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.

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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.

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.

Ugly Duckling

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



Johnny Cursive =/= Jude Law

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

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.

Johnny Cursive's Wish List

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 :-)

Johnny Cursive's Uniform

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



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.

To Spot a Budding Faerie

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

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

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!

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!

Heard on TV

"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

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

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

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)
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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.

Of Relationships and Flirting

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 

The Case of the Gym Shoe Thief

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

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 sarges* a Ukranian chick

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.