Post birthday bash

Gotta say it. I'm a pretty lucky guy.

Not only did I get three cakes in a week, I also received a mild hangover as a birthday present from my 'thoughtful' ISO :) Obviously his idea of a birthday present - especially one approaching the dreaded big 3-0 - is to get so plastered with alcohol that you can't even recall your age. Dragged me to this little dive by the Malacca River that we frequent and downed several shots while counting down the number of guys we know who have been happily shackled to the bonds of marriage. Well, I counted down the number while my ISO regaled me with some of his more recent booty-shaking escapades. At the same time, he kept on surreptitiously signalling the waiter for a refill of my glass. Still I kept my head on straight and there was no repeat of last year's Chrismas fall from grace. Not sure if his nefarious plan worked but I can say that I'm feeling far less uptight today.

The cake came from my family who came down en masse this weekend to celebrate. Extremely large to fit the number of candles, made out of sinful chocolate indulgence ( surely enough calories to send Big Bicep Barry fleeing in horror ) and just enough to satisfy my large family's appetite ( or should I say family's large appetite... both are equally true BTW ). I don't mention it often - hell it would be so terribly sappy of me and though I might be a flaming fag, I actually don't do sappy - but my family always comes first to me. Since I am in a pretty competitive field, I always find some of my more ambitious colleagues staunchly advocating placing their careers before their families, before their marriages, before everything else in their lives. I just find that plain weird.

Working in intensive care, I have seen my fair share of death ( perhaps more but let's not dwell on that, shall we :) ). When a man is at the threshold of death there is no thought of his career or the paper chase, all he thinks of his loved ones - if any. On their deathbed, no one wishes that they'd spent more time at the office, everyone wishes that they could be at home.

Exhausted

What can I say? Three days of going out continuously has left me really tired today :) I'm certainly not as young as I used to be. It has to be age since I find myself dreading going out too late since it would involve myself driving back alone to my house - which is actually really far away in the suburbs and takes at least half an hour to reach. Nothing strikes the idea of being single home as much as waking down the driveway alone in the late hours of the night into an empty house. Would be different if I had a hot stud sitting beside me though :)

It always amazes me that I am really this close to being 30. I find myself mouthing blathering nonsense at work and having everyone - my colleagues, the nurses and the attendants - listening closely as if I was preaching God's word. By ye Gods, don't they actually know what a incompetent, brainless nitwit I am? Although I have been at it for so long, I barely know what I'm doing! :) Horrifying what boundless faith they have in an idiot like me.

But enough moaning and whining. Three days of complaining about my age can get real tiring :) My ISO comes back this weekend and I'm sure he'll put my head back on straight.

Candles

Two birthday cakes in as many days :) Single and desperate I might be but thankfully I do have my own group of friends willing to share - and have their slice of the cakes. It was terrible seeing the number of candles onboard though - surely enough firepower to keep Tenaga ( our national electric power provider ) up and running for months. What can I say? My friends thought it would be a hoot to have a ton of candles - and therefore, practically a bonfire - on the big-ass cake. It came as a crushing surprise that I've actually been in the department longer than all the rest of them though fortunately I am still not the oldest.

In comparison, the cake I had yesterday night was slightly larger than a postage stamp ( calling it a big cupcake would hurt its lil feelings after all ) and had just enough space for three stubby lil candles. Came from a lil cake shop that I found just around the corner from one of my favourite restaurants. Big Bicep Barry was a lil more worried about the cake frosting - and what it would do to his cut abs obviously. Still I managed to talk him into swallowing the cream. :) What can I say, I can be terribly persuasive.

Still have the weekend though and another cake to go. There goes my diet - not that I ever had one. :)

Till then check out what happens to Chris Evans after tasting some of my cream.

Brides-to-be

One of my medical attendants - a portly, slightly older one - is getting married in a few weeks. Finally. I was starting to suspect that he was a swishy, card-carrying faggot actually. The fact that he's finally settling down didn't surprise me... where he actually bought his wife did.

Just got up one of those cool mornings and walked down to the nearby housing estate to pick his wife out of a line-up. Seriously.

Mail-order brides have always struck me as something archaic, an idea meant to be filed in the dusty museums with the corsets and the bound feet slippers. And yet judging by the current state of affairs, it seems to have made a comeback of sorts - kinda like the corset. I have to admit it does fulfil a certain shortage when it comes to eligible brides - though I wonder why since damsels of a marriageable age seem to sprout up everytime I turn around, or perhaps it's because all my well-meaning relatives are taking the pains to introduce every desperate singleton they know to me. Still it obviously satisfies a certain clientele since a whole range of desperate gentlemen have been clamouring for a chance with these mail order brides. Sweet, nubile young things, just picked fresh from a healthy, rural farm in Vietnam, surely an irresistible lure.

Given a description of the girls marched out like so much cattle in small groups to face their would-be husbands, it actually reminds me of a slave market of old. Without the chains attached - not the ones that are visible to the naked eye anyway. They are then examined and thoroughly questioned by their prospective husbands - just short of examining their teeth and eyes.

If I sound terribly appalled, you would have guessed right. How terrible must the poor girl's lot in life be that she has to travel hundreds of miles to an unknown foreign land to marry a total stranger? Not only that, she only has two weeks on a tourist visa which means that she had better land a big fish in that span of time ( and most of the time, the fish she lands comes from somewhat unpalatable stock unfortunately ) or she'll be shipped back to the farms - like so much unwanted garbage.

As much as I might abhor such practices, still I have to wonder. If the roles were reversed, would I be tempted to take a bite? Say we swap the vivacious Vietnamese vixens for burly Burmese ( Myanmar if you wanna be PC ) boys? Or even tanned Turkish delights? Faced with the prospect of their beautiful smiles and their silky smooth, cocoa-latte skin ( and my own Dark and Delicious ), I find my indignation rapidly waning. Choosing a studly, tanned stallion from the irresistible range in their stables... hell, even with my vaunted self-control, I doubt I could resist the lure.

So where do I sign up for my own Myanmar hunk?

Reality check

Spent the afternoon moaning about my lack of companionship, recent celibacy and my approaching senility to my ISO who lent half a ear - since he was too busy demolishing my Turkish Delights store. Feeding him candy ( he calls it Devil Candy ) was part of my evil plan for him but I bet he's gonna work it off at the gym tomorrow anyway. After taking about an hour of my whining, he turned to me, finished chomping on some pistachio lokums and said, "You're turning 29. It's not a death sentence. We can watch reruns right now but if you want to break your vow of celibacy, come suck my dick."

Seriously. Those were his words - edited to cut out some of the more unsavoury language but you get the gist of it. I accomodated him on the television reruns offer but refused the second. One thing's for sure, my ISO doesn't scrimp on words ( and he's usually never politically correct especially when it comes to me ). You guys occasionally wonder why I keep him around. Well, he keeps things in perspective for me :) And catches me when I start to get melancholy - well, more like yells at me till I get out of my funk and yell back. Meek, submissive housewife, I'll never be.

Still it was rude of him and I slammed him with my Turkish pillow - just bought a week back and it looks fabulous on the couch! Deep brown/beige with golden highlights.

Have to forgive him though since he got me a DVD to amuse myself with... Eating Out. Kinda a pre-birthday present. It's about a straight boy who pretends to be gay so that he can get close to a girl with a gay roommate. Convoluted? Yeah, it is but can I say that the straight boy, Caleb... AKA Scott Lunsford looks absolutely delicious?