New Girl in Town

Well that's Garrulous Gwen for you.

A recent transfer. Unfortunately the roster of doctors over here in Borneo seems to rotate faster than an overused turnstile at Grand Central. Hardly any time to settle down to business before they're gone again. The inexplicable reluctance of Borneo-bred physicians to return ( for reasons I have yet to ascertain ) has led to a regular transfer of manpower from other states. But that's a rant for another day.

It's all about Gwen. Though if you're imagining a shy, demure blossom trying to find her footing in a new milieu, you'd be way off. Newcomer in our hospital she might be but our outspoken Gwen's far from diffident. Already made quite a few ripples at the workplace by ruffling a few feathers. Obviously the reigning Pink Ladies here are taking a while to accept the new girl in town.

Even Ebullient Eve has her own reservations.

Since I know what it's like to be new, I've been showing Gwen the ropes. From nights on the town checking out the red light districts to selecting paints at the hardware store in the weekends. All suspiciously domestic but from what I've heard, she's desperately attached to her hometown hero of a boyfriend so it's all good.


So where do we stand?
But like all girls with a penchant for matchmaking, Gwen simply can't keep her curiousity down for long.

Then again I might have talked about furniture and paint swatches for Pemberley just a bit too much. With Charming Calvin already busy dotting the is and crossing the ts on the contract for his new apartment, I can't help but imagine the future layout.

Gwen : So what is this apartment you're talking about? You keep talking about getting paints and cabinets.
Paul : It's somewhere in the Klang Valley.
Gwen : So you're going to be staying there alone?
Paul : Definitely not alone.
Gwen : With a girlfriend?
Paul : With my partner who would definitely object to being called a girlfriend.
Gwen : Oh.

Yes. I'm getting a little impatient about keeping things discreet when I want to announce the fact on a tacky mile-wide airplane banner. Possibly noting the militant glint in my eye, Garrulous Gwen was wise enough not to bat an eyelash.

Well what else would I call Calvin? Boyfriend's just a little trite and sophomoric. Husband's just a bit too much - a traditional fellow like me would need at least a ring on my finger before I'll say that. I ended up settling with partner - despite the fact that I always think it sounds like we're close to setting up a law firm.

Discrimination

I'm discriminatory.

There I've said it. Unfortunately there's always a patient or two that we all subconsciously discriminate against because of some irrational, puerile reason. Sometimes far too absurd to imagine. Something I'm terribly ashamed of - so I have been working doubly hard to crush that ignoble feeling. And to treat the patient doubly well if possible.

Though most might deny such a fallible weakness, doctors are unfortunately human. Try as we might, our unreasonable prejudices don't just disappear the second we don our white coats. However I try my best to check myself the minute I think of such biased thoughts.


Forgive me for I have sinned!
Unlike one of my far less enlightened colleague.

Paul : So you didn't bring the patient in last night?
Colleague : She doesn't deserve it.
Paul : Eh?
Colleague : She has AIDS.
Paul : What the hell? Did you just turn a patient away for AIDS? You're kidding, right.
Colleague : I'm sure they're better served elsewhere.
Paul : OMG. You're serious.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Talk about blatant discrimination. I was shocked to hear such words come from a fellow physician. So much for the Hippocratic Oath on her part.

Getting a brief reprimand from me only served to put her back up. Despite logical facts presented on my side, she refused to budge from her hostile stand that people living with HIV should be treated as second-class patients. According to her, these diseased folk deserve all they get after indulging in indecent behaviour. Don't think it would need much of a push to have this junior Nazi insist that such patients get branded with HIV. Possibly in bold red font across the forehead.

I'm not naive. I know there's still discrimination aplenty against people living with HIV but you'd expect some misinformation from the uneducated yokels. But coming from a learned colleague of Generation Y ( someone I assume graduated from a reasonably reputable medical institution ) I find it seriously appalling. What the hell. All the speeches, all the lectures, all the media shows - all of those seem for naught. If someone like her really believes such detestable calumny, I can imagine what the rest of her less informed peers think.

Sadly it's almost impossible for a gay man these days not to have at least a friend - or two - with HIV. It could easily be any one of us. Hell it could even be me. So the more she bitched, the angrier I got. I think she might have noticed the throbbing vein on my forehead since she abruptly stopped her hate speech.

Nothing I said changed her inflexible stand however. Doubt anything short of a baseball bat to her head would change it. Who knows! Next I might hear a crazed diatribe against diabetic patients for some obscure justification on her part.

Can I F*** You Today?

Seriously.

Isn't that the lamest come-on ever? Seems like the latest catch-phrase bandied about our courts today in the sensational sodomy case involving an infamous politician here. Seems our wordy politician allegedly tried to pick up a boy-toy using just such a provocative phrase.

Certainly no beating around the bush for the straightforward fellow.

Supposedly the prudish courts here were appalled at such a profanity - and not by how pathetically lame the seduction scene it was! According to the boy-toy victim, he was accosted by the politician in a hotel room. Armed with only that suggestive catch-phrase - and possibly a come-hither look, our libidinous politician managed to talk the supposedly reluctant boy-toy into bed. Obviously it wasn't as ineffectual as we imagined it would be.


No, you can't fuck me. At least let me change into a towel first!
So not only are we to accept his incredible testimony ( that he fell for such a paltry pick-up line! ), we are supposed to believe that the victim in question then disrobed in the guestroom to don a skimpy towel, possibly whispering nay all the while.

Not exactly an unshakable refusal, is it?

Makes me wonder exactly which lousy B-grade gay porn movie the spindoctors have been watching! I don't think any sane fellow would fall for such a line. But at least it has given us boys a helpful new come-on to use in indecent proposals.

Hunk : Yeah?
Paul : Can I fuck you today?
Hunk : No, but let me shower first.
Paul : Then you'll stand in front of me in a towel?
Hunk : Okay.

Well, it's a start.

Modesty Outraged

You'd expect me to be a serious advocate of public nudity but you'd be wrong. Unfortunately if ever such an indecent law passed in our prudish courts, we wouldn't have hunky male models dropping trou on the streets to reveal stunningly ripped muscles. Instead we'd have a bevy of octogenarian grannies showing off their droopy bits.

Hardly eye-candy.

Adam - that lucky bastard who by all biblical accounts was pretty much a stud - can of course pull off a minuscule fig leaf. But for the rest of us, clothes were made for a reason. To cover our unsightly bits. Hence the more bits unsightly, the more cloth should be used for coverage. Which means pretty soon I'll be graduating into a black shapeless djellaba.


OMG I am half-nekkid. If I hide against the wall, maybe no one can see me!
That of course doesn't explain the ethics of the changing room.

While the flabby elderly folk don't seem to have any qualms about getting horrifyingly nekkid, the younger fellows these days seem to be shying away from the spotlight like vestal virgins. Even in the locker rooms, the boys here have queues just to change in the men's room.

Seriously. We're talking about fit, lean 20-something fellows scurrying into the toilet to slip into scrubs. Modest lil prudes surprisingly, shy to flash what their papa gave them. I can hear squeals of embarassed horror if even a patch of skin is revealed. Surely these striplings have nothing to be ashamed of. Even then... hell, they already have their damned white boxers on!

And then outside in the public area we have portly middle-aged surgeons stripping down to their skimpy thongs.

Sigh. My modesty is outraged.

That Treasure Trail

Never could quite understand manscaping.

Certainly not advocating hairy beasts with luxuriants tufts even in their ears but a neat trim and groom once in a while would do just fine! There has to be a delicate balance between dating a grisly orangutan - and burping a bald baby.

So tell me, what's with the pretty boy models enthusiastically going at their bushes with bulldozers? Overkill much? Paring that pubic patch, even the delicious treasure trail's sacrificed in their bid to shave and wax every bit of hair off. The recent obsession with turning macho men into sleek, super-smooth plastic mannequins annoy me. Am I the only fella left who adores the flecks of curls marking the trail leading into the waistband? Didn't we use to worship slightly hirsute he-mans way back when?


You wouldn't date me unless I shaved?
What prompted this sudden diatribe on excessive manscaping? A friend of mine ( no Chewbacca! ) mentioned - not sure whether in jest - that he's thinking of shaving his legs.

Seriously?

As adolescent boys waiting for virile manhood to arrive, even the slightest hint of hair ( whether facial hair or otherwise ) seemed like a moment of joyous celebration. No doubt offers to purchase drinks for all would be on the table if we were of age then. And now we want to regress back to childish adolescence by going bald?

Or worse, turn into women?

To the wookies out there, I'm not saying leave your back hairs untended. But the bit on your chest, your armpits and the short-and-curlies? I certainly don't want to go treasurehunting in a dense tropical rainforest but that doesn't mean I'd want to go teabagging in a manicured lawn kitted out with pink flamingos either. Trim but there's no need for deforestation.

And unless you're knotting French braids with your leg hair, leave them alone.