No girls

Today I decided I'll add a few words to my blog. I suspect I'll end up editing a lot; it's difficult enough to write an entry using a smartphone let alone have a semblance of coherence in a stream of consciousness type of writing.


Apparently I have smitten some girls at the office, according to witnesses who stayed and heard some elevator gossip after I went down the 10th floor. I don't know if it's my necktie, my feeble wispy attempts at a mustache or the irresistable musk of closet homosexuality. That always seems to attract the wrong gender. Nonetheless, it kinda felt good. I have spent an extra 10 minutes prepping for Monday workday after all. And I'm still glowingly hung over from my boyfriend's 10-day visit; he's already returned to Singapore last night. 

No, ladies. I will not eat cunt. It will never happen. I will, however, help you shape your eyebrows, Lily Collins style. 

Bloodthirsty Gay Hero (and Gay Medieval Sex)

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

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

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

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

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

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.