Two days

I never realized that two days of my life could give me so much to write about. I don't have a clue as to where to start. Maybe I shouldn't really be writing so many things about my personal life in here. Wait; that was not me talking. That was my mexican friend Saul's thought after he saw my blog. Saul was sort of uncomfortable reading through my blog citing that personal diaries are meant to mean what they are called - personal. But this personal diary, I said in an explanation to justify myself, is different. It is a medium where I get to write what I want, the way I want and I get a lot of satisfaction in doing so and getting comments of a few like-minded readers about it. I can go berserk in here. I explode into my fantasy world where gayness is accepted like down-town New York. Yeah, I'm referring to you Faustus. I'm jealous of the way you live. But it is okay, and under control. But I would someday want to live a life like how you do.

The day before, I was invited by Chuck to a party sponsored by a pharmaceutical company. The party was actually meant for the fresh-residents in the Orthopedics department. I was invited to fill in the numbers. The pharmaceutical company held a belief that such parties are useful for developing amazing levels friendship, solidarity and the spirit of team-work among the residents. Chuck, being the representative of the residents, found that inviting me was the only way he could continue deluding the pharmaceutical company representatives for more parties in the future.

Anyway, after the initial formalities-for those unaware, this includes introduction of new medications under the labels and a lot of bullshit about how the doctors are doing a world of good to everyone bye prescribing the company's own formulations and vice versa-got over, the feast began. Although the quality of food was appalling, alcohol was there to salvage some respect. I, being a honest preacher of non-alcoholism, didn't even want to take a sip. But Chuck and A. (another friend of mine) convinced me on the grounds of inevitability-Orthopedicians are the drunkards among doctors, the college to which I was going to do my residency set high standards in everything, including drinking-that I can't go without a drink at least. Eventually, I had a 'large' of brandy. What happened next is worth another paragraph.

This was the first time I was drinking. Maybe it was the empty stomach, maybe it was the fact that the proportion of adipose tissue in me was lesser, or maybe that my hepatic microsomal system of enzymes was naïve as compared to the others'-the drink had an almost immediate effect. I was starting to feel dysbasic, ptotic, ataxic and dyskinetic. I thought I was dysarthric as well, but was relieved to find that I wasn't after I got out of being 'under the influence'. But, I could think very clearly. And I was feeling stupid. I was not being under control of myself; the one thing that I always feel I need to. I was worried about this. I was feeling plain bad about this.

To not indulge in anything remotely close to being inappropriate, I started to fiddle with my mobile phone after going to a corner where there was no one. I tried calling Ray. But he was busy. I tried calling my sister. She wouldn't take up the phone. I resigned to typing in messages to Ray, once having to type the same message thrice because I had accidentally deleted the composed message by virtues of being dyskinetic. The effect wore off in little under an hour, and I was so happy to back in control again. I felt sick even momentarily losing the only power I seemed to hold forever. And I was thinking that I would never drink again. I didn't find any benefits to being drunk, of course it is from my point of view... at least until I got up the day after when, astonishingly, my prodrome of viral illness was gone! Wow, that justified me having a drink. I hope I won't have to search for more justifications in the future for both refusing a drink or getting drunk.

Back to my physical charms-wait a minute, I don't think I had too many the last time blogged. But things change, sometimes drastically. I happened to send a upper body nude photograph of myself (chest hair et al) to this very good friend of mine R. He was so excited about this that he replied in an e-mail with so many wonderfully strung sentences having words such as cute, sexy, wonderful, beautiful, lovely, handsome, adorable, that I finally felt that I'm at least okay looking in part nude. So, someone thinks that I'm hot. This sort of is like a revenge of sorts to May who says that I suck in looks. Coming from an older man, she still won't take it as a reason to believe the fact that I'm even remotely good-looking. But anyway, I'm happy about it. This comment, finally, gave Ray some sort ground trying to convince me that I don't need to feel so bad about my body, the way it is. He is okay with the way it is. Even Mr. Lion thinks that I'm cute the way I'm. But, for me, looks are very subjective. The subjectivity of the person himself, or herself for that matter, is the most important aspect in modulating decisions to amend looks. Therefore, I'm justified again.

Mr. Lion is back by the way; back from the hospital, and is very happy about the fact that he has a grandchild. The lack of opportunity for hands-on action had made him very horny when we had a couple of chat sessions. I thought that he was too flirty for an old man, but I loved each and every moment of it. I like ment who flirt. Especially dirty old men. Only when they flirt with me, that is. In our chat, we discussed a lot of stuff. I even asked him about his apparently pedophilic tendencies. He accepted the fact that he liked it but he never forces issues. I admire his honesty about this, but I'm not sure about the justification.

More importantly, of course for me and not the millions of poor little kids in the world who I admit I don't care too much about, the discussion drifted off to our next meeting, which happens to be today afternoon. Now, I want you to understand that the following couple of lines were actually meant to be in capitals, bold, 600% more in size and in alternating colors of pink and fluorescent green-Mr. Lion and I are meeting in the zoo today and he said he will try to get me near tiger cubs! Maybe even touch and play with one of them! Oh my me!!! This is the most exciting thing that someone has ever said to me. I really hope things work out well because if you don't already know by now, tigers are my epitomes of perfection. Tiger cubs add a share of cuteness, playfulness and amazing degree of stupidity-just like a kitten. So they are more attractive than a thousand penises, to me at least.

Yesterday was a wonderful day in my personal life. I spent almost the whole day with my beloved friends; Chuck and Ray. First we went to watch Spiderman 2. Nice movie, I have to say. I, increasingly realizing that I'm becoming an unstoppable critic in just about everything, found the animation sub-standard and the technicalities of the story line a little under-worked. The first half of the movie was better than the second half, where Peter Parker was given more prominence than Spiderman. After this, we watched the India Vs. Pakistan cricket match on TV. It was during this match that I found out about the surge of my criticizing instincts.

All through, I and Ray had the opportunity of being in the proximity of the amazingly cute older man-Chuck's Dad. I had imposed restrictions on myself on staring, flirting, having conversations beforehand. As it was about a month since I made the enforcement, I was feeling more at ease and actually was proud of how I carried myself there. Maybe I just overdid it by not commenting about da man's Chicken curry which was really tasting good. Today morning, when I finally realized this, I told Chuck and he smiled back at me as if to sympathize with effort that I was putting in.

I have a lot more to write about. But I'd have to postpone it to my next post because I need to run to the college hospital to sort out my admission procedure.