Trip to Cardiff

Tomorrow is the pregnant workmate's Wedding and I'm pleasantly surprised I'm still invited, it would appear my fears of having my invitation retracted were unfounded. Actually as time went by I was increasingly pleased to hear I was one of only 5 invited to go in the first place and one of only three actually going (out of 40 plus co-workers this is quite a nice ego-trip). I've managed to goad LC into working in my stead (LC - standing for 'Love Child' my nickname for said replacement).

She (pregnant workmate) rang me yesterday to confirm my attendance. And also set me the task of picking something up for her from a flowershop in Burnt Oak before leaving to get to Cardiff (location of said Wedding) for 10AM. Slightly annoyed but since I'm generally such a nice guy I of course said yes. I haven't shaved today as I'll shave tonight - If I'm going I may as well appear semi-groomed - I hate being freshly shaved and quite like the look of slight stubble.

Having very much unlike me decided to find something to wear today instead of tomorrow morning, quite unsurprisingly discovered that I have no clean shirts. So I've switched the washing machine on, rang my mother to ensure her drier is free and am sitting waiting patiently for the cycle to end. I also appears I will be taking my chosen suit to the dry cleaners as well. And then I will turn my attention to what I intend to give her. Damn it I also need a card.

I'll also need to make preparations for this year New Years Party I will be holding at my mum's place. I can't be bothered holding it at mine - I hate clearing up afterwards, plus my mum has a Disk Washer - which I don't. Three years ago when I did host a party it was the end of January before my place looked like it normally does. I also can't be bothered to cook so I need to make sure my local Domino's Pizza will be open which all things considered I better do now whilst I'm waiting for the washer. I've stocked up on drinks, cakes, sweets, & crisps yesterday when I went to Tesco.

The Conveyor Belt Theory

When I attempt to picture my or any Indian person's childhood I often picture a conveyor belt in a manufacturing plant. We're all expected to be the same, act & behave in a certain way and strive for identical things. Both my brother and I were expected to be well behaved, polite & courteous as children, we were expected to bow down to elders and never raise our voices or get angry at them. In a similar Sacred Rule as 1 of the Ten Commandments we was taught that 'Our Parents & Guru* are God' (not literally but you should respect them like they were), we were expected to read or do homework rather than watch TV, etc etc etc. Sounds quite dull - but as a child you know no better - and this becomes the norm. If we dared to complain (which we often did) we were told of horrifying stories of how our parents endured life in India/Africa and how we were so lucky to be given everything we wanted and to be growing away from that. When we did not act exactly as we were expected... we would painstakingly bit by bit be compared to similar aged relatives (cousins etc - a most effective form of mental torture!) and put in our places.

By our teens the vast majority of Indian children, after years of brain-washing are barely able to distinguish their own thoughts from their parents. Study and hard work is defining ethos. And truth be told is for the better part pretty damn effective - especially when growing up in a 'White Man's Country' you have a better grasp of English than your white school mates. A limited amount of TV and a huge exposure to books works wonders.

I recall my teens, during my GCSEs, when right bang in the middle of my actual GCSEs examination week my uncle passed away (out of total of 11 exams he died about 5 in). Now I never really got along with my father and moved out of my parents house when I was 8. I moved in with my Aunt & Uncle soon after, so they became like a surrogate mother and father. So when he died I lost the closest thing to a father to me, yet I was expected to put my grief on hold and continue studying/revising for my exams like nothing had happened. The following week was the longest and hardest week I have ever had to endure - I was left on my own whilst the remainder of the family comforted each other and mourned as is the norm for Indians.

Although I may put a negative spin on growing up, it wasn't all bad. We were never hungry and were bathed with love and warmth. But the opportunity cost was our individual personalities.

I recall choosing Maths, Chemistry and Biology for A-Levels, I honestly can't think why - except wanting to choose something my parent's would be happy with. Back then though I didn't give it a more than a second of thought but now in hindsight I can see it was a foolish decision.

Same thing plagues me as an adult now. So many of their thoughts/preachings are so set in that I can barely distinguish them from my own. When the root purpose of living is instilled upon you as 'earning money to support and raise a family' - it is damn difficult to accept that you may be different (ie. not wanting to raise a family) or that you're gay and this is not appropriate. I think this is one of the biggest reasons why I found accepting my sexuality so hard... why it took so long... and why even now after accepting it - I still hate it.

I know that what I really need is to break away and learn to fly on my own but this is so hard when you have grown up so dependent on your family (another Indian Ethos - thou shall love thine family more than life itself) that you can't bare to face life without them nearby. It's just so damn ironic.

*Guru = Teacher

Confessions

I have a confession.... I'm somewhat of a Virgin

Not in the literal sense (thankfully!) but I've never been to a 'sale'. I've never been one for looking through racks of clothes (a mixture of 'what-was-the-designer-thinking' and them ever elusive so-called 'bargains') telling myself I like something not because of the item itself but more because of the price-tag, nor am I one to be elbowing little women out of my way (which I understand from the 'Mr Bean Christmas Special' is essential for sale shopping).

So I was slightly horrified when my older brother (with whom I was spending Christmas with this year) suggested I drag myself out of bed at 4.00AM to get to Next, Watford Waterfields, for a frightening 5AM to 'check out the Next Sale' as he put it.

Now I'm not sure at what point exactly, or why, but I agreed.

So off we went to the sale. I overslept, unsuprisingly so did he... but we managed to get there for 5.16AM (there was no hour long pamper session getting ready), by which point there were and I'm not overstating this about 500 people running around like headless chickens buying buying buying. I found nothing I wanted (and when I did it would never have fit me - smurf size tends to go quite fast I'll take it) but I did find 3 things, 2 for my niece and 1 for my cousin. I got in the queue at 5.40AM (by this time I could no longer take the elbows or the excuse-me's or the plain rude 'SHOVES' - sadly us smurfs go flying when shoved!). By 6.10AM I had moved 3 feet in the queue which was still 120 feet long. Now I love my family but not enough to wait in a queue with 3 items (none of which were for me) for 2 hours plus whilst everyone else has about 100 items. I'm just not that nice.

Frustrated, as I imagined I'd be - I bid farewell to the woman in front of me (we had started conversation to kill time) I rang my brother (there were too many people to do conventional talking even though he was only 7 feet away) to inform him I'd had enough and wanted out. He agreed (we are more similar than either one would dare to admit except of course he doesn't like men the way I do).

When we left I was amazed to see that people were no longer being allowed in - and a queue of about 100 people has built up outside and it was only 6.15AM. Oh well each to their own.

So that is well the first and last time I ever to a 'Next Sale', or any sale for that matter.

10 Things I love beginning with J Part 1

Denim Boy has most annoyingly tagged me with the letter J. I am meant to name 10 things that I love beginning with the letter J. What the fuck can you love that begins with the letter J.

The first thing that came to mind was Jam - I don't even like Jam. This was going to be tricky.

J I thought - what a crap letter - but the more I thought about it - the more I REALLY began to love the choice. Here goes.... in no particular order.

I can't be asked to write an essay just a short bit - so I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

10 things I love beginning with J are:

1. Josh Wald - Despite my excessive flair for non-appreciation of most things in life – I am most thankful for male models. Most especially Josh Wald who I had the fortune of drolling over in many years back when a friend emailed me with a picture of him (let’s just say nothing was left to the imagination) – absolutely scrumptious. Yummy.

2. Joseph Sayers – Another male model. Also introduced to me via an email picture in a very arousing pose. Joseph is just HOT HOT HOT. A real Hottie. I know some people prefer builders (real men) – I don’t. I prefer the Adonis look. Give me a male model over a Fireman anyday – particularly when they look like this.

3. Justin Timberlake – What to say of Mr Trousersnake? Rumour has it – well no-holds barred – is WELL ENDOWED. I use to like Cameron Diaz – well now she is on my hit-list. Poor Britney Spears didn’t know a good thing when he had him – substituted him for Kevin of the losers! Blimey what a fool! First came to my attention with N*Sync (If I’d pretend to not have liked N*Sync back then I’d obviously be lying – but JT never stood out – I’m glad he decided to go Solo – now he just needs to go GAYO)

4. John Abraham – Men don’t come more sexier than Johnny here. First came to my attention on a Hindi Soundtrack Video. Prior to that he was a model – so there are some really sexy pictures of him about. Now he is a fully-fledged Hindi movie star – well he is one of my biggest motivation factors for watching Bollywood Movies. In Paap (Evil) he was as close to naked as possible. A true masterpiece.

5. Jay Hernandez – My my. My boy Jay. I saw him in Crazy Beautiful. He was beautiful. He stole my heart and I didn’t even know his name. I saw him hacked at and bloody in Hostel but he was still so fine. A truly strikingly handsome fucker. My dream man. Mmmmm.

6. Jake Shears - Jake is not really the type of guy that I would consider to be my type. But his presence is just note-worthy. Yes I completely fancy him – he has this allure that is indescribable. He makes me want to dance day and night. His bitchiness and sex-appeal is probably the reason why I love him so. People tend to favour Kylie and Madonna as true gay icons – the Queens of POP – I don’t – I think Scissor Sisters deserve to steal those crowns. Who could get away with singing ‘Oh I could throw you in the lake, or feed you poisoned birthday cake, I wont deny I'm gonna miss you when you're gone’. Fan-fucking-tastic.

7. Jensen Ackles – I’m not sure exactly when Jensen first crossed my path. I think he did numerous programs but the first thing I recall seeing him in was Dawson’s Creek, Dark Angel and recently in Smallville. Nice body, nice face. Another one of my imaginary boyfriends.

8. Jason Mamoa– I never watched Baywatch, so I never realised Jason starred in that. He first came to my attention in Stargate Atlantis (one of my favourite TV shows) – unfortunately he is almost always covered up – but his rippling muscles leave me breathless, as well as other things!

10 Things I love beginning with J Part 2

It would appear each blog can only accomodate 8 pictures... so my list continues here.

9. Jared Leto - Really made my list of absolutely hot men when he starred in Highway (see why in this picture from Highway). His Mexican looks, bronze skin and bare chest left me in pieces. Man oh man. Love him more than words can detail.

10. Julian Rios - Simply put - he's a porn star. Sadly he is straight so I can only imagine him as my Boyfriend. Well endowed - well actually HUGELY endowed. Fit. How can you not love him?

In Hindsight

Looking back on the events of yesterday - I'm surprised I avoided a 'paki bashing'.

I'm also surprised that I didn't leave that encounter with a knife in my gut.

I'm also surprised how irrational my reaction and response was.

Note to self: You must avoid getting yourself into dangerous situations.

Final note to self: It is not wise to attempt to provoke 4 tonk men (each who probably lift 6 times your weight in the gym) when you're the size of a smurf.

Growin' up in the 'hood

As someone born and bred in the UK is goes without saying that I grew up around white people. Therefore my thoughts, ideologies and opinions tend to be quite ‘white’ as my parents would say.

I once heard someone, a very very long time ago, derogatively call me a Coconut. It was only after a few days did it actually dawn on me what they meant - white on the inside & brown on the outside. I never really took offence to that – instead I wore it like a badge. I was a Coconut, and have almost always since that classed myself as a Coconut. Truth be told whether or not it was meant to be an insult - it describes me rather well. The other insult I’ve come across is being called a ‘Paki’. When I was young I use to explain to people calling me a PAKI – that I was (a) not from Pakistan & (b) nor was I Muslim – so I was definitely no more a Paki than he or she. It never worked obviously. There was always one distinction I wasn’t white and usually they were. So that meant I was a Paki (whether or not they knew what a Paki was).

I’m not stupid enough to think I’m white – a look in the mirror acts as a daily reminder (in the unlikely situation that I forget). But I was almost shocked to hear the word ‘Paki’ aimed at me when I walked pass a group of white guys earlier today. I’d thought more people knew the distinction now since 9/11 - Whether or not I was a Paki was ultimately irrelevant - if that silly little word was meant to insult me – they obviously failed. I’ve been called far worse before. I’ve even been spat at, had cold water poured on me, been given a black eye, had a knife held against my throat, kicked in the ribs and thrown in a filthy canal (all thankfully in my youth - I’m not sure I could bare the indignity of enduring that now). I grew up in Stonebridge – where the ideology is ‘If it don’t kill you – it makes you stronger’ – And I am much stronger a person having endured all that. Besides the truth of the matter is I did my fair share of retaliating – I recall breaking Michael’s nose with a well aimed punch (the guy responsible for the majority of those) - I’ve not forgotten those things happened but a lot has changed since then. People have become much more accepting. And it surprises me when I’m on the receiving end of racial comments now. I always face it head on just like I did back then.

I think I really surprised them when I burst out laughing. Me alone - them 4 white guys. Actually them 4 tonk white guys. I suppose they expected me to look down and walk on faster without looking back. Instead I stopped. And walked towards them, changing the direction I was walking. I was quite pleased with myself for holding my head up as I did so. And it gave me great pleasure to see one of them looking a bit worried, they didn’t have clue what to expect. I walked right up to them, stopped for a second as I checked my watch, continued walking, stopped again maybe about 30-40 yards away and tied my shoelace, all in all I think I added an extra 10 minutes to my journey from the change in direction but it was pretty satisfying nonetheless. I think they might think twice the next time they feel the need to call someone a Paki.

I don’t know if I wanted to get into a tangle with them coz I really can’t think of what I was trying to prove. Maybe that I wasn’t afraid! Maybe I just wanted to provoke them or maybe I wanted them to provoke me further. I think I wanted to punch one of them. Maybe just maybe that old Stonebridge gangster side never really went away like I thought it had.

Tug O' War

If you recall I mentioned some time back that I had a change in management, when Mr P from Harrow went to Wembley, and Mr G from Wembley came to Harrow.

I thought I was clever and aptly was able to avoid being caught in the middle of the resultant WW3. Well how stupid was I. It appears I merely delayed the inevitable.

I heard a rumour (these flipping things tend to have a element of truth) that I was being transferred to Wembley. Mr G (now at Harrow) as influential as he is managed to bring the best of the staff (Ms P) from Wembley to Harrow. Which wouldn't be the worse thing but now Mr P wants to take the best staff from Harrow to Wembley (I don't want to boast but that unfortunately is little old ME). Now Mr G having worked with me knows this and is resisting let's say quite forcefully. So what happened last night..... well I received a call from BOTH Mr G and Mr P. Both want me to choose their side.

I'm beginning to wonder what happened to my stress-free wonderful pre-planned Christmas enjoyment I was expecting after 4 gruelling months of hard work and exams.

Well I think I'm just going to not choose to take anyone's side and let whatever happens happen. I know what will happen though Mr H (Local Director) is gonna call and ask me what I want to do. Stay at Harrow or go to Wembley.

Oh well I'm just gonna make the comment that I live in Harrow so Harrow is convenient to get to. But that doesn't mean it's really difficult to get to Wembley either.

Oh fuck these God-Forsaken Christmas blues are back (and they went away yesterday - I brought a Nintendo DS - who says money can't buy happiness?)

Xmas Blues

I think I've finally 'caught' (do you see how I use caught as though I'm describing an illness?), I think I've finally caught this negativity regarding Xmas. I had the first of my Xmas workdos yesterday. I have NO hangover (I was driving), I have no voice & my throat aches (from all the shouting at the DJ for the crap he was playing) & I do no remember more than 8 songs I danced to (ALL WERE REQUESTED) - and the scary thing was that music started from 8PM until late - at 1.30AM I could not longer take the music and bid my farewells clearing 90% of the group with me.
These 8 songs were:
1. Don't Cha - Pussycat Dolls
2. Livin' La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin
3. Rock DJ - Robbie Williams
4. Reach - S Club 7
5. I Don't Feel Like Dancing - Scissor Sisters
6. Reach - S Club 7 again (he accidentally played it's intro & quickly changed it - announcing it was a mistake - so we moaned and groaned until he played it again)
7. Dirrty - Christina Aquilera
8. Hung Up - Madonna

So here I sit on Sunday morning trying to recall the most exciting thing that happened... I'm bringing absolutely nothing back. Which I think means FUCK ALL happened.
Even Emily who normally wears something barely covering herself up was wearing a polo-necked top with not even a boob in sight. I do recall about 30+ pensioners though - one who was dressed like a call girl.
So the morale if this story is: Avoid The Belair restaurant, Northwood, like the plague. A truly unspectacular evening. But if you're into pensioners and crap music well you'll love it.

My next Xmas workdo is on Friday here's to hoping that one is better.

With Co-Workers Like These Who Needs Enemies?

I’ve just returned to work after 5 weeks and I’m not pleased at all, especially since I was really looking forward to it after all those blasted exams. I got to work very much awake, full of energy and believe it or not despite it being only 8am I was smiling. That good mood very quickly dissipated and I turned into the cross-my-path-and-you’ll-be-sorry kind of guy that mows you down without blinking.

Firstly I discovered that some bastard has stolen the printer out of my office in my absence and replaced it with something that doesn’t even have a power cable or ink or paper – I knew I shouldn’t have left my key in the door. See how showing even a small amount of consideration for others bites you in the arse.

My slim LCD monitor had been replaced with a monitor from the early 90s - one that weights more than six times what I do. The indignity of it! I think this is the worse of it all.

My beautiful expensive photo-frame is missing. Although I wasn’t as bothered about this as I should have been.

And there seems to be a stain on the carpet that looks suspiciously like a vomit mark, either that or someone mistook the distance to the loo. Eek.

I’ve given my manager Mr G an ultimatum – if my office is not back to it’s original standard within 24 hours – I’m going to take his office instead. I can’t imagine the look on my face at that moment (I was so furious) because he didn’t dare even open his mouth to say anything. I think I may have come across dead serious for once in my life. He was always telling me to be a bit more assertive back when he employed me. I doubt he’ll ever say that to me again.

Hell hath no fury like a Gay Man vexed.

Meow Pussycat indeed

Neesh replied:

Smiley you are such a swine.

I spent absolutely ages deciding what to get for you. Everyone I asked suggested that and claimed it was good. But I guess you’re just not classy enough for them. It was a really good album. Had you given it a chance you would have liked it. Honest! I guess I should have got you a second copy of Future Sex Love Songs huh? I had your Aunt read me out what you have. You have absolutely everything that would have been my first choice. So I blame you for not leaving me with much choice.

I'm thinking she didn't appreciated the gift swap. I can’t seem to think of anything witty enough so I’m just not gonna bother actually commenting!

My reply:

Did you just email me? I just receieved a blank email from you. Was it important?

Smiley (",)

Her response:

Fuck you. I bet you haven't even brought me anything yet.

Meow Pussycats

Now that my exams are officially over I’ll not spare them even a shred of thought, until that is the dreaded 19th February 2007 arrives, when the nice people marking the thousands of transcripts will kindly inform me (via email – very technical) how badly I’ve done.

On a brighter note on my way home I decided to see if I could do something with that shitty present (Denim Boy - Il Shitto sounds about right) and lo & behold I now have a copy of the Pussycat Dolls instead. I must email Neesh to thank her for the Pussycats. A well picked present I think. I’m going to conveniently forget she dared to buy me something as dire as Il Divo. I also left with a copy of the Best of Girls Aloud and Nelly Furtado’s Loose too. Christmas just got sweeter. I didn’t have my Credit Card so I have to finish the shopping trip tomorrow, I have a nice long list of stuff I want. I was annoyed no-one has the Nintendo Wii. My Christmas presents first then I’ll worry about everyone else. Oh well maybe the DS will do fine until they have the Wii that is.

And all it just took a bit of shameless flirting with the boy on the counter. Who cares if he looked like the back of a bus – he swapped my Il Crappo for Il Pussycat Fabuloso – I now have the immensely popstatic ‘Don’t Cha’ blaring out my stereo and me dancing around in bliss. He asked me if I’d have a drink with him, after using him I felt obligated so I gave him my number but I did happen to very subtly let it slip that I might be seeing someone so it would be nothing more than drinks. Yippee me. Damn I’m so glad I’m a flirt.

Il Divo Il no-care-oh

I got my first Christmas present yesterday. Now I admire people who actually wait until Christmas morning to open theirs but no sooner had it arrived in the post did I rip it open. I knew it was a CD even before I had opened it. I also equally admire people who are able to get their Christmas shopping done before the middle of December especially when I'm to be on the receiving end. I absolutely love Neesh - she is so organised.

As soon as I opened the present I was gutted. It was a CD. It was by some random group of people I didn't know from well John Bladdy Doe. Now if it was Britney or Christina I'd be deliriously happy (despite having all known albums to exist) - but Il Divo - who the fuck is that? A quick wiki search and I realized they were a Platinum CD selling group created by Simon Cowell and is in the Top Ten right now - oh well at least it's not a £2 CD out of the bargain basket at HMV. So much for hoping to get something a little more poptastic. Instead I got a CD featuring non-english opera singers although they are all good-looking.

Next year I'll just have to make sure I send Neesh a PLEASE BUY.... DON'T YOU DARE BUY LIST.

A long long long forgotten communication

I woke up this morning to find two most unusual things:
1. The post has arrived before 9AM
2. That I had received a letter - not the normal array of 'post' (bills, bank statements, junk etc) but an actual letter - a hand-written letter.

I thought things like that died out around about when the dinosaurs did. Who in this day and age has time to take a pen to a piece of paper and write to someone.

I jumped to the end to see it was an old friend of mine - someone who I went to Primary School with - someone I'm quite surprised had a forwarding address for me. She started the letter with the lines... I hope you get this letter.

Not only had she spent time writing the letter but she wasn't even sure I'd get it. How sweet but equally weird. Thankfully she's enclosed a telephone number as well as her address, so I can give her a ring to acknowledge receipt and say hello - God forbid I might have had to write back - the last time I wrote a letter to someone was probably in the 80s when mobile phones were the size of briefcases. A lot has changed since then - I've replaced one of my ears with a mobile phone blue tooth.

Tax Fucking Tax

I had my Tax Exam today.

Not only am I expected to pay tax - I'm also expected to know tax and be examined on it.

Which ultimately won't be that bad - if the examiner was human that is. But I discovered today during my exam that bastard really needs to get in touch with his human side coz the exam he set... well... suffice to say it's gonna have a pretty high fail rate. Coz it was a real bitch.

There... that's my rant done. Time to revise for tomorrow's exam. Here's to hoping that at least that one goes well.

Distraught

I told myself I'd not blog until at least the 14th December, by which by exams will be over and I'd have nothing better to do. However yesterday night changed that. Once a month some mates get together at Nick's mansion (by mansion I mean inhabitable 1 bed flat) for MOVIE NIGHT. Normally this is quite enjoyable - the lads are always rowdy and fun always ensues. I made the fatal suggestion some weeks back that I wanted to watch Hostel (the idea of watching Jay Hernandez for a couple of hours is delightful) but didn't read what the film was about - I just knew it was Horror and rated 18. What I expected was jay Hernandez and I'm delighted to say he was definitely engaging, most especially when shirtless. Now at someone who watched 18 rated horror movies at 8 I'm pretty immune to horror movies. Hostel was not so much Horror as torture (slicing, sawing, hacking, burning, etc).

I can't get the image of the back of the guy's feet sliced in two, blood oozing out and him unable to walk. Or the scene where the guy uses a power drill to drill a hole in a guy's shoulder. Or Jay Hernandez's fingers getting chain-sawed off. Argh.

I was so shaken I refused to drive home (which normally wouldn't be a problem but I had borrowed my brother's car who who need if for work at 6AM next morning) - but I just wasn't in any state to drive. I for the first time in my life was actually wanting to spend the night at Nick's place. Suffice to say I couldn't close my eyes without picturing that blasted movie. And I'm dreading it happening all over again tonight.

But well at least every few seconds an image of Jay Hernandez pops into my head. That's makes the next few seconds of torture that much more bearable.

Damage Control

Further to my post 2 days ago - I spent the better part of yesterday and today doing some major damage control. Have you ever wondered just how fast and far a rumour can spread? Well I think I may have discovered just how much. Considering I spoke to someone about it on Wednesday I wasn't surprised to discover by Friday morning someone in Cardiff rang me to ask if it was true. I didn't even know I knew anyone in Cardiff. Ouch... not only was this spreading - the bladdy thing was spreading with my name attached. I've managed to convince a few individuals that I know nothing about this. So maybe fingers crossed I might be ok.

As far as I know I'm still invited to the wedding. Though alot can change by the end of December. By then maybe news of her pregnancy might have left the UK.

Opps

I may have accidentally, completely inadvertently, totally by mistake, mixed up my words and formed the sentence 'She's pregnant' in front of a complete stranger.

Which in English translates to... I so enjoyed telling someone who knows both me and pregnant workmate that pregnant workmate is exactly that pregnant. Opps! Well I lasted from Sunday to really late Wednesday - which is quite an achievement I think.

Now assuming that gossip breeds faster than both the Asian & Chinese population combined, I expect everyone who knows her to know in exactly an hour. Dear oh dear. My bad. Oh I hope I don't get my invitation to the wedding retracted. Even if I can't go - I'd like to think I was still invited.

He's Coming

I’m fairly new to the world of blogging, so I often wonder what I’m gonna write about… but every time I’m thinking that something just falls into my lap. Take yesterday for example. I’m walking home from the station when a woman practically attacked me. At 8PM, outside Harrow & Wealdstone Station (the back exit) its dark & people are scarce, so psycho woman who approached me scared the shit out of me. Grabbing hold of my jacket with both hands she practically shoved her face into mine (so close she actually breached my personal space) and looked into my eyes shouting ‘He’s Coming!’ Now I may laugh at this now, or look at it in jest, but last night if I didn’t have such good bladder control I may have wet myself I was that freaked.

I quickly looked around and saw no-one. I visibly relaxed. As she was so close I noticed she was actually fairly attractive under the grime – a bath would have done wonders for her. But right now she looked completely out of it (blood shot eyes) so I instinctively knew she was full of shit… but the gentleman in me got the better of me and I thought she might have been followed by some lunatic… So I asked ‘Who? I can’t see anyone!’ If nothing else I’d walk with her back to the Station and leave her in the hands of one of the station staff.

‘JESUS… of course’ was the answer I received. Now at this point alarm bells were ringing in my head so I thought it best to walk away. But the sarcastic queen in me reared its ugly face and I responded accordingly ‘Well say hello for me’ and wrestled out of her man-like grip. Having released myself I carried on walking. Looking back I saw she was not following but heard her shout ‘He has suffered enough. Don’t turn your back on Him. Open your heart to Him instead!’ I refused at that point to say anything she wasn’t following and I didn’t want to risk changing that.

So I thought I’d share that with you… apparently Jesus is coming. Don’t say you were caught unaware.

Residual Pay Day Joy

I’m happy. Which makes a welcome change. Normally I’m the one singing ‘why does it always rain on me’, although ironically I was singing that yesterday on my way to the dentist when I was soaked to the bone in rain. But the sun was shining behind those blasted clouds and I could almost feel it. Even the rain couldn't keep the joy at bay. Why you ask? Two reasons… First and most important yesterday was PAY DAY (why? I don’t have a fucking clue but am always paid on the 20th of the month – excellent around Christmas). And secondly I had just recently discovered Russell Peters. A comedian. An Indian comedian actually (it gives being Indian some credibility & hope that life isn't just wife, kids & money). What's not to be happy about?

Ps: Check him out on: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPn34sUCpd8

TFI... Monday!

This weekend was tortuous… I had so many near misses I think I’m starting to believe in a Higher Power, but not in a good way, I think it’s out to get me.

First was Friday night when I had a work related leaving party at Sorrentina where my fate took a turn for the nasty. I was approached by an absolutely fucking sexy guy in the middle of dinner with all my workmates off whom only none know of my sexual preferences, so when he asked for my number I cursed Lady Luck for turning up at my door at precisely that moment. Now anyone who has been approached by someone out of his or her daydreams knows that this is exactly the kind of thing where you lose the ability to coherently form a sentence, your face turns a red shade, your knees weaken and your stomach inverts itself forcing the last thing you ate out – in short tragedy strikes – the kind that Steps sang about years ago. Now thankfully nothing came out of my mouth (my stomach will never eject food – every bit counts especially when only 1 measly calorie enters my body mass a week from the tons of chocolate and cakes I live on – the remaining calories are burnt off breathing – I swear that’s it – I don’t even exercise).
I’m not even going to put into words how embarrassing the next 30 seconds were. All I’ll say is even if I had given him my number I doubt he would have called. Suffice to say he’ll never be wearing those clothes again, in public. Nor probably ever visiting Sorrentina’s again.

Saturday wasn’t much better. Friday night before going out I must have been searching for something at the back of my ‘tarting-up shelf’, some anti-winkle cream probably, when I must have unconsciously placed my tube of KY Jelly on my computer desk (which is conveniently right next to my wardrobe that houses my endless array of cologne and skin care products). So on Saturday whilst entertaining some guests from New Delhi, when my 2 year old niece came into the living room carrying the tube of KY Jelly I almost fainted. Now if I ran across the living room - all eyes would have been on the girl with the lube in her hand. So I hoped she would walk towards me and I could disarm her discreetly. I smiled at her willing her to walk towards me. She was. Success. Midway across the living the man from New Delhi grabbed the poor girl and that hope quickly dissipated. “What’s this you’re playing with little girl?” he asked taking the lube from her hand and inspecting it. Thankfully he was as ignorant as a doormat and couldn’t read English. My mother managed to naively save the day “It’s toothpaste” she said, finally looking at me she said “Go put it away in the bathroom”. No sooner than it appeared in the living room did it disappear. Thank God for naïve parents – that could have resulted in a very awkward moment and an even more awkward question – what would a supposedly virginal Indian lad be doing with lube?

Alas, my assumption that Sunday couldn’t possibly be worse was obviously incorrect. I discovered that a girl friend of mine is getting married on the 30th December and I’ve been invited (a day of course when I’m at work – a day where getting a replacement is not difficult but impossible – who the fuck wants to work on the 30th of Dec?). Obviously I wasn’t supposed to know she was pregnant (I assume the reason why the hasty marriage at such short notice) but overheard a conversation that I’m sure she wished I hadn’t. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t either. How the fuck is a melodramatic queen that strives on gossip expected to keep that to himself? She’s pregnant and no-one knows, except I assume her and her husband-to-be. I’m hoping complete social isolation and having no credit on my phone may do the trick. That leave’s just one thing – email. How does one dismantle his modem without doing permanent damage?

Oh and I didn’t win the Euro Millions on Friday either.

Thank fuck it’s Monday. I never thought I’d say that. Well bad things come in threes – so maybe that’s the worst of it.

Will You Be My Wifey?

I've always considered myself fairly lucky. I got dealt a shit hand at birth - a practically non-existent father who couldn't care less that we lived in a cardboard box (not quite but close enough) - but I got the next best thing I ended up with 2 mothers (not a lesbian thing) a biological mother and a god-mother. When things got rough at home I moved into my aunt's place (for all intensive purposes she was like a mother to me anyway)

Time slowly trickled away and here I am 20-something years later with not one mother but two, both whom now are looking for potential wives for me. And my father who mostly absent is also on the scene now (also in tow with potential wives of course).

Now its not that I'm an ungrateful child - but rather I'm an ungrateful gay child - what I am to do with a wife? But how to explain this? Informing them that I'm gay would be akin to being a vampire and stabbing yourself in the heart with a wooden stake (not a very clever idea).

I spoke to a couple of mates about this - one had a fantastic idea - find a lesbian Indian chick who needs a husband for her family and come to a mutual arrangement. Sounds good... but where to find such a lady? On the internet of course! If interested please get in touch my ad reads:

Handsome gay Indian seeks a pretty Indian lesbian to make a wife who herself is looking for a husband, into major family deception and fake martial arrangements. If interested please contact Soul Seared Dreamer at http://waitin4life.blogspot.com/.

Benefits Vs Working

Now anyone who knows me even slightly will know I'm always game for free money. I drowned on about it in my Lotto Rollover post so even those that don't know me will know that. Which brings me to my next point... state benefits.

I'm glad to be in a country that looks after its subjects but is it me or does the current state of affairs make you wanna call for the abolishment of state benefits for so-called jobseekers and fraudsters.

Now I'm in my twenties and I can proudly say I have never claimed any benefits (ok excluding child benefit which my parents claimed on my behalf)... now I can remember a time where I was jobless and income less... I still never joined the queue for the B word. I was too proud to do so. So I actually made the effort to find work (albiet it wasn't the best job but it paid money every month) and I found it... or rather the closet-case (look who's talking) manager that employed me found me.

Yesterday I was sitting at a local cafe up in Harrow when I was eavesdropping on the 2 people sitting close by (I'm not ashamed to so say I quite often enjoy it). She was telling her friend that it is better for her to work 15 hours than full-time, that way her benefits continue, she doesn't pay tax on her income and she gets free NHS prescriptions for her and her husband, using her napkin and a pen to show her friend numerically just how much she is better off.

I quickly swallowed the remaining tea in my cup and quickly made my escape. Coz I felt my blood pressure rising, my eyes began to see slightly red and I was begining to fight down the need to get up and tell her to have some diginity and get a job, as her last words were... "that's if I can be bothered to actually get a job"

Oh well at least I now know exactly where most of the taxes I pay end up... financing her midday tea-breaks from her luxurous lifestyle of home-benefit office benefit office-home.

It's A Euro Millions Rollover!

I can never fully understand the craze behind a rollover. Surely the fact that it's a rollover - goes to show how next to near impossible it is to win the bladdy thing in the first place. No... correction it means MORE MONEY. PLAY PLAY PLAY.

Don't get me wrong I'm definitely not anti-Lotto, the amount of money it raises for charity is really amazing. A truly amazing thing. Oh fuck who am I kidding - it's the fact that it gives millions hope, me obviously being the most important.

There is something alluring about being given money, money for doing absolutely nothing - being given money for sitting on your arse. Something alluring just doesn't do it justice. It's what makes day dreams worthwhile.

Like they say... you've got to be in it to win it... It's a colossal £120m... I've got mine... have you got yours?

But most importantly what you gonna spend it on? I don't want it all JUST half a mill - that'll do me fine. Till next year anyway (",)

The Eternally Dreaded E Word

It's that time of the year again. Exams. 3 weeks and counting... I swear there seems no escape. I told myself that after I finished my degree I'd never ever have to study or take any bloody exams ever again. How wrong I was. I started work at Lloyds TSB shortly after. I discovered University for Lloyds TSB - what is it? A computerised learning and test system. Ouch. Shortly afterwards I found myself on a computerised accounts course (SAGE 50) - how do they test you're competent before they certify you - an invigilated exam of course. Then I did a financial course CeMAP (certificate in mortgage advice and practice) which had 7 invigilated exams. Now finally I get to my current exams ACCA (Association of Chartered Certified Accountants) which have 14 exams. I'm 8 in, and have 6 left. Now I wonder what's left... something with 20 exams maybe!

The only thing that keeps me going is future career prospects - and by that I mean a £50k salary after qualification. Well it's that or I can always give up and go back to being a poor bastard. Besides I mean to test the theory 'money can't buy happiness'

Acting Straight

I was almost appalled when Eric my straight mate gave me a straight porn movie: Sunny & Cher.

To be honest its been a fairly long time since I watched straight porn, the last time was probably in my teens when anything was potential wank material. Things have evolved since then - the wonder that is a credit card, internet shopping and discretely packaged deliveries have meant that well Gay Porn is only a click away.

Now Eric is one of the very few straight mates I have - 'that know I'm gay' so you can imagine how hard it was to not bitch-slap him and act completely like the queen I am.
After I demanded what the hell he was implying - he said gently that I should watch it and see - winking he added I might learn something - (at that point I was convinced he was in it). Shocked but not willing to give the DVD back (if he was in it I definitely wanted to see it) - I feigned disgust and walked away. At the least I thought there would be at least one bloke in it.

When I inserted the DVD I was surprised that the star was not white but an Indian chick by the name Sunny Leone (I think). She began to well the best word to describe it was touch herself up. Now I watched for a minute and the camera refused to zoom in, annoyed that this clearly wasn't doing anything for me (obviously thinking how stupid the camera man is when a naked woman is touching herself up on the screen is evidence enough I'm not straight) I was about to eject the disk but wait for it... I felt a tingle, a very mild one but a tingle none the less. I wasn't hard and I definitely wasn't limp. This naked woman was having a most surprising effect. Gay as I am, I can definitely hands down say this is a fucking gorgeous woman. Enthralled I continued to watch, the screen moved on. She got dressed and went to a bar, where really fake dialogue ensued. Within a few minutes this hot Indian honey was fornicating with an equally attractive white girl in a toilet. I'm not ashamed to say I was enjoying this. Most especially when a nice looking man entered the toilet and got his knob out. The rest I'll leave to your imagination.

If Eric asks me how I found it I'm not sure how I'm gonna reply but I sure as hell intend to make him pay by watching gay porn. Maybe I'll wink and say... hey you might learn something.
He was right though I did learn a few things... nothing in the world is ever black and white. Sunny Leone sure is fit. Eric wasn't in it. And I'm going to need an excuse to invite myself over to Eric's and politely ask to see his porn collection... and maybe even steal one or two.

The Singleton

I was asked the most annoying question today. “So why is such a handsome young man like you single?”

My answer was quite simple (in my head anyway) – If I knew WOULD I be single you dumb fuck?

But there isn’t much truth in that answer, if I’m being honest with myself. So I’m glad I didn’t voice it out loud. I am a poor liar and every time I’ve attempted to cleverly disguise one it’s always blown up in my face. Thing is I wouldn’t go as far as claiming I’m single out of choice. I’m not. I’m human. I have feelings. I feel the lack of companionship. But the truth is I think I’m afraid. Afraid of shouting out I’m gay to the world. Afraid of letting down my barriers. Afraid things will spiral out of control. How can someone who beats himself up about something stand up and ask others to respect it? So maybe that’s unconsciously why I haven’t discarded by singleton ways. How can I expect someone to love me when I don’t love myself?
Note to self: Learn to love thine self

The Dentist

I woke up this morning when my mobile phone alarm went off earlier than I was expecting. When I half asleep got to the phone the flashing message read: DENTIST APPOINTMENT. With exactly 30 minutes till the appointment my normal tarting-up routine was thrown out of the window. It gave me enough time to do 5 things. 1. Take a piss 2. Brush my teeth. 3. Splash some water on myself (normally I’d call this – taking a shower). 4. Throw some clothes on. 5. Leave. I had to forgo having breakfast, actually having a shower (30 minutes minimum), flossing my teeth, using mouth wash, gelling my hair, putting my contacts in, using a moisturiser, ironing my clothes, and saturating myself with Jean-Paul Gaultier’s Le Male. For an image conscious homo that is just torturous. Pain might work with straight men – but denying hygiene products works wonders for gay men… I’d tell anyone anything for some hair gel, no matter how secret/important it is.

Anyways getting to the point I was therefore pleasantly surprised when my dentist didn’t cover his mouth with that mouth cover thingy – he either had a bunged up nose or he didn’t think I had dragon breath (for obvious reasons I’m thinking it was the latter), yet equally disgusted – I shouldn’t have to endure his breath - thankfully he was a dentist so bad breath wasn’t an issue - which is just as well because I probably won’t have said anything even if he did have dragon breath – my teeth are far too important – I’d hate for him to have retaliated on my smile. I am so vain, I can’t even imagine having a crooked smile. [I QUIVER IN FEAR]

As if that wasn’t enough to get my mind racing, sitting in a dentist’s chair, he lightly informed me that I’d need a filling – after he subjected me to actual pain (gay men and pain don’t go hand in hand) whilst cleaning my teeth – which was probably the only thing keeping me from screaming like a girl and running around the room in hysterics (nice smile = clean white teeth). Wait for it… he then asked me if I wanted a metal filling (that would stand out like a turd on my spotless red carpet) or a concealed white one. Is that even a question worth asking someone as glamorous as me (OK I accept today I looked like a tramp than Jason Behr with creased clothes, a touch dried face, glasses and flat hair but still duh…)

I still haven’t recovered and it’s been 5 hours now. He booked me for a white filling on the 20th November – now I just need to find some way of funding my vanity – apparently it costs more… much much more. Oh well at least I’ll have a white smile over the festive period.

Ties That Bind

The thing about me is that I’m just too much of a dick to know what’s good for me and what's not. Now when you have to face a big decision and you know whatever you decide will haunt you for the rest of your life, or at least a fairly large portion of it, you’d think I’d really consider what I was getting involved in before making that decision.
Well obviously not.
Let me explain… earlier this year I made one of the biggest decisions I have or probably will ever have to make. I took out a mortgage… that’s not it however. I took out a mortgage for someone else. Why? I hear you ask. Well it was to get my niece out of Stonebridge (where I was brought up) and into Harrow. It was also intended to help my mother live happier in the last few years of her life. In short it was to help my family out. Obviously those aims have been achieved give or take a few minor details. But what that now means is financially I am completely debt-laden (in short fucked). OK so the truth is I have some savings albeit it’s not enough to live on for eternity but it is enough to start a life elsewhere. Hard work and a very limited social life are required to attain this but it is feasible, however the mortgage changes that. I can ill afford a second mortgage. It’s a given that I’m not paying the mortgage I have, but rather my brother is (niece I mentioned – her father). Lenders may be willing to lend to 5 times someone’s salary but how about a second mortgage on a salary based on a 5 hour a week employment. I don’t think so. Why am I bringing this up? Only because things have been crazy at home. I find myself at ends with my Aunt (whom I live with). I haven’t spoken to her properly in over 2 weeks now, it stemmed from her calling me nothing but a pile of rubbish (on a normal day I’d agree but that day I was an emotional wreak and it penetrated the stone wall I’ve built around my heart). And now all I want to do is leave this shit-hole and live the fantasy I’ve been dreaming about for years – and be someone free from the bleakness that is my life, not someone to has to take it lying down when compared to rubbish. If only I had a stone heart and refused this whole helping the family in need. Since it’s not possible to go back and change that I guess I’m going to have to learn to live with the cards that are dealt. And suck it up. Hell the mortgage only has 24 years and 6 months left. Damn those family ties that bind.

Taking sides

I think I may have made a fabulous Greek in the Ancient Times. I can imagine myself sitting elegantly in ruby red gold lined suit in the front row of a colosseum watching the carnage between a Gladiator and a ferocious lion. I love conflict. The man fighting for his life and the lion for a snack. However when the conflict starts nudging towards me - that's when I prefer to take a step back and observe in a completely impartial way. However the last few days I've found myself right bang in the middle of a war that whomever wins I reap the benefits. Not the worst kind of conflict. But the dreaded petition screwed that up big time.
I'll explain... I was informed by my current manager Mr P that he is being transferred to another area and I was getting a new manager. Crap I thought I get away with murder here and with you. But before I could say anything, or collapse to the floor in tears, he announces his replacement is Mr G. Oh I think.... Mr G as in Mr G who employed me 2 years back? Mr G who I can get away with murder with. Oh well that's not too bad I think - but say 'No, that's so sad. Is there anything we can do to stop it?'. To my horror I find that the rest of the staff are in the process of signing a petition. Now anyone who knows anything about politics would know that signing such a petition for me is a sure fire method of getting crucified in the long run. I can't not sign it because that would look real bad on Mr P and I can't sign it because that would look real bad on Mr G. Fuck I think - I need a way out. I've managed to stay busy everytime someone has mentioned it. Now I'm hoping it gets sent off to Head Office quickly. And then I can make a big song and dance about no-one bothering to give me the chance to sign it. Fingers crossed today might be my lucky day.