Random Nothingness by a Neurotic with Hormones on Overdrive

I am a reality show geek. I love The Amazing Race and American Idol . I think 'manly' geeks and nerds and gay guys are hot. My latest crush on the American Idol circuit is Anthony Federov (as an example). I had a crush on John Peter Lewis from Season 3. I don't like men with large builds. I don't like hairy guys. I think all the guys on Queer Eye are hot. But I think of them all Kyan Douglas is the hottest.

I am obsessed with the shows Manhunt and Outback Jack. I think the guys there are absolutely mouth watering. Keanu Reeves should father my son. Jude Law should help me with a daughter. Aussie and Kiwi guys rule. Their unassuming nature is adorable. My turn-offs are arrogant boors, guys who try too hard to be funny and witty, and men who don't have depth. I am trying to get over my fascination with neurotic men. Based on my most recent dalliances, boys aged 18 to 21 are drawn to me, I think. Compulsive liars should stay away from me. Never try to steamroll me to any cause. I will just resist you and unconsciously (subconsciously?) sabotage your cause with the truth, the most stringent bleach. I am not afraid of speaking my mind, or the truth. However, I am starting to ponder whether I should be more circumspect.

I love British humor, especially Brit-Indian humor. God Bless Star World for exposing me to Parkinson, Coupling, Goodness Gracious Me, and The Kumars at No. 42. God Bless John Cleese. He's the funniest man on the planet.

CSI Las Vegas. Period.

I prefer rockers to hip hop heads. I think Damon Albarn, the guy from Suede, and many others are hot. Pulp singer Jarvis Cocker is hot in an Alan Alda sort of way. Constantine Maroulis from American Idol Season 4 is also hot. I don't think he'll be as hot as he grows older. I think he'll end up looking like Omar Sharif.

I had a crush on Omar Sharif after watching Dr. Zhivago. When I was 12 I had crushes on Mel Gibson and John Malkovich.

I try to watch Oprah when I can .

I like the beach. I like mountains. I prefer the beach. I want to live on a bluff overlooking a beach. I like to dance. Men who can't dance are tipping the balance of attractiveness. Selfish guys suck. Guys who sulk when they don't get their way suck. Men who can't dance well but shake their little booty to their heart's content anyway is adorable. As long as they don't overdo it.

I am not obsessed with sex, contrary to common belief.

I am not afraid of death and dying. When you're dead you won't care what happens around you, anyway.

I like bishonen men. I like 'bishonen-ish' women. The whole ambiguous sex thing is really hot in my book. Surprisingly, I'm not into yaoi or yuri anime. I am not gay, I've never been gay, and couldn't stomach the thought of being in a relationship with a woman. I wish I were lesbian since their relationships don't seem to have a lot of hang-ups.

I am working toward a career in TV or print media. I do voice acting and hopefully, hosting.

I am a big personality. People are intimidated by me.

I couldn't think of anything else.

Hey, Jealousy

Every girl's nightmare is to have another girl go on the warpath because she thinks that you're after her man. Recent example is the Sunshine Cruz/Julianna Palermo scandal that caused everyone to titter behind their backs. Girls are scary to fight with, this I know. When I was in Fedex I had been harassed at work by my ex's now-wife, when I didn't even know that they were together. I have been called a b-ach, a boyfriend-stealer, names through the years.

I have been at the receiving end of this rampage again recently, from a girl . Imagine my surprise when I received a text message last night that said:

"U SL*T. U MADE THINGS WORSE BETWEEN ME N JEI. U R A SL*T BAKIT MO SYA SINABIHAN ABT MY E-MAIL. NOW HE'LL END IT BECOS OF U. PUTA KA."

Even just reading it is painful.

A quick recap.

Jei is an aquaintance from the anime community. He's an animator, working special effects on commercials and films. We became good friends when we became fellow voice actors in a cartoon we're working on called "Jobert."

Jei is from Iloilo, where his girlfriend is working as a Medical Representative. They've been together for six years. Now, Jei is cute, but he isn't my type. The guy is a complete softy, and bleeds easily. I shared my quest for career fulfillment with him, and he has cheered me on in auditions, through job hunts, disappointments, and other career opportunities.
Jo came here for a visit from Iloilo last month. Jei wanted us to be friends so she won't get jealous whenever Jei tells her that he and I are doing something together. I think it backfired, making her feel more insecure and jealous.
On Valentine's Day, she sent me an e-mail pleading me to refuse any invitations to go out with Jei even if he asks me. I felt slighted. How presumptuous of this girl, I thought. So I told Jei of the insult. He has been having trouble with Jo's paranoia for sometime, and he has been pouring out his heart to me, about his troubles, asking for advice and consolation. I keep on telling him to remember what it is about her that drew them to each other.
I understand where she is coming from. A long distance love is very hard to maintain. I am very disappointed in her now. I liked her. I thought that we could be friends. She asked me to keep an eye on Jei for her. And now this? I feel very betrayed.
I wanted to take the high road and refuse to acknowledge the insult. Of course, my sister, who is the palaban (spitfire) among my siblings, was outraged and answered on my behalf.
Whatever happens next, happens. I'm tired of having people throw their crap on me. I already have enough crap to deal with.

Valentine, Schmalentine

Guys, sorry for not posting for some time.

I'm working through major issues right now. I find myself at a crossroads, and as usual, I have no idea of what fork in the road to take. The thing about life is, nothing is what it seems, and there are no guarantees. The dream job is never handed to you, the dream guy is never what he seems, and "friends" stab you in the back. I have lived my life knowing that what's here today is here today. But I am talking about the future here...so here goes...

If there is one thing I know, I will recognize my guy I will be with the moment I see him. Definitely. I'm such a romantic!

After I am able to thresh these out, you will be able to enjoy my regular weekly postings.

Valentines Day is around the corner. Every time Valentines day rolls around, whether I have a boyfriend or not, I wear black to protest the over-emphasis of romantic love in popular culture. I believe that there are more, deeper kinds of love. Filial love, friendships. I treasure friendships greatly, that's why I never mess around with my friends and I try my best to be a good and supportive friend, no matter what my opinion is on how my friends live their lives.
I've been doing this since 1997. I remember V-day 1998 I sat in the bus and nobody wanted to sit beside me because I looked like I stepped out of a coven.

I love freaking people out.

"Its Not the Size of the Wave...Its the Motion of the Ocean"

Author's note: This article was written after certain male readers wanted me to tell them what women really say when they think of men. The opinions cited here are my own. This is strictly a clinical and objective article about a very charged subject. WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

The penis. This appendage is apparently the source of all joy and insecurity among men. Honestly, as a woman, I don't get this penis-centric mentality. The closest female protrusion that would approximate the feelings men have for their penises are breasts. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, breasts aren't really primarily important in the reproductive function. Women can still be attractive without breasts. Just ask breast cancer survivors. Or flat-chested women.

Men are apparently obsessed by it. Whenever conversation with my friends turn into sex, the men in the group will always, always talk about or allude to their little men. Goodness! I guess women aren't really tuned into this whole obsession because most of the time, we just lay there, really. We are at liberty to critique. So probably the onus of giving a wonderful performance in bed falls on men, and when you can't fall back on technique...I guess you focus on size.

From my experiences, whoever coined the phrase "Its' not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean" was only half-right. What's the use of great technique when the little man can't get to where he's going? At the opposite end of the spectrum, what's the use of being genetically penile-gifted if you don't know how to use it? If a man isn't willing to listen to women, and unless women actually speak up, a man will never really improve in bed, no matter how many times he's been sexually occupied.

So here are the three things that I feel matter when it comes to the little man.

Length--But of course!
This matters to a certain extent. Whoever said that it doesn't matter is lying to you.
However, too much of a good thing can be bad. I remember one time I had with an ex boyfriend who was a little above-average gifted. However, since he was practically a virgin (I think I was second on his list), his large size made his inadequate performance all the more painful. My sex sprain took three days to heal. Ouch!
So in the right person, size is a good thing. If you ain't that lucky in the genetic lottery, I'm really sorry, because there isn't much that you can do. However, you still have girth working for you.

Girth--As an old Friends episode has revealed, girls talk about girth. I know my sister and I do.
Girth is okay. It does compensate for size a little...but just a little. If your package is a stub, it doesn't really do much, but at least we'll know its in. Again, too much of a good thing is bad. Even if you're good in bed, too much girth will really hurt!
I once had a friend with benefits relationship with someone who has since moved to the US. He wasn't lengthy, but he was a bit thick. We couldn't do certain positions because IT REALLY HURT! Could I emphasize this enough?

Curvature--The little quirks of the human body could be a wonderful thing!
Yes, Virginia, the G-spot does exist. I discovered this fact due to a fortunate accident I had with a lover, who had a package that curiously curved upward. I wasn't very keen on the missionary position, because frankly, it did nothing to rock my world. But with this guy...whoa.The missionary has made me a convert!That was the night that I had my first multiple orgasm. Three times in a row.

These are the three things that matter when it comes to the variables of this part of the male anatomy. If you are a man and inadequate in one of these aspects, don't fret. Hopefully, any guy reading this could try to determine how to best make use of their little quirks to their full advantage.

The Kiss

A man's kiss is his signature. ~Mae West

A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point. That's basic spelling that every woman ought to know. ~Mistinguett (Jeanne Bourgeois), Theatre Arts, December 1955

The first time I had a real kiss from a guy I really liked happened when I was 17. At the time, all knowledge I had about kissing was anecdotal. I would use my tongue to try to twist a cherry stem into a knot (a skill I perfected at age 19) and would suck the soft flesh of my forearms till it was bruised red and raw. I swooned when the macho hero/boy next door finally kissed the busty femme/girl next door in the volumes of Sweet Dreams and Valentine Romances that filled my bookshelf.

It was everything I thought it was going to be, it was better than I ever imagined. It was fireworks, it was the world buzzing in my ears, it was the knowledge of the forbidden fruit. In fact, in retrospect, it was better than my first sexual experience. I was fortunate to have found myself an experienced kissing partner who had thick lips and knew how to use them.

Then it went all downhill from there.

I've kissed a lot of frogs since that memorable first encounter in my family living room. For one, my technique got better. However, the feeling of that memory ebbed with each guy that followed. Among all the men I've kissed, very few could match that first man's skill, and fewer could arouse the sensations that he did. My next most memorable osculatory exercise happened with that gay guy, who really knew how to plant a knee-weakening smacker on a girl, even if he liked guys better.

Most guys I've kissed probably learned the art of kissing from the instructions they received during "locker-room lessons" with other supposedly more experienced boys. All they probably know about kissing was that they were supposed to put their lips on another pair, plunge your tongue in until you feel your partner's tonsils, then move your lips and tongue around every which way. Horrible. I feel that all those frogs received more action from the crook of their elbow than from a real girl, get my drift? Girls are really doing guys a disservice by refusing to point out their partner's flaws because of shyness, or fear of offending him. I would never hestitate to tell a man that he is a lousy kisser, and instruct him on the fine art of kissing.

The three worst offenders are

Slobberers--Guys who release a cascade of drool on my face and neck

Gnawers--Guys who think that my bottom lip is chewy beef jerky. Dude, whoever told you biting on a girl's bottom lip is sexy was SOOO WRONG! That is okay if done once or twice, but use it upon moderation and depending on the situation.

Hockey players (aka the Gene Simmons)--My tonsils are not a goal to be reached, and the tongue is not supposed to be stiff during a kiss. Our tongues are not battling lightsabers! This is not a contest to learn how far your tongue will go. Activating my gag reflex is not a nice thing to do, believe me.

I believe that I have enough experience in this department to instruct people on how to be a great kisser. So here is what I have to offer to the world to instruct people on how to become great kissers.

Pucker up! Soft lips are the way to go. Try to channel your inner Angelina Jolie. Think that your lips are a cushion to land on.

Be flexible. Go with the flow. Kissing is not an exercise where you have to do three reps of every technique, where there are solid steps to be followed. In fact, there is no one solid technique to kiss. Kissing is an art, where skill meets instinct. Play it by ear. Move your lips to meet where your partner is headed, or comply be his/her unspoken need or demand. Is your partner not giving tongue? Don't force it. Go by it slowly and gently.

When the kissing gets to its most intense, I feel that people suck by instinct. Give in to the sucking, but don't overdo it. A hoover belongs on the neck, not in the mouth, unless you want to swallow a gallon of your partner's spit. If you don't mind it, or if you even like it, you have a weird fetish and are a sick, sick person.

A kiss doesn't solely belong on the lips. There are other body parts that get lonely too.

Be creative! Have fun! A kiss is supposed to be enjoyed! It is the interlude before things to come.

Do it with passion! Kisses convey more than what you think they do. Think about Jesus receiving the kiss of betrayal from Judas. Your partner can definitely feel whether you feel awkward or are not 100 percent present. If you know little about kissing, do not hesitate to play student. Your partner will not think that you're a loser just because you don't know how to kiss properly. This could lead to role-playing, and everyone knows how sexy that can get.

A kiss can mean a lot of things. It can convey joy, anger, love, fear. It can be an effective mood-alterer, and it makes foreplay more interesting. A kiss is loaded with symbolism and meaning, so never ever underestimate the power of a kiss. Honestly, I haven't received a decent or memorable kiss in a very long time. I feel that guys think more about technique than focus on pleasuring the person they're kissing. I do love to kiss people. I hope that the next decent romantic kiss I receive will contain all the fireworks the world has to offer, will wire me in to all the possibilities of the universe.

Until then, with bated breath. MWAH!

The Global Village

As the world knows by now, a giant tsunami has devastated the coasts lying along the Indian Ocean rim. But apart from the tragedy that has befallen more than 500,000 people, I am more amazed at how the human spirit has triumphed over this tragedy, proving that while we can't totally beat mother nature, the human race will always fight back, and survive amidst most terrible adversaries.

As I see the tragedy unfold before the whole world, through the TV screen, newspapers, the internet, and the radio, it is apparent that modern technology has made the whole world a village, a community where people look out for their neighbors.

So far, THREE BILLION US dollars have already been donated worldwide in relief effort. Imagine. This tragedy has involved the over five billion humans living in the planet. I feel that people really do feel for those who have lost loved ones. I guess the scale of the destruction has made people go out of their way and lend a hand, regardless of race or creed. Even the much-maligned insularness of The United States of America, a nation normally apathetic to the plight of third world countries where they do not have any underlying interests in, has melted away. Nations who normally are too wrapped up in their own turmoil have also made their own efforts to help during one of the greatest natural catastrophes of all time.

I feel that this is a glimpse of the world John Lennon has dreamed of.

Though the world is mourning, I have never been more proud to be human.

Tabula Rasa

I constantly amaze myself at the things I am able to do. In 2004 , I have lived alone, self-sufficiently, for over a year! Imagine! When I had only given myself six weeks to be able to tough it out on my own! I love living in Makati, walking through its streets, its malls, and high-rises. Amid the bright lights and the big city, I feel that I am finally an adult, that I have finally found a spot to root myself, my place in the sun.
I am amazed at how people can re-invent themselves. Personally, I am interested how I would evolve in the coming years. As Svelterogue put it, it's time for everyone to do a Madonna and re-invent themselves.
It's been a weird, sometimes arduous, trip. I'm so glad that my mother finally recognizes my autonomy, that I am my own person entitled to be different and to clash with her occassionally. I am so glad that she no longer thinks of me as her doormat or lapdog. I felt that if I couldn't make her see it, I would have a hard time doing much else.
It has been hard to do things to achieve what I want to become. I've always wanted to be someone who emanated sincerity, integrity, love, and truth. I wanted people to take one look at me and know that my essence comes from the truth. I am not quite there yet, not quite larger than life yet, but I think that I am on the right track.

For the next year, I will

try my best to let go of my perfectionism.
Try to forgive myself, be more forgiving of myself and of others.
Stop gossiping for good. Ever since I saw the Passion of the Christ, I realized that gossip is a form of cruelty.
To shut up if I won't say something savory, especially to people I don't completely trust.
To learn that NO is a sentence. Period.
To find whatever my passion is.
To love and love freely.
That its all right to feel scared sometimes.
that its important to have the right people to rely on.
That being an intellectual doesn't necessarily mean that you're a moral dilettante.
That you need to hold on to your guns and hang on for dear life.

I've learned a lot of things in 2004. To everyone who has touched my life, in an either positive or negative manner, thank you for helping me realize myself a little more.

As for the year 2005...

BRING IT ON!!!!!

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.