Pretty in Pink

It was pretty, pink and covered in brown warts ( genitalia or otherwise ). And all the boys who saw it wanted a bite.

Short of having it come in a phallic shape with delicious cream filling, I simply couldn't imagine a more fitting birthday cake for Fabulous Felix. Celebrating another significant milestone in his life - all in his own inimitable way.


Queen Mary!
Which I reluctantly admire. After all Felix is just so very unashamedly gay, kinda like a rainbow-flag waving, disco-dancing Queen Mary floating in a tub of lube to paraphrase, without any of the internalized homophobia, irritating neuroses and freakish hang-ups that characterize some of us. Recently disengaged from a bad romance, Felix has been on the rebound... again. And again.

And again.

Yeah, I would say he has been... making the rounds.

Paul : You having dinner?
Felix : Nah, meeting someone.
Paul : Didn't you just come back from an afternoon delight?
Felix : Isn't it time for a bit of dessert?
Paul : Would this count as overeating?

Just as long as he doesn't bring home a serial killer. We all have our own ways of dealing.

I really can't blame him. Reminds of the brief halcyon summer I had after my first break-up. Of course back then without the shocking immediacy of Grindr ( where a quick fuck is just a simple click away ), we had to send emails back and forth for quite a while with the veiled pretense of getting to know one another. Damn!

The Siti Maria Equation

Chances are in a gay relationship, both partners hold regular 9-to-5 jobs that often necessitate career moves that mean a change of address. Hence a certain amount of time spent in a long-distance relationship.

In my case I moved right across the Big Puddle. It hasn't been easy dealing with a long-distance relationship. Whereas I prefer keeping myself busy with dozens of new hobbies, my erstwhile partner Charming Calvin prefers bouts of endlessly emotional weepy karaoke sessions.

Obviously after several episodes of severe dehydration, his method of dealing with the stress of separation hasn't worked out as well!

So rather than drown himself in a sea of sangria while wailing jiwang sob-songs, Charming Calvin has decided to solve his domestic separation woes by sharing with friends in similar situations. Kinda a mutual aid support group for gay couples dealing with geographical separation.


Work was hard today!
Fortunately he has found a confidante in Jaunty Jared - who coincidentally enough might be dealing with a separation of his own if his boyfriend accepts the transfer.

Together they have come up with a dubious plan to distract themselves by ostensibly playing domestic maids with husbands in distant lands - calling themselves Siti and Maria respectively. Leading off with occasional arguments over the superiority of dishwashing liquid brands.

Calvin : What brand you using woh?
Jared : Must buy cheap cheap loh. My boss won't get better dishwashing brand la.
Calvin : Labour superior to Sunlight lo. Very cheap some more.

I swear even I couldn't make this up.

Engineers Gone Wild

Engineers are freaks.

I can say that with some certainty since my boyfriend is one. Even my brother is one. And let's face it, with engineering being the default choice of career for most men these days - whether they like it or not - almost all of my friends are engineers as well.

What they do at work usually boggles my mind! When I think of what the engineers do in their nondescript cubicles, my creative imagination runs the gamut from crazy scientists concocting experimental disasters in secret labs to officer drones endlessly filing incredibly dull, mundane paperwork. Although I think their workplace would work along the lines of Dilbert.


Let's get to work, guys!
Still, I gotta say engineers are an unusual bunch. Totally fascinated with numbers and figures, so much so that it starts to invade their everyday speech.

Paul : How many days of leave do you have left?
Calvin : 8.875.
Paul : WTF.
Calvin : Yes, 8.875 days left.
Paul : Who the fuck says that!
Calvin : It's accurate.

See what I mean by freakish engineer?

BTW 0.875 of a day would come up to 21 hours for those who are curious. Yes, I counted with a calculator.

My Left Feet

Relax. Take it easy.

Like a daily mantra, her calming words keep repeating in my ears.

Yet as the music starts, I still find myself all tensed up with my fists clenched and my brow increasingly creased in frustration as I try to recall the complicated steps. Even worse, my shockingly uncooperative, vaguely robotic limbs, with my suddenly stiff joints, just doesn't seem to be able to respond.

Leaving me stumbling about over my own two left feet like a pathetic marionette shorn of its strings. Not exactly grace in motion! More like Larry, Curly and Moe.


Dance!
Fred Astaire I ain't, but it's all in a day's work for my dancing lessons. Yes, you heard it right, fellas! Much to the dismay of my much beleaguered dance instructor, I have finally started ballroom dancing lessons. As I leave the dance studio in the evenings, I imagine she slams the door shut to weep in a dark corner bewailing her lamentable fate while she massages her tortured fingers - relentlessly crushed by my white knuckled death-grip! A nimble dancer herself with astonishingly double-jointed limbs, she probably wonders why my knee joints are seemingly fused together.

Teacher : So you bring your right foot in, spin on the ball of your foot, lean forward and then do another spin back.
Paul : Oh yeah, I don't do that.
Teacher : How about this hip shimmy?
Paul : You gotta be kidding. I think my hip joints are fixed in position. If I pop my hip that way, I'd probably fall flat on my face.
Teacher : Try it.
Paul : Okay.

*thump*

Teacher : Oops.
Paul : Come help me up. I probably broke my hip.

I know. I'm an impossible student.

Yet it's been a lifelong dream of mine to dance - despite my horrible coordination! Or perhaps because of it.


See that trim elegant fellow effortlessly tripping the light fantastic? Yeah, I'd want to at least try - though something tells me I have to dislocate a couple of joints to dance the way he does. I mean, does the shockingly dexterous fellow even have bones?

Ponderings of Raoul

Sometimes kids really do say the darndest things.

Remember when we once worried about my nephew Rambling Raoul's stoic reticence? How his lack of speech made us all wonder about his somewhat delayed developmental milestones? Well, worry no more - since once the kid started forming coherent sentences, he has been talking almost non-stop. Rambling on and on would be just about right.

Quite a relief for his many well-wishers!

In the past, silence hampered his communication skills somewhat but now that Raoul has mastered the art of articulate speech, it seems the kid actually has plenty of sly observations to make.


I've got something to say!
Just last weekend when he spent hours nagging his mother about the definition of a family! No one knew exactly what brought that mundane topic about. But after my sister-in-law Sassy Sue gave up and delivered a long-winded explanation of what a family was, pointed out important figures on the family tree and where Raoul's place was in the entire scheme, the boy wisely nodded.

Then he smiled impishly.

Raoul : So Uncle Paul is daddy's brother?
Sue : Yes.
Raoul : So that means Uncle Calvin is part of the family too?
Sue : Oh yes it does.
Raoul : Good.

Not sure how Raoul even made the jump from me to Calvin but hell, kids really do say the darndest things!

No doubt if Charming Calvin was there within hearing range, he would have bawled out crying. Even a heartless troll like me found myself getting a bit teary. As it is, I think Raoul is overdue for a present from Uncle Calvin.