tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78895507439949403142024-03-14T02:36:37.108-07:00gay friendshipThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-50152033964821038062013-08-24T17:56:00.002-07:002013-08-24T17:56:46.969-07:00The SwingIt's 8:30 pm. I am sitting alone on the patio swing that Jim and I assembled a few years back. The garden lights just lighted up the trees in front of my eyes. I can't see the back pond anymore, though I can hear the waterfalls and the stupid frogs on my right. On my left, the cockatiel keeps on whistling. Sometimes, it would say hello to me. The sky in front of me is getting darker quickly, leaving just a little brightness above the tree line across the pond. The climbing rose next to the swing has made it's way to cover the right half of the top of the swing. If Jim were sitting next to me right now, the roses would touch his face. But the swing is half empty, just me and three little pillows. <br />
<br />
Tonight, we celebrate two of my sisters' birthdays. The food was plenty and good. I didn't really join them. I took my plate and sat at the stairways to eat by myself. I was afraid I couldn't hold my tears. My mom, dad, two sisters, and one brother asked where Jim was. The others didn't seem to care, as they never seemed to care before. Multiple thoughts went through my mind: I love Jim; I miss Jim; I want Jim to share the good food (I specifically requested my niece to make the appetizer that Jim liked; I also requested my mom to make the baby clams that Jim liked); did we make the right decision?; we did the right thing; I want Jim to go to the Gay Pride thing this weekend; I want Jim to rejoin the Gay Dad group; I want Jim to be happy; I worry about Jim; will Jim find time to eat?; will Jim take good care of himself?; I love Jim; I love Jim; I love Jim. <br />
<br />
It's too dark now. There are more mosquitoes than a few minutes ago. I'm going inside. Tonight is the first time I really treasure this swing.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-61930750661843505742013-08-22T04:30:00.000-07:002013-08-22T04:33:18.569-07:00Jim & T: Over :(So, this is it. The end of Jim and T. Five years, and now it's over. It wasn't a surprise. We both deep down knew this day would come. We loved each other; we do and always will. We both tried hard in our different ways. But...yes, there's always a BUT, which is more like a BUTT, in life that makes it colorful...here we are: Over. <br />
<br />
I pretty much knew what I had to do when Jim blogged about feeling depressed. A major part of his problem was me. I couldn't give him what he needed. After our multiple unwanted break-ups (four?), I am a Pro. I figured he knew he had to move on but didn't want to hurt me. I knew I couldn't be selfish and hold him back. I knew I had to say it first. I had to suggest the break up. And Jim agreed. I guess he wanted to make sure I was ready to minimize hurting me. Usually, I came to stay at Jim's every other Wednesday, unless there's some schedule problem with K's schedule. Then I would come the next Wed. I saw him last Wed. This week, I wanted to come see Jim again, but he wanted to come see me, instead. I knew then that he had made his decision.<br />
<br />
In a way, I feel a sense of relief. I love Jim too much to let him fall into a depression. I don't think he really feels depressed. He's perfectly willing to adapt to K's schedule to take care of and be with his kids. He's a good and caring father. He lives less than ten minutes away from K's house, and he's pretty much there until at least 10 pm every night. K's schedule is usually his first priority. Her date nights usually take priority over our planned dates. I honestly didn't mind because I never wanted to cause him more stress than he already had. I think what Jim felt was a trap that was difficult for him to get out. We loved each other very much. Jim very much wanted me to become his true partner. He had to settle for what I could give him hoping it would change in the future. The trap was that he had no certainty nor was he promised any certainty. <br />
<br />
Jim wanted to be able to spend time with his kids (at K's house) and have me there when he gets home. But if I could just be there every Wednesday, he would have been happier. How long that would have last, I don't know. He wanted it all, but he didn't ask much from me. It's I who couldn't step up the plate. I have so much on my plate that my best try wasn't enough. The bottom line is we both tried very hard, and I couldn't and didn't give Jim what he needed. It's more like I couldn't guarantee that I would give him what he wanted, which was very simple: a true partner. I know that if I could give him a glimpse of hope that what he wanted with me would materialize sometimes in the future, he would have stuck with me forever. However, I could never mislead Jim, or anyone. I couldn't make empty promises. <br />
<br />
My five years with Jim have given me a serenity in my crazy, hectic life and, most important of all, a forever best friend. In a way, I am glad that we came to an end. This was the only way for Jim to find what he really needs and deserves. Sometimes, the best gift you could offer to the one you love is to free him. I am very sad, but I know I did the right thing. I know Jim did the right thing. I know for sure whoever his future partner is would be very lucky to have Jim. I wish him the best and will forever be there for him.<br />
<br />
It's just...I love him so much...<br />
<br />Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-84660562095885661582013-08-04T18:17:00.001-07:002013-08-04T18:52:43.199-07:00No More Chopsticks at RestaurantsMy dad heard on the news that the Chinese used some type of bleaching chemicals when they made those chopsticks that we find at the restaurants. This is not a surprise to any of us. The Chinese are very notorious for doing things like this. We have shied away from food imported from China. Now, chopsticks, too? <br />
<br />
Tonight, my dad wanted to go to a local Vietnamese restaurant. He rarely or likely never wants to go to a Vietnamese restaurant because he really likes my mom's cooking. So, when we go out to eat, he mostly wants to go to an American restaurant, like any good steak house. My sisters recently took my parents on a long trip visiting the Mid-West, where Asian restaurants were rare. The day they got back, we took them to this Vietnamese restaurant, where the food is ok. However, because they were craving for Vietnamese food, everything tasted wonderful. To make the story short, my dad wanted to go back there again, tonight, to everyone's surprise.<br />
<br />
About my dad, he's the typical Asian dad. He rarely talks; but when he does, we don't want to go against his wish...And, yes, Jim, I'm 46, and I'm still afraid of my parents. He's 80 years old, what's wrong with a little indulgence. OK...my dad is more like a dictator. None of us wants to deal with the after-shock effects...too much headache.<br />
<br />
Anyways, when we arrived at the restaurant, my sisters and I pretty much knew that he would not forget about the chopsticks. Indeed, he didn't. So, I had to tell the Vietnamese waiter to give us 6 forks. He looked at me a little funny. What was funny was we actually had to eat the noodle soup with forks! It was weird, the whole table of Vietnamese eating noodle soup with forks. When does that happen?<br />
<br />
I know this is a free country and we can eat however we want to. But this was just odd. I imagined myself standing back and looking at us. It was such a funny picture. My sisters and I couldn't stop laughing. Of course, my dad didn't notice anything because he has severe hearing loss. We were more scared to upset him than scared of the chopsticks. And, yes, Jim...we are all more than 40 years old. We should get therapy...LOLThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-37081950044555069462013-06-18T17:35:00.001-07:002013-06-18T17:35:31.515-07:00Ungrateful Asshole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_yszRie8ak4EnBJzm_tfh0VKdjuQljJMWkMf4Vi23Be0owFR8k4QAVGuErbwPM6sr9PRdZPLQIjJzDEA1hMyvgBv25KTx36fZ4aQdmk9TL2sbiCjLRjKEdEc4B7nObYOnVeUU2y4QCI/s1600/dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9_yszRie8ak4EnBJzm_tfh0VKdjuQljJMWkMf4Vi23Be0owFR8k4QAVGuErbwPM6sr9PRdZPLQIjJzDEA1hMyvgBv25KTx36fZ4aQdmk9TL2sbiCjLRjKEdEc4B7nObYOnVeUU2y4QCI/s1600/dog.jpg" /></a></div>
I am pissed! <br />
<br />
My neighbor from across the street has a big dog that looks like the one in this picture. He does have an invisible fence. Somehow, this morning, the dog got loose. When my sister and I backed out of our driveway to go to work, we saw this dog running toward some guy, who was around in his 30s and was jogging toward our house. The dog advanced toward him as he backed away slowly. <br />
<br />
When we didn't see the dog back off, we backed our car toward the dog and honked. The dog eventually ran back to his house but still barked and wanted to charge at the guy again. I rolled the window down and yelled at the dog. So, the guy got away safely.<br />
<br />
This evening, when I got home and checked my emails, there was an email from the HOA inquiring about my chihuahua and invisible fence. What the heck! The asshole reported us!Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-78110410168613142142013-06-09T20:15:00.000-07:002013-06-09T20:15:05.772-07:00Two-Spirited Navajo PeopleMy oldest sister is now vacationing at the Land of the Navajo. This afternoon she bought a book about the Navajo People and couldn't wait to tell me what she gathered from this book. <br />
<br />
My oldest sister is not homophobic in the negative way. She loves me very much, and it hurts her knowing that I am gay and having to burden the difficulties of a gay life. More so, she's afraid that I would be hurt. For a long time, she had refused to talk about my sexuality or about homosexuality. <br />
<br />
Tonight, she was so excited to tell me the story of the creation of the Navajo:<br />
<br />
According to the Legend of The Third World, the First Woman and the First Man bore five sets of twins. Three sets were obvious men and women. Two sets were neither men nor women. The three obvious-men-women sets got married. One of the two neither-men-nor-women sets got married anyway. The remaining set, however, didn't get married but did pottery, instead. <br />
<br />
These Ancient Navajos must have been VERY keen!Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-35794505782595966252013-05-29T19:30:00.000-07:002013-05-29T19:31:34.087-07:00AliensThe other day, I was pondering about Aliens. No, I'm not talking about the Hispanic guys who worked on my garden. I'm talking about ET. I do think there are Aliens out there somewhere. I bet you there are a whole bunch of gay Aliens out there as well. Who knows, with their advanced intelligence, they might be able to create a gay Alien baby from two gay Alien sperms! Alien sperms probably have huge heads. Aliens don't have eggs, so there ain't any lesbian Aliens...SORRY! I don't really think these gay Aliens look like the way they have been depicted by us. They have to look more colorful. They are gay, for God's sake. I think those "Aliens" we captured or found dead were not Aliens. They were the Alien monkies who were sent to Earth as an experiment. I wouldn't be surprised if their monkies are extremely advanced. They probably talk, too. All that time we thought they were Aliens when, in fact, they could have been just highly intelligent Alien monkies...gay ones.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-55876369735929888402013-05-18T19:22:00.001-07:002013-05-18T19:30:30.711-07:00My Blue Koi PondMy garden make-over is kind of almost done...So much work, darn it! So many things to do, so little time. Technically, I shouldn't have to do anything but enjoy the garden after the landscapers finished their work. However, these landscapers were jerks. I paid them a lot of money, but they didn't do a good job. Now, I have to fine-tune it myself...GRRR.<br />
<br />
I added a number of spray heads to some irrigation zones this evening after work. Still have a lot to go. I also added bacteria, algae killing stuff, and...a blue dye to the koi ponds. I ordered this package with different types of good bacteria to make the pond water look clear, and they included this blue dye which stated as safe for the fish. <br />
<br />
Well, I put too much dye into the ponds. Now, the water is really, REALLY BLUE. It's so blue it's not even funny! I'm not too worry about this though. However, all the fish started to come up...probably to get air. I am so worried now. I hope they won't die. <br />
<br />
Two weeks ago, I put about 10 little koi into the new, small koi pond that I had just finished. The water wasn't clear, so I couldn't see any of them. I found two of them, but...DEAD. One got stuck in the pump; one floated...Jim found it on Sunday. I wasn't sure how many of them were left until tonight when five of them came up for air. I think I put too much dye. What am I saying? I did put way too much dye. Sigh...I hope the fish will live.<br />
<br />
I will be so sad if I woke up tomorrow and the fish all died. Unless I won the lottery tonight...Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-16968003782481452402013-02-19T03:10:00.001-08:002013-02-19T03:16:28.801-08:00Mermaids are realGrowing up, I had always been curious about Mermaids and Extraterestrials. I searched and searched about them. I spent a lot of time in the library just to read about them. But, all I found were myths. However! Now, with the rich resources of today's internet, I just stumbled into some old documents with very reliable consistencies. I will share with you information about the Mermaids today. <br />
<br />
In Ancient Japan, actually up until the 19th century when the Ninja practice still existed, Ninja masters took in students. Each Ninja master would choose one loyal student to accompany him everywhere he went. He would teach this student everything. In turn, the student was to obey him in every way, every demand, including sex. The students were to always assume the bottom position. When the students grew up and left the masters and became masters themselves, they would then take in their own students. They then became the tops. <br />
<br />
However, it didn't always happen that way. Some of the new Masters loved being the bottom so much, they lied about their age and joined other groups as students. The Association of Ancient Japanese Ninjas later found out, investigated, and stripped off all the Master titles from these Ninja Masters and shipped them all to one of the Polynesian islands where they were to make flower necklaces to sell to the Ancient Greeks and Romans. When the Ancient Greek and Roman merchant ships sailed by the island, these ninjas would dress up as geishas and lured these sex-deprived men into having sex with them. They showed these men the art of gay anal sex. These Greeks and Romans loved it so much that they introduced it to their people when they returned to their homelands. They called it "bottom-me". Over time, some high-ranking Greeks with speech problems called it "soddom-me".<br />
<br />
The ancient merchants around the world started to frequent this island. Some unknown artist without much talent drew these ninjas wearing kimonos and passed around. Through a couple of centuries and bad artists, these kimonos started to look at tails. People started to call these ninjas as Merchant Maids. Later, it was shortened as Mer-maids. Later, King Henry the XI of England took a trip to this island. It was told that he didn't have a good time, so he sent some of these Mer-maids to Hawaii.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-17356705070527267002013-02-14T04:51:00.001-08:002013-02-14T09:59:26.448-08:00I am happy this morningIt's been a pretty hectic season at the clinic. We actually lost quite a number of patients due to the lack of providers. However, we have also gained quite a number of new patients from words of mouth. They are still lining up in front of the clinic every morning. I'm not complaining. I am glad of the stability my clinic has. <br />
<br />
I finally found two PAs that seem very loyal and enjoy working with our patient population. They are not the smartest PAs, but they work as a team and, most important of all, know the limit of what they know, just like we (my sister and I) do. I am very afraid of providers who think they know too much. Another good news is that I will have another, potentially good, PA coming this March. The waiting time for my patients would be tremendously less. This will cost me tons of money, but the stress would be less for everyone. I already hired another regular staff in preparation of his coming here. This is because the more providers I have, the more interpreters I will need. More expenses...<br />
<br />
I am very happy because I will have more time to spend with Jim. I think about that all the time. Pretty much every day now, I am exhausted with being overworked. Emotionally, I am content. Physically, I am not. To think about it, I am still OK physically, it's just that I have so many things to do with very little time. I want to enjoy life now and in the future. Getting toward that goal, I have to prepare and build up to it.<br />
<br />
At home, I just kind of finished the koi pond in the front yard. Actually, I didn't do it. I just designed and directed and helped people do it. It looks pretty good. I still have to hide the pipes, but it's been too cold. I'll do that in April. Maybe I'll just show someone to do it for me. I don't mind doing it, but the frogs are already there. And I am afraid of them. I detest them....<br />
<br />
I already have a group of landscapers starting to put down pavers to create a patio around the pond and on the sides of the house. It's going to be nice. I will have them put down a lot of flowers and plants. I often envision Jim and I sitting at the patio surrounding the pond, under the cherry blossoms, looking at the moon, once in a while stealing a kiss. Then, we can stroll around the garden along the pathway. The dim lights highlighting the patios will be just enough for the two of us. My garden is large enough for my family and for Jim and me to enjoy separately at the same time. This year, my goal is to have more bonfires, with Jim, of course. I will put more plants, flowers at the firepit area and along the border of the pond so when we look out into the pond there would be more than just water and the houses on the other side of the pond.<br />
<br />
I love colors. I love plants. They make me feel happy. They make me look at the positive sides of things. And I love to share that with my loved ones: Jim and my family. <br />
<br />
I just have a feeling that this year Jim and I will enjoy life a little more. I am so happy thinking about it.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-25243629373414547762012-11-11T21:15:00.001-08:002012-11-11T21:15:14.739-08:00The Homo DepotI used to think that only the macho, straight men go to the Home Depot because straight men know how to build things. I was surprised when I found out a lot of gay men like and do fix and build things. I myself really don't. <br />
<br />
I do not want to fix things. I do not want to build things. That's all to it! I know I can do it if I really want to, but I don't. I don't even want to get a fancy cell phone just because I don't want to learn all the functions that I will never use. Jim thought I was weird...or crazy. A little, I guess. OK, a lot.<br />
<br />
Anyway, after hiring at least 4 different landscapers who overcharged but didn't do a decent job, I have had it. Why is it so difficult to find good servicemen? First of all, they don't look good. Second, they don't do a good job. Third, they often try to fool you. Just because we need their service, it doesn't mean we have no clue how things are done. We just don't want to do it.<br />
<br />
Well, today, I tried to be one of those gay Homo Depot guys. I set up 3 dripping irrigation areas in my garden, and they worked! I was so happy. Now, I don't have to worry about my plants not having enough water anymore...at least in those three areas. I still have many to go. I just couldn't believe it. It was very easy...<br />
<br />
Another project that I want to do is building another koi pond. I already have a large koi pond. However, there's an area in the front yard where I want to be the focal point. There're already a large Japanese maple, an ornamental pine tree and other plants. Now, I want to build a pond there and plant lilly pads and put some Koi down. I already picked out the big rocks that look like those mountains in the Chinese paintings. I had holes drilled in them so I could pump water through them to make waterfalls. I am going to put them in the center of the pond. I am also going to have waterfalls coming from outside the pond. <br />
<br />
You guessed it. I am going to do it myself. Well, I am going to direct some workers that I hired to do it. I am going to buy the materials and manage the project myself. I was going to hire a company to do it. But their price was way overinflated. On the materials alone, they marked up almost double what I would pay if I had ordered myself. Their labor charge was outrageous. I can have a better looking pond with good equipment with half the price they were asking for if I overlooked the project myself. I did some research on the pump and filtration system today. I am more confident now that my plan is even more well thought. <br />
<br />
I am very excited. I am excited because I plan to make a sitting area beside the pond. Jim and I like to look at the moon. Maybe, we can sit there to look at the moon when the project is done. Actually, I'll wait till the Spring to sit there. There's a Cherry Blossom tree there. I'd like to replace it with a purple flowered Crepe Myrtle. Maybe, Jim can do that for me. There's also a long walk-way that needs to be finished. Maybe, Jim can do that for me, too. There are so much leaves in the yard. Maybe, Jim can help me with that, too. It's about time to put up the Christmas lights, too. I have to go call Jim...<br />
<br />
:))) <br />
P.S. I love you, Jim<br />
<br />
Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-84205678460148436122012-09-13T20:14:00.001-07:002012-09-13T20:14:59.582-07:00Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-84425969182834704852012-08-02T23:42:00.001-07:002012-08-03T00:08:26.838-07:00A Store that Sells Cock MeatJim often said that I think everyone is gay. Not true...not at all.<br />
<br />
How about that guy from the Chicken store? He might be a closeted gay in disguise. And all those church goers that lined up on Wednesday to get a piece of Chicken might be gay to their core, too. <br />
<br />
Last night, in my dream:<br />
<br />
That CEO guy used to have a gay lover. The two used to love hot dogs. All they ate were hot dogs. Big hot dogs, small hot dogs, they sucked on them at every meal. Their moms thought they should expand their horizon beyond the American hot dogs, so they stole all of their sons' hot dogs and kept for themselves and sent their boys to France for more culture. <br />
<br />
In France, hot dogs were so expensive. So, the two became creative and turned to cheese sticks instead. Well, that didn't go well since they were, and still are to date, lactose intolerance. Diarrhea wasn't good for their sex life. Hence, they knew they had to change their diet. <br />
<br />
"What are we going to eat now? Hmmm." <br />
<br />
"But I like hot dogs...I want hot dogs...It's just so fulfilling...I want it!!!" the future CEO to be stumped his feet and whined at his boyfriend. <br />
<br />
"OK, OK...I'll find something," the boyfriend tried to calm down his whiny lover.<br />
<br />
Lucky for them, a little rooster strolled by. "A cock, a cock!!!" <br />
<br />
So, they fried their "cock". <br />
<br />
"I love cock meat!"<br />
<br />
"COQ meat, you mean."<br />
<br />
"Oui, Oui."<br />
<br />
"I think when we go back to America, we should open a fast food chain for all of our cock lover friends."<br />
<br />
"That's a Cock-Filling-Ass idea! I think we should name our fast food chain Cock-Filling-Ass. You know?"<br />
<br />
"But we are church-goers; we can't say Cock and Ass...Oops, I just said it...hehehe...giggle giggle..."<br />
<br />
"Let's settle for Chic Fil A. As long as you and I know what it means, it's satisfying enough...giggle, giggle."<br />
<br />
"Honey, you can go ahead and giggle. You don't have to say 'giggle giggle'. It's annoying."<br />
<br />
"I want to be the CEO. But I want my title to have something related to a cock. I just love cocks. Cocks taste good!!! How about Mr. COQ?"<br />
<br />
"Our cock lover, oops...chicken lover...friends won't think it's becoming of you to use COQ."<br />
<br />
"How about COO?"<br />
<br />
"I guess."<br />
<br />
"Give me a C...Give me an O...give a Q...Give me a COCK, COCK, COCK...Give me your COCK!!!"<br />
<br />
A few months later, a cock meat fast food chain came out, and a lot of chicken loving church goers loved the juice of their cock meat.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
That was my dream.<br />
<br />
I thought only prostitutes make money on cocks. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-73583236251701707482012-05-02T18:44:00.000-07:002012-05-02T18:48:08.918-07:00I AM BEAT!A 65 y.o. man came to see me for the first time and asked me if I could do something for his penis. His has been getting shorter and shorter over the years, and now it's difficult to pull it out whenever he needed to urinate. Well, keep on pulling on it, I guess. If I know how to lengthen penises, I would have done it on mine years ago, though I don't think I need to... :).<br />
<br />
Later in the day, I performed a PAP smear, and there were sperms in the vagina...Why???<br />
<br />
Then, there was this young guy from Nepal. I diagnosed him with Rheumatoid Arthritis. He insisted on having X-Rays of his joints, a whole bunch of joints. He just stared at me when I told him I already knew what he had and didn't need to do the X-Rays. He stared at me again and again. What the heck? It took me more time talking back and forth with my interpreter, and he just stared at me. That's it! Go home and take the medicine. I am not the type who does everything patients want. I had a whole bunch of patients waiting for me, and he kept on staring at me!<br />
<br />
Today was not a good day. I got to the office at 8 a.m., and there already were around 30 patients in the waiting area. Some had appointments; some didn't. It stressed me out when patients had to wait for a long time. It didn't help when the walk-in patients kept on complaining about the wait. Most of the time, it's the Vietnamese patients. They whined and whined and whined. They came after other people, and they wanted to be seen first. "I have to go to work." "I'm very sick." "I'm hungry." "I've been waiting for so long." Etc... Well, other patients before you had to go to work, too. They were sick, too. They were hungry, too. And they had waited longer than you. So, stop whining!<br />
<br />
God, today was all that and more...I am beat!Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-62164204290866317132012-04-15T03:03:00.005-07:002012-04-15T03:52:04.940-07:00Shit Comes from Lack of Communication...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidNEC6W-DWekrUxoDzK0GSIxKD0c8Ur5DlVlSwHcntzxbktOXxpg2qsIhiWw4iyvThTfcuT9Og4j0pRKsfvrtxDS_JAzNKWwIo70S-fqzEa8RziIo3vuyXCw9-smYvs_0e0b5aDvtEO8/s1600/aa.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 183px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgidNEC6W-DWekrUxoDzK0GSIxKD0c8Ur5DlVlSwHcntzxbktOXxpg2qsIhiWw4iyvThTfcuT9Og4j0pRKsfvrtxDS_JAzNKWwIo70S-fqzEa8RziIo3vuyXCw9-smYvs_0e0b5aDvtEO8/s400/aa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731566169090309762" /></a>A couple of days ago, I received a message from someone with an Eastern Indian accent. It was so heavy that I couldn't understand what he was talking about. <div><br /></div><div>"Ju helf accjent! Wai ju wurrie Indeeung accjent?!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Gay Confucius, I have no clue what you're talking about either. <span style="font-size: 100%; ">I thought you're gone for good!"</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">"Wan nook eg mee weewee?"<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">"NO! Get away from me!"</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Anyway, this person said he was calling from some company and that there was some problem with something and I should call back at some number and refer to some ID number. I had no clue. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">So many companies are now outsourcing to India. If they do that, they should at least find employees who can speak clearly. A lot of time, even when they speak a little clearly, they have no clue what they're talking about. It's like they are reading from a cheat sheet. Even when they are supposed to be the technical specialists, a lot of times they make no sense. It's so frustrating. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; ">I still don't know what that message was about. It's very annoying because I don't know whether it was something important. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div>I thought I'm pretty good with understanding people who talk with an accent. I have an accent myself. Jim thinks it's exotic. I do it to humor him. I have no accent when I speak to the people in my family. At my clinic, I have patients from so many different countries. Patients who speak English are the minorities. Excluding my sister and the PA, I have 4 female Hispanic employees, 2 male Hispanic employees, 1 male Nepalese employee, 1 female Burmese, 2 male Burmese, 2 male Vietnamese, and 1 female Vietnamese. It's like an international market when my clinic is crowded with patients, which is all the time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I love my patients. Most of them are indigent but very nice. My overhead is very high because they don't usually speak English. A lot of time, we are like their social workers as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Fook! Geg ong wee duh jstoree!"<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"Hold your horses, Dear Gay Confucius!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway...</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ju ang-nee-wei all duh tyme!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Shut up!!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Ju Jut oop!! Fook! Ju lo jut up ole meng nike mee"</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, 2 days ago, I saw a 17 y.o. Nepalese girl. She said she spoke English, so I didn't need my Nepalese guy to interpret. She had symptoms of a Urinary Tract Infection. So, I gave her a cup to collect some urine for me. I specifically asked her to urinate in there. She said she couldn't. I told her I needed just a little bit. A moment later, she brought back the cup with poop in it. Ew!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, no..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"You told me to urinate," she said with an Indian-like accent.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yes...pee..."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, you should say pee!"</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-56114428295274091922012-03-30T22:56:00.003-07:002012-03-30T23:24:06.781-07:00:D<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2LhxfyeX7UfMVW65NkUoJgIOMNb3oBr57p8mo2lnfxUOYcKMMoliuzfk3fbwpMOXToplUdvSqGpNVKgei4ursgm11A7kqxnrLEjKfdyCd4uMh-2Z1J6D2Coz6T8fkDomK7sRA5zUa7Y/s1600/a.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2LhxfyeX7UfMVW65NkUoJgIOMNb3oBr57p8mo2lnfxUOYcKMMoliuzfk3fbwpMOXToplUdvSqGpNVKgei4ursgm11A7kqxnrLEjKfdyCd4uMh-2Z1J6D2Coz6T8fkDomK7sRA5zUa7Y/s400/a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725941128087113842" /></a>I have not had a chance to talk to Jim today. Neither did I have much opportunity to text him. Today was very busy at work. We had a lot of patients. On top of that, my PA called in sick. By the time I was done with work, it was almost midnight in the UK. <div><br /></div><div>So, I decided to stay up late to do paperwork so that I could talk to Jim when he wakes up. It's 2 a.m. now. That would be 7 a.m. where Jim is. Ah...It just came to my mind now that today is Saturday. Jim won't get up early. Only I work on Saturday. I'll give it a try in 30min. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to tell Jim I miss him and love him very much. Four years ago was when we met. I am happy... :D</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-90025571794874644612012-03-08T16:46:00.004-08:002012-03-08T17:22:59.123-08:00The Gay Man Could Read My Eyes.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNTDT0pcmTl43wN6wv10qcc6UpDf1Vdc_H91M-E3uxGRMZsnSt9z7ug190-FfeSPJ0ylVaecXY-WRfxhv6_bHRqsQAh7U7_0pko4R1aM9INzNP0dGBNiEorpG8WRWcLvCcAGwLaAmzmw/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNTDT0pcmTl43wN6wv10qcc6UpDf1Vdc_H91M-E3uxGRMZsnSt9z7ug190-FfeSPJ0ylVaecXY-WRfxhv6_bHRqsQAh7U7_0pko4R1aM9INzNP0dGBNiEorpG8WRWcLvCcAGwLaAmzmw/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717695693375236130" /></a>My mom wanted to go out to dinner tonight. So, we did. We went to this Chinese buffet place that I usually don't like to go. The food is good. I just don't like it because it's usually too crowded and there usually are some Vietnamese people who know me with whom I do not want to associate. I want to have my dinner in peace.<div><br /></div><div>Tonight, as my family and I walked toward the main entrance, there sat this middle aged Vietnamese guy on the bench smoking. He kept on staring straight at us. I can't stand cigarette smoke. It gives me an asthma attack. So, I hurried in without paying much attention to him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then, every time I stood up to get food, he would stare at me. When I walked past his table, he stared straight at me. I know I look good, but it was just so annoying! (LOL). Then, it occurred to me that maybe he was gay! Maybe, he was trying to talk to me with his eyes! Gay people do communicate with their eyes, right? I think so.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I turned around and nicely winked at him four times.</div><div><br /></div><div>He said: "You Are Taken?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Holy smoke, he could read my eyes!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmtB2BCQBo1f_rHAZzoNJ5DNPBf4x2ahr3LAY8E5NB5HrcCqacx6OOCiR9tTgdrNi6kyKJsC2V3zee4U784E5lsvK3csm_2T9iNpC4F5FqvSoq2JOPpmS8tsul3BKhuvKZSbTOwMfnk4/s1600/2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmtB2BCQBo1f_rHAZzoNJ5DNPBf4x2ahr3LAY8E5NB5HrcCqacx6OOCiR9tTgdrNi6kyKJsC2V3zee4U784E5lsvK3csm_2T9iNpC4F5FqvSoq2JOPpmS8tsul3BKhuvKZSbTOwMfnk4/s400/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717695357266378130" /></a></div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-2551897584236922262012-02-23T06:31:00.006-08:002012-02-23T09:37:16.649-08:00Overloaded<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrcTsSjeJaM9V7MopaYIisrTmeAK_-2UT6-a1P4z7GkNIUyqc9rRezrvPOwRRWpwPx_ATgO84bPI89vYEIs1Y5wfAMQdfwJOSxh09hZRfivJY3sn1ABbN6mXorKIXn2l5qvPg-FYh1ek/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 274px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712338762714240834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrcTsSjeJaM9V7MopaYIisrTmeAK_-2UT6-a1P4z7GkNIUyqc9rRezrvPOwRRWpwPx_ATgO84bPI89vYEIs1Y5wfAMQdfwJOSxh09hZRfivJY3sn1ABbN6mXorKIXn2l5qvPg-FYh1ek/s400/1.jpg" /></a> Today is my day off, and I'm working at the clinic. Actually, my sisters are doing the same thing. I interviewed three Physician Assistants within the last two weeks, and I don't think any of them would join us.<br /><br />The first one was an East Indian newly graduated girl. She seemed OK, but she was asking for so many things when she didn't have any leverage to do that.<br /><br />The second one was the first one's classmate, I found out later. She was Hispanic. This suits my clinic very well. She is from Cuba. She was too confident. I've been a doctor for 16 years, and the only thing I'm confident about is the fact that I don't know much. I have seen enough to feel good that I know I don't know much. Here she is, a fresh-out-of-the-boat physician assistant, being cocky.<br /><br />The third one came yesterday. He was a 65 y.o. Caucasian. He used to be a pharmacist and switched to become a PA since 20 years ago. His resume showed he last worked 2 years ago. Something didn't quite fit, so I checked his record. It turned out that his pharmacy license was suspended for 5 years due to drug addiction.<br /><br />I am a person who believes in second chance because I myself have been given second chances. I was very hesitant, but I was still open-minded. I thought to myself that if he were nice and worked hard, then I would be willing to hire him since he hasn't had any issue working as a PA.<br /><br />So, I interviewed him. He didn't come across as a friendly person. He told me he had a stroke when I asked him why he has not been working since two years ago. But, later, he told me he's been working part-time for a neurologist whose name he didn't list on his resume. Then, I asked him why he switched from being a pharmacist to being a physician assistant. I was looking for him to be honest. Unfortunately, he said in an indifferent manner: "It's boring." I have three siblings who are pharmacists, and they have to work so hard they have no time to be bored. I then asked him if he had any more question for me. He said: "When do I start?"<br /><br />Off I go, looking for more PAs.<br /><br />Now, I have to go back to my paperwork.<br /><br />On a better note, I will get to see Jim tomorrow night.Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-4297293303545324592012-02-21T21:51:00.001-08:002012-02-21T22:27:17.132-08:00Nose Picking<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYVliUqVdBtSUtfC-KggLy1TSFHuFWLCNUKYBIv6Q7lc_vsGG4dD2fkQ56FKbEe-eGYylEkf0CqZ8F68Om_Vd2N7k9Q1Mo4j9gmFePSdWCfqzajuEYnHH8MCwQ4RXE8VDoh6MNJeIRCc/s1600/2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYVliUqVdBtSUtfC-KggLy1TSFHuFWLCNUKYBIv6Q7lc_vsGG4dD2fkQ56FKbEe-eGYylEkf0CqZ8F68Om_Vd2N7k9Q1Mo4j9gmFePSdWCfqzajuEYnHH8MCwQ4RXE8VDoh6MNJeIRCc/s400/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711836227969140418" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuWuys49dJvkpJ9VOLrmwdHn3O-CfOkQ5ltkL3CvK9hc_rNVwJ3hyPQZHTh-7sv1cEU-W_9sGD24hozRMvKOTEFnW_wSU87gPikjAtE5ZHIZFBMMAyKpaojnWPmjuST6F3nhHEmTW-fs/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuWuys49dJvkpJ9VOLrmwdHn3O-CfOkQ5ltkL3CvK9hc_rNVwJ3hyPQZHTh-7sv1cEU-W_9sGD24hozRMvKOTEFnW_wSU87gPikjAtE5ZHIZFBMMAyKpaojnWPmjuST6F3nhHEmTW-fs/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711836086486414002" /></a>People are picking noses left and right. With the presence of the allergy season, I don't think there are anyone who doesn't do it. Even the Queen of England does it. Jim took these pictures. He told me she even looked at it afterward. He said he wasn't sure what she did with it, though. <div><br /></div><div>Today, there was a patient who took his two sons in to see me. For the whole time he was in the exam room, he repeatedly picked his nose. Right in front of me! How gross! Why would you do that when you know someone is right there looking at you? How many times do you have to pick your nose? If you have to, shouldn't you aim it so that you could do it in one shot? Why do you have to look at what you got? Don't tell me you are going to taste it the moment I turn away.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm all gross out, now...LOL. This actually did happen. </div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-30006648742456506462012-02-19T20:02:00.001-08:002012-02-19T20:09:02.216-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCcOrynvuPu5aVtIc9IHuq-V7RV9Bphybo7zAN6cYOG-hL_epB7YAOcu9laTAtiIiyojAVWK3QsihigvW-Fv8cH2RGhhUqH8hyphenhyphenZs38WE7_5zNmUsC_ugCQNVBmWWEC5i3gdJysSCApQo/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCcOrynvuPu5aVtIc9IHuq-V7RV9Bphybo7zAN6cYOG-hL_epB7YAOcu9laTAtiIiyojAVWK3QsihigvW-Fv8cH2RGhhUqH8hyphenhyphenZs38WE7_5zNmUsC_ugCQNVBmWWEC5i3gdJysSCApQo/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711063491340090034" /></a>This is what Jim and I did before he left for the UK.<div><br /></div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-54944027996352013492012-02-15T22:42:00.004-08:002012-02-16T06:45:54.411-08:00waiting...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3W97fd4R7pSLoeKwOtAqHQ1I9YGK3rM9kCQs3OTZ7SPBDaV7uQZ6GxagQzUO8a1QpULZ_J7s5X7MaekcgPYoxubeohHvPHXQHOmWB7aXaYyqzzLlQkPnZNcG2nwds1U1W9pBD9ArSUw/s1600/a.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3W97fd4R7pSLoeKwOtAqHQ1I9YGK3rM9kCQs3OTZ7SPBDaV7uQZ6GxagQzUO8a1QpULZ_J7s5X7MaekcgPYoxubeohHvPHXQHOmWB7aXaYyqzzLlQkPnZNcG2nwds1U1W9pBD9ArSUw/s400/a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709623319535040994" /></a><br />It's 1:55 am. It's almost time for Jim to wake up. I want to text him "Good Morning!" and a big capitalized "I LOVE U!" I miss him very much.<br /><div><br /></div><div>With the time difference between here and the UK and my busy work schedule, it's been difficult for us to talk. From the moment I step into my clinic, I see patients non-stop until it's too late to talk to Jim.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope he's having a good time over there. I hope the British are treating him well.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm here waiting for his hugs.....</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-4054299318925252502012-02-12T17:35:00.000-08:002012-02-12T18:08:21.513-08:00My Boyfriend is Leaving...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLMqOEaw01wkTuseDxi3wyog7srqTkWf8JXIVbqumzwTJFt08fTrYth_BYLYX-YyQC_dPIoNpCrPWJNFZ-4KBDGS4_0JrR0ZCNB5qq4jOa11SaEMYtNC6ioNrqeN5K9uEI2ekc55QH7g/s1600/b.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLMqOEaw01wkTuseDxi3wyog7srqTkWf8JXIVbqumzwTJFt08fTrYth_BYLYX-YyQC_dPIoNpCrPWJNFZ-4KBDGS4_0JrR0ZCNB5qq4jOa11SaEMYtNC6ioNrqeN5K9uEI2ekc55QH7g/s400/b.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708428291923096146" /></a>Tomorrow, early in the morning, Jim will be on his way to the UK. For two very long weeks, I will very much miss him. I want him to know that when he looks down from the plane,<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGKlwP19nWrX4OuCcE8YpVMN7l6Qo3AwM3lh2oay3Z_nVW8vpFknQnUJXIICz9U1P1vv89G-BFsQX8o-uJ0Hm9tk-CC1bEaztE1CvF4H10jqvL5dIwiyWG-tAfWx8LJu1ropXkRf-Rig/s1600/b1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 284px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGKlwP19nWrX4OuCcE8YpVMN7l6Qo3AwM3lh2oay3Z_nVW8vpFknQnUJXIICz9U1P1vv89G-BFsQX8o-uJ0Hm9tk-CC1bEaztE1CvF4H10jqvL5dIwiyWG-tAfWx8LJu1ropXkRf-Rig/s400/b1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708428113798199586" /></a>he'll feel the love I'm sending to him from below. One day, we'll be on the plane together. <div><br /></div><div>I'm working on our vacation. I hope it would be next year some time. I won't be able to take a vacation unless I have three PAs. The new one is very nice and works hard. She's still not good but has good potentials. We'll have another one coming for an interview on Tuesday. Crossing my fingers! If it worked out, I'll just have to look for one more. Then, my life would be less hectic. I'm praying.</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, my sisters and I will continue to be slaves to our jobs...Grrr.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to Jim, I hope his boss will give him some free time to explore the city. I will miss his morning texts. I will miss his texts throughout my work day. I will miss our good night talks. With the different time zones, I don't want him to have to worry about me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love you, Jim.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-225950047800315902012-02-11T18:29:00.000-08:002012-02-11T21:03:25.972-08:00A Cookie Shared<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g2_Etp6pqkGXSye5__DAKxqJADVpGVeIvQ2k7cIQukRPc7a3xaaBfa1w7FQ5ibPR-ezQ70uqac8Exu4OIi2lPUDWlQiE28Y9JPDEok5bbDnErpsOvezreT7Gsh6MhBWVSysC9IalZw8/s1600/cookies.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g2_Etp6pqkGXSye5__DAKxqJADVpGVeIvQ2k7cIQukRPc7a3xaaBfa1w7FQ5ibPR-ezQ70uqac8Exu4OIi2lPUDWlQiE28Y9JPDEok5bbDnErpsOvezreT7Gsh6MhBWVSysC9IalZw8/s400/cookies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708071718576509234" /></a>Jim and I went to Starbucks this evening before we had dinner. I had my coffee; he had his. I like oatmeal raisin cookies. So, I got a big one for myself. Jim didn't want any. We sat at a small table next to the window. I shared the cookie with Jim. Jim asked me if we looked gay. A White guy and an Asian guy sharing a cookie...how much more gay can it get? :D<div><br /></div><div>We didn't look gay, but we looked gay... :))). I really enjoyed that moment, though. </div><div><br /></div><div>We didn't plan it. It just happened that way. I didn't think much about it. But, now, when I think about it, it was a sweet moment. </div><div><br /></div><div>A simple, sweet moment like sharing a cookie with someone you love might be viewed as something repulsive by some others. Isn't that a shame?<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-48732882396842639912012-02-05T11:22:00.000-08:002012-02-05T18:56:37.419-08:00I Need A BreakI've had a hard week at work. Actually, it's been a few months worth of hard work. Actually, it's been a few years worth of hard work. It's just that this week has been harder. I'm not yet burnt out. I'm very resilient. But, I might break soon if this persists. Well, probably not, but I do wish to have some relaxing time. One of our two PAs decided to switch gear and enter a specialty. The other one was new but had more potential than this one. However, she had some poor work ethics and had shown to be a potential liability. So, I quickly let her go. This Monday, we'll have a new one that seems very nice and willing to appreciate team-work. Hopefully, it will work out. I need another one. The demand for PAs in this area is so high that it's very difficult to get a good PA. It's so difficult that I have decided to hire an extra one; that would make 3 PAs. Still, I could not hire them. Most of our patients are indigent, new immigrants, Hispanics, Asians, some Blacks, and very few Whites. This fact does not attract physicians or physician assistants so much if they just quickly glance at our practice. In reality, it's a very worthwhile place to work. The salary and benefits are good. The patients are usually very nice. The staff are helpful and nice. Especially, the boss is extremely nice...:D. Yet, I'm still working so hard. I am praying for two nice PAs to come my way. Yes. God, please bring me two more. I'm so tired I'm not funny any more.<div><br /></div><div>Sigh...</div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, Jim asked me to go clothe shopping with him later today to prepare for his new job. This should be interesting...:D An Asian guy and a White guy clothe shopping together. How gay can it be? LOL...One good thing is that I'm no longer afraid that people might notice us. Well, unless there'd be some Vietnamese around. They love to gossip. Grrr.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, it will be a good break. I will have to go back to my paperwork tonight. I haven't done any paperwork this morning. I went to church, had lunch, vacuumed part of the house, and it's already 2:45pm. </div><div><br /></div><div>2nd shower now...</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-7270223422585041082012-02-02T01:58:00.000-08:002012-02-02T12:22:26.284-08:00Gay Men Don't Turn Masculine When They Get Married.I have read several blogs and got the general idea that a lot of gay married men or gay ex-married men or long-term "bi" men (who name themselves "bi" just because they are married to a woman) downplay the never-married, gay men as often be more feminine, childish, lacking responsibilities as compared to them.<br /><br /><br /><div>Why do they even think that way? People a different. There are all types of people in every group. Even in your own immediate family, our siblings are different from us. In my family, my two younger sisters and I have been more responsible toward our parents than my five other married siblings. Does that make us better children than the others? No.</div><br /><br /><div>Some single gay men are very responsible. Some are less. Just like with the gay married men. If I said that single gay men are more responsible than gay married men because they refuse to hurt another human being by marrying a woman to shield their sexuality, would that make me sound stupid? YES! </div><br /><br /><div>And, to say that gay married men, as compared to single men, are more masculine and less childish is just like saying Asian men are bottoms. Hell, try reading the blogs by married gay and bi men, you'll see how feminine these people can get. It's a huge display of feminine qualities. Do I think it's bad? NO. To each his own. Do I picture some of them as sassy feminine men? Sometimes. Do I think they are bad people because of that? NO. To each his own.</div><br /><br /><div>Just because some gay men choose not to get married, it does not mean they are immature, irresponsible, lack of life experience, or feminine. It could be because they are mature, responsible and have enough sense in themselves to choose not to get married. I bet you a lot of those naked male pictures posted by the gay/bi married men are of single gay men. Do I see people drooling over them? YES. My sister has a friend who is as feminine as one can get, but he is actively seeking to get married. He doesn't think he's gay. I'm waiting to see if suddenly he'll turn masculine once he gets married. </div><br /><br /><div>All that said, to some gay married or ex-married men out there who are seeking love, be a little open-minded. You might be surprised that the best person that comes along your way might be one who has been single.</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7889550743994940314.post-71667924285120199302012-01-26T14:33:00.000-08:002012-01-26T18:47:52.808-08:00Things Often Happen for a Reason<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1wHWEvVyyAXpv0IEH39gKO2mJ-8dJ0WUSkOGf_xEOruJy5mkwPbE7h1HNtNjsK0R5J0cwpCebakCXbO9NLHyGDy-VkkIo4-wuHWJmNmio0jVbpfAK5ek0LsVHMsBiEyQDgO5Uhyjc3Y/s1600/loveisblind.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 283px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702073233399069170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1wHWEvVyyAXpv0IEH39gKO2mJ-8dJ0WUSkOGf_xEOruJy5mkwPbE7h1HNtNjsK0R5J0cwpCebakCXbO9NLHyGDy-VkkIo4-wuHWJmNmio0jVbpfAK5ek0LsVHMsBiEyQDgO5Uhyjc3Y/s400/loveisblind.jpg" /></a>I believe that a lot of things happen in life for a reason. Actually, sometimes I believe that; sometimes I pretend to believe that after I had done stupid things.<br /><br /></div><div>This leads to the story of my first "long-term" boyfriend. I met him through one of the online dating websites. He lived about 9 hours driving from me. He was a very good-looking man in his profile photo. In person, he was not as good-looking but not bad. He was 6 ft, 175lbs, had psoriasis. He was not comfortable about his psoriasis, but I was. </div><div><br /></div><div>Psoriasis wasn't something I had to overlook. I didn't see that as one of the negative criteria in getting to know him and loving him. Yet, there were other things that I tried to overlook. Anyway, he was planning on transferring to my city to get to know me. However, he changed his plan and moved to the Virgin Islands for a job that might have furthered his career. I promised to wait for him for two years. He promised to visit me every three months (He didn't). </div><div><br /></div><div>For the whole two years, I could rarely contact him whenever I wanted to. His phone was usually either off or not answered. His voice mail was pretty much all the time full. He had many excuses. The only time we talked was every night when he got off work, which was between midnight and 1 a.m. So, I waited every night for him so he could unload his burden on me. The conversations were usually about the bad things that happened at his work. On his off days, it was as difficult to contact him. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even though he always said he loved me, his action didn't show it. I was not convinced. I tried to break up with him a couple of times, but he begged me not to, very earnestly. On one hand, I was very frustrated. On the other, I felt bad that he had to work and live in harsh conditions overseas. All I needed was being able to feel that he loved me. That was enough for me to wait for him, even for more than two years. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the end of the two years, he got laid off and moved back to the Northeast. That was the last draw for me. I didn't have to feel sorry for him any more. I wasn't afraid that he was lonely any more. I cut off the relationship. </div><div><br /></div><div>He, to this date, still claims that he loved me very much though admitted he should have put more effort. We are at peace with each other now. But I don't love him. I am not sure if the love I gave him was out of love for another human being or the love for who he really was.</div><div><br /></div><div>I still care for him as a friend. I don't regret the two years I waited for him. I think of this period as the time my ankle was chained up just to be released in time to meet Jim, whose love for me I don't have to question (though he's often MEAN to me).</div><div><br /></div><div>Things often happen for a reason. Some things that seem bad at the time might have been good things for the future.</div>Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07010105665796027175noreply@blogger.com3