Last weekend 40 of my coworkers and I went to Jordan as part of an office incentive trip. I had an absolutely fantastic time, and so did everyone else. We spent two days in Petra, and then headed down to Amman, before coming back to Dubai completely exhausted. There are of course plenty of stories to tell, but I just have a few snippets I'd like to share with you all.

Now I'm going to be brutally honest here - I've only flown about 5 times in my entire life. No, seriously. Going on vacation has never been a strongpoint for my parents, so I spent much of my childhood and teen life stuck at home. Thankfully I don't have any fears of flying or such, and I tend to enjoy air travel (I'd enjoy it more if I was in business class btw). But what I don't seem to understand is the seatbelt situation. I happen to sit near the air stewards, and when the announcement was made for us to fasten our seatbelts, I did so and looked up at the steward. She was strapping her self into so many seatbelts, it looked like she was getting ready for a ride at a Six Flags theme park. The only thing missing was the bar to come down over her head and hold her in. How unfair is that? We get this flimsy one piece of belt, and they get four? What made me even more uncomfortable was what the pilot announced next - "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Royal Jordanian Airlines, our flight time is approximately 2 hours and 27 minutes, and we will be landing in Queen Alia airport - Inshallah". Now 'Inshallah' translates to 'if God is willing' - why would you want to say something like that before takeoff? I think that's even scarier than a bomb threat - we're going to fly around at 35,000ft and if God thinks it's a good idea, we're going to hopefully land in the right airport.

We ended up landing in the correct airport anyway, and the rest of the trip was a real blast. When we finally reached Amman on the third day of our trip, we stayed at the fantastic Le Meridien hotel, where I innocently flirted with a football player at the breakfast buffet who was staying in the hotel with his team mates - incidentally he asked me to come to his room for a visit later on...sheesh.

But the one thing that puzzled me when I was at Le Meridien, was why they were serving beef at the breakfast buffet - take a look:



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I don't know anyone who hasn't watched and fallen in love with The Golden Girls. I remember watching Sophia, Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose on TV and nearly splitting with laughter over their antics. I stumbled upon Estelle's autobiography in my high school library, and I must have rented that book out at least eight times. Estelle was a fantastic actress, and a relentless AIDS activist - the world will truly miss you.

Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant

And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend

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As a kid, I used to worship Martha Stewart - I mean literally worship the woman. The Martha Stewart show used to come on Channel 33 back in the days, right after The Bold and the Beautiful, and I used to rush into the room and sit transfixed in front of the TV while my idol showed millions of Americans how to turn old egg shells into compost. The woman was like Jesus - she could make anything out of anything. She could turn barbed wire into an art-deco swan if she wanted to. I always remember her signature line "It's a good thing" and for many years to come, that would be my mantra. But after puberty hit and I discovered men, my affection for Martha began to wane, and soon I grew tired of this household hag that could make perfect cupcakes and sow enough uniforms for the U.S Army. But the biggest fun was when she got arrested for insider trading - the woman got even more famous! There were videos of her greeting people in her cell, she brought that hairball-looking poncho into fashion, spawned a new TV show - the woman literally flew out of control. So much so, that at one time it was a fashion statement to have an ankle bracelet - and I don't mean the ones made of silver. Closely following in Martha's heels is our little cupcake, Rachel Ray. Now Rachel is sweet and way more lovable that Martha, but sometimes I worry about her too. For one thing, how many damn Red Bulls does the woman have before her show? She's like the Energizer bunny on steroids once those cameras start rolling. And have you seen the food she cooks? It's like one dish can serve 60 people - complete with triple bypass from the amount of fat and cheese that goes into everything.

On a different train of thought, I've been moseying online these past few weeks, looking at a couple of guy profiles. I saw one rather well-written profile, with a nice photo attached (i.e the guy actually had a face), so I decided to message this chap a brief introduction and ask him if he was interested in chatting or meeting for coffee. In about 2 minutes, I got his reply:

"I am looking for man over 90 kg"

Another profile caught my attention, so I messaged this guy, and here's his reply:

"hiii thanks for messaging me. I like your profile too but I like men with muscular bodies and small d**ks. Do you have a small d**k?"


Let's just take a moment here to absorb all that in.

Can anyone tell me where the fuck the normal guys have gone? Have all the gay men in the world jumped back in the closet and married women?

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The other day I was walking around IKEA and a friend of mine was going on about how stylish the Swedish are, and what the world would be like if IKEA hadn't graced us with flat-pack stuff designed by people with unpronounceable names. I then proceeded to educate her that though IKEA may be a Swedish company, nothing in IKEA was actually made in Sweden - an idea that she absolutely refused to believe. So I took her on a tour of the store, and picked up a carpet made in India, tea candles from China, a plate from Taiwan, a curtain from Vietnam, and a bathroom rug from India - it's like I had the fucking UN in my shopping basket. Anyway, we went over to the eatery to have a snack, and I noticed that there are these murals that describe obscure little villages and towns in Sweden, and link them back somehow to a piece of furniture in the store. Skimming through these little wall tidbits, I came across one picture that literally made me choke on my cinnamon roll.



Hedgarden - a gay man's Heaven.


The other day my brother told me that he was going to go to India for a few weeks to get some medical treatment, and while he was there, he was going to take my advice and get a colonic. So here is the exact conversation we had in the car:

Him: Yea so I'm thinking while I'm there, I might get that colonic thing.
Me: Oh really?
Him: Yea - you've done it, right?
Me: A couple of years ago, yea.
Him: Isn't that where they stick a tube in your ass?
Me: Er, yea that's how they get everything out of your system.
Him: Didn't it hurt for you?
Me: No, didn't hurt at all.
Him: Really? How come?

Er- how come? I'm sure I could have spent the next 2 hours detailing why exactly it didn't hurt, but I just told him that I focused my mind on something else. Because he really wanted to hear me tell the doctor "Oh go deeper big boy!"

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Can anyone please tell me why so many guys feel that they need to have a photo of themselves staring into a bathroom mirror? Literally hundreds of profiles have pics of guys with their dinky little Nokia phones, pointed at steamed up bathroom mirrors, as they stand there in all their glory trying to look hip. Have these guys never heard of a self-timer mode? Or, if you can't work that out, just turn the stupid camera around so you can see the reflection of the damn screen in the mirror, and take the freaking photo. Hell - I'll even come over and click the photo for you just to save me the agony of seeing you trying to pose in such a way where your precious N92 can't be seen.

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Last week a groundbreaking event happened back home in India - in four major cities, gay pride marches took place to show the country that India's gay culture is truly real and here to stay. There was plenty of media coverage, but I am going to do a number on the papers and websites that have covered the event. Take a look at an article here as well as a post on Sam's Blog. Is there any reason why only pictures of cross-dressers are shown? Is that the image the media wants to portray - that all gay men want to do is put on a frock? I have absolutely no problem with any of my transsexual folk, but there is more to gay life than trying to find the right bra. And what's with using inverted commas when speaking about Gay Pride? Does the media not acknowledge that Pride is an actual event? Next time, why don't the do the same when talking about our "Independence Day"?

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Despite people thinking otherwise, Dubai is a remarkably small city. And sooner or later, you're going to bump into someone you know - whether you like it or not is a different story. The other day while sifting through books at a bookstore, I passed by one of the bookshelves, and someone called out "HEY!" - I turned around and it was an ex of mine (well a one-nighter really). Now of course, I couldn't for the life of me remember his name, and this is where the fun begins. Gay men don't just go "Hey! How are you!?" - we take it to a whole new level..."Hey you! How've you BEEN!? My gosh it's been SO long since I saw you! You good? You're looking GREAT! Uh-huh! Well it's GREAT to see you again - really great! Call me okay! Okay? Okay see ya! BYE!"

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