Thursday, September 29, 2005

Growing attachments

Isn't it odd how the smallest things... something impossibly trivial and minute... can grow to be something terribly essential in your life? It's true. I felt it just moments ago. Those of you who don't drop by every second wouldn't have noticed it but for a second in the blogosphere, my blog turned blank on me. If I were an overgrown drama queen, I would have said that the world had collapsed upon itself and life wasn't worth living anymore but since I'm not.. ( I'm not!! ) although I do think I must have suffered multiple heart attacks while waiting for it to return.

Brian, how did you deal with the agony!

But it's here. Oh, the ecstasy! The blog has actually become something I look forward to... when i was a kid way back when, I used to write in lil logbooks that I kept under lock and key. What can I say? Scorpio men do like their little secrets. So the blog has lately become an outlet of expression for me, a place I can rant and rave ( and hopefully avoid getting charged for sedition like the poor Singaporean bloggers :( ) about my stupid little problems and obviously also a place to advertise my availability to eligible bachelors :)

I was about to rant and rave about police outriders earlier but after getting the multiple attacks, some of the raging bile has actually faded away. Still, it irritates me when I see police outriders accompanying some assumed VIP all over town - and practically bullying poor hapless drivers - when it could be some Datin driving about in search of a missing earring. Come on, if it's such an important meeting, you should make it there early - and a cavalcade of policemen following is just a waste of time and money.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Desperate Househusbands III

Househusband extraodinaireWe all know Malaysia is way behind television wise but the 2nd Season of Desperate Housewives has already aired in the US. And damn, my favourite guy, Tom Scavo, has actually turned himself into a househusband. Take a look at him!

Realized today that I desperately need help when it comes to the housework. You see, as much as I love the occasional housecleaning and cooking, I just can't find the time to fit it into my hectic schedule. Not only did I come back a little later than usual, work has been a little more tiring today. What can I say... a few of my patients decided to remain in the realms of somnolence just a tad longer than I expected. This evening, I barely had the energy to lift the duster but the dust on the dining table seemed to taunt me mercilessly!

See why I need a guy to stop me from going insane like that?

Usually I get home pretty late after work ( and the occasional dull meetings and helluva boring tutorials ) and I just have the time to gulp down my dinner, take a quick shower, before I run about with my duster and broom ( I do use the vacuum cleaner once in a while too - how's that for technologically advanced! ) trying to dust each and every nook and cranny in the house. And that doesn't even count the regular twice-weekly ( I try my best! ) mopping that I do. Is it any surprise that poor Tom looks flustered?

At least today as I enact the role of Cinderella with my broom, I actually have the new Jamie Cullum to sway my hips to. Who knows, I might even do the infamous Tom Cruise underwear slide through the hall.

Housecleaning aside, I had a hilarious incident with a patient who insisted on flirting with me. Actually came out at work - well, sort of. A frisky young lady in her early twenties came in today for a lumpectomy - and obviously extremely eager to bat her eyelashes at me. All my frowns and curt replies didn't seem to deter her - and I could swear my ears were turning red. However I managed to turn the tables on her by knocking her out with barbiturates :) Once she was under, I whispered in her ear that I was gay and loved fucking around with men. Wonder whether she recalled it after she woke up. :)

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

A step into the future

It has taken me a while to get a new handphone. Ever since I received my first paycheck, I've actually subsisted on the cheapest handphones on the market. Not only because I'm a lil stingy when it comes to such impractical frills but also because I have a fatal tendency to drop my cellphone in the nearest body of water.

Talking on the cellSeriously. Ever since my first, they have all somehow succumbed to various unfortunate mishaps. Down the drain, down a toilet bowl, around a washing machine, down the Gombak River. Somehow, rather than being attracted to giant magnets, my cellphones seem to have an inexplicable affinity to the water element. It left me with no choice but to purchase the cheapest sets available - to lessen the burden on my ever thinning wallet ( I did mention my expensive tastes, didn't I? )

Still it was time to let go of my horribly outdated set - actually my ISO was nagging me on a daily basis and the signal was driving me crazy - so I finally broke down and bought a Nokia.

Still, I kinda miss my simple old cellphone... all it had was the regular stuff and the SMS. Right now, I'm still busy trying to figure out my new cell. Some of the enhancements are driving me nuts. Not only am I a Technohimbo with computers, apparently that stupidity applies to cellphones too. GPRS? Infrared? I'm barely getting the hang of the damned digital camera. :)

For a chatterbox like me, it comes as a surprise to some that I actually don't enjoy talking on the phone. Somehow the habit of chattering endlessly on the phone ( something I enjoyed excessively back in secondary school, to the horror of my parents ) left me once I entered medical school. It just isn't conducive to talk on the phone at work ( imagine having the phone ring while you're consoling a grieving relative with the dead corpse a few feet away ) - so I started sending messages. That drives some of my friends crazy - especially when I'm more than a lil curt on the phone... but I can't help it!

Monday, September 26, 2005

Inedible delights

Just back from having supper with some of my work colleagues ( yeah, Tiny Tim & Tina, Shameless Shalom etc. )... and as usual we went on and on about our workplace, how the wicked politics have turned our paradise into something closer to Dante's medical version of hell. A short segment of our rants were focused on one of our superiors, a nasty lil tattletale.

But what I had to write about didn't concern his oily ways but the food that we ate. Seriously, you all know that I love food.. in all its various guises, and sometimes I crave food almost as much as men. ( God, did I just say that out loud! ) Satay celup is one of the indigenous dishes found here... and I have to admit that there has never been a more vile concoction made for the ingestion of men. Think sticks of meat, poultry and seafood dipped in thick, fragrant curry peanut sauce that comes in a pot... but try to avoid thinking of what else goes down that boiling pot of gooey grossness.

It is absolutely disgusting - and quite one of the most unsanitary delicacies I've ever seen... but for a Malaccan, it's practically a time-honoured tradition that we hold dear to :) Nothing says home more like a few hours of roasting under the boiling steam from the pot, guzzling soft drinks by the gallon and bad-mouthing your absent colleagues.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Harmless flirting

My time-out yesterday evidently pissed off some of my friends. It happens unfortunately ( and I'm sorry! I apologized yesterday already didn't I? ) since taking some downtime for myself means ignoring the rest of the world - and everything else.

I just need that time for myself.. it's difficult to explain actually. Every other day, I'm inundated with different people everywhere I go, practically crushed with a load of responsibilities and problems at work. Usually I'm cool with all that but sometimes I just need to blow off steam - and on those days, I'd prefer not to blow off on the wrong guy. I just need to be alone with my thoughts - and even Chris Evans couldn't tear me away ( but if he was half-naked in shorts and liberally oiled, that would be something else entirely :) )

Still I have several new books, a buncha comics and a lovely jazz album. And that's gonna last me all weekend ( see, I'm an easy man to please! ) - or at least the lil bit of time till I have to start work again tomorrow :) Sigh. When am I gonna find that man of mine!

But anyway, I gotta say this... fun flirting with ya, Jason, even with the voyeurs watching. :) Get my address and write to me.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Some time-out

Nothing like a weekend break from it all. It has been a while since I've had some time to myself. Not only have I been working for the past few weekends, I've also been swamped by family, work and responsibilities :) Is it any wonder that I'm usually chronically sleep-deprived?

Today I rushed out to the bookstores ( well, the dwindling number of bookstores left in Malacca ) for the latest bestseller - or two! since I read like a crazed maniac with minutes left to live and I generally finish a good-sized novel in a day. Grabbed some grub ( actually a chicken pie or two that I heated up afterward ) and made my way home to hole myself up in my cozy, Indian-maharajah-inspired peacock-blue bedroom with my books. Placed my cellphone on silent mode ( sorry, you guys! ) and tuned out the rest of the world for a few hours.

A friendly warning to any future boyfriends :) Woe betide any man who dares come between me and a good book. Almost nothing moves me from my page ( other than the promise of good, sweaty sex of course ). Once I get started on a good book, I simply have to finish it. It becomes a fanatical obsession.

Let's face it... on my off days, I don't usually read Pulitzer-Prize winning authors ( I save that for other days ) as I take my regular dive into every other wacky, eclectic genre that I can find. One of the chick-lit books I got, Buddha Baby, was written by an Asian-American author, Kim Wong Feltner, and one paragraph near the end really hit close.

It talked about a guy's body odour.. seriously! How a Caucasian guy's scent is essentially different from a Chinese man's... Struck me as supremely funny - and oddly apt. Let's face it, when you sleep with a guy - and you spoon up halway through the night, you're bound to breathe in his scent ( totally unadulteralted and unmasked by the various colognes that we splash ourselves in ) - and everyone smells just a bit different - and it varies even more amongst the different races, I'm sure. Probably depending largely on the food we take regularly. Since I've probably gotten used to it, I wonder whether Chinese guys actually do smell like dim sum and Chinese take out :)

Friday, September 23, 2005

Pet Peeve II

Pet Peeves... we all have them, it's one of the odd idiosyncrasies that make us different from one another. Some of us hate people who eat with their mouths open. Some of us hate clutter with an unholy vengeance. Some hate angora sweaters ( you know who you are! )

And there are some like me who absolutely despise young Malaysians who claim that they can't speak Malay. Granted, those of the older generation can be excused for not knowing the language ( though it is surely a weak excuse! ) since it wasn't taught as a compulsory subject way back when. But young guys like us... those of us who have been brought up with Bahasa Malaysia as our lingua franca - well, certainly not mine - but still, we all had it force-fed to us as the common language! We should all know it well, or at least be able to speak a proper sentence without fumbling through like an unlettered rustic. I don't expect sajak and syair ( Malay poetry ) but they should at least be able to converse for a moment or two without resorting to sign language!

I find it absolutely unforgivable when a young guy - unfortunately usually Chinese ( oh, the shame! ) - walks into the clinic and stammers through a few unintelligible Malay monosyllables before switching to the more user-friendly Mandarin/Cantonese. Is that the product of almost a decade of schooling?

Seriously, my grandparents came over on a rickety lil junk from China ( like most other Malaysians of Chinese descent ) - and they can even read the papers in Malay. What more can a guy who's been through ten years of school say for himself?

I think a light spanking's in order, don't you? I don't expect a masters degree in Malay Literature but as a Malaysian, you should at least be able to converse in the national language.

For those not used to such Malaysian-centric posts from me, and those who are curious exactly what I'm yammering about here :) here's the gist of what I had to say... after Malaysia attained independence, she actually maintained the education syllabus inherited from her colonial masters, the British. It actually took a few years ( God, how could I forget the dates?! I am sure someone more knowledgeable can update this ) before they switched the common language used in the classroom from English to Bahasa Malaysia.

What? Paul said I kissed him? &@#%@!! He must be dreaming, I tell ya!

In other news - about me, myself and I, I managed to get to the gym today. Unfortunately in my drowsy post-call ( after an on-call )lethargy, I almost worked myself into a comatose stupor. Felt myself almost blank out for a sec - and I could have sworn I felt Chris Evans kissing me. I knew then that I had to be losing my sanity ( and consciousness ) :)

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Chicken soup

Kiss the cookWhat can I say... when it's late at night and I'm feeling a lil hungry, there's nothing that can satisfy me more than some chicken soup. Well, sure a hot man could satisfy me just as well but my stomach would still be growling at the end :)

Chicken soup is such a sweet old comfort food. Not sure what you guys took when you were kids but there was a time when chicken soup was the one and only thing I could make in the kitchen - other than an incredible mess. It's hot, it's thick and wholesome looking... and it goes down so nicely late at night. And I can hope ( can't I? ) that the calorie intake isn't gonna thicken up my waistline as well :)

Of course in Asia, we have an infamous item called instant noodles ( thanks Wee for reminding me! ) Don't get me wrong. I love it too.. all that Indomie and Maggi Mee during late nights has left an indelible impression in my mind. Since I started work however, I've associated it with the workplace since we have a large stash of instant noodles ever ready in the pantry. Just add hot water :) So terribly tempting but I think of my ISO's tiny waist and I try my best to resist.

Damn, is this me? I'm actually talking about calories.. God, I've been taken over by psycho gym zombies. I'm starting to sound like my ISO and Big Bicep Barry.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005


You'd all know that I'm a huge movie fan - one of those rabid fans who hang around cinema halls just waiting for the next opening, and pouncing on the ticket stands the minute it opens. It's an obsession, I know, and one that started years ago in primary school when I first got my allowance. Nothing could do but to march straight up to the nearest cinema for an hour or two of pure celluloid fantasy. How I ever walked so many miles just for a dumb movie boggles my mind now :) Nowadays after being pampered with central air-condioning at work ( and deprived of the terrible burning sun! ), you'd have to torture me before I'd undergo any physical exertion that involves sweat and the sun.

But I still remember the days - and don't call me uncle when I reminisce about the past. :) The oldest cinema I'd been to - well, it was about to close at that time - but it had two floors to separate the classes ( how elitist, I know! ), the upper floors for the posh few who could afford more than a dollar or two - and the ground floor for the great unwashed/hoi polloi. There were twirling fans ( instead of the entral air-conditioning present now in the glittering cineplexes ) and kuaci/groundnuts littered the floors instead of popcorn.

Still some things never change - and I'd certainly walk that many miles for him. Can I say that I'm desperately waiting for a sexy, dark-haired swashbuckler to come my way? I loved Zorro years ago as a kid, sitting by the television transfixed by the the brash, athletic rebel who fought for freedom and justice - while trading cheesy quips with the bumbling bad guys/nitwits. For those unfamiliar with Zorro ( unbelievable though that might sound! ), he is a swashbuckling hero of California in the 19th century ( dressed all in chic black, etches a stylized "Z" in things with his sword, etc ). I count on Antonio Banderas' take on Zorro remains one of my favourites and he's scheduled to appear again on the Legend of Zorro soon.

Guess I'll have to queue up at the cinemas again. Time to grope another guy in the dark. Any volunteers?

Monday, September 19, 2005

Tag James

Well, James did tag me - and you know how I love the occasional meme ( though I still don't know why it's called that - then again, I recall someone telling me... I must be going senile ) so here goes...

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. Have an indecent orgy with a truckload of sexy Marine sex slaves
2. Stand onstage under the spotlights and belt out some incredibly sexy torch song ( preferably drunk since it would take a lot of alcohol to do this )
3. Be in a relationship with a man who loves me.
4. Have a kid ( or two... ) preferably with the man above. Not biologically of course but we could certainly adopt like the fab Angelina. Would be cool if the man above was a Marine sex slave who loved me :)
5. Design, build and decorate an absolutely fabulous dream home... perhaps a modern take on the French chateau with amazing ceiling-to-floor length windows, delicious marble flooring...
6. Learn how to cook well - and look absolutely divine doing it - like Nigella Lawson
7. Write a torrid romance and have it published

Seven things I could do:
1. Resuscitate a patient successfully ( it still amazes me, believe me )
2. Sing the whole repertoire of Christmas melodies by heart
3. Recall a guy's phone number, address, e-mail, blood type just by looking a his ass
4. Shut someone up with a look ( I have been practising at work )
5. Coordinate a wedding with minimal bloodshed
6. Paint and stencil walls and cabinets
7. Bake a bitchin' cheesecake

Seven Celebrity crushes:
1. Paul Walker
2. James Denton
3. Hugh Jackman
4. Jesse Metcalfe
5. Colby Miller
6. Chris Evans
7. Colin Farrell

Seven often repeated words:
1. Bloody
2. Certainly
3. Fuck
4. Count to ten and go to sleep
5. Staff nurse - get the damned crash trolley
6. Bitch
7. Damned
( I just realized that I do swear - under my breath - at work )

Seven physical traits I look for in my partner:
1. Short, curly hair - slightly mussed up by me in the mornings as he rushes to work... Hell, don't want a guy more obsesed with his hair than me :)
2. Big biceps - the easier to move all the heavy teak furniture in the house when I have a redecorating urge
3. Definitely taller than me - the dwarf
4. Some stubble - and a treasure trail
5. Beautiful eyes
6. Six-pack
7. And a really sexy ass

Beautiful eyesBut of course let's place a small caveat in my shallow, superficial criteria. Of course beautiful physicality would be a major plus but let's face it, Brad Pitts don't grow on trees ( and hell wouldn't we love some of that :) ) and we all know a pretty face doesn't a good boyfriend make - though a mindless fling wouldn't be out of the question. It certainly isn't as important as having some semblance of a personality...a fabulous sense of humour, a warm, caring heart and more than half a brain. Certainly wouldn't go out with a partner with six pack and a sexy ass who can't string a bunch of words together to form a coherent sentence :) That would certainly tax my ingenuity - and my patience!

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Full Moon

Today's actually the day before the official Mid-Autumn Festival ( isn't it? ) and I've decided to celebrate with my niece. So I've gotten out a whole string of colourful paper lanterns, the prerequisite mooncakes ( still the sinfully delicious, cholesterol-laden cakes ) and some tea. Really traditional with matching paper napkins, little paper roses ( that I folded! ) and all. I feel like the Chinese version of anal-retentive Bree van Der Kamp. All I need is the perfect Stepford husband to match. :)

Babysitting my niece and munching mooncakes under the light of the full moon... I'm left bemoaning the fact that I'm still single.... Damn, I shouldn't be alone... I should be eating this with some cute hottie!

Friday, September 16, 2005

The age of broadband

Sometimes not all things are best taken slow.

And I'm definitely speaking from experience here. I'm happy to say that I've finally left the world of slow dial-ups ( and the persistent ringing-zapping tone ) behind me - and ever since Cute Technohottie came over this evening, I've been surfing online on a much faster connection than I've been used to. It has been just so much torture waiting patiently for downloads to appear onscreen.

Need some rewiring?

Contrary to what I've been led to believe from the promises made by adult gay porn, the Technohottie didn't offer to provide any extra services but thanks to him, everything's going swimmingly now! And yeah, I did get his number ( somehow, I manage to get a lot of numbers but no follow-through.. Sigh! The fickleness of men ) and we did flirt a little. But then again, I actually do quite a bit of harmless flirting on the side :)

What can I say? Harmless flirting works! Don't tell me none of you guys have ever chatted up a pretty salesgirl, charmed her a little, commented on her hair... and walked away with a damned good bargain..? It gets me discounts, better rates and services, and hell, I even get to cut queues at the occasional line.

Before I forget.. a quick reiteration for the Englishmen out there... :) Sure the oer Malaysians here would be able to help but here goes...
Tai tais is actually a colloquial Chinese expression for those wealthy ladies of leisure who do nothing but play mahjong, gossip incessantly - and evidently do gym reps in the afternoons. Datins would be the Malay version here - almost the same actually except with way more glitter and flash ( and the thick black sunglasses, don't forget that! ).

Did I actually use the word kiasu? I guess I must have. Popularized in the region south of here - Singapore, I mean, it literally means a fear to lose in Hokkien dialect. Fear of losing out to others, fear of being unable to compete... hell, it's even in the Wikipedia.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Feeling the burn

Let's get it over with first. No gropes yet :)

I've finally figured out where all the tai-tais go in the afternoons. I mean, they have no work, and after all that shopping and drinking mai-tais, they gotta do something right? Well, I've figured out their secret.. they're all at the gym feeling the burn.

Seriously. Since I managed to get off work early ( well, not exactly unless you guys count about 4 early ), I sneaked out to the gym. Intrepidly enough, I went alone. Unlike the other day when the place was filled with musclebound hotties in shorts ( a disappointment I have to agree ), this evening it was filled with tai-tais in their luminous sportswear, hopping about while as they discussed their morning bargains at the wet market and the latest desperate housewife rumour.

Still, thank God they weren't around since I almost pulled a dramatic swoon again when I decided to up the stakes and cycled uphill for half hour. A huge mistake since I spent my workday being exposed to anaesthetic gases that left me a lil woozy. Don't know what crazy sadistic need drives me but I simply can't help but compete. It's the kiasu syndrome in me - and i hate being such a wimp. :(

Can't even lift that megatonne barbell. Fuck. What a wimp! So I'm slowly working towards it, inching towards that superficial, shallow goal. Then again, a tight six-pack isn't the only goal - I am also trying to avoid getting a massive heart attack while sipping my latte at 30. Now, that has to be a more acceptable goal for a serious guy like me, right?

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

More than a lil pissed

I did something extraodinarily odd today again. I'm calling it one of my psychotic breaks.

Trust me, you don't want to make me mad!

If you'd recall my last post, I mentioned something about mouthing off on the next fella ( and reaming, don't forget the reaming! ) who stepped on my toes. Well, that actually happened at work today - in the evening. For some reason, some idiot decided to drag on the elective operative cases ( which would have me staying later than usual - and I hate staying late at work!!! ) and I was about to start yelling expletives left and right, per my last post about letting loose with profanities.

Some of the choicest examples were close to falling off my tongue when I suddenly laughed. Actually burst out with a loud, echoing guffaw that had everyone in the operating theatre ( including the baffled surgeon who was alreading cringing after seeing my reddening face, usually seen prior to my Incredible Hulk impersonation ) staring at me as if I was an escaped mental patient.

I can be so wacky sometimes.

Hell ( does that count as a profanity? ).. since I'm already on a crazy roll, I might as well go on and grope Big Bicep Barry tomorrow. Poor guy, he must be thinking he's somehow acquired a stalker. Then again, with those biceps, he could flatten me with one flick of his finger.

Hope Barry never ever sees this but from what I know, he hardly ever looks at blogs. Still some Hulks do have their own blogs.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Prim & Proper

Damn I am mealy mouthed. Despite being just a tad mean sometimes and having the occasional irrationally permissive behaviour ( like groping men in the dark and accosting strangers at work ) I am actually surprisingly prim and proper. I see some guys laughing out there but it's true.

Reading what Wingman Will wrote on his last post, there were more than a few more varied, colourful swear words over there. And it surprised me that although I've heard all of them, I've actually never said them. Perhaps it's my strict, conservative upbringing *ahem* or my orthodox Catholic mission schooldays ( although in an all-boys, I've actually heard so many swear words that I'm generally immune to them ) but I've never even said more than the rare F-word and even that's in a mild sotto voce under my breath ). It comes right to the tip of my tongue and somehow unconsciously, I clamp down shut.

God, what the hell's wrong with me? Something Freudian?

Then again, I can say some pretty mean, cutting things that can be hurtful when I'm mad so adding swear words into the mix would be rubbing salt into the wound. But I wouldn't want to be thought of as a wound-up tightass/prissy lil queen so come first thing tomorrow, I'm gonna ream the hell out of the first person who gets on my nerves with a whole string of bad words.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Workout high

I am actually high right now.

Come after mePretty sure I am going to ache in places I never knew existed tomorrow morning but right now I'm still having the post workout buzz ( or most probably giddy euphoria brought on by the hypoxia and the hypoglycaemia ). You guessed right. Despit my multitude of excuses, Big Bicep Barry finally managed to shanghai me to the gym. Started out with the bicycle stuff since one of the things I don't mind doing is actually cycling for the fun of it. Of course with the rate of road accidents climbing ( and hapless pedestrians bearing the brunt of it ) I don't intend to get a bicycle of my own, so a stationary one will do. For a guy who spends his time chasing after the latest bestseller, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that I wasn't exactly the fittest specimen over there. Stubborn guy that I am, I tried for a half hour ride uphill and almost passed out near the end. It took visions of Brad Pitt running uphill in a skimpy yellow thong to help me finish the last few laps.

Then Big Bicep Barry urged me on to the weight machines ( or horrifying metal monsters as I call them ) and I tried out a few - although a little less daringly since I almost knocked myself out on the bicycles. Another humiliating experience since I only managed lifting molehills ( what a fucking wimp! ) when Barry over there is literally moving mountains.

Still I was pretty amazed by the sheer volume of people obsessed with the body beautiful ideal. Undaunted by the late hours ( when otherwise sane people would be at home sipping tea and catching the news ) these muscle boys are busy huffing and puffing away while pumping iron - and with such a serious, intense expression too. Hell, even at work ( with patients collapsing left and right ) I pretty much have an inane grin on my face - and today, I certainly couldn't keep up that intensity while benchpressing ants.

Damn. All this for the sake of a six-pack. I can be so fucking shallow sometimes :)

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Two Left Feet

I can't dance.

It's actually taken me a while to come to this horrifying conclusion ( will my gay passport be revoked? ). It's not often that I go clubbing in the first place ( unlike party guys like AJ, Will and Duff :) ) so any opportunities I've had to wiggle like an epileptic trout have been somewhat limited. Despite humiliating myself by moving like a broken puppet shorn of its strings at some clubs, I was - till last night - blissfully oblivious to my obvious shortcomings. My ISO, for all his wicked ways, obviously knew the value of prudence when it came to such a revelation.

No, darling, I can't dance!No, I wasn't dancing the night away with my friends. Far from it, I was actually on-call at the hospital. When it's late at night in the operating theatre, everyone tends to get a bit dull. Not even the thickest cup of java helps in perking me up at that time - working for more than 18 hours tends to numb even the most enthusiastic Stepford boys.

Therefore late nights at the operating theatre you'd be forgiven for imagining that you'd accidentally landed at the nearest gay bar. No, there aren't any shirtless hunks in tight jeans shaking their booty and waving their well-muscled arms around. Well, there are mostly naked guys but most of them aren't in any position to shake anything. But close your eyes and you'll feel the ground-shaking, heart-pumping dance music gay clubs everywhere are famous for. Lest you think all doctors are dour, stern professonals, here's news for ya. There's a pretty fine stereo system in the operating theatre here and it pumps out ear-splitting music ( can it even be called music? ) all through the night.

It's loud enough for even me to start tapping my feet. Just as Frankie J started belting out some hip-shaking, thumpa-thumpa music, I realized.. dammit, I actually have two left feet that simply can't coordinate!

How could this be? A gay man who can't dance would be an affront to Mutha Nature herself. Obviously when God had been handing out the gay genes, I'd obvious missed out on the dancer-clubber gene ( along with the sexy-dream-sex-god gene but that's some other gripe entirely ) although I'd gotten the psycho-homemaker gene in spades. Damn. Some guys get all the luck.

Is it too late to get a refund on my genetic lottery ticket?

Friday, September 09, 2005

The Return of the ISO

I come bearing gifts!Never fear. As they always say ( well, at least I do ), you just can't keep a bad man down. Back from his travels, my ISO has returned this weekend bearing gifts. And as you guys all know.. I'm a cheap, easy freeloader who loves free lunches and gifts :)

Not only did I let him take me out for lunch - well I finally took pity on him and paid for lunch - but he also brought stuff. One thing I've always liked about him is his good taste ( okay, I love his good credit rating too but that's something else entirely :) ). He got me a bunch of knick knacks - delicate little porcelain Dutch houses that double as salt and pepper shakers in varying shades of royal blue - and I love it...

But no, it is still not a gesture of reconciliation. It's somewhat symbiotic, he just likes spending money and I like receiving gifts...

Thursday, September 08, 2005

A lil conversation

Everyone goes on dates with different expectations. Some expect a drink and pleasant conversation with a nice guy. Some expect a full bondage experience with whips and melted wax. To each his own, I guess, and who am I to judge after all. Some people expect more however, something a little more durable and long-lasting.

My dads are a matched setNo prizes for guessing that I am one of those guys. Outwardly I actually present a brash, almost abrasive attitude sometimes - or at least I hope so :) But lemme tell ya a secret. Each time I go on a date, I leap to conclusions. I simply can't help it. It doesn't matter if the guy's cute or not, I already imagine joint bank accounts and picket fences. Even though I have a failed relationship behind me ( and I do think some guys are scum :) ) I can't help thinking of matching sweaters and shoes, antiqueing tours in the weekends and breakfasts in bed.

My ISO would call me insane for building castles in the air but I can't help it. Scratch underneath the layers of cynicism and there's a hopeless optimist. Surely it's unhealthy to have such high expectations - and I certainly can't imagine having such an impossibly perfect, saccharine-sweet life with my boyfriend ( almost like poster boys out of an IKEA ad :) ) but I can't help wanting all that. Now, was that amazingly Bridget Jones of me?

And on that note, you might have noticed the tiny lil counter I've placed at the end of my blog - inspired by Wingman Will. Surprisingly I have more visitors than I imagined ( and from a far more varied region than I thought too... Mexico? Belgium? ) so drop in and say hi! And before you say it, yes, this is a plea for more single men to pop in and introduce themselves :)

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Moon guilt

RunnerIf you happen to live in the suburbs of Malacca - and just happened to look out your window this evening, you might have seen a dark-haired guy in shorts huffing and puffing his way through a jog.

Seriously, I blame the moon.

The jog hasn't exhausted the oxygen supply to my head leaving me slightly addled - though my hands are a bit jittery, I'll admit. The moon spawned the Mid Autumn Festival, something celebrated by Chinese all over the world over... and invariably, they share cups of heavy wine and the inevitable mooncakes under the light of a million lil lanterns. Desperately sweet, oily, cholesterol-laden mooncakes - guaranteed to have your friendly cardiologist screaming in fear.

And I can't resist them. That is why after eating one whole cake by myself, I felt a huge pang of guilt. Damn.

So I ran.

Monday, September 05, 2005

The gaydar myth

We all wish we had it. We have all heard about it. We've all known someone who knows someone who can tell with unerring accuracy.

The urban myth of the gaydar has always been there and I wonder how true it really is since telling whether a man is straight or gay can't be all that easy. A man might do the swishy walk, do the stereotypical limp wrist, hell he can do midnight renditions of Cher in a dress and a wig and yet it doesn't mean he's automatically a gay man. Unfortunately, not many of us walk around with little plaques around our necks proclaiming our sexuality ( though it would certainly help :) )

Last time I mentioned this was with Handsome Hui way back when - and I'm still a bit curious about his stand too :) So far, I've been out twice with Big Bicep Berry and I have to admit for all his pretty muscles, the boy has some brains in that head of his. Still unsure about his personal stand on men fucking other men though. If I met a guy online through one of the personals, it would be simple enough since I would be relatively sure that he'd swing my way but meeting a guy at random on the street leaves me in a dilemma. Does wearing hot tees with the sleeves torn off to show his muscles signify gay? Does not being married at 30 mean fag? Does being coy about his age mean queer? Does caring whether he has a sculpted six-pack yell homo?

I like figuring things out so a puzzle obviously drives me crazy.

Although I am sure it would be thought discriminatory, someone should really make a fool-proof test for homosexuality :) There should be a way for single gay men to know for a certainty whether certain hot guys are available for them - or they're blindly chasing the unattainable straight ( but inevitably gay vague ) man. Kinda like a spray-on dye that would turn neon pink on men with the gay gene.

Maid in Malacca

Have been having a headache all morning - and sadly I didn't have much of a cure for it especially since sex apparently cures my headaches. Unfortunately I didn't have much to pick from since the Immigration Department over here doesn't hold much in terms of sexy, single hunks :) And I don't think dragging some guy into the photo booth for a quickie would be a good recommendation for my application.

After some time of thinking it over, I have decided to get a live-in maid. Sure I love cleaning the house - the boring, mundane stuff like the mopping and the sweeping - but without a fabulously rich old sugar daddy to support my housecleaning hobbies, I have to go out to earn my own money - and that leaves me very little time to sweep the floors. Trying my best not to be desperately anal with this but I simply can't stand the sight of dust piling up on the counters - God, I sound so much like Bree van Der Kamp. As much as I love taking care of the home, I still haven't found that special someone to pay the household bills! Before I continue, let me place a small caveat here ( see, I'm a reasonable bloke... I can make allowances! ) poor but gainfully employed men can apply for the position too.

Jesse Metcalfe

Before you get the wrong ideas, I am definitely not hiring a sexy Jesse Metcalfe lookalike for the position of my maid. Not only would it be mentally distracting, I don't think I could afford that kinda toy boy yet. It's a toss-up between a Filipina or an Indonesian gal here.

It isn't easy going through the government bureaucracy with all the red tape and hurdles they make you jump through. Even using my position - yeah, I had to resort shamelessly to some of that since my name's listed as a doctor on the form anyway - it still took a few hours and left me with a blistering headache. At least queuing up in the hospital, you get a medical chit for the wait. :)

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Believe in the Supernatural

Working in the hospital, you hear stories all the time. Urban legends, some of them. The occasional tale about the patient who jumped the balcony and broke his leg ( and sometimes more ), the whispered rumours about the staff nurse who dallied with the medical attendant in the supplies closet - eventhough she was married with kids... all sorts of rumours and gossip that keep the grapevine around the hospital buzzing. But come late at night, the stories get a little more eerie as the staff huddle together close by the counter... and you know how everyone loves a good ghost story.

With the amount of deaths happening around the hospital vicinity, it isn't surprising that tales of the supernatural haunt the darkened halls. Although some might consider me a man of science, I certainly wouldn't discount spirits and ghosts. There are just some things in life we simply can't explain in a logical, scientific manner - no matter how much Dana Scully tries :)... Anyway, I always figure, most of us don't get it right the first time around, so it wouldn't surprise me that some us manage to hang on for a few more rounds.

The SupernaturalTales of the supernatural are always popular - so add in two cute guys, and it makes a great premise for a TV show. Titled Supernatural, it stars two major hotties, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, who play estranged brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, brought together by their father's mysterious disappearance. Bound by tragedy and blood to their dangerous, other-worldly mission - started by their erstwhile father, the brothers travel from the Colorado wilderness to Nebraska farmlands and on to isolated Wisconsin lakes, encountering creatures that most people believe only exist in folklore, superstition and nightmares.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

A look in the mirror

It's really funny how everyone has a skewed perspective on the way they look. No one is ever really fully satisfied with the way they look. Seriously. I guess I've always looked at it as an excuse - one of those lil white lies beautiful people say ( with that painfully adorable aw-shucks smile ) to pass off as humble souls rather than the abnormally genetically gifted lot they really are. Like Jesse Metcalfe saying 'Oh no, I am not that perfect.. I have this little itsy bitsy pimple on my luscious, hard-as-rock butt'.

Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful

But it can actually be true. Hell, I'm not talking about me... I'm far from being a part of the beautiful people crowd and the number of genetic imperfections in my DNA would bar me from ever entering the impossibly utopian world of Gattaca.

If you haven't managed to guess by now, I managed to hijack Big Bicep Barry finally. Not easy kidnapping 6 feet of muscley, low-fat goodness but I managed to do it nonetheless. Resourceful lil me... when I put my mind to it, I can accomplish anything... While I actually thought he was mind-bogglingly cute ( and I have the oddest tastes :) ) poor Barry thinks he has a weight problem.

Good God, has he looked in a mirror lately? Where are the extra pounds? In his lil toes? The man makes me look like an overweight, midget-sized stepsister in borrowed rags. I feel like hiding under a stone - beneath a great big invisibility cloak! - when I'm sitting with him.

So all you sexy boyz out there.. admit your failings - certainly no need to apologize - you're cute. Live with it. :) If you wanna feel guilty about it, wear Speedos all the time, show some skin and spread some joy around. The world would certainly be a happier place.