Little Red Riding Horses

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.

Hung and Over

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!

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

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 Sings "Isang Linggong Pag-Ibig"

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.