participated in almost every club or society in school, I'll have to admit I wasn't exactly an active member in all of them. Honestly, half the so-called organizations in school were already hobbling on their last legs anyhow with barely one meeting per semester. Easy enough to sign up at the beginning of the year and then disappear for the rest of the nonexistent meetings.

However I - like every other kiasu overachiever out there - always considered co-curricular activities as one of the nonsensical labours we have to schlepp through just to get the necessary tick on our soon-to-be-glowing school resume. Certainly took a considerable backseat to our all-important academics back then.

Shockingly lean times for extracurricular activities, even more so since I studied in a mission school, known here for their notoriously beggarly state after being sidelined by the government. Obviously no free handouts available so the ever-enthusiastic students usually had to lend a hand to boost the club finances!

Can still recall the times we had canteen days, odd-job weeks and the irksome jogathon just to raise funds for our various activities. After all, we just couldn't wait to get out of the interminable boredom of endless classes. For some peculiar reason I was perpetually voted in as the club treasurer several times over so all I did was hunker down in the shade, occasionally with my trusty umbrella, and count the profits made while the other less fortunate members slaved away under the blistering sun.


What! I'm an ideas kinda guy! I don't do the grunt work!
However as I soon learned from my teacher friend, I'm considered insanely active back then in comparison to some of his students now!

Teacher : We need money to fund our trip to the competition.
Student : But how?
Teacher : Well we need to go find it?
Student : But how?
Teacher : We need to go find it?
Student : But how?
Teacher : We raise it through raffle tickets, odd jobs or performances.
Student : But how?

They so stupid yes.

Rather than showing any sort of initiative to help, the students stared blankly at the teacher without offering any constructive comments. Might as well be asking a brick wall. When I think of the brainstorming sessions we had back in school just to raise money, I gotta say thank God I'm not their hapless teacher now since I would have thrown the book at the zombie students.

God, please keep me away from stuttering idiots.

Haunted House Horrors

Never speak ill of the dead.

Don't walk along cemeteries at night.

Never pick up strangers after midnight.

Horror movie cliches that have been rehashed so often in grisly sequels that even the most sensible of us would think twice about attempting such senselessly foolhardy measures. In the safety of our homes, we watch these foolish yet reckless protagonists meander through forbidding forests at midnight, after being warned repeatedly not to do so, and then later seek the dubious shelter of a dark, creepy mansion where mysterious deaths have reputedly occurred.

And we think 'Oh God, how stupid.' Even more so when the band of adventuresome spirits decide to investigate the mysteries of said dark mansion. Rather than believe in safety in numbers, they all go separately and alone.


Harry says Bring It On!
Believe it or not, folks actually do so in real life. I give you Harry Huevos and his hapless heroes. Though seemingly full of macho bravado at least outwardly, Harry has an inexplicable fear of the supernatural that we couldn't fathom at first. Wicked things that go bump in the night scare the bejeezus out of him. Quite the bewildering sight on such a strapping fellow.

So on one dark campfire night, we all ganged up to drag the sorry tale out of him.

Harry : I once got trapped in a haunted house.
Paul : In a funfair?
Harry : No, a real one. My friends and I were camping.
Paul : Don't tell me it rained and you had to seek shelter.
Harry : Oh yes! How did you know? We found an abandoned old mansion on the outskirts of the jungle.
Paul : Abandoned for decades? Overgrown with weeds? Window shutters all broken? Rumours of a death?
Harry : Yes!
Paul : And you still went in?
Harry : Umm. Yes?
Paul : Good God. Don't tell me you also split into small groups to check out the place?
Harry : Umm. Yes?

Apparently such hoary horror movie cliches are based on true-life stories.

Built Tough

I like my men tough.

Certainly don't mean that in a morbidly cannibalistic sense that I'd prefer them tenderized in a bubbling stew pot for a protracted period. Just means that I like my men tough - duly defined in the dictionary as highly durable, resilient and able to stoically endure hardship.

Not that the gals I know aren't tough-as-nails broads. Our mean girl of the east Piratin Patty is certainly proof of that.

Far from a slur on womanhood of course - but generally most girls are a teensy bit more fragile in comparison. A little less given to rowdy rough-housing than most of the boys I know. Just a light tap on the back is enough to floor them whereas the macho fellas I know hail me with hearty back thumps as a general greeting.


Just our regular hail-fellow-well-met!
Something I'm trying my best to refrain from practising at work.

Nurse : Morning doctor!
Paul : Hello. *backslap*
Nurse : Ouch. I think you just severed my spine.
Paul : That was only a little tap.
Nurse : Could you help me hobble to my workstation please? I need to grab the neck brace.
Paul : Really?
Nurse : I think I left a rib behind. Pick it up, will you?

Yes, I can be inadvertently rough.

That's why I like my partners a little hardy. With some solidity to 'em! Otherwise how to keep from breaking 'em!

So you can imagine how fearful I am to have female partners at my dance classes. Not only am I already wracked with nerves while minding my clumsy steps, I also have to make sure that my fearful death-grip doesn't snap their delicate fingers and my crushing embrace doesn't break their willowy backs. Or else my vigorous swinging doesn't cause the winsome waifs to slip out of my admittedly slippery grasp to go slamming into nearby mirrored walls.

Or even worse sail helplessly straight out of the studio balcony.

Oops.

Fortunately for the female population of the city, I actually have Harry Huevos as my dance partner most days. No need to handle with care here! Far from subscribing to the frailty level of skinny androgynous boys these days, Harry is short, compact and built tough to withstand my wild gyrations.

Tales of a Slumlord

As we stumble, sometimes drunkenly, into our highly depressing mid-thirties, there is but only one little bit of comfort left to us doddering old folks. Thankfully our wallets are by this time pleasingly plump, almost invariably quite as much as our rapidly expanding waistlines.

Which gives some of us ample largesse to throw around. Into expensive hobbies. Into trust funds. Into trophy husbands.


Think the damned tenement slumlord shut down the electricity again.
And yes, into profitable real estate as well. As it turns out, one of my friends Jamie Jetsetter has turned into a regular Donald Trump buying up parcels of land, setting up rentals and denying poor widows / orphans their due. So much so that our Jamie has been pointed out to me as a budding hotel magnate!

Paul : OMG You actually own a building!
Jamie : A small one only!
Paul : It's a hotel?
Jamie : Make that a motel. I partition the floors with wooden panellings and make them into small rooms. About ten rooms on one floor?
Paul : Eh? Ten rooms on one floor? Wouldn't that be really small?
Jamie : Well it's really cheap! Less than 50 bucks a night. And I usually rent out to...
Paul : Drug addicts and whores?
Jamie : Possibly. More likely to be waiters and labourers though.
Paul : OMG. You're a slumlord.
Jamie : A nice one!

Even as I talk to him, I can already imagine the deplorable view. Endless human debris clutter the dingy halls, mutant bugs scurry on the linoleum floors and there's an acrid mixture of stale cigarettes and forgotten pet odour in the air.

Far from living the life of a posh hotel heiress such as Paris Hilton, poor Jamie finds himself having to play the lowly janitor instead to clean up the messes left behind, especially when his untrustworthy squatters just vanish into thin air. Dealing with leaky piping, botched ceilings, broken windows and the like, he has turned into a regular DIY handyman!

Not easy being a property magnate but I guess even the Hiltons had to start somewhere!

More Gay for Pay

Times are tough.

Stock markets are looking bleak. Exchange rates are looking grim. Everywhere you look, it seems like everyone's gearing up for the next big recession to hit.


Umm... this isn't exactly what I imagined for the job interview!
Heck, even pretty boys willing to sleep their way up the career ladder are finding it tough these days. With times so bad on the economic front, some are even willing to bend over for far less than a substantial promotion. Even a miserable toe in the door is sufficient for a quick blow job.

If not more.


Check out this ad on craigslist!
Those naughty bankers in suits.

Certainly makes me regret not going into the heady world of finance! Though I'll admit the subject of accounting and maths has never been my strong suit - hence the endless struggle just to balance my own monthly checkbook! - I might have seriously reconsidered if I'd known this desperate fellow lay sometime in the future. Presumably he has to be quite the looker to have landed several modeling jobs before! Incentive enough to work hard at the bank, don't you think?

Damn. Why aren't our medical interns similarly eager to please?

Killing with Sweetness

In Confucian ideals, filial piety is one of the virtues to be held above all else: a respect for the parents and ancestors.

Perhaps it was the way I was brought up but I've always believed that particular respect should also extend to the venerable elders of the family, and as we grow up and get married, our in-laws as well. Despite the fact that some might be far less deserving.

Rather than tolerate the occasional hostility from the in-laws, modern Miss Independents seem to find these familial shackles an appalling burden instead. Even prior to any official engagement, I already find colleagues and friends wishing to distance themselves from their soon-to-be in-laws. Even a vitriolic termagant who preferred herself hanged, drawn and quartered rather than live anywhere within a 500 mile radius of her redoubtable mother-in-law.


Darn the things I do for the in-laws. I could have sworn Madame Borgia poisoned the food.

Don't they realize that getting on the in-laws hit list would be detrimental to their spousal relationship? Nothing good ever comes from warring with the mother-in-law after all. Filial piety aside, haven't these ladies ever heard of killing with sweetness?

Apparently a lesson Heidi Withers never learnt well. Her shocking behaviour at the in-laws compelled her prospective mother-in-law to send a withering e-mail on proper etiquette and manners. Certainly would make for some interesting family dinners in the future.

Which is why I'm ever so solicitous of my own erstwhile mother-in-law Madame Borgia - especially during one of her infamous society lunches.

Calvin : Psst. Don't you hate lei cha 擂茶?
Paul : It's grass and leaves crushed together!
Calvin : So why are you eating it?
Paul : Do I have a choice? It's made by your mother.
Calvin : So?
Paul : I'd swallow it down even if it were made of pounded brick. Or at least pretend to. And I'd still say it's the most delicious lunch ever.
Calvin : You are one crazy nutjob.
Palu : Maybe I should compose an ode in praise of it!

Unlike the Borgias other in-law - the snotty Miz Borgia - who pursed her lips and sneered over such unsavoury offerings. Preoccupied with the latest fashion trends in Milan, she hardly deigned to even lift a manicured finger to help. Seriously. Is it so hard to play the sycophantic dutiful daughter-in-law for just one weekend?

What happened to respect for the in-laws?

All About a Girl

Old-fashioned doctrine states that homosexual men all have a secret desire to become women. Haven't we all heard that old cliche before?

Seriously? So not true though. Though I am sure some of my gay brothers would love nothing more than to strut around in a little black dress, I can assure you I have no such fantasies. Lemme tell ya I love women to bits but I have no desire to walk in their skyscraper heels. Well, maybe for a couple of steps just to see how it feels, and I gotta admit the shoes are sexy. But not forever. Dealing with periods, pills and pads just isn't worth the Manolos.

For now at least being a guy is nice enough. And yeah, I still prefer dating men as well.


Oppa!
Given the choice though, I have an odd feeling that I'd be the sorta girl everyone else loves to hate. Or at least the angry, take-charge Miss Independents I know would hate.

Figured it all out while watching my galpals duke it out with their straight beaus. Starting to figure out that the boys usually like one kinda girl.

You know the sort.



Pretty little princess waiting to be saved. Cutesy, bubbly with a pretty pink bow on the head, a giggle on the lips and a wiggle of the hips - all to cultivate a distinct physical helplessness to match the impractical clothes and the towering heels. Certainly not above resorting to feminine wiles to get her way. I know being a girl doesn't mean being all weak, whiny and wimpy but you'll have to admit it's so much easier to get away with as a pouty girl. After all, the boys just love to have someone to lean on their broad macho shoulders.

Can't be tough all the time, can I? And why bother banging heads to get my way when I can easily bat my mascared eyelashes just to get things done? So much easier... *giggle*

I'd be pretty insufferable. Back in school, Piratin Patty would probably hire a hit squad for me.