Berbuka Puasa

After a week or two of contemplating, today I decided to take the plunge with my ISO and brave the crazed insanity of Ramadan by fighting my way into one of those infamous break of fast buffets. Just to satisfy our rampant curiosity after hearing one too many adverts deliberately touting the delicious feast of neverending goodies awaiting us at the restaurants nearby.

Seriously. How could we resist?

Though we huddled with the rest of the anxious patrons twiddling our thumbs waiting for the break of fast, we weren't exactly part of the hungry crowd. After all, the last time I fasted was that time we camped together as scouts and got lost in the woods - not deliberately! - for several hours. After that one time, all bets were off and we don't even fast during Lent.

My ISO : It's nice waiting.
Paul : Shaking our legs counting the seconds.
My ISO : Waiting for the call to prayer.
Paul : I hear the veal sauerkraut calling my name.
My ISO : I'll race you for it.

Well I never said we were famous for denying ourselves.

So we crumbled after five seconds of waiting and stole away to pile our plates high with the food readily available - at least ten minutes before the actual break of fast. Much to the envy - and endless enmity - of our neighbours still busy watching the clock.

Which was a fortunate thing.


The real buffet
Since our breaking the rules of fasting surely contravened some divine law because all hell literally broke loose after!

You know the beginning of the Amazing Race where everyone breaks into a maddened sprint for the main gate? Well the same thing happened here except the folks running amuck are armed with plates and forks. And with a far more dangerous glint in their hunger-stricken eyes.

Hell, I'm standing aside.

Frontpage : The Bitch is Back

Well one of them anyway.

And surprisingly not me. Since it's just past Sunday, I'm talking about Frontpage - and I'm not talking about the headlines but the new drama series on NTV7. If you'd recall a bunch of ladies amongst the small coterie of journalists in that local drama, there's a chilly ice queen with frizzy curls, snazzy shades and a penchant to be bitchy without provocation? Rebecca Anuar gets her day though she doesn't look at all pleased to get it!


An interview with Jack Lee!
My delicious Jack Lee isn't too pleased either. Rather than stay obediently in the sidelines as she's handed a choice assignment on a star athlete's shocking death, he tries to lend a hand - though our snooty antisocial Rebecca ( with a touch of misandry ) doesn't appreciate his high-handed interference at all. Her distrust of men becomes apparent - as are the traumatic reasons behind them - as Rebecca start probing into the case matter.

Well she's proof positive that bitches are made, not born. Childhood trauma aside, I see no reason for that ginormous boulder on her shoulder and if I were working with her, she'd get more than a piece of my mind. Forget about weepy empathy, I fight fire with fire.

Rebecca : Why are you standing there? Get out of my way.
Paul : Are you always this nasty or do you just love eating babies for breakfast?
Rebecca : Why! That's just..
Paul : What? Rude? Bitchy? Mean? I learnt it from you, darling.

Then again, the frizz could be reason enough for anyone to be permanently pissed.

Third episode in and I'm glad to say that Frontpage has certainly raised the bar for the rest of the drama series on the local telly. Interesting storylines, catchy script with enough emphasis on the individual characters to draw us into their lives. Then again raised the bar is far too nice - left the rest floundering in the dust is more like it. Hear that Ampang Medikal?

And they have characters who actually speak in local dialects - Hokkien to be specific - without appearing in the least apologetic. Kewlness. Even Jack Lee tried his valiant best at broken Hokkien.


Fret not if you missed the earlier episodes, tune in on the ntv7 webpage.

Bowtie Boys

Pretty sure the waiters at Alexis had a good chuckle last night when a bunch of boys ( I'm using the term loosely! ) obediently marched in two rows right into their cafe - all dressed suspiciously in matching bow ties though in varying orders of respectability with one opting for a black Minnie Mouse bow pinned to the arse. And quite another with a sad excuse for a bow tie made out from cheap pink crepe :p

I'd have been worried that a Bowtie Boy gang fresh out from the local seminary ( away from the auspices of Miss Clavel ) had come for an attack of tiramisu.

But it was the birthday of a certain taciturn fellow we've christened Mr Nipples ( for quite obvious reasons ). Our Genial Graham was having his day and we were all there to celebrate with the theme of bowties. You know gay boys and their party themes.

So much for looking dashing though. Been a while since I tied one on - did a helluva crummy job on my old one - so much so that I had to rely on a ready-tied. Just as well since it turns out I wasn't the only one. Unfortunately there were a few who chose to flout the dress code. Cruel and unusual punishment awaits.

Perhaps a black bow painted in permanent marker on their foreheads?


Getting ready!
Unfortunately the host - our multi-personality Janvier ( hence making it quite impossible to tack an alliterative adjective for him ) - remained placidly calm despite such unprecedented sartorial mutiny. Frankly I'd have expected his evil side Soldat to surface.

Paul : I think his multiple personalities are warring inside in hidden rage. Kinda crouching puppet, hidden janvier.
Lex : They were stuck in a jam. That's why they were late.
Paul : Stuck in a jam? Janvier and Graham Nipples. Ohhh. Hmm. They're forgiven then.

After all, we certainly wouldn't mind getting stuck in that particular jam :) Certainly put them in a good mood.

But as usual, our Janvier remained generous as ever with drinks served all around. For some of us it was already our fourth round! Once soused however Jaunty Jared turned bitchy - that boy should stay away from drinks and sushi! Zany Zinedine remained bitchy as ever - while Lanky Lex turned into a whole barrel of fun. Now that's a guy I vote to be permanently drunk. :P

Me, I just got sleepy and sneezy.

80 Pence

Really. My ISO went to London for summer and he didn't even get me a lousy t-shirt.

Fortunately he brought a gift - something even cheaper than the 5 pound tee. He'd better since I seriously wanted to bean him when I found out he'd be doing London for three weeks. Fucking bastard. Usually I'd be resentful as hell but I've found kabbalah.

My ISO : I'm going to London to see the queen.
Paul : Motherchucker.
My ISO : You could come along.
Paul : Fucking basstard.

Okay I haven't actually found kabbalah. It wasn't my best day.

Sure he did the sweet thing asking me but I figure I'd better not take such a risk. An impulsive weekend jaunt over to a neighbouring country would be one thing but three weeks strolling hand-in-hand through the streets of London would be criminally dangerous. For me, nostalgia on paper is sweet, nostalgia in real life has dangerous consequences.


A day at the bookstore
So during his walks around London, my ISO stumbled into a secondhand store and got me a book. Cheap tattered paperback actually all of 80 pence at the most. Probably less if he'd bargained hard. But I adored it. Seems like he remembered my penchant for picking up Heyers on the go while I was there last.

One of my peculiar obsessions - anyone who has been to my library can attest to the fact that I have multiple copies of her regency novels all stacked up in several shelves. Started with a handful of inherited novels by Georgette Heyer that came in a steamer trunk in secondary. Fell in love with her wit and style which led to randomly buying her paperbacks wherever I saw them. Since they were out-of-print for quite a few years, I only found them in dark, dusty secondhand stores full of nostalgia, knickknacks and forgotten memories - all the way from Bangkok to Paris.

Obviously my ISO hasn't forgotten the endless summers tramping through the dust, cobwebs and silverfish just to find that coffee-stained copy of the Grand Sophy.

Trivial Pursuits

Sometimes I wonder whether my mum's trying to be deliberately obtuse.

When my mom had a chance meeting with the Lushes last night, I wondered what she could have thought. A swinging fancy-free bachelor flirting with a sisterhood of hot singletons in heels! Now isn't that just a wee bit suspicious?

When Harry met Sally aside, it's rare to find breeder boys getting chummy with the girls. Logically, wouldn't any straight red-blooded fella be hitting on at least one of these lissome beauties? At least trying to steal some sweet time with either Statuesque Sarah ( only to be rebuffed with chilly disdain ) or Fabulous Fiona ( only to be tuned off with girlish laughter ).

Or even Shameless Shalom ( only to have her upchuck her breakfast at the revolting idea ).

Honestly I'd be highly suspicious of any guy who didn't try to make a move.


Paul : Quick, hide me! My mom's gonna ask why we're not dating again.
Fiona : Why don't you just tell her?
Paul : That you're a skank with syphilis?
Fiona : No! The truth.
Paul : Wait. You aren't a skank with syphilis? :)

I would have thought the reasons obvious enough. Even the waiters who see us all huddled together for our weekly brunches would have made the rightful conclusion that I'm the sole raging fag in the group - since it's painfully obvious that my only interest in them is purely platonic.

Apart from the fact that I adore their killer shoes.

Thought that seeing me with my Lushes would have pegged me as unapologetically gay but my mom went down an entirely different lane of thought instead. Yes, my renowned matchmaker mom did start wondering why I'm not heavily pursuing any of them! However she started blaming me ( comically enough! ) for taking my own sweet time in setting up a target for my seduction. Telling me that I'd be the one to blame if I let one of the sultry Lushes escape my voracious grasp.

I didn't know whether to laugh or slam my head repeatedly against the nearest tree trunk.

Come on, my mother knows me well enough. When have I ever been painfully shy about going after the object of my affection? If I'm interested in a hunk, you can be sure the jungle drums would be announcing the information across the savannah. And I'd be literally hunting them down like the lion tracking down that juicy gazelle.

Evidently my mom doesn't think too highly of my methods.

Mom : All very nice girls. So why aren't you showing any interest in one of the girls?
Paul : Not interested.
Mom : You have to make a move! It's a modern world but the guy still has to make at least a push.
Paul : Tell me something I don't know.
Mom : So why aren't you making a move?
Paul : Because I'm not interested?
Mom : Isn't there any girl you're interested in?
Paul : No, I'm not interested in girls.
Mom : Work isn't everything.
Paul : You think I'm interested in work?!

One would have expected her to pursue this little dust-trail of thought instead but obviously denial isn't only a mighty river in Egypt.