Just when I think I have men written down to the letter, they go and break the pattern. Watching Sex and the City last night revealed that there are two more hybrids to the male form. There's the "gay straight guy" and the "straight gay guy". What's the difference? Well, a "gay straight guy" is loads better for a woman to have because he has all the gay qualities such as excellent taste in shoes, table manners, and a love for Cher, but he will still blow your mind in bed. In contrast, a "straight gay guy" is just a gay guy in denial. I think I've dated both kinds, and I've come up with the "guy-who-cant-decide gay straight guy". These guys are rampant around here, and usually have a wardrobe from Carrefour, eat at Mc Donald's, drive lousy cars, and have sunglasses from Karama.

Today's totally random question: Ever wondered why the music in so many porn flicks sounds like it came from an 80s Atari gaming console?

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A promise that I made to myself before I started work was that once my precious salary started rolling in, I'd start taking care of my friends. Now I admit, we haven't gone out for bubbly at the Burj, but I have definately been having more fun with my extended budget. Although, I do tend to go a bit overboard with the spending bit sometimes, but hey - I love my friends and they're worth it.

So, a friend of mine is going to celebrate her birthday 2 months from now, and I've pretty much finalized what I'm going to get her (thank god for Amazon wishlists). But, I don't want to give her too much stuff and make myself look like a ritch bitch attention whore. Not that she would object of course, but I am in a conundunderundum. Suggestions?

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As glorious as Dubai may be, the weather is still something a lot of people are trying to get used to. Having lived here for 24 years, I'm pretty much immune to the dust storms and BBQ-style heat. So here I am, sitting on the terrace typing merrily away on my laptop with not a care in the world (in about 2 hours I will resemble a hot dog). So for all of you folks sweating out there in the heat, here are some tips:

1) Sunblock: if using SPF-600 sun block isn't doing the trick, talk with your local surgeon to have it permanently grafted onto your skin.
2) Water: drink plenty of water when you are out and about, even when you are at the office. It's also a good idea to check that your 2-cubicle office loo (which is shared with about 75 other people) is available before you go on your water guzzling expedition.
3) Weather forecast: when the weather report comes on the radio, switch it off and hum show tunes. We know it's hot and disgusting - what we don't need is someone reminding us every half an hour.
4) Air Conditioning: AC is for sissies. Roll down your car windows and take in the ambiance and synchronized car honking of Dubai Sharjah highway.
5) Shorts: Men, linen was invented for a reason - wearing linen pants is a much better way to stay cool instead of walking around Emirates Mall in your Bermudas.

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Today is India's Independance Day.




Suddenly I feel very patriotic.



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Kids. Those who know me are aware of how much I can't stand kids. But beyond kids there lies an even more sinister and powerful evil. One that will strike terror in the hears of men and in their wallets.

Babies.

What is it about a baby that reduces a full grown mature adult to a gurgling babbling idiot? Today at the supermarket checkout, the lady at the counter was completly oblivious to me waving my credit card in her face, as she had her eyes fixed on a slobbery baby in a pram behind me. She was also doing the most peculiar thing which involved her bobbing her head forward, closing her eyes, and then opening them again (much like a turkey). I wanted to tell that woman Listen lady, I don't think the baby's amused at your awesome ability to blink. I bet the baby was thinking something along the lines of Whoa Lady you can blink...now are you going to get the fuck out of my face or do you want those eyes in a plastic bag?

Or maybe not.

Babies are also an absolute terror in restaurants. Here you are, having dinner in a lovely place and enjoying a conversation your smart and obviously attractive date, when Little Junior Son Of A Bitch starts wailing in the next table. I go over the scene in my head - food will start flying, cutlery will be next, the mother will atempt to raise her voice to drown out the baby, while the father meekly trys to signal for the check.

Coming back to the father, we should have husbands fixed. I hear there's a vet in Deira that gives discounts if you bring in more that 2.

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Okay, as Nathan would say it, July was the gayest month ever for celebrities. Lance Bass - gay. Nelly Furtado - bi. And now Darren Hayes is gay too (story here). I'm telling you, this whole 'coming out' thing is getting to be in fashion now. Fuck the small dogs - just go gay.

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This is Ram. He works at a petrol station where I often stop by on the way home. I don't know how long he has been working there. I don't know if he has any family here or if he is married with 3 kids. But I do know a little something about him - he has a truly wonderful smile. And he is not afraid to show it. Every time I walk in, he's ready with a big beaming smile. For all I know, he just knows me as the guy who comes in for a bottle of low fat milk and a hot dog with mayo and ketchup. But everytime I see Ram with his ready smile, I can't help but smile back at him, and for a brief moment, we're just two strangers smiling at each other.

Random? Not really. I think this world needs a few more people like Ram.

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I nearly flipped when I read that there was a representative of UAE at this year's OutGames in Montreal.

Looks like Dubai is changing a little bit after all.

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Today I had a mid life crisis.

The day began normally enough, with me standing in the shower washing toffee-scented hair wax out of my hair. As I let the hot water pour down my scalp and back (giving me first degree burns in the process), I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. For some reason, the first thought that came to my head was my brother's wedding, which was just over a year ago. I remember how happy he looked, how much fun we had dancing at the reception, the countless photographs, and how bad a screw the DJ was. Before I knew it, my mind had fast-forwarded to my life, and it was just a blur of color and motion. I snapped back to reality and turned the water off. Had I reached it? That fabled point in your life when you just stop and your mind silently screams at you "What the fuck do you want from your life?"

My train of thought led my bathrobe-clad self to the freezer, where a pint of Galaxy Triple-Choc ice cream lay waiting (there goes Body for Life out the door). As I sat curled up in my couch with a spoon in my hand, I made a mental checklist of what I had in my life. Good friends? Check. Good job? Check. Money? Check (and occasionally cash). Bustling social circle? Check. I stopped. There it was - the one thing on my mental list that wasn't in my life yet, no matter how much I had convinced myself I didn't need it. A relationship.

The thing is, relationships take slightly more complex meaning when you're gay. You may be having a simple chat with the cable guy one moment, and then shopping together at IKEA for matching drapes the next. That's probably how long it takes me to commit to a guy. Of course, at 24 years old I keep reassuring myself that I don't need someone dependant in my life at the moment, and that I'm happy being single. But truly, day by day I am finding it harder to convince myself otherwise. The other day, I had stopped at a clinic for a medical, and as I was happily filling in the Patient Information Form, my hand hovered over the 'Marital Status' section. Single. The word almost had a foul taste to it - like it rolled around in your mouth and you couldn't spit it out or swallow it. I was almost tempted to draw another box and label it "Oh god please call me". The thing is, I think the whole single thing is so over rated. As single people, we are put under so much pressure to hook up. There are couples dinner discounts, couples dance nights, couples friggin Bingo at the old age home. But whenever you tell people that you're Single, they always tilt their head to the side and give you their widest smile. Sort of a you-freak-show-single-thing type look. They shoot single people, don't they?

So many articles and books that I've read say that in order to appreciate your single status, you have to first love yourself. Or maybe if that was if you're a recovering alcoholic. Anyway, the best way to start to love yourself is to see yourself as God intended it - naked. Or maybe in Massimo Dutti. So to put this theory to the test, I stood in front of my mirror and gingerly slipped off my bathrobe. I love myself I kept repeating in my head, as I gazed at my reflection. But my mental mantra was not seeping in. My eyes caught sight of the stretch marks caused by frequently hiding in my cupboard and wolfing down chips and Snickers bars when I was a kid. I saw the single silver hair sticking out of my forehead that I secretly shave off every two weeks for fear that I will turn into Gandalf. As I took in each little detail of my body, I made another mental checklist in my head of how much plastic surgery would cost (my accountant is still doing the paperwork on that).

But what if I don't enjoy being single anymore? What if I want to prance around with my other half and show him off like a prized trophy? I find it impossible to believe that in the entire city there isn't a decent guy whom I can go out with. I don't demand a lot from a guy, he just has to be cultured, polite, and financially secure. Hey, whoever came up with that "Money doesn't buy happiness" bullshit obviously never had a Rak Bank Titanium card.

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Since I've been a bit too busy this week to blog, I thought I'd repay all my loyal readers with a bit of boy-next-door eye candy:




And of course, he has a website (but no webcam). And Zach, if you ever visit, please leave a comment! :o)

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