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?