Bitter is the Spit of a Loveless Bitch

I haven't been seeing anyone since the last time I kissed this guy on the forehead and abandoned him in his sleep. That was about two years ago, and I've never been too keen with starting a new leaf in his wake. I was not much of a fool to fall in love with him, and that kiss was an unspoken farewell which sealed the lid on whatever we had going on back then. That was two years ago, and for some reason, I seem to have lost my grip on this whole, er, boyfriend-boyfriend engagement.

Is a two-year sabbatical from romance long enough? I don't even remember how lovers are supposed to behave anymore. Fill me in on this one, but I'm really trying to remember. Are they meant to hold hands and go all out on each other to everybody else's viewing pleasure? That's entertainment. Are they meant to stick together as a couple? Just that, as a couple? That's playing safe. Are they supposed to practice safe sex on each other? That's being fuck buddies. So what are they supposed to be then? And is it still as good as it used to be last time I remembered it?

It was two years ago, two lifetimes ago when I last felt like tripping on a happier kind of weed. But the funny thing about this kind of addiction is that it doesn't seem to present any withdrawal symptoms or whatsoever. I haven't been, uhm, involved for the past two years now, but I don't feel like I'm missing anything good. It's been two years now since I last got intimate with another warm body, two years since I went beyond freaky and actually showed any romantic capacity, two years since I voiced affection through lips meant to kiss. I remember that these things felt good, but I don't feel anything at all like a junkie in rehab.

That last kiss makes me remember the sweet sickening shit we used to share. But that was a goodbye kiss. It wasn't completely romantic and all, but it was still a kiss, and thinking of that farewell just made me want to grab a spitoon burst with unanswered questions.

Have I been missing out on something lately?

Ask me this two years ago, and I could snap out an essay faster than you can say "I love this blog." Stifles cough. But now, I'm failing on this one freaking question. Every freaking time. Like I'm answering a freaking pregnancy test, I'm failing evey freaking time. Like any other guy with a freaking dick would do any different, but I'm running out of freaking analogies.

If I sounded a little pessimistic about the subject, let me just say, in my defense, that I'm keeping a bad list of character references. And I swear to God I do. I remember a little of each bad relationship in my memory, but my understanding of the concept never fails to disappoint even myself. Every freaking time.

But I haven't completely forgotten everything. I may be loveless for two years now, but I was able to salvage much from this distasteful learning experience. And that falling in love isn't always a good thing.

See, I've learned that the bad thing about falling in love or something like that for the second third or fourth time around is that it suspends that bitter taste that lingers from your last ugly relationship. It reanimates the death of an emotion that, for all the right reasons, is better kept sealed in an imaginary coffin best left forgotten. It once enchanted you with insurmountable happiness, and it also caused one of your most remarkable miseries. Call me bitter, but falling in love is a germ that lowers your defenses. It might be pure and all that creamy goodness at it's sweetest peak, but it's the worst piece of shit you can possibly choke on when you two start falling apart. Something bad happens along the way, and hell breaks loose just when you feel all safe and hurt-free in this new paradise.

What good is it to feel like you're in love when you have no real idea as to how long you're going to enjoy that?

I'd rather lose that loving feeling if that means immunity. I don't want to recall another nightmare as it is, and to introduce another terrible memory would simply be self-torture at it's finest. I'm not any good in gambling, but I know better than to take a risk in a bad investment.

And for the love of free sex, don't start calling me the frost queen just yet. It was always fun while it lasted. But I'm sure I haven't grown any wiser in between then and now, so I really wouldn't know shit.

Jealous Contempt in Shades of Flaming Gay Pink

So I was browsing through Friendster profiles this one time, right? And I was, like, so wowed by the absolute injustice wrought by this one Gay Dude's profile. He had a lover. He was in a relationship. He has a boyfriend.

I'm not talking about a lover that's not necessarily God's gift to gay men. He looks okay at the very most, but This Boyfriend was a hunk so tolerably delicious that it makes me want to take a cold shower. Twice. And This Boyfriend's gay too, so Gay Dude's happily engaged in the perfect homosexual relationship anywhere.

And they had pictures everywhere! There was this picture of them two cheek to cheek in bed. Sweet, huh? And there was this shot of them in their barongs in some family event. The two of them were sharing a couple's photo. In their barongs. In some family event. Very nice. And there was this picture of them having lunch sharing a spoon and a fork. For the two of them.

I was looking over these pictures with a growing longing and fondness, and then I noticed something real bad in these pictures. I'm suddenly reminded of why this is so unfair to begin with.

Gay dude's face brings back early childhood memories of me watching Jun Urbano's Mongolian Barbecue. He had a face which, for some very obvious reason, snaps out an instant recollection of Mr. Shooli's assistant. Kuhol. He was short, and he was dark, and he had this mouth which would win him any horse race. It's not that he's "nagmamaganda" in his pictures, but he was happy in most of the pictures showing him and his boyfriend. And that's just cruel. I mean, I'm not unattractive, and I'm almost always "getting some," but I never had a picture as a part of a couple. I've always wanted that, and with all this "cool" working for me, I always expected that I'd get there eventually. But no.

Kuhol gets to have the time of his life doing couple shots with his perfectly sculptured boyfriend. And here I am at home blogging about it. So you'd understand why I'm writing this with a whole hell of jealous contempt. If I'm all that and then some, then how come somebody else gets the happiness that I think I deserve?

Fake Tears and Stampedes

**Another overdue post.


You probably have had enough information by now regarding the tragedy which took place in Ultra. You're probably up to date with the actual number of people who waited in vain and died. You probably might have shuddered in disgust over how some people would wait in line for a whole week just to be able to participate in some stupid television show. You might even have extended a prayer for those people who died as their week-long wait consummated in a pathetic massacre. Some of the survivors didn't fare any better as they had to beg for money to go home. Some of them lost one of their companions which turned out to be their neighbors' children entrusted to them. Some of them lost their own children, and some of them lost their parents as well. And until the actual body count has been identified, these survivors tremble in anticipation while waiting for somebody else to confirm what they've been fearing the most.

But enough of the real drama.

Let's proceed with the ABS CBN drama.

What the fuck are they crying for?

I would understand if they had a talent, or a kapamilya, who was trampled on or electrocuted in this tragedy, but no. Willy Revilliame is still there, alive and looking all fake with forced tears. If they aren't practicing fake tears, then they're over-sensationalizing the tragedy with a parade of bad acting.

Maybe they are trying to tell us that they might bear some semblance of responsibility over the whole event, and they're actually dodging the blame before people started pointing fingers. If they actually organized and maintained full control over the complete event, no less than 70 people would have died. If they weren't so busy trying to promote the first and probably the last anniversary of one of their cheaper shows, no less than 70 people would have died. If they exercised more forethought and less competetiveness, no less than 70 people would have died. But the thing is more than 70 people met their early end while waiting to get in.

They never saw this massacre coming, and now they're channeling fake sympathy slash doing the damage control with bad acting.

It really doesn't matter how perfectly they have practiced their crying. It still looks fake to me. It looks fake because when you think about it, there really is no real reason for them to shed tears and act sympathetic. Like I said, no real celebrity died in the tragedy, and if they're doing any crying at all, it's probably over the shortlived anniversary of one of their shows. For some reason, I'm thinking that they're actually trying to collect the sympathy of the rest of the easily suckered masa.

Because some of us are smelling a big time lawsuit worth millions, they're trying to dodge that by showing just how sorry they are. Which ain't much really, since they're clearly deflecting attention towards just how sympathetic the Kapamilya can be. And that's a really unnerving display if you asked me.

I mean, Gary Valenciano doing Warrior Is a Child is mighty sweet, but for him to do that without the make up is real damaged since there is a visible effort to look heartbroken. Zsa Zsa Padilla is a bad enough singer, and yes, like a two-hit combo, she's frying barbed wire (i.e. singing) while confusing "inconsolable" with "sad." And I'm referring to the kind of sad which you become over some underachieving kid's poor grades. Their so-called "Champions" had to sing for the occasion, and seriously, I see no semblance of remorse over the songs "You Raised Me Up (from the dead)" and "Flying Without Wings (like a bat out of hell)." But it only gets worse. See, Willy Revilliame's been crying for a week already. He's had enough practice, but for some reason, none of that crying's working it's magic.

Yes, Willy Revilliame is still a person, and I think he is still capable of real human emotion. But between you and me, I'm not seeing any of those real emotions when he entertains an interview. True, he might be shedding tears, but we can all cause tears to overflow if we wanted to.

Kristy Fermin understands the nature when she mentioned that we might tend to judge Mr Revilliame's emotional outbursts blah blah blah. She then goes on ahead to mention that, in a magnificent show of lamentation, she saw Mr Revilliame trembling with grief. Underneath a blanket. She saw Mr Revilliame trembling with grief underneath a blanket, and then she goes on to brag about this guy's skill for real human emotion. She goes on about how people might be a little too judgmental over this cheesy display of self-indulgence. And that goes well without saying that we're expecting something like this cheap appeal for sympathy to happen.

Is there a real reason for her to actually think out loud and "defend" Willy's capacity to cry and wet his sheets? In the first place, why would she go beyond herself and defend this guy 's crying skills? Is it possible that she might be thinking in the same wavelength as the rest of us critics with nothing better to do than raise eyebrows at posers? Would there be any real reason for her to explain his emotions other than trying to shush criticism early on? And has it ever occured to her that Willy might be crying simply for show? Most especially towards a press personality who can use this material for future reference?

It can also be implied that he's still making amends for his most recent suspension caused by the MTRCB, but that was before his previous show was cancelled.

But to give the dude some credit, he's been crying in ALL of his interviews, or he's trying at the very least, and he doesn't seem to get tired. He can do it all day.

Wow.

This recent disaster simply goes to show that practice doesn't always make perfect.

Wow.

Hopefully, we're not going to see the revival of that noontime show any time soon.

Wee.

Oh Yeah!

There!

At last, after eight long blogless months, I have finally attempted another go at my blog.

It's not that I haven't had anything to write about in the past. My life has been off the roof with delightfully uninteresting details, but I have proposed to having none of that no more. See, there's better things than keeping updates of my shopping, sex life, and dating activity. And I personally find it verging a little on the boring side. So I'm making it a point to write about things that, in their own sweet way, would disturb your online activities with my brand of corruption.

What that means is this: I tend to give you crap in my blog. Allow me to help you shape your opinions in shit that's not necessarily helpful, but insightful at the very least. You might not be any smarter, but you'll never look as absentminded as the year before. This is not my form of public service. Feel free to bash my english and my writing technique. And yes, I would love the feedback.

Rustom is My New Darna

**And the tears during your confession? You barely came out, and you're already a drama queen!


Sweet tap-dancing mother of Christ, you wouldn't believe what I just heard on TV the other day. It was so terribly ground breaking, them PHILVOLCS people didn't see it coming. It was so freaking out of this world, Robert L. Ripley didn't believe it. It was so fundamentally impossible, Newton couldn't explain it. It was never broadcasted in TV Patrol, but it sure as hell was news to me.

Rustom Padilla admitted to being gay.

It's not exactly him stating the obvious. I mean, I really had no idea that he was gay. Not even an inkling. Not even a freakin' clue! So I was naturally alarmed/shocked/aghast when he went on ahead to pronounce his actual sexual orientation! I was so shocked, they might as well revive me with, well, electric... shock... therapy. I was so alarmed that I started doubting my time-tested gaydar; I could've sworn it failed me that time.

But wait! There's more! If the first piece of unbelievable news didn't raise one of your eyebrows, then this sure as hell will.

Rustom Padilla admitted to being gay in national television. While he was in the Big Brother House. While he was/is a nominee for eviction.

Props and two snaps in a circle to you, Rustom Padilla! Your sense of timing couldn't have been more perfect! Recall that he was already a nominee for eviction when this confession was made. It made me thinking, and this is only little old me thinking out loud, that he's appealing to the gay masses out there to vote for him. I mean, who else would better appreciate his "courage" to admit to his homosexuality but us birds of the same feather?

Maybe he thinks that his announcement would summon enough votes from sympathetic homosexuals out there. Maybe he was thinking that if he had enough votes, then he wouldn't have to leave the House at all. Maybe he was thinking that if he stayed in the house long enough, then he'd have more time to hit on either Zanjoe or Christian. Maybe he was following Uma's footsteps, thinking that PBB needed another homosexual representative. But whatever his motive was, I sure hope to gay hell that this carreer move will make television's new fairy fly higher. But the shock element of it all still pokes fun at my gay self for not being able to detect it in the first place.

I never make it a habit to abuse my punctuation marks, but damn!!! This was completely unexpected, and altogether unbelievable that the right word for it hasn't made Webster's yet.
However that could have happened is just beyond possible. But then, we all heard it straight from the horse's mouth.

Rustom? Gay???

You do understand that I'm just practicing my sarcasm, right?