I am Johnny Cursive.

Bloodthirsty Gay Hero (and Gay Medieval Sex)

2012-01-29T02:23:00.001+08:00

I have been reading "The Steel Remains" every night before bedtime. It is another sword and sorcery fantasy with the requisite swashbuckling heroes and heroines that I love so much. It is written with the grit and realism of Joe Abercrombie and George R Martin albeit the storyline is slightly watered down to an entertaining but less epic concoction. I love, however, that one of the heroes is gay. This fact lends itself to the socio-political nuances in a world where dragons and reptilian men existed and slavery is an economic driver. A lot of the reviews would praise the book but thought that all the graphic homosexual gratuity was unecessary in pushing the story. It did push the envelope, for sure.

I don't mind at all! Talk about a protagonist you can relate to. He wields a powerful sword, trained in open palm combat, snide, cocky, ruthless and troubled. He of course likes cock:

"IF THE DAMP AIR WAS CHILLY, HE DIDN’T NOTICE AS HIS CLOTHES CAME off, as the dwenda’s heated kisses bit their way down his neck and over his exposed chest, as impatient hands tugged down his breeches over boot tops, tore undergarments down to match, as the dwenda knelt and plunged the head of Ringil’s cock into his mouth.

He gasped and flexed at the sudden heat of it, and then as the friction of teeth and tongue set in, he grabbed at the dwenda’s shoulders, sank his fingers into its hair and twisted. A long moan forced its way up out of him, counterpointed by the small grunting noises the dwenda made as it pumped its lips up and down. A cool hand weighed his balls in their sack, and then one long finger split off from the grip and angled up into the whorl of his anus. From somewhere, the dwenda had conjured the slick wetness of spit or something like it onto the fingertip and Ringil felt himself opened and gently impaled with a sly controlling competence that made his heart turn over."

All the gay sex in the story was probably unecessarily plentiful and graphic. This is why I want to express a big thanks to the author for the lovely bonus. The book is well-written and exciting--I recommend it to all gay men who still like some blood, adventure and swashbuckling goodness.

Shoe Porn

2012-01-15T03:40:00.003+08:00

I occasionally check out Esquire's shoe porn section here. I don't jack off to it but sometimes I get orgasm-like sensations. If it's really amazing, my crotch just might tingle.

---

It's only been two days since I last wrote that I'm only limiting myself to one shoe purchase per quarter. Then I did the math (which is something I'm not entirely good at), and found that it is four (4) pairs a year. It dawned on me that my feet will starve. And I will probably regret that last statement because there's a million starving people and I'm sorry for being insensitive.

I bought a pair of shoes today and I almost bought two. The limit is 4 for the year. And it's not even half of January yet. This goal is getting less realistic each day (but there is still hope). I was walking through the Adidas Originals store at Trinoma this afternoon when these crocodile leather sneakers hollered at me:

Some innocent reptile went to heaven for these.

I just had to. It will give me a year of good luck. Yes. I think it will. After all, it is the year of the dragon and the crocodile is its closest living relative. Just ask my neighbor's 2 year-old kid --earlier today I was told that he saw my wooden crocodile paperweight and called it a dragon.

Later this evening before grabbing tickets to Sherlock Holmes, I saw these calfskin Cole Haan brogue chukkas with concealed Nike Air technology. It feels like wearing sneakers. They're at 60% off and with only 1 pair left which happens to be in my size--complete with the extra half inch.

If I wasn't running late for the movie I might have bought it. I asked the staff to give me a 24-hour reservation so I can sleep on it. In a few hours, I will find out if I'll be rocking them to the office soon. That's if the force is strong enough. Tik tok. Tik tok.

---

My brother told me recently that he was able to find some limited edition Kobe Nike Zooms at the Cebu outlet store and he almost lost his mind. He's the sportier (straight) sibling but just as shoe-crazy. Seriously, he won't mind that his shirt is faded and the kili-kili is butas if he's wearing his 8k sneakers with it.

The Rapture of My Overgrown Clitoris

2012-01-12T23:38:00.000+08:00

It has been a while since I got something written down for my little blog. I don't know if anyone would get to read this anymore but I owe it to myself to have paragraphs for posterity--like a photo album of words that I could flip through, just like that new Facebook timeline but with blog entries. I blame my new phone--it has a nice camera so I took myself to just taking photos instead of writing. Or it's just laziness.

---

Which brings me to my first entry for 2012, the first of many until the world ends in 11 months. There's nothing wrong with believing the impending rapture and doing a little carping of the diem. There's a lot of opportunities to seize everyday but one thing that gets overlooked is the opportunity to change, so I'm blogging a couple of things that I would like to improve. I'm writing it down hoping that it doesn't just stay as a flickering reminder in my flaky consciousness. So that with some arcane power of the universe it will manifest. Or serve as a contract with myself.

This year, I will try my best to limit my shoe buying to a maximum of one pair every 3 months. It's a genetic weakness. My mom has heaps of wedges and stilettos, my brother is willing to shell out a premium for some rare Jordans that he would only wear a couple of times, and I have stopped counting when I got to thirty pairs. My sidekick's argument against shoe hoarding is that I only got two feet. My argument is that there's 365 days a year. Nobody's going to win that debate. Now I wanna tell myself that where I'm going is more important than the shoe I'm walking in. Unless it's walking towards the shoe store and there my goes my modicum of resolve. It is fucking going to be a challenge.

I will try my best not to be late for work. I really don't know what's wrong with me. Technically, my shift starts at 1030AM so I get to work at 11. When my shift used to start at 930AM, I would arrive at 10. It doesn't make sense but changing is a bitch. My brain needs a little rewiring.

I need to stop jacking off to lesbian porn. I'm kidding; it is gross.

One thing I won't be changing about myself is my penis. I like the way it is right now. I got mad respect for my sisters who get theirs chopped off. I will never be able to live without mine. I just think of junior as an overgrown clitoris that I can pee with. I don't want to be separated from my clitoris.

And I'll try to blog some more. I like how it loosens the little knots in my brain like a mental massage. I've almost forgotten the quiet enjoyment of not only being alone with your thoughts but also having a personal dialogue that can sometimes be surprisingly enlightening.

Derek Ramsey's used jeans are up for auction

2011-05-02T13:09:00.001+08:00

I have been on a hiatus from this blog for a while. I've been tremendously busy the past couple of months for a few reasons:

I volunteered to transfer to a different department in the same position while being interviewed for promotions which I haven't gotten yet.
I've just started an online store selling protein shakes and made a website too. Boy does that take a while to get off the ground.
I've been spending a lot more time with my HS friends which is always a good thing.
And a host of other things.

***

Since I've began online store, I've been on Ebay quite a lot and found that Derek Ramsey's used jeans are for auction, among other celebrity items, for charity. I'm sure those jeans have been washed already, for those who might be a little stalker-ish. I'm not a big fan of the dude, but like Jude Law, I am his twin who is ~~less attractive~~ less famous. Charot lang!

As of 12:53PM today the highest bid is 800 bucks. Bidding ends in 4 days. Oxygen ain't my style but it is for a good cause. Link to the auction here.

They are also selling Manny Pacquio's autographed used boxing robe (highest bid as of this time is around 5k pesos), but I'm not sure how that will sell to the baklitas. I definitely wish that Manny's robe has been washed and boiled before it was auctioned. But if Derek's jeans haven't been washed, they might fetch a higher price, lolz.

Johnny Parties With Clueless Little Bitches

2011-02-07T17:35:00.003+08:00

I went to my friend Paula's birthday last friday at her fab house in Wack Wack. Aside from being friends with her, I make it a point to be at the party because the food is always excellent (they own a chain of restos) and the booze is fantastic (she owns a mobile bar too). She turned 24 and the guests were 21 to 26 year-olds. I felt like I was the only 26 year old there. I was a dinosaur in a sea of college fresh graduates--clueless little bitches.

It was so much fun to watch pretty and insecure little Povedans strut their stuff around and "make agaw your rainbow shots" or "make kwento about my stupid ate who made kuha my Chanel purse" while their eyes dart around the room for cute boys or which girl wore a shorter skirt. And how super unecessary it was for a little cunt to pretend talking on her cellphone while waiting in line behind us for the CR. Bitch I could see your iphone app icons while you're pretend-talking on the phone.

I think inggit lang ako because she had a naive youthfulness, an Iphone 4, and a real live vajayjay.

My favorite clueless bitch of the party was actually a guy. My old friends and new-found friends were all very friendly at the table and around the circular mobile bar, talking about how rad the LSGH homecoming party was, how 2 of the guys on the table are not your typical Xavierians, how there were so many lesbos in St Paul Pasig, etcetera -- all very straight, high school nostalgia conversations. Until one Kundirana boy had found his hand a little low on my back, and then Vic's hip, and then Adren's rib. Hindi ata nakatiis sa dami ng boys around him. He's also offered na sabay na raw kami umihi para hindi masyado mahaba pila. Failing that, he extended his offer of collaborative urination to my friend Adren. And we all thought Kundirana boy was just an average weed-smoking tarantadong Lasalista.

After a couple of hours I asked his kabarkada to muzzle him because he was clearly embarrassing himself. Sayang kasi may itsura siya. He was so clueless. My friends were calling him creepy, and my best friend Martha gave me a concerned look when he found Kundirana's hand on her boyfriend's knee. But of course, I can't help but sympathize. I wish this guy had a faerie godmother to scold his ass that this wasn't the place you act dumb because it's a friggin straight people party. I wanted to tell him that there's a place called Bed or Obar or Sodom and Gomorrah where his antics would have been a little more acceptable.

I think I saw myself in Kundirana boy. That person could've been me, had I been so repressed and without friends who understood. He gave me and my friends a funny anecdote that we'd all talk about for years. Still, my heart goes out to the kid; I could only hope that he's learned the ways of faerieland by the time we all meet again at Paula's birthday party next year.

Currently on my Bedside Table

2011-02-01T17:01:00.000+08:00

I'm almost done with Passage to Dawn, the 10th and book of the Legend of Drizzt and I almost got sad that I'm about to leave this world that I escape into every night. I thought this was the last book of the series, but then I researched online and it turns out there's at least another 10 more books on Drizzt that I could devour. It made me a very happy geek.

Drizzt is a dark elf and he's my idol. Also, I'm crushing on his friend Wulfgar:

He's the sexiest barbarian in the world. Scandinavian swashbuckling beauty; he reminds me of Pavel Novotny.

It's the 10th book I've read on my iPad and reading from the device has been a pleasure -- I don't need to find the best lighting, I could take my library anywhere, I don't have to worry about lost bookmarks, and I honestly found that I've been reading more than I used to. But like I always say, nothing beats the smell of ink and freshly cut paper. I can definitely see myself purchasing the actual books eventually for posterity. A person's bookshelf can say a lot about a person, and I would like to have a bookshelf with items I've read. Pity if most I've read are softcopies downloaded from torrent for free.

I'm wondering if I should take a break from his world and try reading a different one. I could read Anansi Boys. I could also wait for the release of The Wise Man's Fear in March which I've been waiting for since 2008:

I could take a break from reading downloaded material and grab a hardbound copy of Patrick Rothfuss' second novel. Some books are worth the purchase. I called Fully Booked today and they confirmed that they've already placed orders on the book. I should be able to get a copy next month. My sidekick gave me a Fully Booked gift card last Christmas and I'll definitely use it on this book. I am super excited. None of my friends (except for my lady friend who's also into these books) could relate to my excitement. But that's fine; true luxury happens when something of quality is enjoyed personally and not overtly--like the silken lining of a fine suit, a private island, or a good book.

Ugly Duckling

2011-01-31T15:40:00.001+08:00

I've started a new workout program last week and I can't wait to see how everything turns out after a couple of months. After I had a 2-month hiatus from the gym in November and December, I lost about 12 pounds. For some, that's a good thing; for myself and many others, it ain't cool. I'm one of those guys who lose weight when they stop lifting and 12 pounds of mass lost is a big deal.

I've always been the among the skinniest in the batch, growing up. And we're no small batch -- more than 400 students per grade level. I only started getting meat on my bones in college, and it was a struggle. I wouldn't stop eating until I gagged. If I had boobs and ovaries I'd probably be fine being a skinny bitch, but as a guy, being skinny can be emasculating. I'm a faerie but I still like being a dude. And coincidentally, when I was at my skinniest, I was also at the darkest times of my life. My family and everything else was a mess. So of course seeing myself lose weight exhumes some of the shit and I've associated weight loss with that phase. I was 5'9 130lbs and stick thin with a square jaw so I looked like Skeletor. That's why now I like being within what I call my "happy weight", which is above 160lbs. When I hit 155lbs 2 weeks ago, I resolved to gain back the weight before it goes out of control again.

I drew how I saw myself a long time ago. Baklitang payatot.
Syempre kelangan may dede :-P

I found a great program specifically for my body type and it has to be the easiest program I've done. It's 3 times a week, 45 minutes max per session, and already I've gained 5lbs in less than 2 weeks. I'll strive to be consistent and I hope to surprise myself in 8 weeks. Wow rereading this paragraph makes me feel like such a shallow asshole but I'm a generally nice guy so I cut myself some slack.

That's my ugly duckling syndrome right there. When I was 15 and in my barong, someone mistook me for my mom's 27 year-old secretary's husband. Even my mom said, "matulog ka na ampanget mo na" when Diablo II kept me up late. My good friends snickered across the room about a new haircut and said I looked like a pasyente. Those were enough to bury my self-esteem and fossilize it. I keep this fossil as a paperweight on my desk where I can see it everyday.

Everybody feels bad about themselves from time to time; some people whine about it, some people make money out of it. Some people project their insecurities and start hating on others as much as they truly hate themselves. Some people acknowledge it and work on it. I am definitely a work in progress.

Ayoko maging swan. Gusto ko maging Pink Flamingo balang araw. Chika lang

Life's Question #3: Double Streaming Piss

2011-01-26T00:06:00.002+08:00

It used to be one of my questions, this double streaming piss. A friend of mine verbalized it in Facebook today though, and I was nothing short of amused at the little discussion. Transcript below:

Robi's status:
Why is it when guys piss, sometimes it's two streams?

Juan Carlos: HAHAHAHA
12 hours ago · Like

Mark: Thats called a shot gun....double barrel...lol
12 hours ago · Like

Christian: dude, what kinda of a question is that? :)
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: Dude, shotgun spray is so not what it should do. I hate it when the streams are so far apart that you end up urinating on both sides of the toilet seat. Annoying! I mean what is a penis for if you can't aim properly damnit!
12 hours ago · Like

Ike: Small observation, American men seem to lift the toilet seat up to piss more than Pinoys. I'm I wrong, and if so, why is that?
12 hours ago · Like

Christian: what it is for? primarily to shag, then to piss.
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Christian: Haven't you ever wondered? It's like one of the great mysteries of life.
12 hours ago · Like

Christian: ike: cuz we dont care about the next person even if he has to sit on it. :)
12 hours ago · Like

John Joe: after sex pee. Watch "Me, Myself & Irene" morning after scene
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@JJ: haha I remember that scene. Thing is It's not just after sex, it happens randomly. WHY?!!!
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Ike: haha I do lift the seat up always and it's all because of the double streaming.
12 hours ago · Like

Ike: Robi, to answer your question, during urination two streams of urine may be obvious — one coming from the urethral opening and the other from the site of the abnormal opening (fistula).
12 hours ago · Like

Christian: double-streamer! why do one if you can do 2? right?! :)
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: Someone should make a wide toilet bowl for double-streamers.
12 hours ago · Like

Christian: ‎"double-streaming-toilet, with auto-cover-lifting-button or sensor"
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: No wait, I have a better more economical idea! A pissing funnel!
12 hours ago · Like · 1 person

Christian: ‎... and "butt-hole bio-metrics" for easy auto-user-setting-customization"
12 hours ago · Like · 1 person

Robi: Patent it! We'll make millions!
12 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Ike: Thanks for the explanation, now I can go to sleep at night and will not suffer the fear and anticipation of double-streaming whenever I take a leak.
12 hours ago · Like

Ike: Peeing should be easy, if its painful or if you feel blockage you may have a UTI or kidney stones. Not fun.
11 hours ago · Like

Robi: I want to patent urine accessories like the Pissing Funnel (for double-streamers), a Pissing Scope (that you attach to your pecker for better aim), and a Pissilencer (still working on this idea)
11 hours ago · Like · 3 people

Robi: ‎@Ike: thankfully no pain, just remorse when things get messy.
11 hours ago · Like

Natasha: Robi, You crack me up!!! When are you coming to visit?
11 hours ago · Like

Marlo: Time to get a haircut?
10 hours ago · Like

Gino: please come to market already with these products! it's about time! another similar problem: peeing with a hard-on, and what's worse, double-streaming with a hard-on
10 hours ago · Like · 1 person

Franco: Oh my god, Rob and Chris, I can't believe you don't know the answer to this question. Really? Really?
10 hours ago · Like

Franco: There you go... JJ got it.
10 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Franco: Dude, it happens more often than the morning after sex. One time, I had 3 streams. Messed up, right? I mean, maybe I have a mutant penis or something.
9 hours ago · Like

Franco: ‎3 streams?? Holy fuck, that's one wide penis hole! Your penis hole might actually be the size of an infant's vagina.
9 hours ago · Like

Tim: The trick is make your little soldier your puppet before going and make it say AAAAHHH nice and wide before you pee. Barring that, you might have a little gallstone lodged at the tip.
9 hours ago · Like

Johnny: Yep one of my life's questions too. I think u forgot to clean up el jizzo again lol
9 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Timito: haha Or maybe it's just dried up jizz that causes it to spray like that. Who knows? Kinda reminds me of those upgrades you get in those 16-bit shoot-em-up games from the 90s. Mom, I hope you're not reading this.
9 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Johnny: Green minds think alike!
9 hours ago · Like

Tim: It's exactly that, rob! but you said it happens more often than after sex, which either means you don't wash up and keep your snake jizzed up all day, or you have a problem. ;P
9 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Franco: Thanks for the image man. It's been seared into my mind forever.
9 hours ago · Like

Robi: If word starts to spread that I have a mutant penis, that's fine by me. Just don't give details. "Mutant Penis" should be enough information.
9 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Timito: I practice good hygiene kaya! Nababara lang siguro minsan.
9 hours ago · Like

Winner: coz there's a pube stuck in the eye of the penis
8 hours ago · Like

Robi: ‎@Winner: It's like somebody's placing a small, invisible finger at the opening in a "sssh" manner so that when you urinate, it separates into 2 streams or as I affectionately call the phenomenon, "The Victoria Court Logo Effect".

Johnny Cursive =/= Jude Law

2011-01-20T00:25:00.001+08:00

Back in college, my pretty classmate from social anthropology approached me and told me that I looked like Jude Law. Say what? Shut up bitch I don't fuck the yaya. A couple of years later, when I was on my first job, my flirty gay officemate told me that I looked like Jude Law too. Fast forward two years to a couple of hours ago and one of the staff told me to continue growing my hair out so I could look like Jude Law. I think the moon shines brightly enough every two years to make the minority think that I could remotely resemble Mr. Law. I told a friend of mine what those few people said and I got a laugh and accidental spittle on my face; I know, right?! I’m not sure how I should take it – I mean, come on – Jude Law is a highly successful Hollywood actor and that can only mean that I am ~~his barely there nice try third world panget version~~ a worse actor.

I remember Pokwang saying in an interview some time ago that an American mistook her for Lucy Liu. Pokwang is Pinay and Lucy Liu is a Hollywood actress. Jude Law is a Hollywood actor. Under these guiding principles of analogy, ako si Pokwang with a functioning dick.

Introducing Sebastian: Johnny gets his Pussy

2011-01-14T14:01:00.004+08:00

Let me introduce my new baby: Sebastian Petrovsky. My mom finds the name a mouthful so she calls him Chivas. Sidekick calls him Bingles. Kitty thankfully doesn't get all too confused with all his names.

It's my sweetest little monster. Lilac lynx-point himalayan kitty @ 3 months old

It's about time; I've been trying to get one since March 2010. I couldn't though, because I was then set to go on a month-long Irish trip, then after that my dachshund got impregnated by my neighbor's schnauzer and a new puppy meant that there wasn't any room for a cat anymore.

I love animals. Ako na. ~~Ako na si Tarzan.~~ Ako na si Jane.

Mga Sampung beses ko rin napagparausan to nung

bagets pa ko.

But in our province, on the day before New Year, my mom killed my puppy by accident. She forgot that the little thing just had his shots and musn't be bathed for a week. She asked someone to give puppy a shower to take the stink out and it spelled death for the little one. Devastated, I headed back to Manila to spend New Year's day with sidekick instead.

My mom got guilty but I didn't blame her. She gave me the go-signal to get a cat, especially after a little mouse freaked her out the week before (Actually ako ata ung na-freak out, kaderder naman kasi). I spent a week looking for the right kitty and my sidekick helped drive me around manila to get the feline and his supplies.

My good friend K saw a picture and Sebastian at nainggit sya, bibilihin na raw nya ung kapatid nung pusa. Ewan ko, feeling ko felines just have a natural affinity to faeries.

How I Know I'm Gay #3: Church Edition

2011-01-10T23:01:00.000+08:00

I wasn't trying to be blasphemous or anything. I'm a pretty good practicing Catholic for a 26 year-old faerie. But yesterday when I went to church alone, while I wasn't fully focused on the mass, I absent-mindedly mumbled the prayers: "Panginoon, hindi ako karapat-dapat na magpatuloy sa iyo...ngunit sa isang salita mo lamang ay gagaling na aketch." Halos tumambling ako sa kinaluluhuran ko ampotahh.

My next prayer was me wishing that I didn't pray that loud enough. My faggotry just got confirmed in Church.

Taxi Princesses

2010-12-30T18:15:00.000+08:00

Natuwa naman ako sa dashboard ni manong driver andaming prinsesa

On My Bedside Table

2010-12-19T08:00:00.033+08:00

I am currently reading the Drizzt Do'Urden saga. Idol ko na talaga si Drizzt.

I've just started on book 4 of the 10-episode series, which is also the first book of the Icewind Dale trilogy. This title has been around for a while now and I know it's a classic. It's RA Salvatore's best work. It's also the first time I'm using the iPad for literary consumption and I am loving it. Sure, I don't get to physically flip through the pages, feel the texture of the pages or smell the ink, but I'm able to read clearly at any angle I choose, anywhere I choose. And it's easy to download books online for free. Pucha sa series palang, at 400 pesos per book, I've already saved 4 thousand pesos. By the third quarter of 2011 my savings on books will have helped the gadget pay for itself.

Tapos madali pa magbitbit ng porno kahit saan lolz.

Sobrang dork ko na talaga sa mga ganitong libro. Next halloween I'll make sure to pick up the navy blue body paint and dress up as a drow elf. Ang sexy siguro nun.

My Little Bisayang Baklita -- The Other Baby Gaga

2010-12-17T23:06:00.000+08:00

Oh young Jedi, you are. And the force is strong in you as in grabehhh!

My cute 4 year-old cousin from Mindanao is a baklita. Lady Gaga on the radio got him to dance like a Pussycat Doll. I know a good dancer when I see one and this little baklita could dance. Fuckballs he's already learned the nuances of making sure his toes are pointed, his knees are locked, butt out and shoulders relaxed. In his mom's motherfucking heels. Nalokah kami ng ermats ko. Putangina tumutuwad pa talaga. At mermaid daw sya nung pumunta kami sa beach. Anovuzzz ambata mo pa my little cousin. Mahihirapan ka magkaboyfriend nyan paglaki mo.

Oh how it runs in the family. I hope you grow up to be a happy faerie, little Jedi.

Johnny Cursive's Wish List

2010-11-23T16:36:00.001+08:00

I almost forgot--I have a blog! I shouldn't stop blogging. I've been very busy but I gotta document some stuff from the past couple of weeks so I have something to reread someday.

I got myself an iPad that hasn't left my hands at all. It's perfect for voracious readers. I may have spent around 20K on books the past two or three years but I could have just downloaded them off the internet. How I'll miss the smell of freshly cut paper from brand new novels. I love this gizmo and everything else about it -- the games, the apps, the coolness. I already ticked that off from the list. Next on my list will be an iPhone 4 but that's for next year. HD camera with flash and HD video and plenty of other good stuff in one device? I want. Pero putangina ang mahal. Next year nalang pag mas mura na.

I've been dancing the past few weeks too and it felt great. I like hiphop, tutting and pop and locking. I cannot spin on my head, but I could spin in triple pirouettes ending with a derriere attitude jump like how a man should do it. I credit that to a couple of years in martial arts and a mandatory dance training in high school. I'm heading back to the gym to gain back some of the weight I lost from all the cardio. I probably won't dance like that again until next year. Next item on the wish: a really cool dance gig.

Sidekick and I turned 1 year! It's been an amazing year for the two of us. And it doesn't even feel like we've been together for a year already. Seems like we've only been together for weeks. We have made each other much better individuals like what relationships should do. Next item on the wish: for it to just get better :-)

Pickup Truck and Pickup Lines

2010-10-25T17:56:00.000+08:00

I'm an avid reader of Askmen.com and one of the features today was the week's pickup line:

"You know how some men buy really expensive cars to make up for certain shortages? Well, I don't even own a car."

I love it. I don't own a car. Family cars don't count. link: Johnny Cursive can't drive

***

I'm looking for a car to replace our '97 Toyota Hilux. It's only parked for most of the week and it's only taken out on Thursdays when it's coding, or when we have to go to the farm. But I don't wanna drive it around the city because it's a manual transmission and I've no more time and patience to learn the stick shift. And it's humongous. I'd prefer to drive something tiny, like a cute compact or hatchback. I can't though; the mother won't sell the truck and give me the proceeds to add to a new car unless I use it to buy another truck or something that serves the same purpose. So I'm looking for something that can be taken to the farm and carry coconuts and at the same time be good enough to take around the city. I can't believe my first car would likely be a monster truck.

Johnny Cheapskate: Burberry and Ralph Lauren Upgrade

2010-10-18T17:57:00.000+08:00

I wish I could wear t-shirts to the office; Work requires all my shirts to be collared. Unfortunately, you gotta spend a pretty peso on a really good one.

So I became very happy to find out that I could buy really good Burberry and Ralph Lauren polo shirts at the last place I’d expect to get them—S&R. You’d need a membership to shop, but it’s quite worth it. Obviously there’s not a lot of people going there for pique shirt shopping so you get dibs and a bigger chance that a random manong won’t be wearing the exact same shirt. Everyone already knows that Burberry and Ralph Lauren are of excellent quality and that they look good at the office. The slim fit and the custom fit shirts are perfect. They’re not becklette shirts—they’re pogi shirts. I’ve stocked up on them for work and play, so I might not be wearing my normal plain crew neck shirts as often as I used to. T-shirts still need to be only around 200 bucks, but I allow myself to spend a little bit more for the office.

Burberrys were at less than 800 bucks, Ralph Laurens at less than a thousand. They even still had their Neiman Marcus price tags attached, costing 125 USD originally. My crew necks just got upgraded.

Fagulous (Too Gay?) # 4: Pointy Shoes + Super Skinny Jeans

2010-10-14T10:00:00.059+08:00

It's the fabulous way to get bunions.

I did have a pair of slightly pointy shoes back when I was a teenager; I would probably attribute that to my naivety and not my gaiety. Ok maybe just a little bit.

One thing I've never owned is a pair of jeggings. Those really tight, nut-killing pair of jeans. Pair the pointy shoes with these things and you get half the outfit of Kim Kardashian. Liam Gallagher of Oasis says: “I’m not into the skinny look and pointy shoes. They’re just not on - they’re for girls. I have never worn a pair of pointy shoes in my life and I never will. If you ever see me in a pair, drive over me. That and spray-on jeans”.

There a very small population of men that can pull this look off, i.e:

Johnny Cheapskate: Half-price at Powerbooks

2010-10-13T10:19:00.000+08:00

I like to purchase stuff but I hate spending a lot for it. Like a t-shirt should only be 200 bucks. There are certain things I just have to spend for, like books. I know that books can be downloaded or bought from a 2nd hand book store but I prefer my books to be fresh off the oven. I like it smelling of cut paper and fresh ink after I tear off the plastic. Otherwise, I should at least know who the last reader was if it's a borrowed book. American Gods was a book I bought from the garage sale and it smelled like a hint of storage, mold and male stranger. The residual energy was giving me rhinitis.

So I was glad to find out yesterday that i can use my Citibank points to purchase from Powerbooks! Half can be taken out of my points so I only need to pay half. There's this one hardcover (The Black Prism) that I wanted to buy but it's above a thousand bucks; thanks to my Citibank points, I get a 50% discount. I was already planning to cut my Citibank Visa; it's scary to have a 184,000-peso limit. What the heck am I gonna do with that?! But with this Powerbooks promo and the other promo where I get free movie tickets for every 1.5K make me think of keeping this card for another few months.

Also: Carpe Diem means seize the merchandise

“Life is what happens while you’re making plans” is how Kulay, my favorite OPM band of all time, would sing it. Work on a perfect now and tomorrow falls into place is how I like to think about it.

There’s a danger to enrolling in my school of thought though. Isaiah 22:13 quips the existential caution, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die” to emphasize the impermanence of life. However, I for instance could sometimes take it differently and simply miss out on the future effect of my current actions. Carpe Diem has evolved a new meaning: seize the merchandise.

Thanks to Horace’s Carpe Diem, I am now a proud owner of a credit card debt that’s probably too big for a 25-year old dude like meself. Get now, pay later, is an American pitfall that I checked out and tripped into. I don’t even like most Americans that much.

Apparently, this gold card is both my best friend and my worst enemy.

On my Bedside Table and Some Under It

2010-10-11T11:38:00.000+08:00

Neverwhere was really good. It's dark and imaginative. Nothing says verisimilitude more than a book that stimulates even your sense of smell through hundreds of pages.

Currently reading:

I'm hoping this is good.

I picked it out at random from the shelves of Powerbooks and read the reviews at the back. It seemed like a good book; I'm taking chances at this one.

I'm half expecting Shadowmarch to be similar to David Eddings' Belgariad and Malloreon but I'm hoping it would be better. After a couple modern fantasy Gaimans, I'm craving for high fantasy already.

The Belgariad and Malloreon quintets are a classic; but frankly, they are not excellent. I'm sure if I've read them when I was a teenager I would have enjoyed it more. There's just not enough cussing and sex and gore in all of these 10 books.

Joe Abercrombie's "The First Law" Trilogy serves up enough fantasy and dirt that when you flip the pages really fast, you'll smell blood sweat and sex. Loved it.

There's more blood and sex and magic in Book 1 of this trio than what's good for you but the excess is exquisite.

Johnny Cursive's Uniform

2010-10-06T00:57:00.001+08:00

Except for actual work days; office requires me to be a little more office-y.

My normal uniform for church, movies, beer, diskuhan, eating out and random errands is the 200-peso crew neck shirt from SM department store. It has no frills, no print, no hassle--for the price of a Japanese meal. Nothing but a good fit, neither slutty-tight nor sloppy loose, the way all cotton t-shirts should be regardless of the price tag. I just throw a jacket or a button-down shirt on top if the occasion (or the weather) demands it. I have them in red, military green, black, white, brown, and 3 different shades of blue. I pick them out of the closet by random, cutting deciding time by half. And because I have no hairstyle to speak of (unless semikal is considered a hairstyle), most of the time is spent on the appearance of the bottom half a.k.a. the more important half.

When my navy crew neck got worn out with tiny little holes from machine washing/mangling, I went ahead and got myself a spankin' brand new navy blue crew neck and nobody else but myself could tell that I bought a new shirt. I just couldn't justify spending more than a thousand bucks (or 500 bucks, for that matter) for a goddamn t-shirt.

The Destiny's Child Connection

2010-10-05T12:49:00.005+08:00

Shalala descended from Andre Leon Talley, the most influential

man in fashion, and Jay-Z, hip-hop music mogul. I'll bet my

appendix on it.

I've always known that anyone as effervescent as Shalala could have only descended from royalty.
I am so loving Shalala; I hope he can introduce me to Beyonce to complete my quest of shaking hands with all of Destiny's Child. And yes it includes all the other forgotten members that were left in the gutters.

The best seats in the house HANDS DOWN!

I've already completed part of this quest by shaking hands with lady Kelly Rowland a couple of weeks ago at the Supa Fest concert! Scored Gold tickets thanks to my sidekick that got upgraded to VIP seats thanks to my best friend Adren. And then got 2 backstage passes thanks to sidekick's friend! My girl best friend Martha and I were brought backstage to meet Kelly Rowland and I was star struck to the point of paralysis. At that moment I think I've forgotten how to blink.

Kelly Rowland was stunninGG. Still haven't received my pictures from the official photog tho. Eeeek! I hope Shalala can introduce me to his stepmomma Beyonce one day.

Little Red Riding Horses

2010-10-04T23:57:00.003+08:00

I went home early Friday night after watching Aussy-sounding owls in Greenbelt where there were at least a couple of hundred faeries that came in pairs. Sidekick and I were still ridiculously trying to be discreet so we walked around the mall a few feet apart and one of us was in front of the other. I even left the movie house first because I needed to pee, though it served as excellent cover. I went home immediately after the film.

As I was walking 4 blocks away from my house, I was held up for a few beers with the neighbors—a mix of swarthy swashbucklers, good-looking boys that required no effort being that way, lanky nerdy types and three chicks. Most of them I’ve known since childhood. They were talking about basketball when one of them pulled me into the kanto inuman.

We drank 12 grandes and 4 regular bottles of Red Horse. It was a magnificent hangover.

It’s been a couple of months since the last time I drank with the straight people from the neighborhood. Thank goodness I could speak kanto very fluently. One girl was reprimanding her straight brother for being such a wimp, calling him effeminate. And she called another guy effeminate for not being as tough as the rest of the guys in the group. Thank goodfuckness she didn’t put me in that category or baka nasabunutan ko sya ng bongga. That girl had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

It’s really fun and quite humbling—drinking sa kanto under the stars and lowering your voices when the tanod comes patrolling past you. It was great to talk about topics that weren’t very deep or intellectual but reached you deep enough anyway because you were creating and rekindling connections beyond what’s spoken. The fact that I was a closet case in a sea of people that I'm sure as hell were straight was a non-factor. Everyone has closets. Mine just happens to be bonggang bonggang hot pink and I didn’t care what they hid in theirs. Of course that was until they started talking about cunnilingus which totally grossed me out. That was the only time that the conversation was fun for all the boys and girls except for me.

Currently on my Bedside Table

2010-10-01T15:39:00.001+08:00

American Gods was a good read. It's not epic, but it's very entertaining.

Right now I'm 30% into Neverwhere.

I'm glad I've been through Europe this year so it helps make the atmosphere of the story a lot more tangible. I haven't been through sewers and tunnels lately, however. A lot of the scenes happen in the dark but it's only compelling me to create vivid imaginations within vivid imaginations.

***

Book 2 of the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss comes out March 2011! This is what excites me more than anything. The only reason why I've been reading so much for the past couple of years is because that's how long it's taking for book 2 to come out. The first book I've read out of leisure is Name Of The Wind back in 2009. It was the best book I've read thus far; I found it better than Harry Potter and other books of the epic fantasy genre. I daresay it's a lot better than Neil Gaiman's Stardust. Because I was left starving for the 2nd book that's taking forever to come out, I had to feed myself with Gaimans, Abercrombies, Eddings, Martins and their metaphorical beer buddies. Name Of The Wind is the best book I could recommend anyone.

To Spot a Budding Faerie

2010-09-27T12:52:00.002+08:00

My 1 year old Baby Gaga cousin (from the previous post) was singing again this morning. I approached to play with the fella and as I was stroking the little guy's hair, he pulled my shirt up to peek undernearth. I was still trying to figure out what he was doing until he asked, "dodo?"

My eyebrow jumped a foot above my head. Oh dear buhjeezes.

***

When I was 6 years old, my Yaya took me out for a haircut. The barbershop was closed so she brought me to the salon instead. La Parlorista held out a blue barber cape in his perfectly manicured hands while he looked at me in a way that was boring into my soul. I sat there, bewildered. La Parlorista put the blue barber cape back into the cabinet and pulled out a pink cape for me instead.

Baby Gaga

2010-09-22T13:18:00.002+08:00

My handsome baby cousin just turned 1 this month. He’s got all the good-looks on that side of the family: gorgeous hairline, tan-fair skin, almond eyes and all the good stuff. He’s already taken his first few steps and he’s barely spoken any comprehensible word aside from “ba-ba”, “da-da” and “ga-ga”.

He’s got very poor eyesight though. He has trouble focusing his vision and he prefers tactile interaction before he responds with a smile. Therefore I’m not surprised that his auditory recognition is heightened.

I was singing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” to him this morning. "La-la-La-a-a-a.. Roma-roma-ma-a.. Ga-ga-ooh la la.. Want your bad romance.."

To my surprise, my barely-one year old cousin sang it back to me afterwards! “A-a-a-a-a, ga-ga-ga-ga-ga” and it was not random baby talk. He nailed the staccatos, matched the number of syllables and the note progression was very similar. We were all floored! And he did it more than once. He's already singing before he's learned how to speak. About four times, perhaps. He got an LSS for Bad Romance. My cousin is Baby Gaga! I’m very excited and anxious at the same time. Either my cousin has a natural inclination to music... or a natural inclination to Lady Gaga. I’m so proud of the little monster.

Shalala is Adorrrrable

2010-09-18T14:58:00.002+08:00

My heart goes, "Shalalalala!"

I first heard Shalala in Master Showman. Garalgal kung garalgal. It was extremely annoying but I couldn't switch the channel out of masochistic fascination and curiosity.

Last night was the first time I saw the TV Show "Juicy" and I saw a really funny dude that I bet is hilarious to have in the same room. Turns out, his name is Shalala! It was love at first sight. He's so FLUFFFYYYYY!!! He kinda reminds me of Andre Leon Talley too.

Now I wonder how to get a hold of his contact number so I can invite him to have a few beers with friends. I bet it will be hella fun!

Too Gay (?) # 3: Vibrant Jeans the color of Migraine

2010-09-13T14:23:00.000+08:00

Oh come on. Even this professional male model looks unhappy.

Maybe it's the shade of pink. It's the same color as my metaphorical closet, except this one ain't hiding.

I personally can't werk it so I'm staying 50 meters away from every pair like it was a flammable LPG bus on fire. So props to those who can werk it without burning their nutsacks.

Plus why do you want to pull something off that was already rancid 2 years ago?!

Hung and Over

2010-09-13T00:49:00.006+08:00

I was nursing a pretty awful hang over today. Sidekick said that he didn't like to drink too much because the following day becomes rendered useless. And I agree -- the better part of the day was spent sleeping and drooling and eating and drooling.

Bitch in a bottle

Culprit: Gran Matador Brandy at the Enkanto Inuman. Oh that motherfucking bitch in a bottle. The last time I drank brown liquor (Fundador) was in College, and it almost got me drowning in the pool. I so haven't figured out how to drink the shit properly. Next time I'll stick to beer, tequila and gin. And wine when it just has to be fancy. No more rhum, brandy or whisky lest I perish.

It could have been the ice cream that got everyone drunk.

It was Saturday night. We all met up at Pilyo's and the booze and food were brought out; at the back of my mind an ominous soundtrack started to play as I learned that brandy was the poison for that night. The mental soundtrack was a Tan dan dan dan in a rumbling reverberating bass under creepy broken chords, like in an early 80's thriller. Except this was 2010 and I was probably overreacting.

The first hour was spent in silent drinking akin to a prayer meeting over booze, and once everyone got warmed up it became jovial all around. Until someone had the idea of buying ice cream, and then the drunk boys got creative. In a span of 5 seconds I had a chunk of ice cream south of my navel on the fuzzy areas near where the sun don't shine. Then it was cleanly licked off to perfection before I even got the chance to realize what was going on. At least 5 nipples were ice creamed, including sidekick's; thank goodness mine own titties were spared. I guess that's how you bond with ice cream. It was so much fun but we all should not make a habit out of it. I mean, ice cream is expensive and it's pretty darn sticky!

Heard on TV

2010-09-07T14:04:00.000+08:00

"There's nothing sexier than a a gay man who looks straight" -- Rachel Zoe

I don't disagree with the words of the fag hag extraordinaire

Zombiosis and How I know Im Gay #2

2010-09-02T00:18:00.005+08:00

A couple of days ago, sidekick and I went to visit our friend K at his pad in QC. He's lives alone, doesn't own a TV but he does have a 24" Mac where movies look fab. He showed us his nifty purchase of a bootleg DVD of Final Destination 5 (or was that 4) in 3D, complete with 3D glasses. I got to watch graphic decapitation scenes in 3D and boy was it laugh-out-loud gross.

That's what I do -- if I watch something extremely violent and graphic, like the slow mutilation of a human toe with the help of pliers (a scene from the movie, "Hostel") I laugh really hard. I refuse to believe that I do it out of sheer joy but as a way of coping. My high school English teacher said that it was inconsistency and novelty that made something funny and amusing. Like a friend who slips in a puddle is funny because it was inconsistent from his normal walking. And decapitation by flying car wheel is pretty novel, eliciting a laugh reflex from me. Laughter is better than terror, definitely.

You'll be America's Next Top Model. After I eat your brains

Then we watched 28 Weeks Later. It was dope and violent too. Zombies that can run really fast is fucking scary, man. My inner fag was screaming its way out in between bouts of laughter and curses. Oh wow it becomes even worse in the moviehouse.

***

How I know I'm Gay #2:

I tried to sketch a creepy zombie.

My zombie turned out looking like Tyra Banks complete with the big forehead; I had to give her a widow's peak so it didn't look too much like her. I was like, "What the hell is Tyra doing on my zombie sketch?!" When you try to sketch a zombie and it turns out looking like Tyra, you know you're a fag.

Johnny Gets a Free and Non-Surgical Liposuction

2010-08-31T17:37:00.002+08:00

I suffered from Gastroenteritis for 5 days last week. This was accompanied by fever and vomiting and diarrhea. It was awful; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I am so much better now. Also, I lost weight. I’ve a smaller waistline as a result--back to a size 30-31 with some definition. My officemates were pointing at a chiseled jaw line. Some dig it, some don’t. Although the lean look is great for beach, it’s not something I like to rock.

I’m off to the gym today to go back and pack on the pounds I lost.

How apt that this entry is tagged under word vomit.

To Romeo's Planet and Back Again

2010-08-24T00:35:00.011+08:00

It's been what, almost a year since I last traversed Planet Romeo. It started out at G4M -- I was playing DOTA in the internet shop a few blocks away from home when I noticed some dude browsing guys4men. After a few games trying to master Leviathan Tidehunter, I went straight home to check out the website. I was 3 years celibate at that time. My abstention ended a couple of days later.

Good enough for not just a weekend lay, but I'm not complaining if that's all I get.

-- status message from ye ol' profile from the olden times, circa 2009

Cursive's Old Profile
(and it had to be cocky as fuck, of course)

I prefer being serious with someone I really, really like. And since I do not have that right now, I am all about having fun in the interim by absence of choice. I found that it's fairly easy for me to get laid (If you're impeccably straight-acting, and if you've got a brain, a fit body, a nice face and an ample cock, you wouldn't find getting laid very difficult). With the right person I could easily fall back to my serial monogamous default. But I won't settle for anything less than what I deserve even if it takes me a long time. Nobody ever should =)

Now I do hope to meet smart guys who take good care of themselves in a non-obvious kind of way. I am a straight-living guy so I am cautious not to date guys who are out and aren't discreet.

If I had a choice, I wouldn't be gay. But we can choose what kind of gay guy we'd be and I choose to live as a secretly homosexual masculine guy. I enjoy most of what my straight buddies enjoy, and I also don't understand women very much either. I think like a straight guy minus the appetite for cunt. Respetuhan nalang mga chong.

==============================
Unnecessary facts (boring or otherwise)
---------------------------------------------

Appearance:
Semikal Moreno, square jaw, masculine, good set of teeth, relatively fit and occasionally wears glasses to take a break from contact lenses.

Sporty Side:
Trained in martial arts for a few years (Jeet Kune Do, Capoeira, Tae Kwon Do) and generally athletic. I miss fighting though. I am now working out to hopefully one day look really really good naked. HAHA. I obsessed with NBA in the 90’s. I had a collection of hundreds of David Robinson cards. He was my idol because he led the Spurs whilst being ridiculously good in math, which I suck at. Up to now I’m still keeping my Grant Hill co-rookie of the year card although I felt bad that he beat Jason Kidd to the title. Anfernee + Shaq, Pippen + Jordan. Malone + Stockton. Sigh. Those were the days.

Geeky Side:
Collected Marvel Cards and X-men comic books as a kid. Reads grown-up fantasy books. Overcame an addiction to Diablo (I dread the arrival of Diablo 3) and DOTA (Kael the invoker FTW!), traded and played Magic: The Gathering. I definitely have a healthy geeky side.

Artistic Side:
Draws and paints really well with a few awards under my belt as an adolescent, had a short but successful graphic design gig, some background in music (played in a band), some dance training (classical and hip-hop).

Miscellaneous superfluous information:
I was fortunate enough to have been able to study in some of the best schools from Kinder until College. I had a traditional and conservative Catholic upbringing. I could carry myself well either in a finer cosmopolitan setting or on the sidewalk, crouching and humbly drinking beer sa kanto hanggang sa mapagsabihan na ng tanod pag masyado nang maingay. LOL.

G4M is where I met my good friend K. We are now each other's fag hags. He showed me what Malate was like, and I would't go inside the bars unless I was wearing some sort of baseball cap or a jacket's hood. I felt like Aragorn the rogue -- surveying, calculating and observing a foreign land that's also supposedly my natural habitat.

The G4M forums are where I leaned about Wensha. Then I'd go there to get a massage, eat buffet, read a book and occassionally meet boys. I met an Enkanto there--through a steamroom dance that involved glancing and looking away, catching each other's glances, a smile, and a beer offer. He introduced me to his other enkanto friends a few weeks later. I didn't know they were bloggers. Wensha Enkanto eventually introduced me to a cool guy who's now my sidekick:

I prefer being serious with someone I really, really like...With the right person I could easily fall back to my serial monogamous default. But I won't settle for anything less than what I deserve even if it takes me a long time. Nobody ever should.

PlanetRomeo is first and foremost a hook-up site. But so much good can come out of it and such as it was for me, although I never use it anymore and I don't ever want a renewed need to do so. I don't need to hook up and I now have a healthy number of faerie friends who keep me sane and grounded. I now look back with nothing but fond memories and a genuine appreciation that I belong to the internet generation.

Currently on my Bedside Table

2010-08-19T18:40:00.001+08:00

I swear -- everytime I read Neil Gaiman, my dreams become extra vivid and a lot more lucid. He is the true Sandman and dream weaver. He's one of those very few gifted writers that speak the language of dreams rather eloquently. I'm only a couple of chapters into the book already it’s fantastic.

I bought the book for 70 pesos at a garage sale a couple of blocks from my house, right beside a barbecue stand. I was browsing through some unknown authors while waiting for my barbecue to be cooked and I found Neil Gaiman in the pile. It was a gloomy day and the book cover seemed to reflect the clouds like a side mirror. You just can’t go wrong with buddy Neil. He’s a rockstar.
Prior to American Gods, I finished this book:

The first couple of chapters were boring, but it was fine -- the point was to help me fall asleep anyway. After 5 chapters, I found myself sleeping one or two hours past my bedtime. It's highly engaging, it has a unique take on magic and it is also quite fascinating and relateable even when the writing and humor is old English ala-Sherlock Holmes circa 1891.

This next book always gives me nightmares. Or at the very least, I wake up from a dream feeling very confused. It's a weird feeling to feel confused immediately upon waking up.

Too Gay (?) # 2: Man Scarves

2010-08-18T15:54:00.003+08:00

It's fabulous and absolutely inappropriate for Manila weather. The existentialist question of "Gay or European?" becomes answered by the manscarf-in-Manila by default, I think. Is it too gay? Or am I just praning?

I daresay the only acceptable man scarf in the Philippines is the good morning towel.

***

Nothing wrong with it -- props to those who can wErk it. Nothing wrong with dressing gay or too gay; it's an option. I'm just going for a different look, I guess. Straddling the closet and the real world is hard work!

Of Relationships and Flirting

2010-08-17T14:33:00.002+08:00

My girl best friend Martha is having a few relationship issues; she’s been with her boyfriend for around 8 years now and she feels like she wants to flirt without feeling guilty. She’s curious what her market value is or if she’s still got it. Sabi ko sa kanya maglakad kami sa Burgos nang malaman nya kung magkano siya haha.

She wants me to take her out dancing in a bar where she can flirt. A gay club will not make her feel guilty, but being ignored by hot guys won’t help her ego either. A straight club is the only option, but where? I’ve absolutely no idea where the best singles bars are. I’ve never looked at bars as a place for me to hook up with a girl. Although a girl did lick my hand in Alchemy a couple of years ago, and another stuck her tongue down my esophagus in Obar Malate. I’m only glad that my dick has not gone anywhere near a female orifice ever. Pekpek eeeeew!

When we go out, I won’t want to hang around too close to her lest the boys will think we’re together. So I told her I could be her bodyguard while she brought other single ladies– nothing attracts the men more than a bevy of girls dancing together. Or so I observed.

The problem is, how will she flirt without feeling guilty? What boundaries should be drawn between what is acceptable and what isn’t?

We thought about the advantages of being able to flirt. The feeling of “only my partner can be attracted to me because he’s got no choice and not because I’m attractive within its social definition” is a common source of insecurity, clinginess, self-minimization and condescending behavior. Admittedly, anyone will feel good to know that they are attractive to other people and in the process be more confident and secure. Confident and secure people build stronger relationships. Jealousy is inevitable and flirtation can only add to that – though a mild and playful sort of jealousy is a reaffirmation of love while challenging the well-balanced individual to make sure that emotions are kept in check.

But this gerund carries too much of the stigma and collective unconscious of all the relationships it has destroyed over the years. I asked my partner his opinion about my friend Martha’s plans to flirt. He was uncomfortable with the idea. It was difficult for him to find any justification for it, and the conversation ended with an abrupt change of topic.

The term “flirting” is just too ambiguous and can be broken down into either its innocuous or dangerous elements. Flirting can be a beck for conversation, an admiration, an IOI* or the beginnings of foreplay. And because the definition is ambiguous, a person in a relationship cannot easily determine where the line should be drawn.

So I’ve asked Martha to drop the word “flirting” altogether—it’s too hot to handle—and emotions, even those that belong to her straight boyfriend, are fragile things. If she wants to simply have animated conversations with male strangers while she’s out with only her girlfriends (of course her girlfriends include yours truly), then call it just that – animated conversations with male strangers and nothing else.

Also, if there’s anything that she wants to do within the realms of “flirting” that she doesn’t want her boyfriend to know, then it would be crossing the line. Some couples deviate their lines way towards the left and swing it with other couples, look for a third to complete a night of ménage-a-trois, or allow each other to let loose around town. Others like a quiet and traditional monogamy. Each couple makes their own rules, and it would be a great idea for her to engage her boyfriend in drawing their own lines together.

* IOI or Indicator of Interest. From "The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists" by Neil Strauss

Too Gay (?) #1: White Shoes, White belt

2010-08-06T23:48:00.001+08:00

To pull this off while trying to look and act straight is a lot of work. My sidekick says it's a giveaway. The baklameter goes badingdingdingding!

Discretion doesn't always come easy and item #1 makes it harder to look straight.

***
Nothing wrong with it -- props to those who can werk it.

The Case of the Gym Shoe Thief

2010-08-04T01:32:00.000+08:00

I had an excellent workout today. I've been using the Men's Health Iphone Application which has been superb. It's like having a personal trainer but I get to exercise in solitude. It makes me confident to use some exotic routines that I would have otherwise shunned for the basic exercises.

After an hour and a half, as I was getting dressed after a nice warm shower, some barefoot dude was standing looking absolutely troubled. He was talking to the guard and the janitor about the disadvantage of not having slippers sold at the gym. The poor guy had his shoes stolen and couldn't go home. He left his pair on the floor as he was showering and then *poof*. Who knows how long he's been in the locker room; I left 15 minutes before the gym would close down and he was still there. Probably waiting for the other people to open their lockers so the guards can check, or probably waiting for a friend to rescue him. He should have kept his shoes in the locker. Or had a smellier pair.

The janitor mentioned an American guy who lost his brand new 6K-peso pair of gym shoes just a week ago. Damn it, this gym has been infiltrated by a thief with a shoe fetish.

The gym is Fitness First RSC. It's my least favorite of all the branches -- it's a bit dingy and it smells funky. I don't always go there and apparently I get to add another reason why. I'm already careful but I'll be extra cautious next time; I need my shoes.

I like to stick to my home branch -- it smells nicer, people don't blatantly check other people out, and it's a lot more comfortable. I've also seen stuff lying around that nobody steals. But then again, you really should know why a locker is called a locker in the first place.

One packed weekend: Zara crazara, Enkantos and Angelina Jolie

2010-08-02T13:15:00.009+08:00

Friday:

My friend K told me that Zara was on a crazy sale where the jackets were 1.6k, the trousers were 895 and some nice stuff at less than 500 bucks. I left work early so i can get some dibs on what's left on the racks. It was just like buying stuff from Bench and in all good timing -- I was poised to purchase trousers for work anyway. That's because I got a hosting gig in a couple of weeks. Also, I'm stymied by at least 7 slacks that I couldn't wear anymore, thanks to an inch of gut that came out of nowhere. Wearing them felt like fitting my waist into a closed pistachio. For the amount I'd pay for a regular-priced jacket, I walked away with 3 pairs of trousers for work, a suit jacket (that went down to 1.6K from 9K) and an excellent LBBD -- the little black button down shirt that every dude needs. All the while I was careful about making sure I got stuff that still made me look like a straight guy. First question I asked K and sidekick whenever I checked something out was, "Mukha ba kong bakla pag suot ko to?" I just needed clothes that fit well, sans the frill. Meanwhile, K was checking out cute customers and asking me, "Bakla rin kaya yun? Ang kyot pota!"

After sidekick left us so I can take a work call in the mall while he went home to rest, I hung out with K so I can wing for him in his EB with what he called a cute yuppie who turned out to be a twink that wasn't his type. All I needed to do was be there looking pissed to help him escape. Last week I almost winged for his meetup with a pair of guys who post-coitusly revealed themselves to him as:

K: "Homaygad d 2 guys I slpt with? They told me theyr cousins! And they fcked each othr! What the hell!"
Me: "Fumefetish ka nanaman ah."
K: "I know, right? Sana man lang sinabi nila sakin bago kami nagseks para mas effective! Mga bruhang yon."

Saturday:

I hung out with sidekick in the morning and went to Divisoria. He finds Manila very charming and his adjective for it is "organic." Ternie translates that as messy and dirty, that sweetheart. We bought a few yards so he can have a few shirts tailored. I was hoping to find a good purchase but I didn't find any. I got rhinitis instead. However, I'm glad that sidekick got some really cool fabric; I'm waiting for his finished product before I dive into bespoking too.

Later in the evening, we went drinking and singing in Music21 with the enkantos. There was no shortage of beer, laughter and landi. I brought K and he was having fun with the rest. Dami may crush sa kanya dun kaya everybody happy. Sidekick and I felt free to hug and kiss the entire night which I'm sure annoyed the hell out of everyone at some point.

Sunday:

We rushed to meet K in Trinoma to watch Salt; he paid for the movie after ditching a movie night with us for a dude a few weeks ago. He slept the entire film though -- first is because he's seen it, and 2nd is because he's tired and came from a cock. Angelina was amazing. Sidekick says the movie is formulaic of Jolie films --with a heroine who beats up guys thrice her size while carrying a soft spot, and then concludes with a good twist in the end. I thought she was rad. I think I said "damn, girl" around 4 times during the film.

The movie was followed by a nice dinner with Jan and Ternie at the Technohub in Commonwealth. The service was crappy but Kanin Club Retaurant had yummy food. By this time I've been coughing and sniffling but I wasn't going to let that ruin the evening; it was great catching up with Jan whom I haven't seen in ages. Terni, as always, was a darling busilak and mayumi. And sidekick's always great to have around. We've been together 9 months and it's only been getting better each day.

Johnny watches Legally Blonde the Musical

2010-07-11T01:15:00.000+08:00

Just got back from NIkki GIl's Legally Blonde at the Meralco theater. Perfect seats. They're perfect because they're right smack in the middle, 2nd row of the middle box, right beside sidekick and my favorite straight couple. It was a double date. And the tickets were free, courtesy of my fag hag Martha.

I'm really proud of another friend of mine who's one of the girls in the cast. She was gooood. But Nikki was the star and she was in every aspect amazing. Her voice was butter. To assume prior to watching that it would be contrived is understandable. A bunch of Pinoys in blonde wigs and speaking Malibu Barbie? Yeah, right. But holy verisimilitude, they suspended my disbelief well enough.

It was an explosion of pink. That would've been enough to give me a siezure. I don't like pink. Pink on a faerie is redundant, but it was a good shade of pink when everything worked--the live orchestra, the superb set and great acting.

One song made me rethink my choice of clothes. I had to stop and check If I dressed up straight enough that night: plain black cotton crew neck, loose low-waisted jeans ala-Becks and a pair of Nike Air Prestiges that I bought earlier that day with sidekick. Straight-boy chic, I call it (Mental Note: write about that one of these days). My kuya would be so proud.

There! Right There!

from the Legally Blonde Soundtrack

Elle:
There! Right There!
Look at that tan, that tinted skin.
Look at the killer shape he's in.
Look at that slightly stubbly chin.
Oh Please he's gay, totally gay.

Callahan:
I'm not about to celebrate.
Every trait could indicate the totally straight expatriate.
This guy's not gay, I say not gay.

All:
That is the elephant in the room.
Well is it relevant to assume
that a man who wears perfume
is automatically radically fey?

Emmett:
But look at his coiffed and crispy locks.

Elle:
Look at his silk translucent socks.

Callahan:
There's the eternal paradox.
Look what we're seeing.

Elle:
What are we seeing?

Callahan:
Is he gay?

Elle:
Of course he's gay.

Calahan:
Or European?

All:
ohhhhhh.
Gay or European?
It's hard to guarantee
Is he gay or European?

Warner:
Well, hey don't look at me.

Vivian:
You see they bring their boys up different in those charming foreign ports.
They play peculiar sports.

All:
In shiny shirts and tiny shorts.
Gay or foreign fella?
The answer could take weeks.
They will say things like "ciao bella"
while they kiss you on both cheeks.

Elle:
Oh please.

All:
Gay or European?
So many shades of gray.

Warner:
Depending on the time of day, the French go either way.

All:
Is he gay or European?
or

Enid:
There! Right There!
Look at that condescending smirk.
Seen it on every guy at work.
That is a metro hetero jerk.
That guy's not gay, I say no way.

All:
That is the elephant in the room.
Well is it relevant to presume
that a hottie in that costume

Elle:
Is automatically-radically

Callahan:
Ironically chronically

Vivian:
Certainly pertin'tly

Warner:
Genetically medically

All:
GAY!
OFFICIALLY GAY!
OFFICIALLY GAY GAY GAY GAY
DAMNIT!

Gay or European?

Callahan
So stylish and relaxed.

All:
Is he gay or European?

Callahan
I think his chest is waxed.

Vivian:
But they bring their boys up different there.
It's culturally diverse.
It's not a fashion curse.

All:
If he wears a kilt or bears a purse.
Gay or just exotic?
I still can't crack the code.

Brooke:
Yet his accent is hypnotic
but his shoes are pointy toed.

All:
Huh.
Gay or European?
So many shades of gray.

Judge:
But if he turns out straight I'm free at eight on Saturday.

All:
Is he gay or European?
gay or european?
Gay or Euro-

Emmett:
Wait a minute!
Give me a chance to crack this guy.
I have an idea I'd like to try.

Callahan:
The floor is yours.

Emmett:
So Mr. Argitacos...
This alleged affair with Ms. Windam has been going on for...?

Mikos:
2 years.

Emmett:
And your first name again is...?

Mikos:
Mikos.

Emmett:
And your boyfriend's name is...?

Mikos:
Carlos.
I'm sorry! I misunderstand. You say boyfriend.
I thought you say best friend. Carlos is my best friend.

Carlos:
You bastard!
You lying bastard!
That's it.
I no cover for you, no more!
Peoples.
I have a big announcement.
This man is Gay and European!
you've got to stop your being
a completely closet case.
No matter what he say.
I swear he never ever ever swing the other way.
You are so gay.
You big parfait!
You flaming boy band cabaret.

Mikos:
I'm straight!

Carlos:
You were not yesterday.
So if I may, I'm proud to say,
He's gay!

All:
And European!

Carlos:
He's gay!

All:
And European!

Carlos:
He's gay!

All:
And European and Gay!

Mikos:
Fine okay I'm gay!

All:
Hooray!

Mikos and Carlos:
Fine. Okay. We're gay!

Johnny sarges* a Ukranian chick

2010-07-10T01:32:00.007+08:00

It's been a week since I've been back from a Eurotrip but I'm still haunted by Vida, a Ukranian chick I met abroad.

I wore a nice shirt that night -- a black button down with epaulettes and sleeves folded just above the middle of the biceps, paired with dark denim jeans and new calfskin oxfords. I felt confident that night; I knew I looked different and stood out as a sun kissed moreno in a sea of Scandinavians. Vida was a modelesque alabaster female, 6 feet tall, raven hair and emerald eyes. At least 3 guys hit on her that night at the Temple Bar district. She was gorgeous but she was taller than most guys in the room, and she did say that she wished she wasn't such a big girl while hunching her shoulders just a little. As a faerie with a natural kinship to girls, I knew she just needed a tiny validation. I looked into her eyes, grinned and told her she wasn't big, she wasn't tall -- she was statuesque. I typed it up in my iPhone dictionary to show her what it meant: "...as in massive or majestic dignity, grace or beauty." After reading the words on my phone, she looked at me, looked at the phone again, then she gave me the puppy dog look, touched my elbow and smiled an IOI*. I have accomplished a smooth pickup routine on a girl by fucking accident.

The moment I told her that it was my last night in the city, I saw her eyes dilate again and in the middle of a miniscule grin muttered, "I don't believe you but I'll pretend that I do." Sa paraan na malansa at lason sa angkan ng mga diwata. She loosened one button off my shirt, put her hand inside and traced circles round my chest. I wanted to shout that I wasn't picking her up, that it was indeed my last night in the city and that the reason why I was interested in her was only because idol ko siya. Kinilabutan ako at parang gusto ko sya sabunutan ng mejo lang--I wanted just a handful of hair from the back of her head and tug it once while gigil na sinasabing "bRrrruha ka".

I got away, but it made for a very interesting evening. Naisip ko mas maganda pala ko sa ibang bansa, which felt nice, and at the same time it was the first time I tasted that flavor of terror. Once last year I was tongued by a female while I was out gallivanting in Obar Malate. It felt like kissing tuna sashimi--raw, icky and foreign. But it wasn't as terrifying, because the girl in Obar knew I was gay, and it was playful. But Vida was playing a different kind of game and it scared me shitless. She's 6 fucking feet tall and with what I imagined would be a huge vagina.

---

* Sarge, or sarging, is used to describe the act of going out and actually using PU (pickup) techniques to pickup HBs (hot babes). Instead of “going out” with the buddies and hoping to get lucky, the PUA (pick up artist) sarges with the specific intention of seducing multiple targets.
** Straight pickup artists consider this as one of the many permutations of an IOI or indicator of interest.

How I Know I'm Gay # 1

2010-07-06T20:29:00.002+08:00

It was June 5, 2010 – I was hanging out with sidekick and my good friend K and we decided to watch Sex and the City 2. 3 straight-acting, straight-looking boys and needless to say, it felt like we were entering a gay bar; you enter the movie without a girlfriend to watch Carrie Bradshaw and you got the scarlet letter screaming “fag”.

K wanted to buy a smoothie before the movie but it was taking him too long. I’m sure he was just talking to one of the guys he met up with earlier. We were going to be late for the movie so I called him and threatened him that he will have to enter the Sex & the City screening alone. Terrified, he immediately ran back to us.

Watching that movie wasn’t my scarlet letter. It was what happened while watching the movie. Midway through the movie, after Carrie Bradshaw stepped out of her apartment to meet Mr. Big, I audibly whispered in surprised enunciation,

“Whoa! She already wore that Newspaper print dress by John Galliano for Dior back in early 2000 and she’s wearing it again!”*

I’m glad my other closeted companions didn’t impale me with a stiletto. *FACEPALM*

---

* I should note that my memory of this dior newspaper dress is a result of a photographic memory that pieced images from one of few episodes I've seen, another from a CNN special, and another from the movie. Not because I am a fan or am I in any way sartorially savvy.

Back from Dublin

2010-07-06T13:17:00.001+08:00

And “Gaelic” sounds homoerotic.

I got back last week from Dublin and I had a major blast. I was lucky to experience the few weeks that Ireland has excellent weather; the rest of the year it’s bleak and gray—like Twilight.* I enjoyed getting myself lost in the city where the highest edifices are the churches and most buildings are no more than 6 storeys high. The counties are like the Shire and the locals know how to party! I’ve pretty much drank 6 new species of beer. My favorite would have to be the major Irish export and torch bearer of Irish alcoholism – Guiness Beer. I could totally immerse myself in a bathtub full of it with my mouth slightly open.

Apparently I was there during Pride Festival but I never even got the chance to observe as a tourist. I’m too much of a pussy to participate. Probably not until I’m 40. Or 45. Maybe 47.

Not all trips are perfect. My least favorite is being known by hundreds in the Filipino Community as the visiting single guy. Madali lang i-handle kung ilang tito at tita lang ung nagrereto sakin ng chicks. But a hundred other people I don’t even know, including their kids? Some uncle’s friend goes, “Iho, na-meet mo na ba si Katya? Maganda siya diba? Wala pa siyang boyfriend.” Then a cute little girl tugs on my shirt: “Hi kuya! Punta ka sa bahay namin for dinner marami kaming ininvite tapos andun din si Ate Katya.”

Ugh. Leave me alone. I’m a faerie and my sidekick boyfriend will kick all your asses.

I would love to return, albeit with less interaction with conservative Filipino baby boomers.

---

* I’m not a fan of Twilight but I enjoyed watching Eclipse. It was not as annoying as the first two, and there was just enough action to get the blood pumping.

Online Romance and the Jejemon Bar that could

2010-06-07T16:05:00.001+08:00

My good friend K had a whirlwind romance that lasted for a couple of weeks. Again! Say one thing about K, say he’s on a roll.

I’m not even sure if it was good that it was nipped at the bud because the thing is, it’s an online romance and he’s never really met the pinoy dude working in the USA. Their interaction consisted of leaving the webcam open so each person sees that the other guy is sweeping the floor or sleeping or whatnot. They’ve been listening to the same music by leaving Skype open and playing MP3s. K was really inspired.

I didn’t think it was a real relationship. Not yet, at least – not until they would have a chance to meet. I told K that they’re in love with an idealized version of themselves.

The guy had a boyfriend and after getting to know K, he’s decided to pursue K instead. But it ended on a sad note for K, when the guy said that he’ll try to patch things up with the boyfriend. And all my buddy could do, being literally halfway around the world, is to accept the fact and be devastated for a few days.

I didn’t think it was a real relationship, but it was real for K. Even K couldn’t believe it but there it was--the same giddy feeling, the same inconvenient fashion of not knowing what to do and finally--the same heartache.

***

Sidekick and I were taking K around town and accompanied him to Malate and in some of his meet ups, most of which end up as flops. The most recent was with a guy who invited K to meet him and his friends in a jejemon bar in Timog. Sidekick and I accompanied our good buddy, of course. The fact that it was a jejemon bar should have been a major clue, we still went anyway. I hate being mean because even if the bar was jejemon to the bone, I had a fantastic time. There were hookers, fags dressed like lady hookers, madlang people in chinelas and jejemons and a sprinkle of decent-looking people, great music and a chance at getting stabbed by a switchblade--it was magnificent. I danced and had genuine, sincere and unpretentious fun. I seriously wanna do it again.

Life's Question #2 & #3

2010-06-07T14:51:00.001+08:00

The first lady and the 2nd lady are the president's and vice-president's wives, respectively. In the event that a president dies, the vice-president takes his place. When the first lady dies, shouldn't the second lady replace her? It'd be convenient for the president. But then again this doesn't apply to Noynoy. Which brings me to life's question #3:

Is Noynoy gay? Because that would be sooo wicked.

Life's Question #1

2010-06-06T14:41:00.000+08:00

Bakit kinikilig pagkatapos umihi? That seconds-long involuntary shaking of your body immediately after urinating--what's up with that?

Surely there's a scientific explanation to it, but it definitely is one manifestation on how your cock has the potential to control everything. Just imagine the day when after urinating, you get involuntary muscle movements that last the entire day.

Johnny buys his first suit

2010-06-04T14:29:00.002+08:00

Buying his first suit is a milestone for any guy. It starts with his first words, his first walk, his first cuss word, first cigarette, first wank, first kiss, first job, and then a slew of other firsts.

Buying your first suit is different from wearing your first suit. Before, it was my mom who helped me get dapper on occassion. Now I'm suiting it up by myself. I just bought my first suit and nothing says "I'm getting older" any louder. Especially since I'll be a 26 year-old faerie in a few days.

Single button narrow lapel in black. Ambakla ng necktie ko, lavander! Work it, Johnny you biatch!

I've always had trouble getting suits off the rack. Those euro brands don't fit me too well -- those that fit my body well are too narrow on the shoulders, and those that fit my shoulders are too long and loose on the rest of my body. I asked how much getting bespoke would cost and it would be around 10,500 pesos at the cheapest. Hell no. Then I passed by the Onesimus outlet store and there I found it. My first suit.

It makes me feel like a menatplay.com porn star. Teehee!

Johnny is Dublin Bound

2010-06-03T17:44:00.000+08:00

In a few days ill be going to Ireland -- the land of milk and ginger -- that's the land of pasty white people with red hair. I'm sure to stand out a little bit. I got equator skin.

It's been years since I got out of the country. Booyah so excited!

Cleavage Leverage

2010-05-24T22:35:00.000+08:00

Meself, sidekick, and my good friend K were sauntering in the mall in peace when some lady caught my eye. I became an instant fan. Her cleavage was exquisite; never seen anything like it.

The husband is lucky to have options.

Victor Invades my Gym

2010-05-15T12:43:00.000+08:00

I hit the gym a few blocks away from my office building and I always end up working out alongside commercially good-looking boys – JC de Vera, Jake Cuenca, and 27 of their clones. I am so used to it and I’ve gotten so immune that sometimes it feels like I’m becoming straight. Yeah, right. Ulol.

Anyway I’ve been working out absolutely undisturbed and then Victor Basa barges in the gym and then BAM! I’m star struck. I should have someone take a picture of us to get it over with. Gosh I’m such a fan.

***

Just got a message today from a friend. Looks like one of my arrangements will be used for a concert. Very cool!

Failing Forward and Tooth

2010-05-12T19:39:00.002+08:00

The month of March at the office was, for lack of better word, a magnificent cunt. It was so bad that I could only truly write a coherent sentence about it now that the dust has settled and I could just smile at my boss’ shortcomings as well as my own. It’s May now, and it took a month to completely pick myself up, distance myself from the rubble and just take it all in without getting pissed. At least I got a new boss now.

I think it was somewhere in John Maxwell’s tomes where it was said that there are several hundred ways of becoming a winner, but only one way of truly defining a loser—that is to fail and not be able to look past that failure. Failing forward is what needs to be done, they say. See failure as an opportunity. Not an easy task. You can fail forward later. Sometimes you just have to cuss and shoot someone first. I just allowed myself to feel absofuckinlutely fucked up as natural; can’t deny me that.

Can’t wallow in shit for too long because it becomes a perpetuating downward spiral into depression if you get too invested. Can’t be completely alright and happy-perky as soon as the next day because then you’d just be a crazy dude in denial and perhaps a little bit annoying. So give it two weeks.

And now I’m in a very happy place! That’s because I have had my stupid wisdom tooth extracted. I was blaming other things for being grumpy and less than functional at work, but all the while it was just that one tooth that kept throbbing. For the past couple of months I felt like I was getting ear-fucked every other hour like horny clockwork. I completed an EENT checkup and X-ray; no cock found. All the while it was just that one stupid tooth. I even blamed it on a different tooth too! Almost had a root canal completed for the wrong tooth. That one stupid tooth is gone now nd I’m happy as a baby sucking on a tit. Or a faerie on a...
…Cockfighting is so bloody I can’t seem to stand to stand it. Geez I saw a real live cockfight and suddenly I lost my appetite for chicken for the week.

Johnny Cursive is a Geek

2010-04-20T15:07:00.000+08:00

I go to lengths so I don't look like one, but i'm still a geek no matter what I do.

I play Magic: The Gathering and went to the Rise of the Eldrazi prerelease tournament last Sunday and I had a major blast. I play competitively at times. But I don't go to events unless I spritz some cologne on. Unfortunately a moshpit of male geeks doesn't really bode well to the olfactory. I really like to be one of the very few guys in a fresh shirt and smelling bathed.

Sometimes in my dreams I play DOTA and formulate my spell combination for Kalel the Invoker. And I've stopped playing over a year ago.

I like Glee, so I must be a gleek too. I've done song arrangements and mash ups 5 years before Glee came on. "Mash up" was simply called a fancy medley before it got a fancy monicker. Michael Jackson, Jamiroquai, Oasis, Jason Mraz, etc. I always assign myself the easy baritone spot, of course.

I became a finalist in the Philippine Web Awards back when I was in 7th grade. Websites + scrawny kid + thick glasses = let's forget about that phase.

I shaved my head, ditched my finger-thick eyeglasses for contacts and went to the gym to look cool but I had to concede. Everyone knew that I was a geek; I can't believe it took me longer to accept my nerdness than my faggotry. Possibly because the latter is what got me laid.

Happy Birthday Dad!

2010-04-19T17:15:00.001+08:00

Happy Birthday, Dad! I hope you're having a blast in Heaven. May sabong ata si San Pedro jan.

Magneto and some little girl I forgot. Luna, I think. It's a 10-year old drawing.

Wanting Pussy

2010-03-22T19:07:00.002+08:00

I have decided to get a new cat since my pet Joey Tribianni died a couple of months ago. Joey was a deaf albino cat and was a fantastic predator of mice. That was until he went back to the mud as vikings used to say about the dead.

Not my cat but the kitty's got mad skillz! My future cat ought to learn the same.

I am now choosing between purchasing a Persian or Siamese breed from Arranque market because apparently that's where the cheap pets are. I wouldn't want to aggravate my brother's rhinitis so I might have to go Siamese. They prolly sell them cheap to compensate for the inclusion of fleas, intestinal worms and all sorts of diseases hidden under their cuteness.

Or I might actually adopt a cat from the animal welfare society (PAWS). For an adoption fee of 500 pesos, I get myself a dewormed, spayed and vaccinated cat. It's so much cheaper, and it's an altruistic act that I've so very little of lately. The cat is definitely just your average street cat. Sans fleas, but with what it might have gone through, it might be carring some emotional baggage.

***

Nasabon ako last friday ng boss ng boss ng boss ko. I felt my weiner slowly turn into pussy. I felt so accomplished.

Johnny Cursive's Coolest Straight Friends

2010-03-15T16:46:00.002+08:00

I went out on a double date with sidekick, my straight best friend Adren and his girlfriend Martha last Saturday to celebrate Adren’s 25th birthday. We started off with dinner at Tijuana’s in Ortigas (excellent enchiladas) and proceeded to the Home Depot area in Julia Vargas to hop through the different bars there. A couple of beers and tequila shots per bar then headed out to the next one to sample the music and make sure the place was cool enough for us to linger and spend a few extra on additional shots.

Prior to the bar hopping, I have already told Martha and Adren that there’s a gay club right there and I joked about bringing them. Apparently that got them excited. After hopping through around 4 bars, I hung out with my straight best friends and my sidekick in a gay club. I’m happy they enjoyed it. How can they not? There was a freaking aerialist trying to be Pink. And one performer looked like a guy we made fun of in high school, but in drag. The music was excellent according to sidekick and the straight couple. It pretty much just sounded like the same toogs toogs music to me but sidekick, Martha and Adren could appreciate the nuances. I don't get it. And I thought I was the one with the music experience.

Adren was alright with gay guys checking him out, God bless him. I guess the boy is used to it because he gets it anywhere. Martha, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the go-go boys. I have the coolest sidekick and straight best friends ever.

It helped that the O-bar in Ortigas is docile in comparison because I probably wouldn’t bring my straight friends to Malate just yet. If Adren gets groped, Imma open a can of whoop-ass.

Stripclub Field Trip

2010-03-06T14:49:00.001+08:00

The experience was...interesting. And weird. I went to a stripclub with K and sidekick in a spur of the moment insanity last night.

It was one hour past midnight. We didn't park in front of the establishment, of course. We parked several meters away then came out of the car looking nervous. 3 decent boys huddled together looking like we were discussing our respective girlfriends, where in fact we were three girl frieeends on a girls' night out. Sidekick picked up a cigarette and started smoking to calm the nerves. K was pale as hell. It took us longer than 30 minutes to get inside. I was laughing at how preposterous the three of us looked. We were all convincing ourselves that it was going to be OK.

"Puta tara ano game na?"

"Teka yosi muna ko"

"Ok taralets.. ay puta atras may mga babae sa tapat. Ayoko na di ko kaya, baka may makakilala sa akin sa loob," K was petrified.

K was being the first to be a wuss. We parked the car in a different location but it didn't really make any difference, except it gave us more time to think if we really wanted to come in. Then it was sidekick's turn to be scared.

"Sigurado ba talaga kayo?" Sidekick croaked.

I convinced myself that it was just like going inside one of those bars in Malate. K had a different way of convincing himself that it's not going to be a big deal:

"Isipin nyo nalang parang pakikipagseks lang sa chaka yan. Andiyan na yan eh. Game!" K had a point.

We came in with a confident conviction, like we owned the place. Then we were asked if we wanted to sit directly in front of the stage where it was vacant. "Ay hindi po ayaw po namin dun!" We instantly chickened just like that. We were seated a couple of tables away from the stage where it was dark enough. It was a small establishment so the stage was only a few feet from where we sat.

It was like watching a bad play. The strobe lights pushed me to the brink of a seizure and the emcee in the DJ's booth was just as bad. But curiosity had the three of us glued to the stage most of the time. One out of 5 boys was goodlooking, and 1 out of 7 could dance. We all got entertained by this one dancer who looked good and danced really well. Sidekick admired his lines and his strength; I admired his on-time muscle contractions and connection to the music and the audience. The dude was a real performer; it wasn't necessary for him to carry a stiffy under a tiny thong and stick it out for a few seconds, but he did it anyway as a bonus. K was just drooling the entire time.

I still had the most fun outside the stripclub in those 30 minutes that we were all mortified about going inside. 3 scared little boys we were.

Johnny Cursive can’t cook.

2010-03-03T14:25:00.003+08:00

Back in college I ascertained during my lunch break in KFC that their yummy coleslaw was made distinct by having 7-Up as an ingredient. So my friend made coleslaw with 7-Up. The taste was undeniably KFC coleslaw. He had a face that looked like he discovered the Rosetta stone, so I told him no, I’m not gonna start guessing the first of KFC’s eleven secret herbs and spices.

I guess I could imagine what herb works well with a dish. But I can’t cook. I don’t know how I’m surviving as a 25-year old who can neither drive nor cook. So a couple of weeks ago, I decided to do something about it. I cooked instant pancit canton and added carrots and baguio beans. I finished the entire plate convincing myself that I did well. I had to finish it quick before anybody saw what the heck I was doing. I needed to start somewhere but I guess I’ve go a long way to go. Sigh. I’d rather learn how to play the guitar.

***

In my group in high school cooking class I’d be the one that washed the dishes. I didn’t do too well in that either, but at least it was far from the stove. When the time came that I needed to cook, I put 5 spoonfuls of sugar in the puttanesca sauce according to the instructions and stirred the mixture as it simmered. That was my only task. Easy enough. I looked up at the cupboard and thought, “how the fuck did the sugar jar get all the way up there?” Apparently, I put 5 spoonfuls of iodized salt in the puttanesca sauce.

OMFGWTFBBQ!

I didn’t let my group know in fear of getting beaten up. After all, nobody brings baon on the day of cooking class because we’d cook our lunches in school. So I asked the teacher to help me neutralize the damage and she threw in a gallon of milk and heaps of sugar into the whole thing. My group still didn’t know; they were busy preparing the other dishes. Our puttanesca turned out looking like orange sardine sauce that tasted like mermaid-flavored snot.

We all starved that day. And because this was the first puttanesca my group has ever tasted in our lives, it has also been our last.

Defending the Doodlers

2010-02-25T20:15:00.005+08:00

Doodling during meetings is one of my quirks. I think I may have been gently reprimanded about it by email today. My boss forwarded us an article entitled, "5 Biggest Mistakes You're Making at Work"

This was number 5:
Office oops: You doodle during meetings.
Overcome it: Scrolling through your BlackBerry or doodling during the proceedings is a no-no, says Liz Bywater, Ph.D., a career consultant in Yardley, Pennsylvania. Indulging in these sorts of distractions not only disconnects you from the issue at hand, it tells others you don’t care. To prevent meetings from becoming snoozy, spend at least a few minutes researching the topics on the agenda beforehand. By showing up prepared, you’ll be driven to contribute and less susceptible to distractions."

And then he asked me what I thought about #5.

I had to defend myself:

Hi Boss,

I'm not sure if I can let go of that yet but maybe I'll try to replace it with something less distracting to others? =)

I've been doodling in class since kinder until college; I'm not trying to defend my quirks but it helps stimulate my mind and this is where I got all the ideas that our business is now enjoying, from the (A) to (B) and the (C) that continually saves us $3,000 a month. I read in college that this is common among artists, and I accept that not everyone can understand or approve of it. I'll try to reduce it but I can't promise to eliminate it =)

Here boss, check this out:
http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1882127,00.html
http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2009/02/doodlerecall/

Thanks,

Johnny Cursive
Resident Smart Ass
of a Corporate Office

I am NOT going down without a fight.

Currently on my Bedside Table

2010-02-24T16:38:00.000+08:00

Is Joe Abercrombie’s “The First Law” trilogy. I have a soft spot for relatable and accessible fantasy books for adults. I’m totally hooked! Reading good books like this totally beats the crap out of DVD marathons.

I wonder if there's a fantasy book of great quality where the protagonist likes boys too. Now THAT is what my fantasy book should be.

Lavatory Literature

2010-02-23T18:36:00.001+08:00

One ungodly hour last week, my big brother, the biggest man in the house, was running around the house, short of breath and panicking. He couldn’t find the latest newspaper and he’s in dire need of using the toilet already. He needed to poop but couldn’t because he didn’t have anything to read. It was a painful situation; a somatic dilemma of sorts.

It runs in the family. Say one thing about Johnny Cursive, say that he can’t do the number 2 without having something to read.

I’d read the papers and magazine back-issues while seated. Running out of material, I’d grab the nearest shampoo bottle and read through how it reduces hair damage by up to 50 percent. I would hmmm, nod and be impressed, even if it’s trivial and I get a buzz cut every 2 weeks. Running out of shampoo bottles, I’d grab the toothpaste and then the remaining toiletries. That is how I have learned that the average facial wash has the exact same components as the regular feminine wash. I ran out of facial cleanser one time. Heedless to say, the PH balance of the feminine wash invigorated the flora of my face. I felt rather blooming that day.

I’ve been reading Jessica Zafra as my lavatory literature. I’ve just finished reading Twisted 8 ½. I wasn’t that impressed, not of the writing but of the subject. The book is a compilation of her tech product reviews, and I reckon those were from a couple of years ago. With the speed that technology becomes obsolete, the book felt like reading about the next garage sale. That's OK though, because it still falls under good lavatory literature -- light, amusing and just about cathartic.

My current Lavatory Literature:

From Wikipedia:

Strauss stumbles across the community while working on an article[1], intrigued by the subculture, he starts participating in the online discussion groups, mainly out of his own frustration with his romantic life. As he becomes more and more involved in the Seduction Community, Strauss attends a "Bootcamp" conducted by Mystery, one of the most influential and respected members of the community. The bootcamp consists of Strauss and other participants approaching women and then Mystery and his counterpart Sin giving them corrective advice on their behaviors, body language, and what to say after viewing the participants approach women.

The book then narrates the journey of how Strauss goes through the various stages of becoming a Pickup artist, Description about the various members of the community and how Strauss befriends many of the members, particularly Mystery. He also narrates his success with women,the spreading of the seduction community itself and his life at "Project Hollywood", a high end mansion and a lifestyle plan shared by Strauss, Mystery, Papa, Tyler Durden, Herbal, and other members of the Seduction community. And how rivalries and animosity between various members of the community lead to "Project Hollywood's" collapse.

This book is highly entertaining. I don't think this is 100% applicable for faeries, but it doesn't matter because faeries get it easier than straight men by default.

"The Game" is just like a good laxative.

The Ex, K's Reprise, and Johnny's Whoremongering

2010-02-18T18:29:00.011+08:00

I hung out with my sidekick and my ex a couple of weeks ago and talked over gelato and coffee. We had fun, in general. I wore a plain navy blue shirt and navy blue baseball cap that day. Thank heavens I left my cap in sidekick’s car because upon meeting my ex, he was wearing a similar plain navy blue shirt and matching navy blue baseball cap. On top of the matching outfits, there was a lot of catching up and with generous exchanges of hearty chuckles. To have had his current boyfriend accidentally wear the exact same shirt and cap as his ex, my sidekick was graceful under the circumstances. He got a little jealous, but that’s normal I guess.

My ex is now one of my closest buddies. Ours was the case of people being exponentially better as friends. We’ve been better friends and much better individuals after we broke up. We’re laughing now, so that’s good. The guy couldn’t make me laugh when we were together. He tried harder, and that made me angrier. That irony, at least, was funny.

***

My good friend K has just had his 2nd isang linggong pag-ibig (link: the first). This time, it was with a very good-looking 20-something year-old professor-- Handsome, statuesque, smart and articulate. Prof and K got my blessing right away. However, Prof was clingier than pizza grease. A couple of weeks ago I got an SMS from K:

“Ninang, kami na ni Prof. Pero di pa ako nag-iiloveyou.”
“How the hell was that possible? Isn’t that one of the deal requirements?”
“Eh ganun eh.”

Next thing I know, Prof was telling me about K breaking up with him, and how it has shattered his heart into a million pieces that slipped through his fingers like the sands of time. A tad dramatic, but it's V-day season so it's excusable.

Poor K got traumatized by the first one so obviously he was being cautious. I gotta admit though, Prof had a talent for smothering. Artists like myself and K don’t take into getting fettered too well. That, and apparently Prof also doesn’t drink. But that’s more of my issue than it is K’s. I refuse to understand it. Being without beer or tequila is preposterous.

***

I feel compelled to play cupid or pimp or a mixture of the two plus a dash of whoremonger.

K is a consummate visual artist and illustrator with an excellent portfolio. He’s smart, articulate and quick to laugh. My ninang is a pleasure to have around. He looks good too, of course—a rugged and mysterious moreno flavor who can wield a Gambit je ne sais quois (link: Gambit Effect). He’s from QC. He is turned off by those who express their love after less than a week.

Ex is also an artist. This one’s from Makati CBD. He’s a singer-songwriter (we were in a band together) with a day job he loves and has had a few gigs in film, commercials and print ads. So that means he’s good-looking—a buff mestizo flavor. He’s smart and writes well (he used to write some of my essays for college that got me an A). He texted me last night and asked me to find him a good date who’s just as special as my sidekick. I told him that’d be a major challenge. He's also not much into quick fallers.

I would pimp Mr. Prof too, but he’s still nursing a heart that's shattered into a million pieces slipping through his fingers like the sands of time. I reckon it's gonna take him a while to get that fixed.

Ex and K have not met yet, and that would be interesting if they did. I am worried that those two artists could be the formula for gunpowder so I don’t completely recommend it. It could be fabulous pyrolympics material, or the imploding kind that disintegrates your fingers. Either way, I’m hoping to be able to help find them their respective inspirations at the very least.

Johnny's Favorite Angle

2010-02-17T01:28:00.009+08:00

Is the profile. Otherwise known as the person's side view.

One of my pencil sketches from several weeks ago. Nope, this isn't my sidekick. He'd kill me if I drew him and posted it here.

I am enamored by profile angles especially my sidekick's. It is what I see when I look at him from the passenger seat (link: can't drive, sorry) right before he looks back with a smile. It's what I see when I glance at him when we're watching a film. I trace the air around it with my fingers while he sleeps.

It tells me he's near, he's right beside me, and we're headed towards the same direction.

I apologize for the mush. I hate eliciting non-fellatio related gag reflexes.

Awkward Boners

2010-02-15T01:31:00.006+08:00

The messenger bag is the ultimate gift to manhood. It has saved me countless times from awkward boners from college until now. Commuting by jeepney or tricycle meant sitting on a major vibrator and imagining a naked Madame Auring did not always soften my stiffy. It also meant I couldn't readjust my bratwurst with other passengers around. During these dire circumstances, the messanger bag has always been my security blanket. It's always covered the tent that my rod would spontaneously pitch. Thank heavens for it.

John Legend clearly didn't get the memo that dry humping & linen pants on stage don't match. He gets my respect though. Major creds for my homie!

I forgive Jean Claude Van Dame's atrocious acid wash jeans.

Not sure if college wrestling allows messenger bags in the ring though.

And there's a whole lotta bevy of boners here.Most guys have not yet discovered the main purpose of the messenger bag. I can't believe it's still thought of as just a sack to store and carry stuff.

Homme Fatale: The Gay Emosogynist (Part 2)

2010-02-08T14:29:00.014+08:00

The past couple of years, I had a pattern of dating boys for several weeks without having sex with them. My friend K thinks it is an abomination. Faeries have sex for sustenance and it’s a known fact. However, I may have unconsciouly found that hearts may have been more appetizing than schubligs.

One night stands are healthier by comparison (so long as you only do safe, of course). If nobody hears from anyone after the debauchery, the message is clear. The game of the efficiently raptorial womanizer (and its parallel--the average horny faerie) ends after the one nighter. However, the emosogynist, straight or otherwise, has a completely different set of rules. Compared to regular predators, emosogynists have evolved advanced culinary tastes and learned how to marinate, season their prey in cinammon and cook them over slow fire.

I met a model a couple of years back. After downing some buckets of beer, we strolled along baywalk, stole a few kisses and talked until morning. The next time we saw each other, he brought me siomai. Then packed lunch. Then a pink teddy. Then he brought me to his school to meet his teachers. It only took another couple of weeks before he introduced me to his family as one of his "best friends". We went out, watched movies, the whole nine yards. Well, call it 8 yards because I never slept with the dude. One day I decided he wasn’t for me. Clearly it felt good to be liked but it got confusing when I couldn't like the person back no matter how hard I tried or how everyone else seems to like the person but me.

I met a sweet fresh grad a few weeks after. The boy chose to accept a job offer an hour and a half away from his work so we could see each other more often. But I was gone after a month. A very similar story happened with an IT guy. I just stopped answering his texts and phone calls. Obviously he ended up bewildered. Honestly, I may have been just as baffled. Similar story with… you get the point. Repetition was necessary before I could recognize any pattern.

I wasn’t always just dating boys without sex. A boy has got to eat. Hot skinhead boy who picked me up twice (from an earlier blog entry) observed loudly that I was the dating kind. His first sentence was, “tara sa Eurotel” to which I promptly replied, “wag muna.” I could be an obnoxious kaltok-deserving Maria Clara if I wanted to. So we dated for an hour and headed out to Eurotel anyway. I was the dating kind, not deliberately sleazy, but not deliberately insipid either. A little more fatal.

Irina Aleksander writes about the L’Homme Fatale in an article in The New York Observer and describes the emosogynist as:

…Often the creative type, he projects a deceptive vulnerability, while maintaining an appealing confidence. He’s usually not the best-looking guy in the room, but he is the smartest; he turns these traits to his advantage, playing up the contrast with the typical hot guy or womanizer (physical inferiority, emotional evolvement). His courtship begins with a rushed sense of intimacy and, yet, a disarming lack of forward physical advances; a first date might involve a game of Scrabble or perhaps a cup of tea; his target usually leaves wondering if in fact it was a date at all. And yet the story always has the same ending—he grows distant, stops calling and eventually disappears with little explanation, if any.

The emosogynist is not necessarily aware of the emotional havoc he can wreak. It is this lack of awareness of his effect highlights the damage even more. And this lack of awareness extends to the emosogynist's incognizance of what he wants. In my case, I was not sure what I wanted; getting someone to fall for me was one way I could find out if I could reciprocate it to that person. It was more convenient, less painful and utterly selfish. The common adage is “don’t hate the player, hate the game.” That ditz Celine Lopez quips that you can hate the player and not the game. What is all this hating going to accomplish, anyhoo hullabahoo? The L’Homme Fatale is not even necessarily aware of his part in the game; or if he’s aware of any game at all, for that matter.

Irina’s article goes full circle and takes us to a more sympathetic view of the emosogynist:

“The Homme Fatale is a different, possibly more modern condition than a sociopath—he is not as aware of his actions. My understanding is that sociopaths are more clever and conniving. Maybe this is my personal bias, but I think the Homme Fatale is a slightly more sympathetic character,” said James. “The empathy is there, but people who do the most harm are people who don’t know what they want, and Hommes Fatales don’t know what they want.”

And unlike a sociopath, James described feeling a genuine sense of remorse. He’s been trying to change.

“I don’t think you can ever really shed it completely, but as with any sort of psychological problem, it can be made better,” said James. “The first step to reforming one’s actions is to become aware of the pattern you’ve laid out.”

There is the possibility that there are many closeted gay guys that go emosogynist on women because they cannot truly conquer the cunt. Frankly, emosogyny may simply be about men giving women a taste of their own medicine and faeries got into the mix somehow. Whether the emosogynist is straight or gay has become highly immaterial; the affliction touches beyond the sexual and dangerously pokes at the fundamentals of infatuation, emotional connection and love.

Homme Fatale: The Gay Emosogynist (Part 1)

2010-01-26T18:49:00.012+08:00

The faerie’s conquest is inverted. Sex is easier; emotional connection is the elusive bitch. Promiscuous fae are common, highly insecure good-looking faeries are the species' most profligate, but the gay emosogynist deals the most amount of damage.

What is an emosogynist? Celine Lopez (I am a big non-fan of her btw) once had a one-sided commentary thankfully saved by the topic's novelty. The emosogynist is an advanced womanizer, finding his validation of manhood not just through successful sexual conquests but by getting a girl to fall in love with him. In a nutshell, emosogynists are straight men who have found a new way of seduction: a metrosexual flare with a non-threatening sensitivity that can switch off a woman’s guard very easily, leaving open her heart—the latest plaything. Dude acts faggy, gets girl to fall in love, then dumps her. Tits have become rather antiquated. Women have evolved a keener sense of identifying predators, and predators would naturally need to adapt to the new feminist habitat. Charles Darwin is smiling somewhere in heaven saying “I told you so.”

Emosogynists are a new breed of straight men but gay men are just as capable, if not more, of fitting into the profile. It has now become easier for more faeries to find sexual partners through a plethora of social networking sites, chat rooms and watering holes all around the Metro and this convenience dwarfs the actual chances of finding romantic connections. Because sex is easier, getting someone to fall in love with you has become the real challenge. It ups the ante. Games are more exciting when the stakes are higher.

And some have become experts.

There is a new game in town and it’s not Diablo III. However, just like Diablo III, it has sprung from a wealth of technology and connectivity, and just as devious. Some of us may be in it right now but we don’t know it. Emosogyny is a game that a lot of us have played at some point. I’ve had my ride the last couple of years.

To be continued.

Johnny is Davao Rock God

2010-01-22T02:08:00.012+08:00

But not until March. Also, I’m still waiting for promos to get the cheapest ticket rates I can get. Where the fuck are the promos when I need em?

That’s because I’m a non-bisaya speaking half-Davaoeňo with approximately 50 first cousins that I haven’t met yet. Last time I visited I got showered with gifts and fed with the best mead and meat. My aunts and uncles competed with one another with the food they served in their respective houses. Every night was a feast. Relatives competed for the attention. My cousins took me out at night to crowded bars where my crotch area was constantly in contact with something or someone. My cousins speak the most conyo-sounding bisaya I’ve ever heard. The morning half hour travel towards any direction brought me to the beach or the mountains. And there were 90-peso buffets everywhere.

I always wondered what my cousins in Davao would be like, because I always wondered why I never had anything in common with my cousins in Luzon. When I met 2 of my cousins and learned that they pretended to murder each other with a knife for the sake of scaring the poor housemaids, I felt profoundly at home.

What I should never ever forget is the day I shook hands and shared a few drinks with one of the infamous Davao City Hitmen. DDS or Davao Death Squad, they're called. 3 years ago my late father introduced me to the hitman and told me how many he's killed. DDS is no urban myth. Shaking hands with a cold-blooded Davao killer could have been cool in theory but that might have been too dark for my taste. I'm not prejudiced, but I think I'll allow myself make an exception sometimes.

Mandaya Woman from Davao Oriental. Drawn in Manila on a good day last year. Still havent drawn the right foot until now. I still can't. I wonder what that says about me.

Johnny’s Closet has a Backdoor

2010-01-15T15:39:00.003+08:00

And he’s thankful for it

I opened a blog last month with the intention to unload and express the old fashioned way, like cursive on a journal and ink on a sketchpad but a lot less messy. I got to read a few other blogs and felt a quiet kinship; it's been a pleasant surprise, this blogosphere thing. It's like finding out that my closet has a backdoor that leads to a free city that is part Secret Garden, part Narnia, and unapologetically gay. I could hop out of this backdoor to stretch my legs from time to time.

I have blogged under my real name at some point. However, I felt like I had so much to write about but couldn’t. I was going through funny or hot or interesting experiences but had no faerie friends to share them with. I wanted to write about that time I slept with this Sprite TVC dude who consistently stole my underwear after every tryst, how I wore my crummy beaten up bacon underwear which he stole anyway, and how that led to my realization of the liberating breeze of occasionally going commando. I couldn’t blog about it then. My friends and classmates and relatives had access to my previous blogs where I wrote as a straight guy. How fucked-up boring those blogs were. I’ve been living mostly as a straight guy and straight people can be absofuckinlutely boring most of the time. I could almost concede to the fact that their sole purpose on this planet is procreation and taxes.

I’ve met several bloggers already, but mostly before I even knew they wrote blogs. Days after being partnered, I found out that my sidekick carried a blog that shows his insightfulness and fascinating wit, giving him 5-digit pogi points that I had to factor into the pogi point matrix (painstaking but worth it). I’ve been good friends for a couple of years now with J, the person who introduced us, and it turned out he blogs too. I’ve hung out with J’s tropa a few times and I enjoyed their company before finding out that the entire group had some sort of blog. I met sidekick’s faerie friends and instantly liked them. They blog, turns out. Jessica Zafra’s Twisted series has been my staple lavatory literature even before I found out about her blog. Jessica Zafra regulates my bowels better than fiber and curdled milk, God bless her.

The pink blogosphere’s gravity is throwing the Earth out of orbit. Or maybe it’s just me that has unconsciously gravitated towards it. Why not? It is a free city that is part Secret Garden, part Narnia, and unapologetically gay.

Johnny Sings "Isang Linggong Pag-Ibig"

2010-01-09T01:05:00.006+08:00

My good friend K has just experienced his very own Isang Linggong Pag-Ibig with a person I’ll conveniently call Dude. They got hitched on Christmas Day after a mere 2 days of courtship, met the boy’s friends and relatives, and then promptly snapped out of it just after New Year. I’m not exactly sure what K said during the breakup, but what I do know is that he spilled the dirt via text message (gasp!).

It began when K and Dude met in Malate, hooked up and K brought him home for the requisite fornication.

K: (Post-coitus) “Are you leaving already? Do you want to stay?”

Dude: “…Forever?”

That’s when K did a back handspring triple twist backward salto right into bottom Dude’s ass. And heart, apparently. A week after, they've split.

I blame it on a few things:

1) Both parties were drunk before they met eyes in Bed and up until the hook up.

2) It was the holiday season. Statistically, December is the month that has the most cases of clinical depression in the Philippines, Ireland, United States and Zaire. Holiday blues are as real as peanut butter and the symptoms are greatest among single faeries. Such symptoms include promiscuity, sleepless nights and false boyfriend hallucinations.

3) When my sidekick and I met, K was there to make kilatis. K did not even introduce me to Dude before the hitching. My valuable objective pagkilatis was not utilized.

4) Peer Pressure: I was recently partnered the previous month. Feeling left out, K wanted a sidekick for himself too.

5) Male competition: I was partnered after 3 days so the biatch got hitched on impulse after 2 days. It’s neither a good thing nor a bad thing, but risky: an extremely short (or virtually non-existent) courtship or dating means you’re up for either a pleasant or pungent surprise.

The relationship was turning sour for K and the coldness of the holidays crept right into them. It was just a dream, a fleeting memory, t a week-long MMFF movie marathon that got tiring. K texted me that he wanted to end it, and I replied with all the support an SMS can carry. I told him to be strong, be firm on his decision and be very clear on why he’s breaking up with Dude; an ambiguous, unsure reason will only give Dude a lot to hold on to. K really needed to end it soon because he’s already been meeting several boys on the side anyway.

Fellow blogger McVie blogged about the how people getting dumped get all the sympathy even as the dumper could go through the same shit and get just as fucked up; there are other nuances to the dumper experience that can rival the sorrow of the dumpee. Hurting another person is a very unpleasant experience especially when the pain is undeserved. And when the breakup is nobody's fault, the dumper still ends up looking like the jerk.

...who needs just as much support.

Johnny keeps Straight People in his Closet

2010-01-04T01:44:00.006+08:00

Being out to my best friends who happen to be a straight couple has a completely different set of dynamics on its own. For closeted guys, it’s usually either you’re completely closeted from your straight friends or you’ve come out and then the friendship isn’t the same anymore. Sometimes a faerie will be lucky and he will have straight friends who remain loyal post-outing.

I love Adren. He’s my straight guy friend and he loves me back in a brusque brotherly fashion while his girlfriend Martha is my straight girl best friend who treats me like the sister she never had. Ironically, with his tisoy features, body-consciousness and luxurious lashes he'd look better as the gay guy among us. Even after I’ve come out to Adren, we still share the same interest with girls although his fondness for females is sexual while mine is (very) distant outside-looking-in and clinically objective. He still enjoys sharing his beerhouse anecdotes like he was sharing it to a frat brother, as he always did, but to me it sounds like the Na’vi explaining their mating rituals. On a good day I could make it sound like fax tone.

Nightcrawler snogs Cerise. Drawn on a random day ages ago.

I find it extremely thoughtful that he made the effort to go back to our old Philosophy lessons on Foucault’s “History of Sexuality” with its articles on sexual fluidity to convince me that my gayness is but an anomalous falling from grace. I could almost blog about his personal discourse on the topic but I refuse to (meaning: I can’t). He is as intelligent as he is stubborn. One fine day when I felt especially annoyed, I brought up the topic of the fluidity of sexuality and declared how he might factually enjoy sucking cock in 2010. That ended his lecture.

Adren is, like friends should be, brutally honest. And I especially value this honesty because in my situation it is not easy to have a very close straight guy friend who will give you his truth. What could be very true, and very sad, is one thing that he told me a couple of weeks ago over a bucket of beer: “…but we’re never going to be 100% O.K. with the idea that you’re gay.” Inside my signature tipsy smirk was my voice getting caught in my throat. It is painfully true. That’s why he always invites me to see dancing naked Na’vi boobies in hopes of converting me. Or why he’d bring up the topic of how great it might be to make tiny baby Johnny Cursives. Or get very academic and appeal to my geekier side with Foucaultian philosophy. But the beer bottle I share with them is half full, not half-empty. Apparently it also never gets empty. They are still my friends, and the dynamics of a closeted gay guy being best friends with a straight couple is their struggle as much as it is mine. I didn’t come out of the closet to them; I’ve invited them over to mine. And it’s a hot, cramped closet with the smell of moth balls. It’s also very pink. Hot pink.

Carpe Diem means Seize the Merchandise

2009-12-29T05:00:00.005+08:00

I’m one of those guys who live by the present. I enjoy the journey more than the destination. I admit that there’s wisdom to visualizing your goals and working towards reaching them; the problem is, people are too preoccupied with their goals without paying much attention to their actions at the moment.

Does a reached goal equate to happiness? Not all the time. There are too many factors that can confound the experience of perceived success. What happens when you have already reached that goal? Like good citizens, we abide by the law of diminishing returns as we try to look for new goals, reboot, and wallow anew in the notion of lack.

“Life is what happens while you’re making plans” is how Kulay, my favorite OPM band of all time, would sing it. Work on a perfect now and tomorrow falls into place is how I like to think about it.

There’s a danger to enrolling in my school of thought though. Isaiah 22:13 quips the existential caution, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die” to emphasize the impermanence of life. However, I for instance could sometimes take it differently and simply miss out on the future effect of my current actions. Carpe Diem has evolved a new meaning: seize the merchandise.

Thanks to Horace’s Carpe Diem, I am now a proud owner of a credit card debt that’s probably too big for a 25-year old dude like meself. Get now, pay later, is an American pitfall that I checked out and tripped into. I don’t even like most Americans that much.

My gold card is now in the safekeeping of my gal friend to keep me from amassing any further debt. I’m only keeping my lowly BPI edge for the necessities. When Horace wrote about Carpe Diem, I bet he wasn’t aware of the revenue he was going to give the card companies.

My mom gave me a really good tip: Ask BPI to increase my S.I.P. balance and then have my balance transferred to a fixed monthly amortization for a period of several months. That has saved me a truckload of interest and has also forced me to make fixed payments instead of the minimum. Now I no longer wonder when the hell it would get paid off. None of my friends ever suggested something like that. None of my officemates too. And I happen to work in a financial institution.

My sidekick and I are in the same stage right now. We’re both trying to get more financially streamlined. He’s the newest good influence I have in my life. He has lit a fire under my ass to take action, and 2010 is the year we get there. 2010 is going to be the shiznit!

Oh snap! I can’t believe I actually quoted the Bible in this entry.

Johnny Cursive and Sidekick catch the Colds

2009-12-22T00:38:00.000+08:00

My sidekick and yours truly caught the Colds recently. Maybe it's somatic lovesickness? Nah. I'd blame it on stress and December weather. We should both stop the smoking and increase the hours of sleep. I'm already getting 8 hours and apparently it's not enough. Must increase vitamin intake -- C, B-vitamins and maybe a bit more vitamin J. We need kisspirin and yakapsul. And increase the time spent together to huddle-cuddle for warmth. Our time spent together is at a healthy level but I seem to can't get enough. Mush much.

Papa Cyclops braves the snowstorm. Drawn in December 2000

Campus Pre-Coitus: Where it began for Johnny

2009-12-21T17:58:00.020+08:00

I had a reunion last Saturday with my GH high school tropa and their respective girlfriends. I wasn’t able to bring my wonderful boyfriend because last time I checked, he wasn’t a girl.

I have always enjoyed the company of my straight friends with our signature no-holds-barred, uncensored and unadulterated all-male harutan that the girlfriends couldn’t do anything about. I’ve been in that school since kinder, so that makes it 13 years with rowdy male classmates with too much testosterone for their own good.

LSGH: fun times, good friends & lots of cute boys

School was fantastic. Fist fights were rampant but easily resolved by a common love for the almighty Hustler magazine. There’s too much male competition and most boys had no choice but to be sporty. I drifted to soccer for a couple of years in grade school and then martial arts for another couple of years in high school. The most popular boys were the basketball jocks, followed by the track & field boys. The track & field boys were hotter. Those in wall climbing and swimming seemed to have a world of their own; only the parents cheered for them. Volleyball, of course, was 90% faeries. They had their wings early. In the spirit of healthy competition as the apotheosis of man’s quest for excellence, there would also be a jackoff race to see who gets to shoot their load first. These events would happen in sleepovers and never in school premises. It doesn’t happen like it does in the Fratpad website; in our version, it’s just one dude in the CR and the action is timed until he steps out with the evidence on his hand. But sigh—I didn’t get to join any such race. “Sayang Johnny di ka sumama ang galing ni Aquino 2 minutes lang tapos na.” 5 cute boys in a race? Had I joined, I would have been done in 10 seconds or less.

I also always looked forward to swimming class. One great thing about swimming class was that board shorts were not allowed. We were all required to wear Speedos, including the coach. Every year, there would be a different hot coach in a Speedo. LSGH only hires hot coaches. Blame it on the La Salle Brothers. Once in a while there would be a classmate with the unfortunate hard-on in his banana hammock. He’d get teased for the rest of the day. My good friend Marco always got teased that he kept getting the stiffy every swimming class, but the truth was, his was just a big schublig. And he had to prove it to save face and gain a few secret fans.

My school always had dry humpers. Sometimes someone would thrust behind you while you buy tacos in the cafeteria. The worse happens when someone gets dominated, pinned face-first on a wall and then feel someone’s bulge on his ass, or similarly pseudo-raped on his bunk bed while on a retreat. It’s guaranteed to piss a lot of boys off, hence the popularity of the method. One thing’s for sure though: I wasn’t too annoyed with it. When someone does it to me, I'd throw a few requisite cussing while smiling with fulfillment deep inside. Then I'll punch the cute bastard on the shoulder. Not too hard, lest he never does it again. I'm just so glad only the cute and semi-cute ones do it because they're the only ones who could get away with it.

Just like Chino. Chino was a dry humper. He was a Candymag cutie and one of the 69 Cosmo bachelors when we were in college. He’s also quintessentially straight and with an overdeveloped libido, like Stiffler. And he’d always jokingly pinch a nipple or dry hump a katropa. When I told him about me, he’s remained a gracious true friend and kept my secret safe. However, he wouldn’t dry hump me anymore. Sometimes he’d forget that I’m a faerie whenever he kids around. Then I would jokingly hump him, he'd realize that I could possibly enjoy it, and he turns pale while running for cover.

Being one of the boys in an all-boys school had its perks. It was a lot tougher for the effeminate faeries, unfortunately.

Deathchair

2009-12-13T03:02:00.002+08:00

I saw a chair in the Bratpack store in GB5 and thought that it was nifty. It caught my attention from afar and it totally invited me to sit on it. I was running my fingers on its surface while I admired its colors and in half a heartbeat I flinched and got the hell back on my feet, cursing.

I know some people who'd rather sit on an electric chair.

The Gambit Effect

2009-12-10T01:01:00.009+08:00

With art, I got 3 masters: Fernando Amorsolo (a distant lolo), Stan Lee and Nelo from “The Dog of Flanders” cartoon drama series (ya know, that kid who had a dog named Patrash. That little boy drew really well).

Stan Lee was the main man. His cross-hatching and over-all ink work from the 90’s was perfection. I have fallen in love with his Marvel Comics creations and X-Men in particular; they have influenced me so much and opened the doors of art and literature for me (yes, comic books count as literature). Stan Lee had so much power over me when I was still a twink. But he probably did not have so much influence over me as much as Gambit the X-Man did.

Gambit, ink on paper. Drawn on a horny day in 1998, 2nd year hischool.

Gambit. Now that man’s hot. Everything he touches ends up in hot explosion. His French accent coupled with his tousled hair and scruffy devil-may-care rockstar nonchalance was too much for a growing faerie like my pubescent old self. I could’ve imagined the musk emanating from his hot body hidden under that worn-out trench coat like the undulating heat of sand dunes on a desert afternoon. Everything just lent to a mystery and je ne sais quoi so successful on me that I tried to emulate it during my (very few) visits to Bed. Most visits I was alone. I would come in a turned up hoodie, stay on a corner and drink my beer as I observe the crowd and absorb the music. Then maybe flash a Gambit smirk. Or a Gambit wink. Then wait to be picked up like a bitch.

It would be so convenient to blame my sexual orientation on a fictional character, but sometimes I could be very much convinced that Gambit gave me the purple faerie wings.

That bastard. That sexy, sexy bastard.

Johnny Cursive misses the Kanto Gym

2009-12-08T20:06:00.002+08:00

I cannot even begin to be nice to people in my gym now in fear of it being misconstrued as a pick-up attempt.

I have a neighborhood kanto gym that I used to frequent. It’s on the penthouse of a mid-rise condominium owned by our vice-mayor. Incidentally, this condominium is pink so I refer to it as the pink gym. I only go there on rare occasions when I’m pressed for time and I need to lift iron. What I miss most in that gym is the fact that it is a gym that does only what it’s supposed to do – help me in my journey of trying to look good naked. I could wear raggedy shirts and frayed shorts while kidding around with strangers. The boys are friendlier and all conversations do not have a trace of come-ons. It’s a good mix of members – awkward and lanky high school kids, blue-collar workers, bouncers, cute guys and the occasional female. People in my kanto gym openly talk to everyone about workout routines or the latest video scandals. Laughter is common and welcome.

I don’t get that in FF. I can’t ask about workout routines without sounding sexually interested no matter how deep and manly I register my voice. When I tried to be nice and open to casual conversation, either the dude responded with one-liner answers that would prevent any further dialogue, or mistook it for some sort of signal. I’ve been a member for a year now and I haven’t even met a gym buddy. The nearest to a gym buddy was with a trainer from a platinum branch who used to work at a hardcore bakal gym. Mas masaya rin para sa kanya magbuhat sa hardcore.

The branches I frequent are Megamall, Robinson’s Summit and The Fort Strip. Overall, I’m getting most comfortable in The Fort. The members don’t really look at me and probably it’s because there are lots of hotter guys, or majority of the members are straight. Plus the celebrities will always get the attention from both straight and gay boys. In Robinson’s Summit I cannot help but feel like I’m being sized up or debated if I’m a member of gaydom. In The Fort Strip, I could unwind in the sauna in peace; in Megamall or Robinson’s Summit steam rooms, other guys look at your crotch area without even trying to hide the act. That’s just my experience.

Naughty gym encounters aren’t really for me, now that I’ve got a boo and even when I was still single. Finding sex in the gym feels like desecration for some of the more conservative guys and that includes me. Johnny Cursive has quite a few very conservative sensibilities. That’s why I miss my dear old pink gym where all the straight and straight-ish boys are. If only the dumbbells were not so rusty.

Johnny Cursive has an empty Wishlist

2009-12-07T19:11:00.003+08:00

I am in front of my office PC right now thinking of what to put in the 2 separate excel wish list spreadsheets in our shared drive: one file for my staff’s gift exchange and one file for my boss and colleagues. I’ve been thinking for a couple of hours now and I haven’t really put anything in them.

My wish list last year included an Asos jacket, a metal Skullcandy mic & earphone set for the Iphone and a couple of jazz-era oxford dress shoes for work. It included photographs, product codes, exact price and where to buy.

Those aren’t in my wish list for this year anymore. I can’t seem to find anything to put in my new wish list. I’d hate to be corny but being a freshly-partnered dude, my mundane wishes have taken a backseat. I’m already getting more than what I’ve wished for.

I apologize if my entry has stimulated any sort of gag reflex. I’ve had the history of eliciting gag reflexes from boys but usually not from my writing.

Guy picks up Johnny Cursive Twice

2009-12-07T01:13:00.000+08:00

K is a really good illustrator friend of mine and I treat him like a brother but I call him ninang. He helped unravel me from my cocoon and showed me how to flap my purple faerie wings. We’ve shared a lot together in the 2 years I’ve known him including halftone methods in Photoshop, hangovers, and bottom boys. We also share the fact that we’re both very closeted. It’s a claustrophobic closet vaulted by paranoia and it’s also very pink.

***

So ninang texted me that he saw some dude that I mentioned to him a few months ago:

“Pare nakita ko si Dave (not the real name), ung nakaseks mo dati. Yung kalbo sa Facebook mo. Hanep ang angas kung makatingin kala mo stret.”

“I-sexy time mo na ninang. Bottom yan pero di ko tinusok. Isang kalabit lang yang lecheng yan.”

My first encounter with Dave was in a coffee shop outside Gateway Mall. He was a good-looking skinhead guy with a tan fresh from wakeboarding. He also looked like my Cosmo bachelor straight katropa from college. I was busy with my cookie and milk when he approached me. An hour later, we were getting frisky under the sheets in Cubao. We exchanged numbers but that was the last we’ve heard of each other.

A month after that, I was eating somewhere in Ayala with two colleagues when I saw Dave eating alone a couple of tables away, looking all smug and with a generous smattering of angas. He was looking at me when I saw him and he wouldn’t avert his eyes, so I nodded my head in acknowledgement. Because I was with officemates, I didn’t approach him even after he gestured for me to come. I just texted him after I left the place.

“Dave chong! si Johnny to, lagkit mo makatingin kanina ah. Musta na?”

“Johnny who? Are you the guy kanina? Have we met before?”

“Yeah, in Gateway.”

“Did we have sex?”

I can arrive at 3 conclusions:

1) Dave is a big slut with a bigger case of the fugue.

2) I am a forgettable lay.

3) I am capable of catching some guy’s attention and I am a forgettable lay.

Getting (almost) picked up twice by the same guy left me bamboozled beyond belief. Whether I should’ve felt stoked or cock-slapped in the face was beyond me.

Johnny Cursive can't drive

2009-12-05T03:51:00.000+08:00

I struck a deal with my mom that I will learn how to drive this year. There are only 3 weeks left of this year and all I know is how to (nervously) start a car. I’m a 25-year old guy who can’t drive.

So far I’m surviving without the skill. I try to convince myself sometimes that driving is overrated. The truth is, I’m scared. I’ve had many stitches and broken bones from all sorts of mishaps. When I was 6, I was sitting on the gutters beside my playmate and his leg stopped a nearby van from running over mine.

So it’s MRT, taxi, and the jeepney for me. To get to work, I ride the cab. If it’s that time of the day where there are no available cabs passing by my area, I take a jeepney going to Makati Ave’s Pacific Star and that’s where I ride a cab. If I still can’t get the cab, I take the Ayala loop jeepney.

Ayala Loop Jeepney, ink & pencil on paper; drawing shipped to Florida

Commuting is a unique exercise. I’d like to believe that it boosts one’s immune system via cardio amidst all the free-radical exposure. My gym membership cannot replicate that.

Commuting gave me interesting experiences, such as frotteurism in the MRT rush hour. Whether it’s some stranger’s cock on my thigh or a boob pressing on my shoulder blade, the inappropriate contact is just not OK. And don’t even get me started on the gropers.

Come to think of it, yeah I think I’d like to start learning how to drive in 2010.

Johnny Cursive is a faerie

2009-12-05T01:05:00.000+08:00

Drawn a few months back on a gloomy day. Ink on paper, colored by Photoshop

Elements of Swardspeak as Catalyst for Telepathy

2009-12-04T03:13:00.000+08:00

Phoebe to Christopher:

“I-kembot mo dito yung chervalou na kiniyeme sa’iyo ni kuwan.”

Now what the fuck was that about? That was a mind-boggling conversation I’ve eavesdropped from officemates some time ago. Hearing it was enough to lose my wits. But that’s just because I was not a part of that dialogue.

Christopher opened his drawer and took out a slightly crumpled brown enveloped and tossed it over to Phoebe’s desk.

I was impressed. Two perfectly functioning human beings were able to communicate with naught but a gurgling of arbitrary words. Heck, the words they used were so meaningless that a simple eye contact between the two of them would have sufficed.

Swardspeak has provided Filipinos with more tools of convenient communicating with such words as chorva, kiyeme, and chenelyn, on top of the more common kuwan and ano. Filipinos are gravitated towards over-decorating (food, jeepneys, fiestas, conversations) so combine this with gay flamboyance and you got one hell of a riot. I am still learning the language of my kin, and I’ve been relying heavily on context clues to catch up.

Communication by arbitrary words is made possible by rapport and empathy. This is why Phoebe, a gorgeous babaeng bakla, and Christopher, your gay-next-door, were able to have that example of seamless communication. It appeared to be the initial stages of telepathy. Like the psychic connection between twins or a mother and her child; except this connection is with two crazy baklitas. I was around the Ateneo Spirit Questors for a couple of years and most of them, including the moderator, were gay. I’m not surprised that the demographic that benefits mostly from communication via chervalou are the gaykin. We’re all better at the esoteric, psychic bonds, empathy and rapport, and the chervalou word fillers have been effective catalysts.

I enjoy hearing or reading swardspeak and I would love to be fluent someday. However, there is danger in relying too much on convenient word fillers that pull you away from exerting any effort in locating specific words, whether in English or Filipino, to convey your message. People are getting lazy. This is why I was peeved by schoolmates who knew no other language than Taglish. They could not (or worse, pretend not to) speak straight Filipino but they couldn’t speak straight English either. And it’s perpetuated by the convenience of Taglish. The seemingly innocuous chervalou might do the same.

Bottom line is: if the person is articulate in two or more languages (ex: Filipino, English, and Swardish), he gets 500 pogi points. And if he’s eloquent with his body, that’s an additional 10,000 pogi points.

(My baby has accumulated approximately 256,000 pogi points as of this day)

Literary Precum

2009-12-03T21:35:00.001+08:00

This is word vomit. I’ve chosen a more prosaic existence after being bohemian for the longest time, hence the loquacity leaking out of my ears and gibberish under my eyelids trying to get the hell out. I don’t blame them; my mind can be a really strange place sometimes.

I’m no stranger to blogging but I am a stranger to getting organized. I’ve probably started around 3 or 4 blogs to document my piss of consciousness. And I forget where I piss sometimes. However, I vividly remember pissing on the poor tree in the middle of the Ateneo quadrangle one college evening but I digress. Some stuff I wrote are probably in some dusty online corner while the others I actually wrote in the lost art of cursive. Here’s a new blog to document my new shiznit in this new chapter of my life.

I am just a 25 year-old dude with a few things to say.

***

I’ve been working on being the one for some guy instead of wasting my time consciously working on finding the one. To see yourself as “single and looking” is an excellent reminder of your own perceived void that needs filling. Although there’s nothing terribly wrong with taking control and heading out to the haystack with a magnifying glass, the resulting strain and frustration is not something I would enjoy very much. So I thought to myself how nifty it would be to work on becoming some person’s the one. In this needle-in-the-haystack metaphor, I ditched my magnifying glass and began work on being the shiniest needle I could become.

The realization came about after I have ended my first relationship. I was 19, overwhelmed, suffocated and confused. The aftermath of the tumultuous combination of a relationship I walked away from, school, freelance work, band gigs and family stress left me all hollowed out. My self-esteem needed to be dug out from a pile of crap. So deep into shit, exhuming it took more than three years.

That was equal to three years of celibacy. No fornicating, no kissing, no dating, no boys. Not even the liberating company of the gay kin, only the dire straights. I relearned the uncomplicated pleasure of the company of friends and my own self. There’s a gazillion sources of happiness out there and I’m thankful to have had the time to stop and smell the roses, although that did not erase the fact that I had also fettered myself from any romantic or even sexual possibility. After 3 years, just as I was turning 24, I decided to start taking care of myself more and paid more attention to how I looked. I found myself a couple of online friends to show me the dynamics of being a 20-something gay guy. In the process I found out my own market value and where I was to be taking my wares.

My very own gay brand identity (“gay brand identity” deserves its very own dedicated write-up) was a straight-living homo-nouveau. I was just learning how to be gay after years of hiatus; I knew that this fact could potentially be charming and I banked on that too. I was aware that I was a fit, straight-acting, nice-looking, rugged and smart guy. I had my vanity but I was very careful not to be conspicuous about it. This brand identity served me well for the next couple of years. It was a hedonistic couple of years if I may add—a slew of hookups, dating, courtships, threesomes, boys, boys, boys.

I had a lot of fun and affirmation. With my growth at work, reconnection with my friends (the bunch of them straight), improvement on my home life and a thriving (but safe) sex life, I built up my self-esteem and created a healthy positive attitude. As I was slowing down into my sexual denouement and going back to my serial monogamous default, the universe has conspired to bring me to my loving partner in perfect timing.

I now have more reasons to just keep growing. This time it’s gonna be with someone I love.

I am Johnny Cursive and this is my new leaf.