Oh, You Are so Naughty, Grandma!

Christmas is in the air.

So along with the hordes of Christmas shoppers looking for bargain, I too decided to get into the festive mood. I was a little bit depressed so what could make me feel a little bit better than to do a little bit of shopping. In addition to that, I have to do a market survey on baby clothing (which by the way is not mine, I’m doing this as a favour) or more precisely baby Gaps. So I make my way to the only outlet in Castlecourt. So I looked around, experienced a slight panic attack, made couple of desperate calls to Malaysia and finally I decided to take pictures rather than buy some really expensive baby clothes.

But that is not the story that I want to tell you.

I made a detour to Debenhams, just to satisfy my cravings for some potential shopping bargains. After browsing through really disappointing selections of John Rocha’s and other in house labels, I suddenly remembered my equally disappointing underwear collection that has suffered a long neglect from me.

So I said to myself ‘there must be some bargains on the overpriced underwear’.

As I strumming through the Calvin Klein underwear boxes, searching for underwear of my fancy, I was interrupted by a voice behind me asking how I am doing. I turned around, nonchalantly, just to say to the owner of the voice that I am doing just fine until the point that he interrupted my concentration. And suddenly, I was greeted by this manifestation of an equivalent of a blond Greek god that must have been no less than 6 feet 2 inches tall. So as I am a 5 feet 6 inches tall Asian, my eyes fell directly onto his perfectly shaped, slightly tanned bare chest and equally impressing midriff. I looked up and saw his boyish face, complete with deep dimples. This is what I called, perfect human specimen.

He posed the same question to me, ‘will you be interested with the new selection of underwear by George Best?’

I wasn’t even sure whether I answered him correctly but I do remember of a slurred or stammered speech actions.

And he continued to smile even wider and (which I think) asked me the same question again.

I snapped from my hallucination (and drooling face expression) and politely declined his proposition and said ‘I would like to continue to look around’

‘Okay, if you ever change your mind, I will be around’

Again I had the pleasure his beautiful tattooed back and his perfectly sculptured bum which is modestly covered by a white pair of George Best trunks. I mean now is bloody winter and I am here covered with layers of clothes and this guy is walking around the shop practically naked. He went on approaching two older ladies besides me.

And then that happened. I heard the most unexpected and damndest thing that ever come out from a 70 years old granny.

‘Would you like to bring this young man home as a Christmas present dear?’ She was offering to her, presumably, granddaughter. The old lady has the most innocent expression on her face that truly made you believed that she WAS really offering that man to her granddaughter as a gift. I broke a loud chuckle and the beautiful man too grinned even wider. I can’t even believe that granny has the cheek to ask that. I had to go to another end of the section just to make sure that I did not break into a full blown laughter.

I spent another 10 minutes before I decided to try my luck at another place. I saw him coming towards me and carved that drop dead gorgeous smile of his. He asked me again whether I am interested with the trunks. I said no. Again.

And I continued smiling for the rest of day even though I spent GBP 100 on knitwears that I will probably wear once or twice for the remaining months of my last winter here.

The Ultimate Fag Myth

I first heard about the A – Gays when I was 18 or 19 (which is not that long ago, mind you). They are group of financially sound and higher caste homosexuals who owns that desirable penthouse or detached house with the desirable addresses. They throw fabulous dinner parties with fabulous foods and fabulous designer labels into the wee hours of the weekend. To add fuel to the myth, the club membership to this close knit group of people apparently is only by invitation, if and only if you have leave an impressionable mark (impressionable being the operative work) on the society or married or fucked one of them. And that time, I want to be one of them.

But the most pressing question is do they exist? Where can I get the ticket or access to the inner sanctum of gay royalty?

I can’t probably recall the last time I’ve seen them nor have I ever see them. The recording of Loch Ness monster’s sighting must have even more polished data than this group of people. But my significant other once told me that he had several encounter with them, he even got invited to one of their parties. He said it was dry and horribly sedated. It must be not his cup of coffee (at that time that is).

I can only imagine what was going on in his mind. The enormous penthouse filled with middle aged men with their tricks of the day which composed of the new actor talents or models of the day. This was THE place to be and to be seen in. And not to mentioned, a token or two straight couples which awfully more camp than the others. The 22 year olds stick together with cautious flirting going on as not to offend the host (or hostess). People exchanging cards as most of the patron must be a partner in some ad agency or production house execs in exchange of small favors, true to what the saying goes, ‘in order to get ahead is to give a head’.

As I breezed through my life, I haven’t got any nearer to my goal. Nevertheless, as far as I am concern, I have collected a group of friends who understand my needs and qualms. It is far better that rubbing shoulder with the who’s who of the society. It is not that I need any of their social skills. But the bigger prize is my significant other and the life that we have built over five years.

And I am proud to say that is not a myth.

The Next Hot Thing?

Whatever the title of this post may or may not invokes lost memories of your first crush(es), that is not my intention. I was browsing through the latest copy of Vogue Hommes International, suddenly my flipping action came to a standstill when I came across whole page of editorial dedicated to the next big thing in men’s fashion. After the onslaught of men bags, from totes (or shoppers bag), small duffels or messenger bag, which had a huge impact on the European high street and even more bigger impact in Asia, the next feminine accessories undergoing ‘the man treatment’ is clutches. Yes people, the MEN CLUTCHES or POCHETTES have arrived and are here to stay (at least for the next two seasons).

So by looking at the picture, will it become fashionable or another fashion faux pas?

The yuppies or metrosexuals or even the homosexuals have been identified as the fashion industry untapped gold mine. With men’s taste getting more sophisticated and more adventurous with colour and style of whatever hanging over their shoulder or hands, the aesthetic value have never surpassed practicality. Men bags, often than not, are practical and seriously useful. After years of stuffing everything into our pant’s pocket, creating unsightly bulges (not the ‘good’ bulges, if you get my drift) and compromising comfort, I swear on my LV, it is in-built in men’s gene. Now, with men bags, people can hide everything from netbooks to condoms.

Every luxury brands have produced their version of men clutches. It is (slightly) like women clutches but often slightly bigger, almost like your paper folder. There are some smaller design from Hermes and Gucci but there are high end brands’ version (those names unheard in Malaysia) which looked like those bags that comes together with ‘kain pelikat’ (if you ever bought one and often and not, becomes Pak Imam’s standard accessory for carrying those rokok gulung and tithe money). It is extremely unflattering.

I found the resemblance is uncanny. I grew up watching old rural folks carrying their version of pochette long before it receives it’s 2010 glamorous makeover. I do believe it meant to serve similar purpose of carrying your small knick knacks. I can’t help but to wonder, did one of their creative directors took a detour to some kampongs and pick up the trend?

I still don’t have a decent verdict on this. I mean, it can come and go like cone bras or bunny beanies but I am intrigued. Some of the designs on the runways are good and constructed from serious materials like calf skin leathers and never-out-of-style monogrammed patterns. I have yet to see my favourite brand, which is Burberry, to come up with their own version. I refused to believe that Christopher Bailey would take on a rain check on this.

Although I have been bombarded with queries from friends back home on how to get their hands on one, let me say this to you, it is yet to be released for sale online or in-store, so please save your money and hold until the next season starts. Will I be caught (dead) with any version of man clutch or pochette any time now? I can safely says no. But like what Frasier always says, ‘it is not unfashionable, it is just European’

Sex and The 'Green' City

I read one funny article in the Time recently suggesting that 'Green Revolution' has now invaded our sex life. On daily basis, we have been bombarded with apocalyptic premonitions of the world will end if we don't drive less, if we continue to party till wee hours of the day or if we continue to support the meat industry. It is even worse here in the West when you need to 'carbon footprint' all aspects of your life. I tried converting to 'organic' diet but it does have a deep impact to my financial health rather my overall health.

So with everybody is pitching in to help the planet, why we need to go 'green' when it comes to sex? The question is 'why bother'?

So I went online and did some research. Apparently, if you go into a sex shop and browse through their large (and highly imaginative) selection of sex toys of dildoes and leather whips, the whole life cyle of these products may add a potential one ton of carbon dioxide equivalent per item. I mean that is staggering. And those KY jelly or flavoured condoms or 'heat' pleasure lubricant contains dairy protein and chemicals commonly found in antifreeze and refrigerator. So while you and me were having orgasm, the planet is suffering, causing 1/100000 cm rise of sea level from all the lubricant and condom. And all of us had many (many!!!) orgasms and many more in the future.

These statements probably bonkers touted by the eco warriors. But the sales of eco-friendly sex toys and lubricants are increasing. Now you can buy protein free condoms and organic lubricants (you might not tell the difference). Dildos made out from stainless steel (that is cold but safe from the risk from breaking due to rough sex) and glass (can't imagine when that does break in places you don't want it to break) are the 'in' things. People now wants high quality, renewables materials that they know will lasts.


The most interesting thing I found in one of the reports that if people reproduces less, the chances are we will take out potential billions of carbon dioxide out to the atmosphere. So now we know, we are contributing to the well being of the planet. We don't reproduce, we just enjoy the process in our own way.

On that note, Trojan now produces latex condoms and lambskins version too. Other brands also produces vegan variety with the dairy protein is replaced with cocoa powder. I would safely says that it must not taste like chocolate

We Are Sum of Our Decisions

I have to keep reminding myself every single day that I am what I am today and in the future is a direct result of my decisions for the past 20 over years and every day following today. It is a pity that most of us took for granted and often take the easy way out of blaming circumstancial events on the outcomes. Clearly, when emotions are running high, our judgement becomes impaired and vicious cycle begins to rear its ugly head.

The amount of desicions that we make everyday, whether at work or at home, is staggering. If i were to fancy a sandwich at Subway, a minimum of 5 decisions I need to make just to get my sandwich. Do I want a 6 inches or a footer (a no brainer right?)? Or What kind of cheese I want? Or What kind of bread I want (6 to choose from)?, What kind of salad topping would I like? and Do you want any sauce to go with it? What a dilemma! I have to rehearse my answers just to make sure that I would not get astray with choices.

It may sounds petty to some of us but consider this, if choices are to be made, how do I know that I've made the right one?

For once, I used to cringe to the thought of having to change job or even envy them for the courage to just flip and move on with chasing their dreams. Some of my friends that I know hop between jobs on yearly basis and sometimes have gap months in between. But now, having gap months in between of assignments really looking good (I almost salivate when i'm writing this). But then again, reality hits as more desicions need to be made. What about mortgage? How do I support myself, my significant other and my two cats? or the most important, what the hell I'm going to do with all of this free time?

Same goes with relationship. People seems to be oblivious to the fact that when people gets into a relationship, it is not about that single person anymore. There will be another person need to be accountable too. I hate to point the obvious with people like us, we cannot shed selfishness out of ourselves. When we chose not to reply all of those text messages or return phonecalls, have we ever think that we might create a precedence to the potential outcome(s)? What actually influence our desicions, is it age/maturity or the will of wanting it?

I am assured that up till now with my considerable wisdoms and intellects (haha!), I do sometimes requires some help with the things that I want. That's where lies the importance of people like your significant other and friends to be your check and balance, not just some sycophants.

We may laments on our past mistakes, I think it is just part of growing up!

La Patisserie

I love Masterchef. With the this year's season has ended officially last week, I am surprised with the urge of wanting more. Watching (sometimes hot) chefs creating delectable michelin starred - dishes from the most unpromising ingredients is sight to behold. I mean nobody would like to see monk fish in its real physical form but the meatiness of the flesh is simply divine especially when it is simply pan fried and doused with salty caper and butter sauce (which i had the chance to sample at Deane's).

Great chefs like Alan Ducasse, Michel Bras or Ferran Adria (maybe sometime Gordon Ramsay) have in common is that although it is a well known fact they can cook the usual stuff, they also a revered patisserie. And they said that you can be a good cook, you might not be the best pastry chef but not vice versa. Interesting, I said. I guess it is true like the case Katrina Zeta Joned of Shah Alam is an accomplished cook but also a good pastry chef as I still remember those delectable danish pastries that she brought home eveyday while she was working in a hotel. So I sought out to prove that I, too, can be a good pastry maker or the very least, a good baker. So I went to Argos, bought myself a good mixer, food processor and some other baking accessories.

So I decided to make two simple but quite technical pastries over a period of time. I decide to make profiteroles, from the basic choux pastry mixture and malted chocolate fudge cake. Choux pastry is great, I mean, you can make the usual profiteroles and eclairs but also you can fashioned fancy cream filled bun of your choice. The only extra thing you need is a piping bag. Only imaginations limit you. My profiteroles were of a limited success. Some came out okay but some became flat because of the extra moisture from the eggs. But the true test is the taste and it taste absolutely good. Ok, not so bad.

My first attempt at making chocolate fudge cake turned out to be okay. I mean I got the filling mixture right and the cake also came out moist. I only ate one piece and gave the other 11 cuts to my colleagues with their seal of approval high up in the air. Ecstatic with the result, I set out myself a challenge. For the upcoming open house (co hosted by me of course) for the Malaysians here, I would bake 8 identical cakes. With every cake requires 4 different steps from mixing, baking, making and piping the filling and decorations, I underestimated the amount of works needed.

The baking started 2 days before the event. I can only make double batter at one time and also my oven can only fit two cake tray at one time which I happened to learn that it have different temperature range across the oven. The one at the bottom will always requires 10 more minutes than the one on top to get the same level of cooking. So the first batch, only one came out satisfactorily. 2 done (well, only one can be used), 6 more to go.

My kitchen slowly became something from one of the many scenes of Braveheart's battles. Worktop covered in flour and batter. Garbage bin fast piling up with eggshells and food packaging. I started cursing myself, 'me and my big mouth'. By end of the night, I got the 7 cakes done, right there on the cooling rack, ready for the next processes. The next day, I started early by making the filling and the chocolate icing. I finished decorating the cake approximately one o'clock in the morning. I was tired and I fall asleep with some of the icing still in my hair.

But the cakes were an instant hit, everything were gone by the end of the event. The kids love it and I didn't taste any because I'm afraid of getting sick. I vowed that I will never again make these many cakes because I hate cleaning. Now I understand why a fully functioning kitchen have commis or sous chefs. Somebody needs to do the cleaning.

My Julia Roberts Syndrome

I am a little bit pissed! I was supposed to spend my weekend in London with the usual suspects since one of them will be leaving UK very soon until a paralysing autumnal fever hits me. I was bedridden for the full 3 days and has yet to recover. So much for planned shopping trip for a Bally bag. In that 3 days of constant changing equilibrium of conciousness and unconciousness due to strong liquid Lemsip, I found that TV can be so irritating especially whenever X factor is on air. So I turned to my book and immersed myself in the alternate reality of P - town.

Again with my limited brain power, I would imagine with bouts of physical diseases threatening the mere existance of human race, why do I feel that we, especially people like us, haven't addressed the full impact of our mental disease, namely, our fear of commitment or Julia Roberts syndrome.

So what Julia Roberts got to do with this?

We all know Julia Roberts as the great American beauty with infectious laugh and strong character. So we all want someone like Julia Roberts in our life (not as a lady - please I do not eat pussy, metaphorically) to cover or hide our own endless list of shortcomings.

I do understand the low barrier entry requirement and laissez faire attitude that most of us adopt towards relationship, unfortunately we too have similar attitude towards breaking up or fidelity. I do sometimes listen to people complaining how they get older by year (only GBP 500 worth of La Mer products can allow them to cheat their age) and yet to have one stable, uncomplicated relationship. But should I care? As I know for a fact that all these symptoms relate to our inability to understand best case scenario for people like us to actually have a relationship or even misplaced optimism that someone better might be waiting for you somewhere out there.

What if there is nobody out there, singlehandedly, waiting for you? Would that be your worst case scenario?