Ding Dongs Merrily On High

Shows you how out of the loop you can get - and sadly how decrepit you're getting - when you hear tantalizing news of a notorious lil gay joint from the mainstream media! And from an unfriendly ratfink at that. Obviously that malicious little tattletale must have done his fair share of whistleblowing before, both literally and figuratively to get this story.

Apparently there's an all-male health sauna down in Petaling Jaya where patrons who wish to enter on Fridays are required to disrobe. Utterly naked. Would barely draw a twitch from the surprisingly progressive Koreans with their au naturel steambaths but over here in our increasingly conservative nation, mindless panic ensues with narrow-minded prigs automatically jumping to the conclusion that it's a dirty, debauched den of degenerate depravity.

What? You mean I gotta get nekkid in there?!

Just the sort of place I'd frequent before. Otherwise known as a gay club.

Forget the fact that the admirable club administrators at least support safe sex by offering a plethora of condoms on admission.

But that is evidently besides the point since for our government-controlled media, anything vaguely hinting of homosexuality must be emphatically condemned. Licentious gay saunas with ding dongs merrily on high are definitely a stern no-no. Another fortuitous strike on their recent homophobic witchhunt, all in their pathetic bid to throw dust in the eyes of the public from focusing on the mismanagement of the nation.

Shall try my best not to jump on my soapbox ranting over the rights of an individual, and how the government should keep the fuck out of our wanton sex lives.

Though for the community's sake, I gotta say our gay vigilantes out there had better start keeping an eye out for these pernicious informers. Not the first time someone has tattletaled on us. Time to find the narc. These monstrously hungry newshounds ( or should we christen these unworthies as newsrats ), with little wit nor integrity, should be unceremoniously hunted down and strung up by their cowardly ankles to be soundly whipped. Possibly thrown on a torture rack for an excruciating round of BDSM.

Doms out there, take heed.

Oh Christmas Tree

With sighing carols playing everywhere you go, you simply can't miss the beginning of December over here. Shops compete to come up with the glitziest storefronts while towering evergreens laden with shiny baubles start cropping up on almost every street corner.

Damn, you mean it's Christmas already?

And it's time for me to clean off the dust on the boxes from last year and unearth my own tree to set up in Netherfield. Obsessive compulsives like me would know what a pain it is to keep the Christmas baubles every year - and what a bigger pain it is to unpack the box the year after. Inevitably, some helpful but thoroughly bumbling hand would let slip a precious trinket made of Murano hand-blown glass.

And then those same clumsy hands would turn the already horribly entangled, knotted and tortuous twinkly lights into an impossible Gordian knot that would surely frustrate me for hours. Or place all the decorations on a particularly fortunate branch leaving glaringly empty spaces bereft of glad tidings.

So yes, I do silently grinch to myself every year about decorating the tree - but though I frequently bemoan the pronounced lack of help, I still suffer through it all on my own. Obviously finicky micromanaging control freaks like me simply can't stand by while someone else does a poor job of the tree.

Calvin : I can help put up the tree. 
Paul : Sure, no problem. Go ahead. 
Calvin : You sure? You're not just saying that?
Paul : Yes, take some of these and go hang them. Heck, you can take the entire box.
Calvin : Hmm... you're just going to wake up in the middle of the night and move everything around, aren't you?
Paul : You know me too well.

This year though rather than the pink paper cranes I did for Netherfield before, I shall rely on green paper wheels to form a theme. Maybe even a hanging mobile from the chandelier. Perhaps even mini paper wheels to clip on my coat.

Hmm... maybe I do need some handy elves for that.

And that's only for the first of my Christmas trees.

Mean Doctors

Generally doctors are arrogant, conceited bastards with a stinky shitload of ego.

'Oh no, they couldn't be!' Quite a few patients would make an earnest protest here, especially those who have been on the receiving end of a kind, gentle physician who guided them through their medical trials and tribulations with a sweet, comforting bedside manner.

But like everything else in medicine, nothing is absolute. There's always the unusual oddity somewhere out there that breaks the near hundred percent norm. By and large though, bastards the lot of us. Obviously exhausting their entire supply of the milk of human kindness during their daily rounds with the patients, there is little left to spare to dole out to their equally stressed colleagues.

Far less to trickle down to their unfortunate subordinates. Hence the infamous mistreatment of junior doctors, which ranges from the mild sarcastic put-down to nasty inhumane mental torture not seen since the Russian gulags. Apart from the few who don't make the painful cut, most successfully emerge from the horrific anguish of housemanship with that hard-earned badge of mental strength.

Paul : Made an intern cry?
Friend : Yeah. No suicides yet though.
Paul : We might be doing something wrong.
Friend : Don't worry. Right now, Sue is upstairs torturing the interns.
Paul : Better move my car away from the windows. 

Toughens us. Hardens some unfortunately.

Which always makes me smile when I think of the ill-treatment supposedly received by my friends in other career paths. Engineering especially. Compared to the Turkish treatment replete with whips and chains we're dishing out, it always sounds as if they're only receiving light slaps on the wrists.

Calvin : Work is terrible! I'm being mentally tortured!
Paul : Poor fellow! What's happening over there!
Calvin : My lead engineer...
Paul : Screamed at you in the meeting, tore up your work into little confetti and then asked you to get a new presentation done in a day?
Calvin : No, he just asked me to work faster. 
Paul : And that's mean?
Calvin : Yes.
Paul : Just be thankful I'm not your lead engineer.

Of late, poor Charming Calvin has been getting a whole lotta flack at work from his immediate superior. Turns out his unreasonable boss is cracking the whip just a wee bit hard, I assume.

I swear I'm trying my best to sympathize in his times of trouble - but trouble is I have a niggling feeling I've probably inflicted far worse abuse on my long-suffering interns. Pretty sure he can get lots of tea and sympathy from our friends so I shall offer this instead.

Naked in Bangkok

Took only one night in Bangkok to make this hard man humble. 

Since I try it but rarely, I would consider myself almost a newborn virgin when it comes to such shenanigans. Though my more seasoned friends have raved about the excellent treatment received from the skilled locals, with the occasional smirk at the mention of happy endings, I have yet to experience it myself. Far too busy partaking in the other pleasures to be had to try this one out. 

But it was a tick on my bucket list so I just had to make the attempt, made easier after a particularly harrowing day of lugging around my shopping bags. Nothing like a half-hour quickie to get me going again.

Dozens of choices available in the city so it was easy enough to randomly pick one. As expected the entrance to the room was shrouded in mystery with plush velvet curtains ushering me into a shadowy Delphian chamber, utterly bare except for a silken mattress, several bottles of bergamot scented oil and quietly gleaming lacquerware. Bowing all the while with the occasional wai, a slip of a girl stepped in to the peculiar, though not entirely incongruous, accompaniment of traditional Thai music. 

Part of the Asian mystique no doubt. Almost expected the laudatory ring of a gong.

Though I would have preferred someone a little manlier, it seemed that I would have to be satisfied with the winsome waif available. 

Girl : Remove clothes, sir. 
Paul : Not a problem. 

( Does the usual five-second strip )

Girl : No, no, not now. I will leave room. 
Paul : Well, I'm already naked anyhow. 
Girl : Wait a moment. I bring you a robe to wear.
Paul : I'm gonna be naked anyway. 

Obviously unused to such genuine enthusiasm! I mean, surely all her regular clientele would already know what her service entails. What's the harm in getting just a bit naked? Perhaps I'm not exquisitely built like Chaiwat Tongsaeng but hey... it's not like the flimsy silk robe she handed me later actually managed to conceal anything.

Well I would get naked with very little provocation if I looked like that.

As she put her oiled hands on my naked back, I resisted the urge to giggle to myself.

Partly from her surprisingly cold fingertips. Mostly from the novel experience. Surely the first time I've gotten naked with a woman as an adult male. The entirely homophobic conservative orthodoxy would surely be proud of my fledgling efforts to conform. 

Unfortunately it's all only for a Thai massage. 

Reincarnation Much

Wouldn't say I lend much credence to esoteric beliefs such as reincarnation but I wouldn't be so quick to repudiate the claims of its advocates either. Surely there must be some truth in their long-held convictions. After all, I don't think such infinitely fallible creatures like human beings only get that one chance to get things right.

Putting aside my rumoured past life as a dour Japanese manservant to a murderous geisha aside, I am starting to believe that in my past life I must have been a British aristocrat in the roaring Twenties. The preternaturally calm, composed, almost chilly Lady Mary Crawley with her crisp, cutting commentaries to be exact. Though of course that frosty demeanour barely conceals a doggedly determined, dominating dictator.

Ice Queen seriously.

How else to explain the frighteningly uncanny similarities that we share? So much so that I can practically predict her next wily move, wildly unconventional though they may be. 

Watching the recent episodes of Downton Abbey, I could swear I've had the exact same arguments word for word with Charming Calvin. With him in the not entirely flattering role of the indecisive, idiotically incorruptible heir to the earldom, Matthew Crawley of course.

Mary : So you think I'm a cold conniving cow?
Matthew : I wouldn't exactly put it that way.

In almost every episode with the couple together, we are treated to an oddly familiar scene of our shameless virago Mary relentlessly nagging her long-suffering beau. For instance, a frivolous little quarrel over Matthew refusing to accept a sizeable inheritance due to an inconsequential uncertainty; some unresolved guilt over mistreating his insufferably insipid and happily departed fiancee. Fancy not wanting a handsome fortune dropped on your lap!

So all depends on a little slip of notepaper to allay his guilt - which of course our eminently resourceful Mary leaves no stone unturned to find. 

Matthew : Are you sure you didn't write it?
Mary : I assume you know his hand.
Matthew : Not well enough to test a forgery. 
Mary : ....
Matthew : Besides she couldn't have written to him without my knowing. 
Mary : ...
Matthew : I'm not accusing you of faking it.

Being accused of deceit and duplicity, sometimes you can't blame her for the occasional browbeating. Of course as the clincher Mary threatens to beat him about the head if he doesn't capitulate. I can certainly relate.

Mark my words, it's almost a reincarnation.

Right Guy Wrong Time

To that I gotta say bullshit.

It's not the first time I've heard of this particular excuse. Citing work commitments, family pressures, scheduling conflicts etc to deny themselves of the simple pleasure of a sweet romance. Sigh.

Felix : Well he says he won't be dating yet because the timing isn't right.
Paul : What? He needs Libra to be on the cusp? The moon to be in the right position? A divine mandate from the Temple of Heaven?
Felix : Says he doesn't have enough time.
Paul : Not enough time? I worked from 8 to 5 for five days. I had 24 hours oncalls every three days. I studied in the evenings for my exams. And I still found time to date. Quite desperately too I might add. 
Felix : But you're different!
Paul : Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a robot!

Waiting for the right time?

Is there ever a convenient time to find love?

Plainly I find that simply unreasonable. Surely if you continue to wait for the perfect opportune moment, that might never ever ever happen. Is there ever a right time? If people can fall heads-over-heels in love while fleeing for their lives right in the midst of a raging genocidal war, I see no reason why anyone else in relative peacetime can't find the time to do so.

Yes, it does take some work, some hardship, some sacrifice but I've always believed if there's a will, there's a way. Make time to fall in love.

Yes, after all even educated fleas do it.

That Fairy Godbrother

Despite having a contingent of increasingly grumpy dwarves staging daily insurrections protesting her draconian regime, our fairytale princess seems utterly happily oblivious to her sorry plight at work. For Pretty Panacea, twirling around forest glades with various woodland creatures and singing with winged friends seems to take precedence instead.

Not that I entirely blame her since I can see no other solution than to guillotine the entire band of mutinous dwarves.

To keep her mind away from such petty annoyances, we keep up a regular stream of instant messages, all thanks to her still amiable carrier pigeons. Not directly under her exacting employ, the birds obviously don't see a logical reason for a revolt. Such affectionate missives flying back-and-forth, along with the irregular luncheon, would signal the beginning of something special for a man and a woman.

Not.

Fortunately for me, I have left loaded hints aplenty to reassert the fact that I'm far more fairy godbrother to her than charming prince. Perhaps Panacea sees me in the light of a gay Jiminy Cricket perched on her shoulder offering sage advice. Or at least that's what I hoped.

Paul : I'm like the fairy godbrother! Really!
Miranda : Doesn't explain why the princess is busy checking out royal marriage registries.
Paul :  Well she ain't gonna get a happily ever after with me!
Miranda : Better tell her before she buys a pumpkin carriage.

Sweet platonic dreams callously crushed when our colleague Miranda Merry caught wind of our occasional tête-à-tête. Based on her wholly unstable, wildly illogical feminine intuition, Miranda is starting to suspect that Panacea might be a little more ardent than we had both imagined.

Miranda : So a word to the wise, you'd better tell her you're gay before you proceed any further with this cozy relationship.
Paul : Think she already knows. 
Miranda : That's what you think.
Paul : I've told her 'I like men' dozens of times.
Miranda : She thinks you're kidding.
Paul : Why would I joke about being gay? It's not that funny.
Miranda : You make a lot of jokes!
Paul : Ouch.
Miranda : Nevertheless you'd better say something soon.

Does lightning strike twice? Am I leading someone on again? All well and good for my self confidence of course - but hell, why aren't any of the sexy boys coming after me instead? You mean my raging homosexuality isn't wildly apparent to all? C'est impossible! Although I might not be as fabulously swish as the local drag queen but I'm sure my far from discreet pink polka-dot bowtie says it all. Surely I don't have to start walking around introducing myself as the gay fellow.

So how do you broach the subject with a fairytale princess? Do they even have gay princes back in their kingdom?

Love Gets Blinder

They said someday you'll find
All who love are blind
Oh, when your heart's on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes

For a lucky few, the hazy cloud clears after a brief spell allowing them that crucial moment of clarity to extinguish the burning flames in their heart. Yet that doesn't come true for all; in fact sometimes that smoke coalesces into a permanent fog blinding lovesick fools who fall into the same trap time and again.

Oh Mother of God, those fools...

Which brings me to my point. Not too along ago, Mercurial Marshall was involved in a singularly perilous relationship with a manly discreet fellow. Since Marshall's quite obviously sexy, free and single now, I don't have to tell you that particular mésalliance didn't end very well.

Paul : Out on a date again this evening?
Marshall : Yeah, with the... *ahem* fellow.
Paul : The manly discreet fellow who prefers secret assignations in abandoned parking lots?
Marshall : That's the one.
Paul : You know manly and discreet probably means he's married with a passel of kids?
Marshall : No!
Paul : That's what you said the last time.
Marshall : It can't happen twice!

I know most of us have certain types that we all fall for. The brash bad boy. The sappy sentimental sonneteer. Me, I have a thing for cute bespectacled nerds I can pin to a wall. But if you've ever been hurt once by a certain type, maybe even twice, I would figure you'd be a little wary of trying it out again. Yet Marshall insists that it isn't so.

Seriously though, love isn't blind. It's the languishing lovelorn who are. Enough that you'd be tempted to douse them in icy water just to clear the smoke from their eyes.

That Gay Wedding

Seems like there were four of us in that conversation; Charming Calvin and his mother; me and my mother. Though it could have been more since I was much too flustered by the bizarre domestic situation we had inadvertently fallen into. Rare enough to find us all seated companionably at a table together - without throwing unseen daggers!

Rather than delicately skirt around the taboo topic of the glaringly hot pink elephant in the room as one would expect, seems like all we could talk about that evening were gay weddings; the event, the venue, the requirements, the dress code, the etiquette, the attendees etc.

Now who might be the gay one in the lot?

Like I said, bizarre.

Mother : Wonder what they would wear. 
Paul : Don't know about anyone else but I'm always partial to morning suits. 
Calvin : For the grooms, yes!
Madame Borgia : Can't imagine the guest list. Pretty thorough I hear. 
Paul : Think almost everyone who's anyone was invited. 
Calvin : There might even be a video of the ceremony. 
Madame Borgia : Ooh let's take a look. 
Mother : Wonder if they have guidelines. 

Debating the intricate pros and cons of a homosexual wedding in our rigidly conservative country. All in all, that peculiarly unfamiliar discussion amongst the four of us had to go down as the oddest conversation any of us had ever had. Well, right after the uncomfortably detached coming-out chat I had a while back.

With all the talk of two men getting married in unholy matrimony, I was half-expecting the disquieted Madame Borgia to suddenly run berserk with her trusty kitchen cleaver.

Perhaps if I were the groom in question, she might have. Ever so slightly I shifted my seat to trip her if she had any distasteful thoughts of running for sharp implements. Satisfied with my position, I couldn't help but push the envelope. Constantly an advocate of shocking the elders into submission, it was a the tip of my tongue to just pop the question anyway but Calvin's horror-struck expression when I tried to kneel warned me against such a hasty decision.

As it were, the wedding we were talking about were the infamous nuptials of Jessie Chung and Joshua Beh several years back. Wildly controversial here because Jessie herself used to be a man. Basically this was Malaysia's first public wedding involving a sex-changed person and even the media were invited. 

Gotta admit her husband is kinda cute though.