Huh?!

This afternoon as I slept in Ronald's arms I knew that our friendship was never gonna be the same again.
I met Ronald a couple of years ago when I was still managing a band called the Skrew-ups. He was the front-man of a band called "Huh?" They were pretty good. He is a punk in the truest sense of the word, the kind of guy who is snotty to authority figures but is so smart and likeable he ends up as the most popular guy in the end. We bonded over common interests, we have the same artistic sensibilities and a similar bohemian attitude towards life. He introduced me to the coolest and most obscure bands. He is not an art snob, not pretentious, nor artsy-fartsy, but he is a truly gifted artist. I love the humor in his paintings, his colorful pop-art canvases. We would spend hours talking about his fledging art gallery, his life as a starving artist, music, movies, obscure videos... he encouraged me to move out of the house, and he was so totally spot-on about his advice as he talked me through it.
We met today after not seeeing each other for months. I had lost my phone and I was only able to get in touch with him again recently through a common friend. So we met up and he told me where life has taken him so far, then went to his apartment, where I normally pore over his SPIN magazines. I thought it was more of the same.
So we were in bed, talking, chatting...and I'm not sure how it happened but I fell asleep in his arms. I could feel his heart beating so fast and I knew that this was the most reassuring feeling that I've felt in a long time. I knew that he had nothing but good intentions. In my head, however, I was cursing myself for putting myself at such an awkward situation. I was afraid that this may ruin our friendship. When I woke up, he didn't want to let go, but I said that I had to think.
I was also worried because he wasn't physically atractive. I mean we connect in many levels, but I'm afraid that I may be too shallow to actually look beyond that. I'm afraid that I'm actually throwing out a good product because it doesn't come in a pretty package. I'm also not sure if I'm actually ready to take the plunge. I'm not ready to enter into a relationship wherein a guy and I dont connect on all levels.
I'm afraid when we meet up next week. The way I act will define our relationship from hereon. I don't want to screw things up with him. I genuinely like hanging out with him. DAmn him. why did he have to complicate things?

All I want(ed) for Christmas (but didn't get)....

were...

three books

The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho
Dress Your Family I Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke

An empty journal

An MP3 player (Baby bro I'm waiting...)

What I got were...

More shoes
More soap thigies
More cosmetics, lotion, and toiletries than I know what to do with that if you bunk me in a bomb shelter for a year I'd still be good.

More clothes, including

...A Darth Maul baseball jersey (duh?)

Focault's Pendlum by Umberto Eco (I'm going through a European authors phase)

Not that I'm complaining. Twas a pretty good yield this year. I may have busted my pockets but at least I got pretty great stuff. As for the things I want...why don't I buy them myself, you say? Well, I'm a pretty cheap bastard. I'll buy them myself evetually if I don't get them by the end of the season. Christmas ain't over til Jan. 6, ya hear?

Guilty Conscience

Last Saturday I was at Club V when Gerard came up to me as I was dancing.We met last week during a birthday party in Tanauan, Batangas, a friend of a friend of my brother-in-law. I thought he was cute, but was weirded out because he was the namesake of my last "serious" boyfriend. I forgot about him.Until we met again that night. Inebriated by alcohol, he decides to put the moves on me. Therein begins the battle between

GOOD GIRL AND BAD GIRL.

GOOD: Oh gosh he just put his arm around me! yuck! Mouth, tell him to get off!
BAD: Lighten up. It's not like you're gonna beome a couple after this! Besides, he's kinda cute
GOOD: He's also named Gerard. That should be an omen.
Later on. We leave the Club to go someplace quiet to talk. After chit-chatting, I learn that he's a legal management student from Lipa, he's 19, and he thinks I'm 20. He even buys me bottled water because I'm thirsty.
BAD: Oh look at him! Such a sweet boy! Look! he even bought me bottled water!
GOOD: I'm impressed with bottled water? I could've bought that for myself. Besides he's nineteen. Remember the last time you went out with an inebriated, horny teenager? That was just a few months ago. Remember how that turned out? Remember two years ago, when you went out with that 19-year old kid? Kids and sex do not have a good track record with you.
BAD: But c'mon isn't it time for just a little fun? When was the last time I flirted with someone? Why not be bad, even just for a little while? He's kind of cute!
GOOD: And barely legal! You'd be lucky if this kid has a condom on him! Besides, you're to young to be Demi to another Ashton!
"Uh, Gerard...you know I don't think that this will work. You see, I'm 25. I've done this before with an 18-year old guy and the emotional and mental age gap was just way too big. I just..."
"Okay. So just for tonight lang?"
"Sige, tonight lang."
"Wait, I'm gonna get something from my friends up in the Club. Wait for me."
Upon his return, he wordlessly leads me to his friend's van. I groan inside. From what I remember about making out in a car, it was a very uncomfrotable experience.
GOOD: A car! A car! Doesn't this say something about his opinion of you?
BAD: Why should it bother me? I have a low opinion of him.
GOOD: HE'S NINETEEN!
As He begins to gnaw on my lips, I push him away. "Look, This is weird. You're nineteen, and this doesn't feel right. I feel like I should't be doing this."
"No it's ok...ok?"
More gnawing. First, second, then third base. Wow! All in the span of five minutes!
GOOD: If his kiss is any indication of his performance, you're in trouble.
"Wait...wait. Let's not go all the way..Ok lang?
"Sure" as he proeeds to lay me down the seat.
A slow, quiet rumble begins to fill my head.
19 nineteen Nineteen NINETEEN NINETEEN ENOUGH!
I come up for air. "Sorry, sorry I can't do this. you're nineteen." I zip up. I kiss his forehead. " That's just way too young for me. Sorry I can't."
I get down and walk away. I never look back.
I guess this means that for all horny drunk teenagers, the muffin shop is CLOSED!

Closer to Home

KC P. de Venecia
April 6, 1988-December 17, 2004

I guess you've seen the news today. The big fire. The Boss's home is a total wreck. The concrete walls of the entire second floor is now a shell for ashes. And a devastating loss no one could believe happened. I last saw her on Wednesday, and nobody had an inkling of the tragedy that was to come.
She was a vibrant teenager, a bit rebellious, typical of her age. I didn't know her well, but she was friendly when spoken to. Very strong-willed. Determined to get her own way.

Tragedy. Many have eulogized what it means, how it is overcome. In reality, we all think that it is far removed from us. We never want to think that death is near our doorstep, that life and death is the very same person. We all want to think that bad things never happen to us, that people who meet untimely deaths had a reason to leave, or that they had, in some way, deserved what was coming. Tragedy is something that happens outside, in the big, bad world.
I know better. I have had the rug pulled under my feet twice. Once, when I learned that I was my mother's bastard daughter from another man. Another was when my grandather, the man I considered to be my father, had died. Both these occassions, life was never the same for me again.
The first time, I felt relief. I felt that life finally made sense, why things were the way they were. The second time was harder. I wanted to crumple, but I had to be strong. I felt the grave responsibility of having to be the stable core of the family. I felt that if I had shown weakness, my mother and grandmother, who both had unresolved issues with my grandfather, would crumble under the burden of his death. I had to take care of the paperwork. I had to bring him from the morgue to the funeral parlor. The van which carried his remains had no partition, and I watched with wonderment as his head bobbed up and down during the journey, how something that was once alive can be dead. I always had a morbid curiosity about the duality of two opposing ideas. Life and death. Destiny and choice. It is a debate that still rages in my head as I drift off to sleep.
I was always determined to live life to the fullest and without regret. With his death, I resolved that I wanted to do just that by being the best person that I can possibly be; to be a bigger me, a force to be reckoned with. To Be Fearless, even of death. I'd like to think I'm inching towards this.

Poor KC. All I know is, that she lived life to the fullest. Maybe that was the reason why she was rebellious. I guess now, she is home. KC, Vaya Con Dios.

Girlfriend

Girlfriend. It's a label I'm not very comfortable with. Whenever I'm referred to as "Cathy, girlfriend ni _____," I tense up like a bachelor who has first heard of his girl's unplanned pregnancy. People are often surprised when they hear that I'm not in a relationship, and I am still surprised that they're rude enough to suggest that I marry. You should see the eyebrows that shoot up when they hear that marriage and a relationship is the last of my priorities. They all look like they've undergone a bad brow lift.

I can give you a million reasons. I guess I've been too burned by past realtionships, or I have a vulnerability issue or a commitment problem. I do want a relationship, I want to be intimate with somebody, preferably someone who fits my MNYKG ideal, but just the idea of being with someone also scares me. No matter how much I would like to be in a relationship, I won't just jump into something just because it's a bandwagon. The benefit of my experience is that I am able to distinguish between a real connection and a physical thing. And I will never settle in a relationship for a connection that is merely physical, no matter how much we try to put substance in it, or a settle because everyone around me has a hyphenated last name. I may bewail that people around me are getting married and are having babies, but when I ask myself if I am ready for the whole shebang, the answer is, not really. If it comes, I can handle it, but it is not something that I will actively pursue.

I have been alone most of my life. I have always been an independent person, a quality which my mother has always resented and grudgingly admired in me. The concept of being interdependent, or reliant on someone is not completely alien to me, but does not sit well with me very easily. Growing up, I've learned the hard way that you are the only resource you can rely upon. You will never fail yourself.

My past relationships ended badly. Past lovers describe me as an "Iron Maiden," that I insist on taking charge too much to the point that they feel emasculated. I never see this as something that is my problem, I see this as their problem because I know that the male ego is easily bruised, and I am never one who will mollycoddle someone for too long because he wants to be babied. Whenever I feel down, I shut up and sit in a corner, then spill my guts to process the situation when I'm ready. I know not everybody works that way, so I guess I need to find someone who understands that.

In my idea of a relationship, I have my own world, my partner has his own world. Our worlds ocassionally meet or collide but we are our own separate identities. We don't have to do everything together, we don't have to be attached at the hip. I am not a particularly needy person. Most Western guys I date understand this concept, but for Filipino men, in my experience, they usually get this concept after a particularly nasty marriage, and by then they have children or some sort of emotional baggage that I'm not ready to deal with.

Lastly, the reason why I still don't have a boyfriend is that I still haven't met anyone who is worth my effort. Period.

Say a Little Prayer

The Philippines has been rocked by two super-typhoons in the past two weeks. Living in the city makes people forget how much we are actually in the mercy of nature. Manila did not really feel the effects of the typhoon, so it is easy to dismiss the human casualties of the storm as something so remote and distant, though the wall separating us from them is alarmingly thin.

Yesterday, Mrs. Boss went on a relief effort for the victims. She and the "ladies who lunch" set, with cameras flashing, gave away food, blankets and some cash to the victims. We made rounds in three Manila hospitals where the rescued were airlifted to safety. The flash of the cameras, the glitzy photo op, I realized that it really is very easy to forget the human face at such an inhumane tragedy. Every person had their own heart-wrenching story to tell, and I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from weeping. The older I get, the more compassion I feel for people; the more empathy I gain, I find it more difficult it is for me to be flippantly bitchy for no reason. I realized why I was there. Journalists are here to remind everyone that there is so much inhumanity in this world and and so much beauty at the same time.

There was so much suffering, so much pain. I wondered how the nurses do it. I couldn't face such horror every day. I don't think I can harden myself to such a degree. And to think, I only do this once a year, during the requisite Christmas photo-op. Everyone we faced had compound fractures; shattered arms and legs after huge logs carried by the swirling flood waters smashed their homes to bits. Children who didn't know that their mothers had died trying to save the youngest child, most probably a newborn. Missing relatives. It was just horrible, I couldn't believe that in Manila, we just had a bit of rain. In Quezon province, only 300 kilometers away, people were dying. A man buried in the mud for 24 hours before he was saved is now dying of lockjaw. A 10 year old girl asking for a Barbie doll. Her little brother, in a different hospital a few kilometers away, was catatonic, in a full body cast. He is too shell-shocked that he was is now absolutely unresponsive to the outside world. A 12 year old girl with a huge dent where the smooth dome of her forehead should be.

It was the loose logs that did most damage, I figured. They were the huge debris that left everybody homeless. No wonder everyone is calling for a log ban. The catch-22: They are also the ones who benefit from all that logging.

In the midst of it all, a weird, touching, and somewhat hilarious miracle. We met a 1-1/2 year old hydrocephallic child. His head has swollen to a circumference of 20 inches. His home was swept away. He was found and rescued in a river near their home two hours later. His fluid-filled head was bouyant enough that he floated, and his head kept him afloat so he was able to keep his head above water. His disease was the reason why he was miraculously saved.

We all have a responsibility to help. In the Air Force General Hospital in Villamor Air BAse, where all the airlifted victims are first brought to before they are transfered to other hospitals, There is a woman is in need of metal plates and screws to fuse her shattered leg together. The hardware would cost her P 15,000. She couldn't afford that, let alone the operation.
Mrs. Boss has written to the PCSO. I don't know how to help her, really. But if you have time, visit her at the Air Force Hospital, she won't be discharged just yet.

After the fact, I went to Starbucks with a couple of friends. Amid the tall buildings in a city that I love so dearly, I marvel at how lucky I am and how the onus of being so blessed requires us to give back.

In the Mood for...2046

In the Mood for Love, Hong Kong director Wong-Kar Wai's evocative period romance set in mid-1960s Hong Kong is a lot like an unattainable woman's allure: sexy, provocative, dangerous without meaning to be.
It starts off with a series of coincidences, when Mr. Chow (Tony Leung) and Mrs. Li zhen (Maggie Cheung) move in the same building, the same floor, in apartments next to each other. In the cramped spaces, they soon form an easy friendship, based on their common interest in martial-arts based stories and novels. They are frequently alone, and in the lonely nights when their spouses are "away on business" they keep each other company. It doesn't take them long to discover that their partners have actually been carrying an affair with each other for some time.
Stung by hurt and betrayal, the jilted embark on a journey of revenge and discovery. How can they turn their backs on their marriage vows? Mr. Chow and Mrs. Li zhen wonder. Familiar with the habits of their better halves, they act out and try to re-create as best they can the circumstances that may have led to the affair. Unknowingly, they develop feelings for each other, and are both surprised to discover that like Mrs. Li zhen's husband and Mr. Chow's wife, they have fallen in love.
Since they have promised that they would never be like their cheating spouses, they mutually agree to nip it in the bud. However, their unkindled passion becomes a ghost that haunts them both. He moves to Singapore to forget about the nasty business in Hong Kong. He extends and open invitation to Mrs. Li zhen, but she decides to stick it out with her husband.
She could not keep away for long. She decides to visit him in Singapore. Like a ghost, she goes into his flat, lingers without his knowledge. She pays him a phantom phone call at work from his apartment, smoking his cigarettes, wearing his slippers, inhaling his smell. She leaves before he comes back from work. They never meet , but he knows, he knows. It was never meant to be. and they both know it.
Years after the fact, Mr. Chow visits the Angkor Wat. According to an ancient custom, he finds a hole in one of the temple walls, spills his unspeakable, aching secret which he cannot bear to tell nor keep, and buries it among the ancients.
Christopher Doyle's moody cinematography is a perfect complement to Wong's highly-stylized direction. The moody music that i frequently saw my grandparents dance to (Nat King Cole, Spanish guitar instrumentals, Quesas, Quesas) only added to the restrained formality binding explosive feelings. It is a film noir romance in overly saturated colors.
It is a valentine about a romance in a more formal age. In a corner, the unattainable woman, with her pouty lips and cool stare, smokes a cigarette.
***

Its sequel, 2046 will be showing in theatres Dec. 8 in the Philippines. Watch out for it.

Separated at Birth?

Sorry, my ego just had to :P

By the way,the one in the magazine is actress/model Milla Jovovich, just in case you've been hiding under a rock.

Bridal Shower

After a lovely dinner with Rene (though he was Dutch we didn't go dutch treat! yay!), off I went to a somewhat sleazy KTV joint with my officemates. We planned a secret bridal shower for my officemate Me-ann. It was held at one of those places along Quezon Avenue. The bar even had a "fishbowl" where, for 500 pesos a night, you could take your pick of pretty ladies whom you would want to sing the night away with. But since we knew the owner, and they had great food, it was the perfect venue for our little party.

While waiting for our friend Marie to bring Me-ann to us (we lured her out of the office early to meet up with Marie, upon which Marie will take Me-ann to the place), we sang a little videoke in our little private room. I got myself an unstoppable case of "meningococcemia," the latest disease scare to hit the Philippines. I was unstoppable on the mike and the dance floor, dancing like crazy and singing my little out-of-tune heart for all its worth.

We were searching for a male stripper to entertain our bachelorette. We set it upon our gay officemate Eduard to do the task. After last minute negotiations and hassles, we were finally able to secure ourselves one.

After laughing and eating and singing some more, Me-ann finally arrived at around 10 pm, more than pleasantly surprised at the trouble we went for her. Oh, she had no idea.

At around 11, the male stripper walks in. Me-ann wonders who the guy is, but our screaming gave us away. All she could do was shake her head. He was in a sheer white Enrique-Iglesias-like shirt. He seemed young, not more than 20 years old. He wasn't particularly cute or muscular, but eh, okay enough.

And then he decides to gyrate to a series of songs...his shirt comes off.
Then his belt.
All us girls were roughly the same age, and NO ONE was willing to play along with mr macho dancer. Not even the bride-to-be! Of course, who else do they recruit?


Then his pants.
The guy was already in his knickers by the third song. Guy and Eduard were having a little discussion after the third song. I later found out how it went.

Guy: (sensing the discomfort in the air) Huwag ko na kayang ituloy ang all-the-way? (I don't think I should go "Full Monty")
Eduard: Ay naku kailangan! Usapan natin yan, di ba? (YOu have to! it's part of the agreement)

All us girls see was the guy suddenly ducking to the restroom. We were worried that maybe the guy was not game to strip it all off.
The last thing I hear myself say as the first bars of the Bon Jovi song "Bed of Roses" plays in the background is "Huwag na kaya nating ipag-all the..."

OH MAY GAD....
AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

There the guy was, completely nekkid! It was like a car crash, I so wanted to look away, but I couldn't! I was agape (and not because of the size. Thanks to the air conditioning he was shrinking by the minute) and I could not just turn away. the room was completely silent, especially when Ed touched the guy's, uhm, thingie. One of my officemates, Sugar, the self-professed virgin of the group kept screaming.
however....
Sugar: (with her hands over her eyes) Aaay! ano ba yan! Malaki ba? Ano itsura?
Marie: *Rolls her eyes* eh tanong ka nang tanong jan tignan mo na kaya (yanks Sugar's hands from her face)
Sugar: AAAAAHHHHHH!!!! *AND SLAMS HER EYES SHUT!* ayoko makita! ayoko!

So after the dance, we fed the poor boy. THe girls were a little too jarred by what happened, and didn't go anywhere near him. Only Eduard mustered the guts to talk to the guy. Hey, the guy was human too, you know? So I struck up conversation.

He told us his name was Albert, but told me his real name was Rupert (ah...ok)
That he was from Aklan, in Manila for a couple of months now.
And strips to his skivvies "as a hobby" (ohkaaaaay)
He said that he is a real-estate broker by day. (sure.)
and a bunch of other crap. He struck me as a country boy lured by the bright lights of the big city, seeking fortune and fame the fastest posible way.

He asked for my number. I didn't want to give it to him. What if this guy gets arrested? What if they check his cellphone and mistake me as a "client?" Oh gosh. He asked from what office we were from, but I merely said that we were officemates from Makati.
But I knew guys like him had chips on their shoulders. I didn't want him to think that I looked down on him because of his job. So I gave in. Turns out he asked Ed's number too. I complemented his nice bracelet. He gave it to me. I didn't want to accept it, but he insisted ( where it went off to the dumpster after he left).

He sent me and Eduard a couple of text messages the next couple of days.

Bubble Boy

It seems like everyone around me is either writing a book, has written a book, just released a book, or wants to be an author. The President of my Toastmaster's Club just released his book "The Heart of Public Speaking" (by Raju Mandhyan, P 250 at Powerbooks).
Mrs. Boss's son Bubble boy released his photobook "POP! Photos of People, (ABS-CBN Publishing, P 200) yesterday at Nuvo, Greenbelt. He decided that he had waaaay too many celebrity photos that he knew what to do with, so he decided to put them all in a nifty little book.

I am not really fond of these kind of events, where Manila's glitterati rubberneck to see what the next guy is wearing, or are too self-conscious about what other people think of them and what they're doing. Your basic socialite party where people stand around, with cocktail of choice at hand, trying to look their coolest.

So what to do at these boring events? People watch!! With my trusty digital camera, i snapped photos of celebrities who came and pretended that I was one of them! My officemate Eduard and I played "Spot the gay guy" to bide time. (Is he? Isn't he? Are they lovers? Is that girl a he?). Enjoy!

My officemate Eduard, Me and author of the day Bubbleboy. Is Eduard gay? yes he is!


Bubbleboy and Agiluz's twin. is any of them...? hahaha secret!


Rcxy BAutista, fashion designer extraordinaire, wedding planner and part of Robbie Carmona's events organizing team. I totally had the hots for him when we were classmates in UST. He gave me the best game of tonsil-hockey I ever played during one drunken night when we were still in school. Yes he is.


TV host John Lapus. Yes he is. (obvious ba?)


Model Nicolette Bell and Former Bb. Pilipinas titleholder Nina Ricci Algao. NO girl na girl po sila!


Rene and Paul, two Dutch guys I met at the party. Rene (the tall guy) asked me out to dinner tonight. I said yes, pero wit ko sha feel! Oh well, why should I turn down a perfectly good offer for free food?

The busty Joyce Jimenez and her "boyfriend for the night" Raymund Isaac. Yes he is!


Model/host Angel Jacob

The Yaparazzi himself! What do you think?

I took more photos but I don't want to abuse your PC's capabilities.

*sigh* hopefully the time will come when I would've seen enough of the world to release my own photobook of my travels.

The Pick-Up

It all started with a manicure.

I needed to gussy myself up for a job interview, so I got myself a french-tipped manicure. When I saw how pretty they were, I had to get them for my tootsies as well.

Wearing my power suit, new two-inch high-heeled pumps, my hair in a neat bun and wearing delicate perfume, I was startled how I almost forgot how much of being female was actually to be feline. How being so feminine forced a tomboy like me to act willowy and graceful (which I'm totally not) and why girly-girls hate being scruffy.

Even after the interview, My pretty, pretty manicure made me more aware how the way I dressed influenced the way I moved. My usual uniform were sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt, and I never really cared that my hair was askew most of the time (hey as long as I smelled nice I was okay).

I became more conscious of how I dressed. I wanted my look to complement my manicure. My t-shirts gave way to my assymetrical blouses, low-cut shirts and pretty earrings and necklaces that I only usually wear on saturdays, or when I party hardy.

Last Friday on my way home to my parents, a man sat beside me on the bus. He was cute, in an Erwin Tulfo-macho sort of way. His biceps bulged beneath his trim black shirt, and his toned gym-hardened body was evident at the way his jeans rippled. Not too beefcake, nice! I thought to myself. His sharp features were hidden behind a pair of black shades.

To my surprise, he struck up conversation. He said that he was on his way to the LTO office in Paranaque to replace his stolen car plate, etc, etc.

Now this was not really out of the ordinary. For some women, like me, it is not. Some of the guys that I encounter are ugly, some look okay, but most of the time, they act no better than your garden-variety manyakis (pervert). The only cute guy that I liked that asked for my number was a guy who was manning a burrito stand in Cubao, who said he owned the franchise. I had a boyfriend then so I just shrugged it off.

So what made this special? The guy was cute! Now girls out there, doesn't it feel great to feel desirable sometimes? Yes yes.

He eventually asked for my number. He even asked me to have lunch with him, but I turned it down because I don't trust people that easily. He offered to take me at least to the jeepney stop, to which I relented. It was flattering. I don't really care if he calls or not. He just made my day.

The power of the pretty manicure lives to this day. This experience has convinced me to ditch my old look and adopt being feline.

It's great to be a girl! Todo na 'to!

Cathy's Night Out

Last Saturday made me realize how the fashion industry is actually run by misogynistic males who equate beauty with pain.

7 pm: All dressed up and ready to go. I was wearing a shocking pink bikini top under a *shiny shiny* silver mesh net top. Since I was wearing *low low* *tight tight* jeans, I had to wear my "secret weapon"--my floss g-string bikini. To wear anything larger would peek through my jeans and give me an embarrasing "peekaboo" situation. To complement my outfit, I wore my super pointy toed three-inch stiletto heel boots, you know, to make me look tall. I look hot.

11 pm: I was supposed to host an event, when it turned out that I was merely hosting a segment of the event. Oh well. I got in free anyway.
By this time, my thong was starting to give me a super-atomic wedgie which I could not discreetly pull out because of my *low low* and *tight tight* jeans.

12:30 am: My sister picks me up for our post-gimik gimik. Since the event from whence I came was held in a seriously SRO venue, my three-inch stiletto heeled boots were starting to pierce daggers into the balls of my feet and my toes. We head to Decades Timog.

1 am: The place is packed, thick with the stench of cigarette smoke, booze and people in various states of undress. I resign myself to another SRO venue.

1:30 am: Sooooo....It's Rn'B and Hip hop night! So the club is jumpin' jumpin. There was no more room at the inn for me, so I dance atop the club's huge bass speakers, which vibrates every time it goes fwooom

2:30 a.m: By the time Kelis tells me that her milkshake brings all the boys to the bar and damned right, it's better than mine, my feet are crying bloody murder. Vying for attention was the biggest and tightest wedgie known to mankind.
Since I was reluctant to weave through the thick crowd to get in line to the restroom all the way at the back of the club, I grin and bear it.
Hey Mama from Black Eyed Peas begins to play, and I cannot very well pass up the opportunity to shake and jiggy with the girl doing the running man beside me. (girl, the '90s was, like, ten years ago?)

3:30: We decide to call it a night and head home. I pass out in the cab.

I still look hot.

Queer Guy for the Straight Girl

I frequently have crushes on gay men.

I don't know why I'm attracted to gay men, but I am! Like the Fab 5 guys....delish!

I think it's because they're well-mannered, well-groomed, well-read, and just have so much personality! I'm trying soo hard to cure myself of fag hag-ism.

I think I always have been attracted to men like these. The first "fag" I fell in love with was my first MU (mutual attraction) guy. We were both 16. I guess in high school, gay guys "try" girls just to see if they're really gay. It has been a curse that has hounded me ever since.

I do have a "body type" in mind with the men I fall for. They're usually tall-ish (around 2-3 inches taller than I am), skinny (but not too skinny), bishonen-ish. A bit of a geek, since passion for something is always attractive. Thankfully, nothing has happened between me and my gay MUs. Even my heterosexual boyfriends have been a bit...effeminate.

My family is exasperated with my choice of men. In fact they think I'm a closet lesbian. My mother would frequently sigh, "Kung hindi ka mahilig sa bakla, sa baklain." If anything, my parents aren't afraid that I'll become pregnant out of wedlock; they worry that I'll end up an old maid.

The heterosexual version of my dream guy is My New York Kinda guy.

I've always wanted to do the New York thing. I think I can totally do the New York thing. Live in Gotham City. I could also do Paris. Manila is getting to be too small for this city girl. I have always been a city girl, so maybe that's why I'm itching to move to a bigger pond.

MNYKG is tall, thin (but not too thin), an intellectual. MNYKG is personified by Ethan Hawke (hotness!) and Adrian Brody. He may be of any race, but I want my man WELL-GROOMED! Not that I'm the best-groomed person on the planet, but most men HONESTLY! should learn a thing or two about hygiene.

I've always imagined me and my perfect man sipping coffee (or tea) in a cafe. Or in our home. chatting without speaking. I'll know him when I meet him.

***

My vow never to be jaded with life is paying off. I'm 25 years old and I still believe in love, and I still believe that I'll meet my soulmate.

I may be a romantic in a cynical world. Funny, I always thought that I was a cynical girl living in a cynical age. I've recently discovered that I'm not cynical. Far from it. Friends who are cynical are actually disillusioned idealists or romantics. I still believe that I have a soulmate. I still believe he's out there. And I am waiting for serendipity to bring us together.

In the meantime, I'll sow my wild oats.

Goddess of Gamblers I

One night, at a gambling den in Eastwood, the goddess of gamblers was amassing a small fortune when she was sussed out by one of her 'patrons'



goddess: excuuuuse me! fifi was not peeking! it's not my fault that you're a lousy gambler!

They came from a tournament of another card game where magic was the name; a world steeped in legend, yellow pokemon mascots and gender-bending, cross-dressing black monsters.

After the goddess won the "sexiest cosplayer award," the Magician, the sore loser, and Goddess (with her pet scorpion Fifi in tow) ate at a typical Japanese eatery (Tokyo Tokyo!), which was seemingly out-of place in the Eastwood time-space warp, a place that looked more at home in California than in Manila.

After the satisfying grub, the Magician, the Goddess and the Sore Loser decided to engage in a game of cards.

The Sore Loser, so sore that he had never won a single game in the entire series, decided to play until 10 pm, desperate for a win

SL: No! I will nt stop playing cards until I win! How can a beginner like Strawberry Marga defeat me at Pusoy Dos with a Pusoy Dos! at that ~!~

So we ended up playing until 10 pm

Of course the Goddess got the last laugh (hahahahaha!)

Take Care of Yourself

After a week of waiting with bated breath, the doctors confirmed it.

My aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I had prepared myself for such a diagnosis, and I prayed and prayed to all the saints in the Baclaran Redemptorist Church, please, please, don't let it be positive. Still, I was more distubed than I actually expected myself to be.

We are a family of strong women. In our family, it really is all about the women. My siblings and I have never really had a strong male influence. As with all my close female relatives, I had a complicated relationship with my aunt (*sigh* how come all my relationships are complicated?) She was my cheerleader. She believed in me when I didn't. At the other side of the coin, she can be a slave driver, she pushed me to places where I'm not sure I wanted to be. Especially when I was younger, I hated the fact that she was able to influence some of my decisions though she's in the US. She's Ms. Quid pro quo. She was my version of a stage mother. Before finding myself, I doubted for a time that my internal voice was actually a personalised mversion of her voice.

I'm not sure why I'm this upset. Why her? There are sick bastards running around the world, killing people, exploiting the environment. They deserve it. They deserve this. Not her. We don't have a history of cancer in our family. She is the first, actually. She has no major vice. Perhaps, some social drinking and smoking in her youth. Okay, she's 51 and menopausal, so her hormones are going awry. but that's it. Maybe this is her constantly sleep-deprived body's way of protest. We have always admired my aunt's ability to stay up in the most dire pa-morningan situations. But this is some vengeance!

I may be a small voice, but to every woman who reads this: Please get a pap smear regularly (I hate it but I do), Please do regular breast-checks (I hate it but I've done so since I had my period). Get tested for sexually-transmitted diseases (haha...I've tried several times to do this but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm too afraid to get this one.)

The problem with my life is, it's never boring.

The Name is Bond...

...the girl band Bond, that is.

I've wanted to see the string quartet Bond in concert ever since I learned that they will be performing live in Manila. After months of teasing, I never thought that Major Silver, my boss' aide de camp, would actually make good on my cajoling and give me a ticket to see them live. I am not particularly fond of classical music, since I usually listen to classical music when I am in elevators, watching impossibly tall and white models make pouty faces on watch and liquor ads on TV, or when I watch old Loony Toons cartoons.

But there is the case of their beautiful English-Korean cellist, Gay-Yee. I had a crush on her. Looking at her sure beats looking at Yo-yo Ma (no offense to his fans).

Looking at Maj. Silver, you would never figure him out as a Bond fan. Surprisingly, I learned months before that he has all their albums, videos. Die hard, baby. He's this gruff military dude who I discovered last night was actually a soft romantic at heart, and surprisingly given the reputations of men in the service, undyingly faithful to his wife, who is working in Taiwan.

He bought the tickets just as the ticket counter was closing, and of course, I was pleasantly surprised when he sent me a text message to meet him at the venue.

There were a disproportionate number of young men apparently into classical music, or so it seems as I observed the concert-goers.

I have always thought the violin, especially the cello, was a very sensual instrument. As the hidden romantic in Maj. Silver revealed himself to me, I realized why he was so attracted to Bond. Well, there was also of course his huge crush on Haylie, on first violin. He bought the P500 cd/vcd set being sold and was exeptionally stiff during the concert. He even called his wife on his cellphone before the concert. In a conspiratorial tone, he admitted that he told his wife that he was going to the concert alone. Heh. I guess I had extraordinary persuasive powers, then. I made a point to tell him during my relentless campaign to see them in concert that it was my birthday, and he HAD to take me to watch Bond :p. It is no bother, anyway, since we saw the concert as friends.

The girls came out in cotton-candy tutu skirts and sleeveless tank tops. MY GAWD GAY-YEE WAS HOOOOT! Haylie was her usual sun-shiney presence. Tania was a bit bloated, probably still trying to shed off post-pregnancy pounds. Eos just glowed, with her very shiny blond hair.

They played the usual repertoire of classical songs, you know, the ones you frequently hear on the aforementioned cartoons and watch ads but don't know the names to except to say "theme from the Lone Ranger" and "Theme from the Night before Christmas." Unusual was the somewhat different arrangement, and their great back-up rock band, who really punked up the staid classical collections.

They even played a couple of disco numbers--on violin! It was great! This was what music is really about--to make you dance, to make you cry, to make you laugh, to make you recall. I may not have known the titles to the songs, but I knew what the music made me feel. It made me feel that I was the figurehead of a mighty ship, crusing on calm waters in sunny weather. The next song made me feel what it was like to wake up next to my beloved on an easy Sunday morning.

Their unusual selection of songs were also a riot! They played on acoustic strings the theme song of the movie Psycho--brilliant!

Of course they played their hits Shine and Victory at the last part. By this time Gay-Yee was wild! Despite her instrument, the biggest and most cumbersome in relation to her Bondmates (pardon the pun), she was shaking her bon-bon in a very delightful way! Jumping around, she played up to the audience, readily posing for their camera-phones, vamping it up to the old gentlemen in front. Of course when they played Victory I just had to stand up and dance along! My hands were sore because of clapping by the end of the night. They even returned for an encore with more disco!

This was not just a concert. It was an experience! Haylie, who adressed the audience at the beggining of the show, was right. Thank you, Bond, for allowing your music to "transport [me] to a strange, exotic paradise. "

On turning 25

What's up by the 4 non-blondes

25 years of my life and still

I'm trying to get up that great big hill of hope

For a destination

I realized quickly when I knew I should

That the world was made up of this Brotherhood of man

For whatever that means

So I cry somethimes when I'm lying in bed

To get it all out what's in my head

Then I start feeling a little peculiar

So I wake in the morning and I step Outside

I take deep breathI get real high

Then I scream from the top of my lungs

'What's goin' on?'

And I say hey...And I say hey what's goin' on

And I say hey...I said hey what's goin' on

And I try, oh my God do I tryI try all the time

In this institution

And I pray, oh my God do I pray

I pray every single day For a revolution

So I cry sometimes when I'm lying in my bed

To get it all out what's in my head

Then I start feeling a little peculiar

So I wake in the morning and I step outside

I take a deep breath then I get real high

Then I scream from the top of my lungs"What's goin' on?"

And I say hey...And I say hey what's goin' on

And I say hey...I said hey what's goin' on

And I say hey...And I say hey what's goin' on

And I say hey...I said hey what's goin' on

25 years of my life and stillI'm trying to get up that great big hill of hope

For a destination

WE ARE THE GEEKS

I think I was a born geek. I learned to read at age 3. English is my first language.

I cannot recall a time I was never a geek. Strange things have always fascinated me, sometimes to the point of mania. My life has revolved from one geeky, semi-socially acceptable interest to another. When I was eight, I was ENAMORED over the animated "The Real Ghostbusters", collecting stickers, stationery. I would religiously watch episodes on Channel 2 every Friday night, listing down the names of the ghosts they busted in my little notebook. In high school, I was hooked on the X-Files after watching episode 3--"Squeeze"--which featured a liver-eating immortal man. I wrote letters to the stars, joined fan clubs, squealed at TV shows, bought magazines. you name it. My obsession lasted two years, then petered out when the storyline got too confusing. After a very bad break-up with an ex, I distracted myself from heartache by indulging in Anime. 24- hour anime watching marathons, blowing a month's pay on new pirated discs of the latest Japanese anime, cosplaying...

Alas, people aren't kind to geeks like me. I was constantly ridiculed in grade school and high school because I was never interested in the things that my classmates liked. Called names, made fun of...I cannot recall the number of years I've spent eating my recess snacks alone, dismissed and lumped together, named in the same breath with the class weirdo; a pale, thin girl who talked to plants. To make matters worse, my sister was immensely popular. Class cheerleader, Crush ng Bayan, pretty and poised. In other words, my exact opposite.

In college I "found myself." More precisely, I discovered that I was no pushover. I was not weird. I was not the butt of jokes. In fact, I found out that I was pretty cool. And pretty hot, too. Geeks of the World, I daresay that I discovered that the GEEKS RULE THE WORLD. We are the Arbiters of Cool. We declare what is in, what is hip. what is cool.

Who first mourned the death of Superman before people started wearing "Death of Superman" logo-ed T-shirts that sprouted everywhere? The Comic book geeks did. Who eagerly anticipated "Meteor Garden," the live-action version of the anime "Hana Yori Dango" before the rest of the Philippines caught on? The Anime otakus. Who were the first people who distributed pirated versions of "The Ring" to the underground scene before the Americans bastardized the damn movie? The movie geeks.

We are ostracized because people fear the unknown. We are so fucking cool that we are ahead of our time. Play with your Heroclix, prance in your costumes, worship Stan Lee. To all closet geeks or geeks in denial, I say, damn convention. Stand tall, stand proud. We are the the mighty, the few. WE ARE THE GEEKS.

Level Up

The great thing about working for a politician is that you get free invites to openings and cocktails. Last Wednesday I went to the 92nd anniversary of the Manila Hotel. Yesterday, despite dodgy relations with China, Taiwan and the Philippine creme dela creme (and I)celebrated its 93rd National Day in Shangri-La Makati.
Why do I love them parties?
1) I get to doll myself up and wear all my pretty cocktail dresses
2) I get to eat 5-star restaurant food for free
3) Who knows? I may land myself a rich husband in these shindigs!
4)It makes me more socially significant than I actually am.

Women usually want fame, money, security. I want power. The power over my own destiny and the power to be able to influence other people on a massive scale. People usually think that ambition for power is a masculine desire. However, I've always considered myself a masculine woman. I don't want to be a politician. Too big a headache, too much trouble than its actually worth. My friend says that I have delusions of grandeur. I protested at first. But upon introspection, he's right.
I am admittedly a social climber. There is no shame in that. Depite tacky associations of trying-hard people trying to finagle their way into high society, I would say that social climbing is only shameful if you don't do anything to work for it. Why should people be ashamed of trying to better themselves, making something out of their lives? Where else do you expect me to go people? If I am to be mobile, I'd rather be upwardly mobile than stagnate or go down. There are only two directions in life. Forward and backward. How would you rather grow? It's part of my quest to be the biggest and best version of myself I could possibly be.

RULE OF THUMB: If you are to social-climb, do it with finesse! Be classy people, and don't push yourself too much into a crowd that doesn't want you. You're better off without them
anyway.

* * *

I have noticed that people usually fall in love with their projection of the person they love rather than the person that they are. I feel that this is a bit too unrealistic. What if the person won't change the way you want? People are too unpredictable, that I know. We can't be contained into statistics and figures. No matter how hard you try to manipulate outcomes, planning can only go so far. Depending on the falliability of the person to determine outcomes is mostly a hit or miss affair. I belong to the school of riding things out and work with what comes out of the situation.

What if the person never matures? Or matures in a way where you are no longer necessary? Needs to grow without your benefit? What if the person never gets that job, changes for the better, stops drinking, stops slapping you around?

My lastest relationships have been with men younger than me. I found out that no matter how hard you try to be patient with them, they will have to grow up by themselves, without you. Without your guidance. I think it's too presumptuous and pompous to think that you can actually influence a person who doesn't seek your help. You can merely be a guide, be there when they need you. I could never push myself into a situation wherein they did not seek my help.

Try to love for who they are, rather than what they can become.

* * *

My office mate told me that I remind her of Milla Jovovich. It must be the lean and scruffy look.

Looking Back...Looking Forward

I have to get this out of the way first...I had a good hair day today! I am soo happy! I was thinking of getting a haircut, then today I had a good hair day, which let me see all the possibilities that my hair can achieve! It looks like Sharon Cuneta's hairdo during her PS I Love You days.

I was scanning my Friendster account and I had the itch to check out my ex's file. C'mon people, who hasn't done it? Friendster has been so convenient in tracking down old connections, you might as well try to sneak in a peek at what your old flame has been up to. But instead of looking at his account, I decided to check his current girlfriend's account. And what I saw made me disappointed in myself. When we broke up, I led myself to believe *mark my words you dickhead* that he will never have it as good as me. It seems that he has found better. I felt good for him in a way but surprisingly bad at myself. Seems that girlie here is a little more academically accomplished than me, though I am prettier (ha!) It's like being in a locker room where girls compare body attributes...except the girl doesn't know that I'm measuring myself against her.
A post-shopping/merienda conference with two of my favorite friends helped me decipher this weird human compulsion. Girlfriend attributed it to the fact where you want to see that you have actually done better than your ex. Smug at your superiority, we bask in the fact that we are "better than the Joneses."

"But what happens when you find out that he actually has traded up...better than you?"

Boyfriend: "Then you go, 'What did she see in that loser?'"

Ahhh...sourgraping. The favorite hobby of the bitter. But I vowed never to return to being rancid.

I know it's bad to compare, whether you're on top or on the bottom rung. We're two different people. If there's anything I've learned living with my sister, comparing two people is like comparing apples and oranges. Well, I'm definitely over him. I guess I've learned my lesson: Never look at an ex's account ever again, even to snoop! It opens old wounds.

Seeing two of my friends attached to the unlikeliest men has got me thinking...Maybe I should consider dating a guy less attractive than I am. I've always had a weak spot for good-looking men, and it seems to have gotten me nowhere. Like other women who have decided to "settle," they probably have found out that guys who are not very attractive aren't too distracted by their ego to lose focus in the relationship. It may be that I haven't found the right guy, but could it be possible that I may be raising the bar too high? That I am actually discounting a lot of great but not very cute men out there? That I am a shallow betch (hi Chona!)? That they know something that I have't realized yet? That they're ahead of the game than I am? These guys may not be my type...

I attended the Toastmasters International-Luzon conference today and this guy who I've known for sometime was totally flirting with me. Some of my fellow Toastmasters thought that we were an item. I just went along with the game. I'm not sure if he wants a relationship or some ass, but it kinda got me thinking...
...Sure he ain't hot.
...but hooking up with him isn't unfeasible.
We have a lot in common...i like him, though not really that way...
...and the thought of sleeping with him doesn't repulse me...
hmmm...

We'll see what happens on Sunday. He sent me a text message tonight, saying that he wished he booked a room at the hotel where the convention was held so we could've "talked all night." Yeah, right.
Oh well... should I settle? Are un-cute men the future?

My Secret Love

I would personally never enter into a relationship that would need to be kept secret. I've gotten burned pretty badly in relationships that needed to be kept secret. It turns out there is a pretty compelling reason for my partner to want to keep the relationship secret...which turns out to be detrimental to my welfare.
There are various reasons why a liaison should be kept under wraps. The three leading causes are:
1) Your paramour is married/attached
2) you live in a restrictive culture/family. This holds especially true in cases where a lover's family is conservative/restrictive or when the relationship is homosexual
3) it is an office romance.
Unfortunately, I have seen cases of all three.

The first one is most hurtful. Not only to the lovers, but to the families (and children) involved as weel. My father's on the side shenanigans, unfortunately, is considered acceptable in Philippine society. Girls are taught to grin and bear it, since anyway, my husband still goes home to me. Rarely do these affairs work, and they only probably do because the lovers were actually probably meant to be with each other. This is one convention that I would probably never defy.

My friend's latest office romance has gotten me to reminisce about Mr. FedEx, a guy I dated while I was working there. Turns out the reason why he wanted to keep the relationship secret was he was shagging the boss as well. A blow to the ego and a blow to the heart. Office romances can work, but it gets awkward as hell when it doesn't. In this type of affair, advices are never really standard, since no two romances are the same. All I can say to this is, love and let love. Hopefully it all works out for the best. Besides, a lot of office romances are actually extra-marital affairs.

Familial/societal constraints usually engender "you and me against the world" type situations, and usually galvanizes lovers toward defiance of society or family. This is a situation where both parties could actually churn out a happy ending. I have a sneaking suspicion that two of my friends are at it again. HAAAY! Bahala kayo! On-off, on-off. Oh well it's none of my business and I don't want to pry, so good luck to you both!

RULE OF THUMB: If an affair needs to be kept secret, there is usually something fishy going on. If you want to live your life in honesty, then don't engage in "secret romances." If you still decide to defy convention, well, good luck, and for your sake, I hope you don;t get caught too soon.

I Dream of Yummy Chocolate-Covered models

I've never really been a Cosmo girl. I'm not a big fan of The Rules either. I prefer looking at FHM. That said....

The Cosmo Bachelor Bash was A BLAST!

The characters of this tale are me, my sister, my friend Leslie, my sister's friend April and her officemate CJ (hot but gay) at around 8...As I was in my best Carrie-inspired outfit (Mango cleavage-baring denim dress and colorful abaca-fiber bag), I scanned the long lines and surveyed the crowd...lotsa women and more than a smattering of pa-mhin gays and "meterosexual" closet queens. After we finally got in, we weaved our way through the crowd, celebrity-spotting...models galore, all unfortunately probably attached. The men there were either hot models, jealous bfs and the aforementioned closet cases. Icky gay bar graduates gyrated and rubbed their pelvises in an attempt to attract women. These model types, they aren't exactly my cup o' tea ya see.

After enduring a sweaty two hours of waiting partly eased by the iced vodkas that flowed freely, the show finally begun. But wait! No! Host Angel Jacob had to keep us waiting even more. She had a few parlor games in store for the crowd. After a lackluster couple of minutes, she announced that there was gonna be an "Astring-o-sol Kissing game." I gasped. I had to enter this contest. I have never lost a kissing game. Ever. And I usually kiss complete strangers!
Three models came in to offer themselves to us (me). I.. just.. had.. to.. get.. in..
So i just strutted up front to volunteer myself. We were supposed to smear and lick off chocolate syrup on the model's "hottest body part." I chose the second model, the yummiest of the bunch. Tisoy and flawless! He actually looked like Carlo, a guy who I've been flirting with but never went out with because of his reputation as a player. I introduced myself to the crowd. Volunteers included a mahinhin-type and a chubby girl in a miniskirt.
Me: May gf ka ba?
Model: Meron.
Me. Uy wag ka magagalit ah. Plese tell her wag shang magseselos, game lang to. Paglalaruan lang naman kita eh. Ok lang ba yun?
Model: (nervously) Ah, Oo.
Me: GAme lang naman to eh. You can touch anything except my breasts (my cardinal rule in these contests)
Scanning him head to toe....
Me: ON second thought, Kahit ano puwede! BAsta game lang to ha, wala sanang magagalit
Model: Ah wala naman! (Ganon!?)
First girl smears chocolate over guys nipples and licks it off. I was strategizing my move.
Me: I want you to lie down on the floor. Ok lang ba yun?
Model : Ha?
Our turn.
He starts to lay on his back. I turn him over (YEA BABY I AM A DOMINATRIX BITCH!) and with his head facing the end of thte runway. I straddle him and pour chocolate on his mouth, his neck, down to his navel. If I could've gone lower I wouldn't mind :P and proceeded to lick him from his mouth to navel. The crowd goes wild. I then wipe off excess chocolate from his chest bowl with my fingers and lick him. John Lapus, whom was seated at the VIP area, was salivating at the model, I swear.
The third girl.
My model was so yummy that I kept on licking him even after our turn was up, as I was thanking him for being such a good sport. He was so sweet, smiling as he handed over wet wipes to wipe off the chocolate smeared all over my face, hands, and cleavage.
Third girl of course had to upstage me. Upright, she straddles the model, gets model to lift her legs, and as she simulated sex, licked him everywhere. Model was definitely not digging the chick, and drew his face away whenever she tried to get close to his lips. Of course third girl won.
As she was distributing the prizes...
Host Angel Jacob (to me): Okay lang naman, at least naka-halik ka! (luka-luka!)
BAck at home base with my friends, my sister, as usual, shook her head. She is more than used to my stupid human stunts (like last Halloween night). My other companions, unused to seeing this side of me, said that "Okay lang na talo ka! Grabe naman yun babae, ano napatunayan nun? panalo sha sa pagka ***-***? " and "Wala shang originality!"
I just smile.
The fashion show was a sweaty hour of models, taunting and teasing the crowd with the promise of "baring it all" but never really doing it. Very unoriginal. In general, I felt that the show was catered toward the gays in the crowd and not the girls, since their on-stage antics was more benta with them than the girls. Lucky Nicolette Bell, every male model strutted in front of her and gave her and Raya MAnanquil (all in the VIP section) special attention. It's too unfortunate that women are generally so uncomfortable with their sexuality that they have to rely on gay men to direct shows to flesh out these fantasies. It was all too beefcake, I no likey. Of course, they had to reserve the top 10 Centerfolds (I love you Brent Javier!) for last. Climax of the show was Christian Vasquez, attached to strings, flying over the crowd ala The Matrix.
After the event, I had my picture taken with Brent JAvier's huge poster in the NBC Tent lobby in a saucy pose (captured by the GMA-7 cameramen). John Lapus called me over. "Di ba ikaw yung babae dun sa stage?" And proceeded to interview me for "The Buzz."
John Lapus: Dalaga ka pa ba?
Me: OO!
JL: Sa Tingin mo magkaka-BF ka pagkatapos ng ginawa mo?
Me: Baka hindi na!
JL: Ano masasabi mo sa kanya (the model)?
Me: YUMMY!
JL: Sino pinunta mo dito?
Me: Si Brent Javier!
Then he proceeded to make me inggit with his Cosmo mag,with an autographed photo of Brent Javier and his notebook.
I never got to run into the model again. I wanted to get his name sana. Oh well... I am currently nervous because I'm dead if Mrs. Boss actually sees me on the BUzz. My aunt too. Oh gosh, I hope they edit my interview and clip. If I get busted, okay lang. I got to lick a yummy chocolate-covered model, with the eight bottles of Astring-o-sol and stained dress to prove it ;p

The Young and the Struggling

It's such a cliche to be young and broke, but I am.

I was so shocked when I received my payslip. I took home P 4,700. Holy cow. How am I gonna live on that much money for the next 15 days? I think that I have to declare a dependent. The Man took P 1,300 from me in taxes. The GSIS took a P800 cut. Hopefully, they'll put it in my pension rather than plunk it down on another pricey painting. I'm all for art but not in the expense of my pension!

Something has got to give. It either has to be Toastmasters or cosplay, and I ain't giving up cosplay. I'm not willing to give up my independence, either. I don't want to move back in with my folks. My rent is adequate payment for my peace of mind. I love my family, it's that I can't bear dealing with them daily anymore. I am determined to pave my own way on the planet.

The same is true with cosplay. I was in the top 10 again (yay!) , but again, a hair away from the top 3. Cosplay has been very good to me. I have consistently placed in the finals of most of the competitions that I've joined but breaking into the top three is troublesome. Of course someone has to show up as a 7-foot robot *rolls eyes* Someone also showed up as KOS-MOS. So there goes my plan of cosplaying her. I need to figure out a way to break into the top three. Maybe its in my choice of characters.

My life now feels like an eternal struggle. Like the theme song of Friends. My job's a joke, I'm broke, and my lovelife's DOA. Hopefully it won't be for long.

Cosplayer blues

HAAaayyyyy....

Me and my stupid expensive hobby!!!!!!!

Here I go again, bitten by the cosplaying bug... I'm so in love with her costume!


I want to do her this December...but then again...where the hell am I gonna come up with the dough? And the red contact lenses...that's at least 10 grand.

Maybe I have to wait until next year.

This particular character...I fell in love with her about two years ago. I had an ex who loved his PS2, and loved the character. I was salivating with praise when he had the gall to say to me... "Alam mo ang astig ng costume na ito...astig ang gagawa nito. Alam mo bagay kay (cosplayer X) yun costume na ito..."
"Bakit naman?"
"Kasi ang amo ng mukha niya, chaka sexy yun!"

It was insensitive, I know...and for the longest time I thought that I can't do her. Hindi bagay. But then I was invited to join a Xenosaga cosplay group.. HaHA!

Venus and Mars

There may be more to this Venus and Mars thing than meets the eye. Sure, men and women are different, but sometimes the communcation gap is so huge that men and women might as well be speaking different languages. I say one thing, a guy hears something else. Same is true in reverse for us girls.
A common problem that I encounter are guys who see me, see the clothes that I wear and hear the way I speak, assume automatically that I'll sleep with them. I felt uncomfortable today because two guys thought that I was "easy." One guy, who has had a serious crush on me for a year now, actually had the temerity to outright ask me to have sex with him and "pop his cherry."

NEWS FLASH PEOPLE: Yes I have sex. Yes I have sex with men.
No I will not have sex with you.

Maybe that wasn't clear enough for you. Yes I am comfortable with my sexuality. Yes I am aware that it is a potent force to be reckoned with. No I am not a slut. No, you can't fuck me. If you can afford to be discriminating about women, well I have the right to be discriminating with men too. DUH! I have taste! I have morals (believe it or not) and most of all, I AM NOT STUPID. I am not a bed-hopping sex-addicted bimbo, and usually, I have a relationship with these men as well. Why guys, you think I'm incapable of a serious relationship? Do you also think that women can't play this game as well as you do? Take me on people and I swear if you fuck around with me, things will get NASTY. I know what rape is, and I'm not afraid of reporting it to the police. I know my rights. I can't be pushed around so easily, honey. I don't buy that double standard stud/slut dichotomy between men and women. But honestly it is a pain when I encounter that discrimination. How I wish other people saw things my way.
A male friend explained it to me this way. Whenever a girl complains that she isn't getting any, a light goes off in the average Joe's brain that goes:
"Wow she wants some. She wants me! She doesn't care who it is right? Me! Me! Me!"
Another case of this disparity is apparent between my friends Mr. and Ms. Breakup, who I've mentioned in my past entry. Mr. Breakup has a "legal impediment," and Ms. Break-up feels that this is a "deal-breaker," something that needs to be cleared before the relationship progresses.
Now to clear this impediment, Mr. Breakup needs a lot of cold hard cash. He isn't really that keen on parting with enough money to buy a second-hand car, inflicting emotional pain on people he once loved and declare on public record that he's an asshole. But because he loves her, he'll do it. Ms. Break-up on the other hand is going through this "if you love him set him free" shit and said that she'll return when everything is free and clear. Mr. Break-up feels that Ms. Breakup is abandoning him at a time when he needs her most. He's got a point. Why go through the whole traumatic process if she isn't there , the reason why he's going through with it in the first place? Ms. Breakup also has a point. And neither seems to be willing to budge, and neither wants to meet halfway.
Men and women belong to such different planets and come from vastly different perspectives and sometimes, speak totally different languages. It's amazing that men and women are able to get along and actually start families. It's not like we live in a gender segregated society!

All dressed up...and nowhere to go

I have all these pretty clothes, but since I rarely go out nowadays, where do I use them?

People compare finding their true love akin to being a stranger in a strange land and finally finding someone who speaks the same language as you do...finally getting "got" when people have never gotten you before. It seems like a serendipitous and a weirldy complicated yet simple process.

I ♥ Chona Mae

A reason why I started blogging was because of Chona Mae. I don't know if she's a faker, but I don't really care. After one of my yahoogroups friends recommended the website, I couldn't stop reading. Many have written valentines for Chona, but to Chona Mae of Valle Verde, I ♥ you!

A raunchy picture of me and my friends during my sister's baby shower. Lolz, some baby shower!


A whole hotel room to ourselves, nothing to do...so we decided to play "playboy mansion!"

The Borne Pessimist

I'm a pessimist by nature. It was my conscious choice to be an optimist, and I daily try to see the brighter side, to be happy, to be grateful of the little things. Being a bummed out person all the time is a bit of a drag, and honestly doesn't really contribute to wittiness or a "cool cred,' despite what others may say. Besides, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of life.

Not that I had anything to complain about lately. I just hung out with friends the last couple of days with my friends, and I was so amazed that I could actually relate to a human being and think outside of myself for sometime, something I was incapable of in the not so recent past.

Two of my friends are nursing a heartbreak, and neither is at fault. Really, circumstances can be a bitch, aint it? It sucks that love is such a confusing emotion. A real mindfuck, being in love. Another friend and I spent yesterday day in a delicious wallet-busting shopping spree. A bitch on the budget...but all those pretty clothes *drools* !

It was fun to be girly and giggly, as Leslie and I were in our best "sex-in -the-city" mode as we tried on outfits.
Leslie: "That blouse is soooo Samantha!"
Me: "Does this dress look a bit too Charlotte for you?'

As we giggled about boys, her new prospect, trashed exes and rated lovers, It made me wish I had more friends like her. I mean, its fun to be able to have friends from all sorts of groups. The goth people, posers, anime freaks, J-rock kids, rockers, hip-hop heads, party people, ravers, potheads, sinners and saints, everyone. It's great to have adult friends whom you could talk to about anything and nothing, to speak volumes but not talk. To banter earth-shattering opinions with or gossip about the most trivial showbiz crap. But lately the adults I've been hanging with feel like little kids in big bodies. And the adults are a bit too guarded. They watch what they say too much, snipe at each other behind each others' backs too often. I miss my college friends. Too bad they're all busy reviewing for the bar, and I have no interest in becoming a lawyer.

I think I have met my first cyber-stalker. This guy , whom I didn't know, sent me a friendster message saying that he read my article on Seeker magazine (issue 3) , and looked for me on friendster, and found my profile on cosplaylab (whose url I only give out to friends who ask to see my work). He asked me when the next cosplay event was and I invited him to come over so we'd meet. Woot woot! I've got a stalker! I've cyber-stalked guys before (Like Discovery Channel's Faking It drag queen Andy), but I've never been cyber-stalked before. Most of my real-world stalkers have become my friends, and it's worked pretty well for me. I hope this guy's cute. I guess I've made it as a cosplayer! Now as a journalist, I'm waiting to celebrate my first death threat.

Blast from the Past

My friend Jac e-mailed me a friendster message pointing the way to Irran's new Friendster site. My curiosity was bigger than my loathing of him, and I got the shock of my day when I saw that he was in an "open marriage."

*Sigh.* I guess we're really not meant to be together. Irran was this guy I knew couple of years ago, fucked up and crazy. Just like me. We had the same interests, and we felt the same something. I'm certain of it. I was crazy about him. I would've slept with him, had his babies, everything. But he told me he was gay. I despaired. The day we broke up was the day I hooked up with Ernest, my secret sex friend. We met the night Irran and I celebrated our break-up, at some dive in Quezon City. I took up with Ernest partly because I wanted to erase the memory of Irran. I felt that Irran was THE GUY, The One. He was my perfect match in every way. But somehow, we couldn't get along. Everyone wondered why. He pushed me away every instance he could get. I was repulsed by him and attracted to him at the same time. I've never loved anyone like I have loved him, and never felt anything for anyone in the same way since. We always argued and argued but somehow I loved arguing. It was both an exhilirating, maddening, and confusing to be with his company.

He said that he could never commit to me because he was gay, or he was gonna be a priest, or whatever handy excuse. he had, and took every opportunity he could get to reiterate that what he felt for me was merely friendship. At first I was hurt, but as time wore on, acceptance crept in, then irritation. I wanted him to stop reminding me that we won't be a couple. Hello, I got the message!

After breaking up with Mervyl, one of the most defining experiences and break-up (life lessons aplenty) of my life, I decided to go straight. No more fucking around (except with Ernest), no smoking, no drugs, no more craziness, live my life straight and narrow. I re-assessed my friendships. Who among my friends really helped me? Who among them would make my life richer with their mere presence? Who among them really loved me? Who am I willing to give up my life up for? I decided that Irran was not one of those, nor did he deserve to be one of them, so I decided to cut my ties loose by squashing his ego, the one thing that has always been his weakness.

Life has been more peaceful. But I have no idea why my hands tremble as I write this.

the anti-Bridget Jones diary

Reactions I got when I told people of my plan to be an ate :

my Sister Camille: Anu yun, ate with benefits?
my friend Marga girl: Okay yun! He needs one!

I went to his place last Wednesday. Marga and I were in the neighborhood and we figured... (hey, we were really in the neighborhood!)
He was shocked to see us, to say the least. Very uncomfortable too...figety and everything. It was an unsettling reunion. Small talk, more lies about how well he was doing. I could clearly see that his family was in desperate straits. Not dire. Desperate. I really wanted to help him. I wouldn't put it beyond him to prostitute himself for material wealth. He is that kind of guy, after all, easily impressed by flashy material goods and the promise of money. My sister said that since we've crossed the line, there's no telling whether we'd fuck again if we're in close proximity. He is probably avoiding me. That's okay. I just want him to know that I'm available if he needs help.
Oh well, I could choose to turn a blind eye to it. I called his house yesterday to check on him and explain my current intentions. His brother answered, as usual, telling me his brother wasn't home. He asked me if I was his brother's girlfriend. Haha. Funny sidebar. He has no idea.
Enough of my fucked-up stuff.
Its funny, how most "singles" columns and movies dedicated to single people are nothing more than rants or justifications of why they're single, and defensive essays on how great single life is. Actually, it is great. I only feel like myself when I'm single. Whenever I'm with somebody, I feel like I have to walk on tiptoes around him. I honestly am not in the marriage mode, or in the relationship mode, or anything of the sort. It would be great to be with someone, but anyone who knows me would tell you that I'm doing pretty great on my own. I may have this weird anti-vulnerability complex, but it doesn't mean that I'm any sorrier or happier than the "smug marrieds." I hate this perception that singles are the walking wounded, pining for someone, longing for someone unknown, or worse, Bridget Jones clones, all man-crazy. I'm man crazy, but not crazy enough to latch myself on the first available penis with the foggiest promise of a serious relationship, or a ring!
The marrieds may live longer, but I'll bet my bottom dollar that 60 percent of them envy me. haha! take that Bridget Jones!

Friends and Lovers

They say that its hard for lovers to become friends; and almsost inevitable for friends of the opposite sex to become lovers. I've never had any experience with this because I've never been particularly attracted to any of my male friends.

The last lover who attempted to become my friend was Gerard the two-timer. Being the fiend that he is, he actually later blabbed on our sex lives to his friends....and you know how guy friends talk and how that gets around...it irritates me to this day to think that someone out there whom I don't know knows something which should've been our private business.

I'm currently weighing my options on whether I should befriend my latest ex-lover, Mr. 18-year old. Is it actually worth the trouble? True, he's a habitual liar. But something his dad screamed at me, while I was seated at their frayed couch, absorbing the indignity of his vicious attack against me (us) kind of struck me: that his son was in need of a good influence in his life . Hey, I could be a good influence. I could be his ate! Hahaha! that would be funny, from bed to bosom, lover to benign madonna. Well, If he cant be my lover, He could be my pet :D

Will it work? After all, we've already crossed the line. is it possible to turn back the hands of a relationship that moved too fast? Sex definitely changes a relationship, ya know. What if he thinks I'm desperately running after him? Kapaaal! feeling mo no? I'm also worried that he'll think that hey, we've had sex already, why not have one more go at it for kicks? Could it be that I actually care about him? Just after two weeks of fucking? I did award him best in missionary in my latest sex evaluation. For those going *huh?*, I evaluate the performances of my lovers every couple of years. It's nasty to make such lists, but it's delicious fun. Trouble is I fall in love too easily, and it takes a long time for me to fall out of love.

A couple of friends who took the friend-lovers route are having trouble navigating the paramters of their (relatively) new relationship (how technical!) Let's see...they say the friends to lovers way ensures for a lasting relationship...

In the beginning

A single girl’s musings on life, love, and search for “The One”

Let me begin with an introduction. Call me Arashi. I’m a 24-year old single girl navigating through Manila’s jungle. I left home almost a year ago in my raging desire to live free from parental constraints. It’s not easy, and my family isn’t very comfortable with my decision, but the freedom I have right now to decide how I want to live my life is soo worth it. I love Makati, my current environs. Sometimes, as I walk to its malls, walk to work, I take in the skyline, and it amazes me that I’m alive. Yes, I’m a big sucker for life and all things human.
The usual guys who are attracted to me (and seem to be attracted to) are spineless freaks who have some weird hang-up about strong women. Right now, I just emerged from a “cool-off” with Mr. 18-year old, a hottie who I later found out was actually still in high school, after a weird, amusing and kinda embarrassing talking-to I received from his father, who caught me and a couple of other girls sleeping over at his son’s room. Okay, okay, it was kinda wrong of us to do so. A week ago I thought I may be pregnant, thus freaking him out and proposing the “cool-off” (what the fuck is a cool-off anyway? Such a state doesn’t exist. You’re either on a break or aren’t)
From the prompting of my friends, who think my life is fodder for a very amusing blog, I’ve decided to put my exploits to cyberspace (as opposed to my personal thoughts, which is strictly pen to paper). They feel that my life’s lessons will serve some purpose. For those who think this is a ‘sex in the city’ rip-off (the novel, not the TV show), well, it kind of is, so to future critics, I say, it is, so what’s the big deal, get over it, and stop reading.
In case my life isn’t exciting enough, I will also put in my friends exploits (using pseudonyms, of course) to record. So friends, really sorry there too.
What else? I love the beach. I love great conversation. I like to travel a lot. I love massages. I don’t like habitual liars, and “feeling close” people. I have some hobbies, like cosplay. Cosplay meaning I dress up as cartoon, anime, comic book and video game characters during competitions. I speak differently from the way I write, and I’m not sure if I would be a better speaker than a writer. I’ve resisted blogging because I feel that my thoughts isn’t public fodder. For this reason, I’d rather remain anonymous. I’m a free spirit, which basically means I’ve stopped caring about what other people who don’t actually care for me think of what I do with my life. I am also a Toastmaster, and the Vice President of membership of my particular club at that. Yes, I have very diverse and strange interests. I find myself strange sometimes, too, especially at the things I find fascinating or amusing. I catch myself at odd moments, relishing some sort of sensory pick-me-up. Last week I was fascinated at this lamppost. The lamp at the corner of Pasong Tamo and Buendia, where the gas station is, to be exact. The inside of its globe had filled up with water because of the storm, and was swaying slightly because of the wind. The water inside played with the light inside the lamp so beautifully, I thought it was one of the most amazing things I’ve seen, and oddly, made me feel grateful that I’m alive to witness it.

* * *

For some reason, my sexual freedom makes people feel that they are free to seek my help for their relationship or sexual dysfunctions. I don’t claim to be that free, nor am I really more liberated than the next gal. Maybe I need to be less open about my sexual secrets. People give me more information than I need to know, or want to know, you know? More later...