hardcore lovin'

I often wonder why L loves me so much, how he has endured one tantrum after another. How he has managed to be so patient and understanding in the most ridiculous and compromising situations is beyond me. Apparently, the ONLY other person who has that high a treshold is my mother. But that is my mother. I'm pretty sure L is not my father because my dad is dead. (Hi Amá.)

I am sweet, yes. Kind, no. Thoughful, yes. Understanding, not at all. Brat, yes. Childish, yes. Bitchy, negotiable. Caring, very. Loving, yes. Unresonable, sometimes.  Simple, hell no. I am a cross between Veruca Salt and Strawberry Shortcake. The difference between a wolf and a kitten. 

I wonder why he loves me this much because if I was MY boyfriend, I don't think I would have loved me as much as he does. If I was MY boyfriend, we'll probably outbitch each other and call it off every month—or week. If I was MY boyfriend, it would have been "It's Complicated TM" on Friendster. So I'm probably not compatible with myself.

I'm thankful L knows (learned?) how to properly handle PMS. Once I ordered a float in KFC and strictly instructed the server NOT to put ice in it. I find ice in a soda float so fucking stupid. Haven't they heard of  A&W's? There's the soda, vanilla ice cream and, ew, ice? Ain't the ice cream supposed to keep it cold and make it a fucking float? And the chocolate syrup at Mcdo just makes it  a lot more hideous! That, and using strawberry soda, Sprite, lime soda. Can't we just stick to good 'ol rootbeer and a scoop of vanilla? Baka naman next time, ube ice cream na gamitin nila.

And why the hell do fastfoods put loads of HUGE ice tubes on softdrinks? I suspect it's a racket to cut the soda volume by at least 1/3, and the ice makes it watered-down, too. It's such a hassle to say "less ice" everytime I order.

There's an instance I was denied an ice-less float in McDo: "Ma'am hindi magflo-float pag walang ice." I told her it's ok and we could just watch the ball of ice cream drowwwwn in my float. I'm digressing, of course, so back to our KFC dinner. I tried their version of this very confused drink (so many issues, I tell you) and he forgot to ditch the ice.

I was mad—at L: "Putanginang yelo to. Anong gagawin ko jan? Baket may yelo. Putangina naman nila. Sinabi ng walang yelo. San ka nakakita ng float na may ice? Ha? Saaaaaaaaaaaan? Hindi ba nila alam na dapat walang ice to? PUNYETAAAAAA!" I recited this monologue over and over while staring and pointing at the cup of Pepsi float like it's worse than nuclear testing.

I drank it anyway. I just needed a moment. L kept quiet all those time and just listened. He knew it wasn't me. It was PMS speaking.

L is also one of the few guys who can endure shopping. He'd even have a say on my choices (bad fit, wrong color, too short) although I'll buy it anyway without his approval. What he hates most is when I'm late—and lately it's a two-hour waiting period. I've promised to shape-up and make it an hour at least, hehe.

This guy loves me so much and I'm thankful for that. I've never been fully satisfied in this relationship (go ahead, shoot me) and still want a lot from him when it comes to other things, but when it comes to loving me, this guy amazes me. Hardcore, eh.

kitten calls

I was waiting for a cab on our street one sunny wednesday afternoon and a couple of madungis na magbobote in a sidecar passed, looking at me as they trailed by.

"Uy seksi!" one called out. I didn't feel violated, I think I even smiled at them. It was the first time I was called "sexy" by a dingy stranger and I was actually flattered. He fed the fantasy that I am, indeed, losing weight. To the curious, I was wearing an off-white tank top, denim miniskirt and white patent wedges at that time.

I usually get "Uy, miss ang cute mo naman"; "Miss, hatid na kita"; "O, padaanin nyo si ate!"; or a simple "Miss, miss." In college, it used to be "Classmate, classmate!" Whenever I hear these I just continue walking.

I'm no newbie to catcalls. The boobs are a dead giveaway. Some are offensive alright, but it would take much more for me to let go of my inner jologs para manguyog ng tambay. But three in particular have hit a nerve:

 I was in a dress and an old geezer greeted me "Hi, tabachingching!" smiling. He probably meant well, as in baby tabachingching... but "taba" is still there. Pwede next time, "chingching" na lang? Mas sensitive, chos.

 Minsan sa may Kalayaan, sa tabi ng sakayan ng Mantrade, sa gilid ng nagtitinda ng calamares may dalawang binatang naglalakad in their basketball jerseys. I was wearing my flat apple-green suede boots over boot-cut jeans and they pointed it out: "Pare sapatos ni Peter Pan!" Not the boots, man, not the boots. It's fashion.

 This one's in college—when I still had a visible waist and innocence was a bliss (naks). It was AB week, I think, so we were allowed to wear civilian clothes in lieu of uniforms. I opted to take a bus instead of an FX to get away from the traffic, and that meant I had to wait for it along Osmeña Highway. Yes, that part near the riles where 10-wheelers pass by and where Ruth got mugged.

I was in a knit baby-pink top and jeans under the sweltering pre-noon heat and a big gravel-delivery truck halted for the red light in front of me. The guy on the passenger seat called out: "BOOBA, BOOBA!"

I didn't know if I should run or curse him back. I was late for school (as usual) and it wasn't really the nicest place to pick a fight in with a construction worker. That, and I was alone in the area, pwedeng pwede nila kong ibaon sa aspalto. How unglamorous.

So I waited till the green light came and gave him an angry finger. They sped off. Now I guess it's safe to deduce that I was once mistaken for Rufa Mae Quinto. Like whoa.

sabaw tuesday

Isang araw sa opisina over YM:

Francis: Anong favorite mong Beatles song?
Me: Kinakanta ko lagi sa videoke yung "HEY!" kase maiksi lang yun eh.
Francis: Anong "Hey"?
Me: Ano ka ba?! Yung "Hey! I need somebody. Hey! Not just anybody... Hey, you know I need someone. Heeeeeeey."
Francis: "HELP" YUN.
Me: Ay, "Hey Jude" pala yung iniisip ko. Sorry.

Isa pa. This is my friend J's YM status message featuring him and his buddy, let's call him "SF" for stupid but funny:
SF: Napanood mo na ba yung "Fantastic 4"?
J: Hindi pa, yung una pa lang napanood ko.
SF: Ako rin, yung una pa lang. Hindi ko pa napapanood ung 2 and 3, baka di ko ma-gets yung 4.

I shared that with Rissa and later with L over our requisite Tuesday dinner:
Rissa: Paano yung "Ocean's 13"? Kailangang panoorin yung 1-12?
Me: Eh paano yung "300"? Hala, hindi natin napanood ung 1-299!

Status message that made my week:
Miko: "Itigel mo na yang kakatsismes sa anak kong si rofa, bruhilda ka doli!"

YM is sooo lab. And so sabaw.

biela, curtis, paulie, rainne, me (score!), tricia, hazel and bf pao. photo taken by L

drinking buddhas, some years later

My Other Mother called ourselves Drinking Buddhas in college because we used to share a beer joint behind a bus station frequented by practically anyone who has mad craving for beer—writers, poets, bus drivers/konduktors, law students, med students, drunkards, tambays. "Drinking" was quite literal; "Buddha" came from a  quote, I think ("if you see Buddha on the road, kill him"). Those were the colegiala days of 500-ml Colt 45 and Lala crackers.

We called the beer place Kitten's Den as coined by a poet-friend-mentor (because strays are all over the place). Some called it Batcave (dim and dingy) and Tia Maria de Leon (it was behind the Maria de Leon bus station). There, talks ranged from the stupid to the existentialist, the political to liturgical. Heck, after one too many bottles you wouldn't notice the difference anyway. I wonder how Thomasians call the place now. It was our comfort zone right outside the campus.

The Drinking Buddhas still returned there from time to time after graduation, but hardly now, as years later, we became reformed promising alcoholics.

I worked for a paper since graduation. I now prefer red wine over beer, and has outgrown the rock 'n' rock lifestyle (bf, shopping and rock 'n' roll has proven to be a healthier alternative). And oh, I had stopped the baaaad habit of professing undying love to rockstars and other semi-celebrities whenever I was boozed-out shitless. Rainne used to scream: "Ilayo nyo yung cell phone nya!" while Paulie nursed me to my senses. That was before I discovered I could get an electrifying high by buying bags on eBay—another more wholesome option.

we have the same bags, man. 'di kame nag-usap, pramis.

We recently got back together after some years for Rainne's birthday cum baby shower. Paulie, the academician (Paulo Mora, Cum Laude) had worked for the church, government and other institutions. Rainne, who was surprisingly mobile and sprightly for a buntis of 6 months,  writes in another paper. Curtis works for a mag and, to our relief, have not imbibed the "magazine culture"—she still curses in the vernacular ("Putanginaaaa!"). Hazel, the Stoned Geek Least Likely to Keep a Boyfriend, has kept one for two years.

(Curtis and I are both "Irene." So, to hasten confusion, I was Andrea and she was Curtis. No relation to Anne, though.)

Friends of the Buddhas were also there: single mom Tricia works for a kickass recording company and lives up to her party-girl status, and Biela, who's getting married in October, is in a Korean office.

Not bad. As Paulie said, he's glad we're ok and that we can even consider ourselves "successful." We are still colegialas at heart sharing old jokes and classic punchlines. And oh, no one drank any alcohol that night. Matured na kame. Charing.

I missed these girls. These are the friends I want to keep till we're lolas playing mah-jong or maintaining 38 Friendster accounts—or whatever's cool at that moment. Our schedules make it hard to round up all of us together, but we'll probably be complete whenever an event—or a baby—comes along. Enough said, I love these girls. I'd marry any or all of them if I was a dude, hehe.