I hate Madonna.

So there I was, thinking I was okay. I thought I've convinced myself that I've moved on. It was hard, especially with her constantly in the background, but I forced myself to be indifferent, and I managed. For a while it worked, but like every passionate emotion, the feeling that I tried so hard to repress, to forget, came flooding back, and it was just as intense. I thought that the previous blog entry will be the last about him, but I guess I was wrong.

Our prelim exams finished a week ago. I like to believe I did well, fantastic even, but answering those questions wasn't an easy task. So to blow off some steam, my friends and I decided to celebrate the end of the torturous week by buying a lot of beer and heading to Bob's house. It was the typical night out with friends. Lots of drinking, lots of smoking, and lots of unruly conversation. Some of the guys brought weed but I didn't mind, thinking nothing would happen anyway. But then I got drunk, which would later cloud my judgment, and worse, my memory. When I woke up the next day, I thought everything went well. I must admit he and I got touchy, but only to a certain extent. I had my arm on his thigh, but it was more of a friendly gesture, like the time when I fell asleep on his arm and he played with my hair. Friendly. Right.

Usually, after a night of shameless drinking, I text my friends and ask what happened. But Bob beat me to it, since he was in a worse state because of the weed. He asked if he did anything foolish around Miko [the girl he's crazy for], to which I answered no. I then asked the same question, and he commented that Paolo and I were too friendly that night. I assumed it was the time when I had my arm on his thigh or when I drew happy faces on his leg, but he told me that we were already holding hands and we even had a quick kiss. The kiss I remember. It was the time when he was about to leave and we hugged and not being able to resist [blaming the alcohol can be very convenient, mind you], I gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the hand holding I don't remember. I just. Cannot. Remember. Holding his hand. Or him holding mine.

Honestly, I'm having second thoughts about what Bob said. Bob is a great friend. I have high respect for him, and he is one of the few people I can talk to when I want to talk about serious things, things I know not many people would understand. I trust Bob with my heart, but he was high as a kite that night, and I don't know if it was the marijuana's effect that made him see us holding hands. I guess he suspected that that was what I thought and he said he was wasted, not hallucinating. Good point.

"You guys were too friendly last night. You were holding hands and you even had a quick smack."

Two short sentences, that when taken apart means nothing. It's not even romantic. But it had a disconcerting effect on me. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was okay. I thought that seeing her name saved as hun hun would finally slap me till next week, but it didn't. It failed miserably. And then I knew it. If seeing something as painful as that can't make me get over what I feel, then it must mean something. Could it be? Am I in love? Or am I just stupid?

I don't even know why I'm so into him. He's not even my type. Given the fact that he's goodlooking and his smile can make my knees crumble, he doesn't really have the qualities I want in a man. I'm a big fan of intelligent, witty, and clever guys, and frankly, he doesn't fit the bill. So to think that I'm head over heels over this guy is pretty odd. I guess my feelings "deepened" when he admitted to me he had a thing for me and he wanted to court me. Naturally, I asked him why he didn't and he said it was because he made a promise to the girl that he'd wait. I was annoyed, but I can't really blame him. He had feelings for me, but his feelings for the girl is deeper.

I know perfectly well that he's madly in love with his girl, so why am I wasting so much time waiting for him? I've come up with a somewhat plausible theory on why I'm going bananas. Here it goes: It's a fact that I got irritated when he admitted to me he wanted to court me but didn't because of his promise of undying love. Who wouldn't be? Let's compare what is happening to a train station. I am a commuter patiently waiting for the train to come to bring me to my fabulous job. And then it comes. We were both there. We were both there at the same time, but he left without me. He and I, at some point, were into each other. I think the reason why I'm still hanging on is that the guy I like likes me back, and since he admitted he had feelings for me, I'm subconsciously hoping that it will come back, and we will live happily ever after. The question is, will that happily ever after come? Leave it to a romantic psychology student like me to come up with the most farfetched and idiotic ideas. I read a past entry, and I realized that I should have done last Thursday what I did almost a month ago:

Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob's was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, "Every time I see you, I hear there's something that'll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don't you worry if we're apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile". Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn't mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

He will never be mine. Neither do I think that he will leave the girl for me. So why wait? And then it hit me. Yes, I am in love with him. I love him. And I have made the difficult decision to wait for him.

The other night, the folks and I visited my mom's boyfriend for their annual christmas party, and on the way, I was listening to my iPod. What better song to listen to than Madonna's No Substitute For Love, whose lyrics go something like this: Face the truth, I will wait for you, no substitute for love, no substitute for love.

I hate Madonna. She's always right.

I can feel your heart beat for the very last time.

I never knew that it would take someone as kooky as Weird Al Yankovic to wake me from my delusional fairytale. Weird Al Yankovic, who is widely known for doing parodies of popular songs [Click Here to view one of my favorite Yankovic songs, eBay], served as my wake up call and slap in the face. But what really woke me up was watching his video spoof of Madonna's Like A Virgin. His version, titled Like A Surgeon, was definitely funny, but oddly, it struck a chord in me. His last line, I can feel your heart beat, for the very last time, was sad, if not hilarious [Click Here to view the video].

I can honestly say that I am happy for Paolo and Pie. Yes, I still have strong feelings for him and I don't think they would go away anytime soon, but after having lunch with the two of them yesterday [I was initially hesitant, but I agreed to lunch with them anyway], I saw how happy the twosome were, and I didn't want anything to come between them, especially me. The three of us are friends, and I think it would be better if we stayed that way.

I came across Weird Al Yankovic when I went to YouTube to search for a song about eBay I heard months ago on Saturday Night Live. I was interested because recently, I made an account in eBay which resulted in my unwavering addiction. I am currently broke because within two weeks, I have bought a grand total of 14 books and 2 CDs, and I have committed myself into buying 6 more books. I must admit I have spent an unmentionable amount of money on books that I won't be able to read right away [I have 59++ books in my reading list], but I must say, it's worth every cent. Despite that, I am not condoning this kind of behavior. I have made a vow that after paying for this batch of books, I will make a considerable dent in my reading list before buying the next batch, instead of allowing books to pile by the dozen.

I'm glad my academics has been steady regardless of my obsessions [both Paolo and eBay]. Usually, I get hung up over something that my academics take a back seat. Let me reiterate that Madonna was wrong when she said that time goes by slowly. It feels like only yesterday that class has resumed after the semester break, but the prelim exams are now only two weeks away. This semester is a good one, not only because my grades so far are stellar [except Trigonometry], but because I am getting along with all my professors. My Biology professor is good at her job, and learning from her is an easy task considering her subject is scientific in nature. My professor in FCL is a kindly old lady who loves regaling us with stories and songs. My PGNC [Philippine Government and New Constitution] professor is a Law graduate who seems to know the Philippine government like the back of his hand. Listening to him is very stimulating. My Philippine Lit professor, although boring, is competent in the teaching department. My Arts Appreciation professor is my favorite in the lot, because she is, as she says it, the only one in the department qualified to teach Arts Appreciation. She may be demanding and she may have high standards, but if you do manage to pass her subject, you know you have learned something. My professor in Trigonometry teaches an absolutely boring subject, but she is great. She's approachable and friendly, which are qualities I require in a math teacher. My Trig professor is actually my second in the subject because I dropped my first one after my first professor called me stupid. It happened during the second week of the semester when he asked us to bring an index card and a 1x1 ID picture with a blue background. I wasn't able to have my picture taken the day before because I went over to Khaye's [Perpetual Khaye, not UST Kay] to drink with some of our friends. Instead, I brought a passport sized photo [I had my passport renewed a week before] because it has the background color the professor required. So on that morning, I asked him if it was okay if I use the passport sized photo instead, because come on, it's not as if it's going to matter. Instead of answering with a yes or a no, he mutters stupid loud enough for the entire class to hear. At that instant, I felt the wind knocked out of me. Never in the 18 years of my existence has anyone called me dumb, stupid, or anything synonymous to a brain dead idiot, because I am not. Yes, I must admit, I did not follow his instructions, but that does not give him the right to call me harsh names. It's just wrong. It's wrong on so many levels. I wanted to retort "Excuse me, but did you just call me stupid? You do not have the right to call me that, because not only is it rude, but it is unethical. Your status does not justify your lack of manners". Because it is true. He does not have any right to subject me, or any of his students for that matter, to verbal abuse and moral degradation. Instead, I packed my belongings, stood up, and walked out. I went straight to the dean's office and transferred to a different section. I could have written the dean a complaint letter, or get his ass out of the university, at least my Trig class, but I decided to let it pass because I realized that I do not need to prove myself to someone who gives "one exemption points".

All things considered, I've been well. I've gotten over my addiction to Paolo and instead focused my attention to eBay. I'm not seeing anyone, and I'm having the time of my life drinking with my friends [on an almost-daily basis] and coming home drunk as fuck. There are times when I miss having someone love me and take care of me, but I haven't found the person who would take my breath away and sweep me off my feet. In spite of that, I am not rushing because I've realized I'm young and I have all the time in the world to find Mr. Right.

The coup d'etat by the very papa-ble Sen. Antonio Trillanes inspired great fear amongst my countrymen and my friends' parents last night, which caused the early end of our inuman [we were supposed to celebrate a friend's birthday, but Kristia had to cancel, so we decided to hold our own party]. Some of us rigorously followed the 12-5 curfew set by the government [I got home exactly midnight, how Cinderella of me], while the hardcore drinkers didn't. I'm actually one of the hardcore drinkers in the group, but the curfew set worried my mom, so I dashed home [without forgetting my glass slipper, mind you]. Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob's was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, "Every time I see you, I hear there's something that'll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don't you worry if we're apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile". Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn't mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

The Evolution of Hung Up

Madonna first rocked the music world [and the world in general] in 1983 when she released her first album Madonna, with hit singles such as Everybody, Burning Up, Holiday, Borderline, and Lucky Star. And now, 24 years later, Madonna still knows how to turn the world into one huge dancefloor with the 2005 release of her 10th studio album, Confessions on a Dancefloor.

Hung Up is undoubtedly one hell of a song, and I bet you agree with me. If you do not, it's either you do not have taste, unaware of true fabulosity unless it bites you on your flat ass, or you have lived like a hermit somewhere in Nepal during the last two years. I kid, I kid. If you are not in the know, Hung Up is the first single from Madonna's Confessions on a Dancefloor album, and to say that the song is phenomenal would be an understatement. The evolution of the song’s live performance would be the focus of this blog entry.

Confessions on a Dancefloor was released on November 15, 2005, and Madonna simultaneously performed several of its songs at various clubs, discos, and other venues to promote her new album. On the same date of the album's release, Madonna performed at KoKo Nightclub in London, England. This is the first live production of Hung Up, which would pave the way for future performances.



Just several months later, Madonna was tasked to open the 48th annual Grammy Awards on February 8, 2006 with the animated group Gorillaz and De La Soul, and together, they wowed the world with a medley of Feel Good Inc. and Hung Up. Madonna's performance of Hung Up was similar to the one on her Hung Up promo tour, but her dancing here is stellar to say the least, especially her entrance number with Gorillaz.



On May 21, 2006, Madonna embarked on her Confessions Tour which proved to be very successful. Although it sparked numerous international controversies, the world tour set the record for the top-grossing tour ever by a female artist in history. In her US shows alone, she grossed $80 million throughout the summer. On April 8, 2006, Madonna sold 30,000 tickets in under 40 minutes in Montreal, breaking a record previously held by U2. On July 9, 2006, 50,000 tickets went on sale for Madonna's Osaka and Tokyo shows. The tickets were sold out in a record 5 minutes. Her performance of Hung Up, which closed her shows, has completely evolved from her KoKo and Grammy performances, complete with gold balloons that floated down from the ceiling during the end.



On November 2, 2006, Madonna opened the 13th MTV Europe Music Awards which was held in Copenhagen, Denmark. Her performance, which took place after the Confessions Tour, surprisingly was identical to those of her first productions. What I love about her performance here is the energy of the crowd. You can practically feel the orgasmic frenzy as Madonna delivered the hypnotic lines of the cult song.



The latest, and hopefully not the last, performance of Hung Up was on July 7, 2007, at the Wembley Stadium, London, England for the London leg of Live Earth, a series of concerts that initiated a three-year campaign to combat climate change. Madonna was among 150 musicians who performed on the luckiest day of the millenium [07-07-07], and she performed Hey You, Ray Of Light, La Isla Bonita, and of course, Hung Up. Her perfomance of Hung Up was similar to her Confessions tour, except this was not as grand as her finale in the tour. It was shorter, but so far, I like this mix better.



Also, we must not forget the official video, the visual apotheosis of the song that turned the world into one huge dancefloor. The video had its worldwide premiere on October 27, 2005, and it was well-received. It was nominated for 5 MTV Video Music Awards in 2006 [Video Of The Year, Best Female Video, Best Dance Video, Best Pop Video, and Best Choreography in a Video], and 1 MuchMusic Video Award in the same year [Best International Video]. The video was an homage to the film Saturday Night Fever. Her scenes in the rehearsal studio are reminiscent of a scene in the movie when John Travolta's character Tony Manero approaches Karen Lynn Gorney's character Stephanie Mangano. Madonna proved her tenacity and resiliency in the making of this video because just a few weeks before shooting, she broke 8 bones in a horse-riding accident [which she embraced in her Confessions tour, especially in her Like A Virgin performance].



Like wine, it just gets better and better. But of course, we must not forget the essence of her fantastic productions. The song. The song that is considered by many to be one of the biggest hit singles in Madonna's career, ranked by the United World Chart as the 3rd most successful song of the decade and the 43rd most successful song in music history. Due to the single's worldwide success, it currently holds the record of reaching the number-one position in the most countries [45 countries] for a single. This record was listed in the 2007 edition of Guinness Book of World Records. Hung Up is also the 3rd biggest-selling dance single of all time. With this song, Madonna achieved her 25th gold single, surpassing the Beatles for the most gold singles of all time.

Madonna was wrong. Madonna was dead wrong.

Madonna was wrong. Madonna was dead wrong when she said that time goes by slowly. Time actually goes by fast, very fast, and we just don't notice it because of all the trivial activities we consume ourselves with. It seems like only yesterday that I was struggling with my grades, going out almost every night, and wrecking my entire life with my decadent irresponsibility.

I barely attended my classes then [there are times when I wonder if the only reason why I go to UST was to drink iced teas with my friends and burn my lungs away]. Often, I think about my stay in UST and I end up regretting wasting two years of my life. I was accepted at one of the premiere science schools in the country, yet I threw it all away by boycotting classes, learning to smoke, and passing only three subjects [during my first semester in my first year]. I was given so many opportunities but I threw them all away. Not only was I accepted for my first choice in a prestigious university, but I was also handpicked [I was one of the first who were picked] to write as a features writer for the college publication. I was eventually let go because of the deteriorating quality of my articles.

I was a staple in Makati and Malate. I would always be in the late night hotspots, drinking, dancing, and incessantly smoking. I even tried ecstasy once. I must admit, it was a fantastic feeling, but it quickly wore off when I realized that the phone I begged from my mom for many months got lost. All my money was alloted to cab fares and notoriously expensive drinks.

Once, I stumbled on a blog I used to maintain and I can't tell you how shocked I was at what I read. I was embarrassed at its content, and the only feeling I felt while browsing through my entries was a feeling of happiness, bliss, no, relief, when I realized I was using a pseudonym. Yes, I'm not going to deny I wrote well, but the image I projected was that of a slut, and not of an intellectual. I don't know what went through my head when I remembered I was proud of being labelled a whore. I was not just a whore. I was trailer trash. I guess it was that infantile mentality that a lot of men found me sexually attractive that thrilled me into a promiscuous frenzy.

For two straight years I was intellectually stagnant. I juggled boys, sex, cigarettes, friends, and parties. I called that phase my Paris Hilton years. I spent my time sleeping, sitting pretty, clubbing, and posing for the camera.

Things changed when I met Quincy, the man responsible for my image overhaul. I guess it's different when you really love a person. Thinking back to all the men I've slept with, the men I've dated, and those I've had "relationships" with, Quincy was the only man I honestly loved. I still consider him the love of my life, and I must admit there are times when I hope things would eventually turn out for the better between us. I believe that a relationship is healthy [and good] if your partner brings out the best in you, and Quincy did just that. His over-achieving mentality rubbed off on me and I became focused, determined, and ambitious. I tired of the club scene [I discerned that there are far more productive things to do than go clubbing every week], and my priorities in life were set straight. True love would do that to you, all right. I've changed. I've completely changed. A lot of people could attest to that, and they were very surprised. I've been told many times that the new me was not the Koji they knew. "That's not you!", they would often say. This is the new me, all right, and maybe the real me. Loving someone for the first time made me realize who I truly am. I miss Quincy. Yes, I still love him. Maybe the reason why I am still alone since we dated is because I am looking for someone who is just like him.

Time goes by quickly. Life zips by you if you let it go unnoticed. One minute I was in UST, enjoying the company of Ysa, Kay, and Eunice [the three people I consider my true friends], in Coffee Indulgence, smoking pack after pack of Marlboros while sipping iced teas, and the next, I am in Perpetual, slaving away to get stellar grades.

Here I am now. It's four in the morning and my first class of my second semester in Perpetual will start in five hours. I slept ten in the evening, woke sometime around midnight, and I've been awake since. I can't sleep, but I'm happy. After toiling my ass off, I passed the first semester with flying colors [Fil3: 1.75, FCL1: 1.75, English+: 1.75, Nat.Sci.1: 2.50, Nat.Sci.3: 2.25, Logic: 1.75, NSTP: 1.25]. I spent my semester break drinking with my friends [the last being in Cavite to celebrate JM's birthday], going shopping [clothes and books], and bonding with the folks.

This is the new me. I'm still talkative and bubbly, but not as loud as before. My grades are my top priority. Not far behind are my family and friends. Yes, I still go out, but I have decided to change scenes. These days, I go to friends houses and have drinks, but I still go clubbing once in a while. I'm not dating anyone [it's so hard to find someone to replace your great love], and in turn, I'm busying myself with extracurriculars. I'm involved in the university-wide publication of Perpetual, and I'll have my day soon. I'll be the editor-in-chief in a few years [Elydia, the EIC, has been dropping colossal hints about this]. I quit smoking. And of course, I still shop. Lately, I'm going crazy over plain tees and statement shirts.

I have no regrets. I did not regretting boycotting my Zoology Lec. class in UST because that was the time Kay and I became really close. Neither did I regret failing my Zoology Lab. class because I met Ysa during our second take. And for sure I did not regret learning to smoke, because it was between cigarettes that Eunice and I divulged our innermost secrets. I also did not regret clubbing my life away because it was at a party that I met Arvin, one of my most treasured friends. Most of all, I did not regret transferring to Perpetual. It may not be as esteemed as UST, but my friends here are just as genuine.

I have accepted the fact that time does not go by slowly. But I believe in the saying that time flies when you're having fun. I may die tomorrow, I may get struck by thunder this very moment [it started to rain, oh no! I was planning to wear my vintage aviator sunglasses to make a fantastic entrance], but I can assure you my life was stellar to say the least. And you can take that to Paris Fashion Week.

Love as a balisong.

Last night, I was supposed to have dinner with Daniel, but I cancelled because I got really upset [my temper is legendary]. So instead of going to Megamall for dinner, I went straight to Malate to drop by Bed for the anniversary of my friend's clan. By the way, congratulations to the Bacardi family, you guys threw a great party. JR, thank you for getting me and my friends [bff Arvin, Viktor, and Archie] in.

Last night I have made the realization that the club scene is not my thing anymore. I don't really know what happened. I used to be that major party boy, attending the chicest parties and wondering when the next one will be. My statement used to be WHERE'S THE PARTY, STELLA MCCARTNEY, but now, I don't know. I just wasn't feeling it anymore. Last night, what I wanted more than the tall guy I asked a light from was to go to a bar, an actual bar, and not a club, where you sit and have drinks with friends. But I must admit I still enjoyed the night, except for the part when Viktor insisted we go down and dance.

Yeah, for a few minutes I danced, but I absolutely hate dancing in crowded places. It's hard to move, it's unbelievably hot, and the thought of ugly and sweaty strangers getting TOO close makes me cringe to high heavens. I eventually left the trio and went upstairs. There I stayed by the bar and enjoyed a cigarette and a margarita.

An event of HUGE significance happened. I ran into J. I was seated upstairs, smoking with Arvin when somebody tapped me. I didn't recognize him at first because he gained weight, but yeah, it was him, and I must admit, I really missed him. I actually read some of my older entries here, and it made me miss him more. I was disappointed he is committed now. Honestly, he is the only guy I regretted letting go, but I've made my mistake and I've paid the price.

Around 3, after meeting a couple of people which included a writer from the Inquirer and a cute guy who offered a cigarette, I insisted we go home. The scene was too much for me to bear, I was extremely bored, and I really wanted to leave.

After the cab dropped me and my friends [Viktor and Archie] off in our village, I walked home. While on that 20-minute walk, I contemplated about a lot of things. I thought about J, and for some reason, I thought about Paolo. I have come to the conclusion that love is best described as a balisong. Getting stabbed with it is agonizing, if not overwhelming, but getting it out is twice as painful. And even when the balisong has been taken out of your system, it still hurts. Very bad.

Just as my temper is legendary, so is my imagination. I started having thoughts about what would happen if Paolo actually was my boyfriend and he came with us. I know this is pathetic, but I came up with this faux blog entry. Let me reiterate that the following is purely fiction, okay? The following never took place.

Paolo was quiet during the cab ride home. I wanted to talk to him but I don't think it would be ethical if we talk about our problem inside the cab with my friends, so I just leaned on his shoulder while he looked out the window.

When we were dropped off, Paolo and I opted to walk home. On that 20-minute walk, Paolo finally opened up. He said he was jealous of J. He got upset because when we were in Bed, J and I were being too close for comfort. I told Paolo that he shouldn't be jealous because he is the one I love.

Paolo: I got upset because you weren't talking to me. You were flirting with J the whole night.

Me: Paolo, don't be silly. You know I was thinking of you the whole time. I kept asking you if you were all right. I kept asking if you wanted more drinks, or more cigarettes. I even offered to go outside and buy you a pack. The whole night I was doing my best to make sure you were having fun.

Despite the occasional car that would pass, Paolo holds my hand.

Paolo: Koji.

I look at him.

Paolo: I love you.

Me: I love you too.

When we got home, we had a long shower, made sweet love, cuddled, and fell asleep in each others arms.

But I knew that this was at best, a dream of a hopeless romantic. Instead of the hand holding, the romantic shower and the love-making, I found myself listening to my iPod and solving Sudoku puzzles. A part of it came true though. I fell asleep.

I know. I'm miserable.

Bff Arvin, power lunches. I'm so tired of the club scene. It's so blasé.

Of Babies And Red Horses

It's really hard to put a period on things. It's difficult because everything is circumstantial, and you never know when certain events will change things. You cannot say forever. As the old adage goes, never say never.

Last night, I invited my friend Carlos to come over and have a couple of drinks. When he left, I quickly went back to the computer which I left on to advertise the latest entry in my blog. A very good friend of mine buzzed me on YM and she confided she might be pregnant. I was worried of course. She's a young girl, studying, and she is at that stage where she is trying to fix her life. She said she wasn't sure, because she hasn't taken the test yet - but the signs were there. She said that if she were pregnant, she'd have to resort to abortion. She told me it wasn't as if she had any choice. Both she and her partner are still studying, and the obligation of keeping a baby would be too great for the both of them to handle.

For a person who is passionately against abortion, I was surprised I was not mad. My belief is, it is incredibly unfair for the unborn baby to pay the price for the irresponsibility of both parents, but last night, chatting with her, I could only sympathize. It's really different when things happen to you, or to people you know personally. You start to look at things from a different perspective.

I'm still pretty much against abortion, but if my friend really needs to do this, she knows I will be there to support her decision. The period regarding abortion remains a period, but I've inserted a clause.

The futility of trying to wake up from a sorta fairytale

Putangina. I am drunk as fuck. I just got home (quite literally) from Paolo's house where my friends and I went to

These were the words I wrote before dozing off this morning. I didn't finish writing the entry because the keys were suddenly swirling into an indecipherable vortex. As you can tell, I spent the day drinking. Again.

Yesterday was one of one of those days when I felt extremely ugly. I can't really rationalize this silly notion, but it was just one of those times when whatever you do still makes you look like crap. Usually it takes me half an hour to shower, dress, fix my hair, and shove everything I need in my bag, but yesterday it took me an hour just to pick my ensemble for the day (6 shirt changes and 2 changes of jeans), and a half hour just to fix my hair. I wanted to wear this vintage-inspired yellow shirt (I was inspired to go yellow by Pie last Sunday) with my black pants, non-descript sneakers from Hong Kong, and vintage aviator sunglasses to pull off a glam rock look, but it didn't go well so I ended up wearing this red and white striped shirt from American Eagle (Thank you Sophie, I am so loving American Eagle now, I wish they have authentic AE shirts here) and my corduroy pants from Folded and Hung.

I rushed out of the house to pick up an I'M SORRY cake from Red Ribbon to give to Trina, our friend who walked out on us last Thursday when we forgot she set this little get together for her birthday. After going to school to surprise Trina with it, Paolo, Gogo, JM, Bob, and I went to SM to walk around. Gogo actually wanted to eat Japanese, but we all decided to go to Paolo's house instead and chill there. We got there around 1, where the guys played the guitar and drums while I sat and watched, stunned by JM's drumming abilities.

There was a time that day when I thought I stopped liking Paolo. I don't know what happened, but it did. The lyrics from the song BALISONG, which Gogo played in his car struck me: I try to tell myself wake up fool; this fairy tale's got to end. Sometime yesterday, I proverbially woke up from a fairytale that was sure not to happen. But just as fast as my feelings for him disappeared, it came flooding back when Paolo and I drove over to a store to get more beer. I guess it came back when I realized Paolo treats me differently compared to other people. I can't concretely describe how different he treats me from other people. He treats me like one of the guys, but with more affection. It's not exactly the sweet kind of affection he shows for Pie, but he's more caring with me than with our other male friends. I find it also adorable how sometimes he talks to me in English, knowing I speak Filipino fluently.

Around 4 we were joined by Carlo and Julius, and we started drinking. Carlo actually brought a bottle of brandy, but it was way too strong and we settled for the classic Red Horse. We finished at midnight, and after Paolo gave me a hug and a chaste kiss on the neck (it's something we've been regularly doing when we part ways. He kissed me on the neck because I'm much taller than him), we went home.

Today, while enjoying my hangover, I thought about my relationship with Paolo. I've partially woken up from the fairytale I've weaved around Paolo and me, but I still like him a lot. I'm still extremely jealous of Pie, yet I know I must go on and try to ignore the balisong that is pierced through my heart. Despite my helplessness, I find myself happy because I know I'm lucky. I'm fortunate that we are very good friends and we have invested a certain degree of trust in each other. He may not be my partner, but our relationship is just as special, if not more. I'm happy that even though he is not mine, I have been given a chance to know him personally. Ultimately, I'm happy that even for a brief moment, my feelings for him were once requited.

I should be so lucky in love

Lately I've been thinking about why I'm still single. The last serious relationship I had was many months ago with Quincy, and until now, I'm single. First, let me assure you that I've finally gotten over him. It wasn't easy, and it took me quite some time, but I have finally realized that it was just one of those things I shouldn't obsess about.

I've been told time and again that I have high standards. Too high, many say. I've considered this to be one of the reasons why I am perpetually single, but what's wrong with having high standards? What is wrong with wanting the best? I know what I want. In fact, I don't think there's anything unattainable in the list of qualities I want in a man. All I am asking for is someone who is decent, smart, intelligent, witty, and with a sense of humor. Is that asking a lot? I don't think so.

A lot of guys have appeared in my life after Quincy, and when I say a lot, I mean A LOT. But no matter how goodlooking they are, no matter how rich, or how great their personalities are, I cannot bring myself to reciprocate their feelings towards me. I do not know why, but I just can't. I guess I have yet to meet the guy who would take my breath away and sweep me off my feet. But I am glad to say that the future is bright with me and Timothy. I really like him.

I know I've been single for so long, but I don't really mind. I just think to myself that if not settling for less makes me a bitch, an asshole, or worse, eternally single, then let it be. I may end up waiting forever for my Prince Charming, but I don't care.

Because when he comes, I know he is exactly what I wanted.

Lighting A Cigarette From The Wrong End Of The Lighter

My friends and I were at Paolo's again last night. There we drank and drank until a lot of us got wasted. No wait, that was only me. And Bob also! I remember him sleeping on the couch while the rest of the guys were playing the guitar.

We were over at Paolo's to celebrate the end of the semester. Who came? Hmm. Of course Paolo, and Bob, Gogo, Pie (Paolo's girl), Miko, Jam (So far yet so near, Jam Fournier), Angelo (Ang baso ay itaas, Angelo Cablitas), JM (Walang katapat, JM Patapat), Mara, Chermann, and of course, me.

Mara, Chermann, Pie, and Miko left early so I was left with the boys, but I must admit, they're really wonderful. We were able to talk about guy stuff and it was great. While talking to the guys, I made this realization. You know you're irrevocably drunk when you forcibly light a cigarette using the wrong end of the lighter.

I was finally able to talk to Paolo about what's been bothering me. I must say, alcohol really does bridge people. The conversation was pretty light, I asked him why he liked me, and he told me it was because I was handsome. He was about to say something else but Gogo interrupted us with a drink which I graciously accepted. What can I say? I love to drink. After I did my shot, I asked him what stopped him from courting me. He then told me it was because of his promise to Pie that he would wait.

Let me say that I have nothing against Pie. She's pretty, she's great, she's a good friend. I have no right to get mad at her because Paolo chose her. And besides, she's so nice I can't get upset. As I've said, Pie is a great friend. But yeah, I am jealous. I remember saying things I wasn't supposed to say, like how jealous I am of Pie and stuff like that.

I ended up dozing off on Paolo's shoulder while he played with my hair. I asked him to sing me a song, and he sang Crazy For You. It was of course dedicated to Pie, but it was a Madonna song. Good enough.

Around midnight, we all went home. Gogo even gave me a ride. Great guy. Thank you Gogo! I went straight to bed, and now, it's 8 in the morning and I'm still wearing the clothes I wore last night. Wow. I'm hung over like hell, so do forgive me if my writing is messed up. Gonna shower then sleep again. I'm in no state to attend the meeting for the publication this afternoon.

It's finally the sem break! Awesome! Monday, we'll all meet up again to drink (this time with more people) then have a swim in Cavite for Mara's birthday.

The Emaciation Of Nicole Richie

I just absolutely love how this uber-chic girl reminds me of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany's. I cannot help but cream all over my Versace jeans as I browse through her gorgeous photos in Google. I honestly believe she is oh-so-glamorous Paris has nothing on her. Paris may be more pervasive, but I am COLD AND BITCHY, NICOLE RICHIE all the way. Nicole may be an underdog to Paris then, but now that the two have split and Nicole's weight dramatically dropped, Nicole is shining like a Neil Lane bauble. I love how she oozes sophistication, class, breeding, unlike Paris who is just plain tacky.





Here are some of her looks which I think are positively divine:







At a party where Nicole supposedly passed out after doing cocaine. Allegedly, she had two nosebleeds and was jabbering the whole night that her boyfriend would leave her because she was throwing her life away.

I love love love the dress, the hair, the bag, and the body. Yeah, I was very shocked at the sudden weight loss, but she looks so chic. She makes coke-snorting look stylish.












Nicole Richie with husband Joel Madden in court for her DUI trial, where she was sentenced by the L.A. County Superior Courtroom commissioner to serve four days in jail. Even when she is about to face time, she looks sleek and polished in her LBD, paired with lovely shoes which I believe are Christian Loboutin.















Her at the GAP, enjoying what looks like a White Chocolate Dream Ice Blended from Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (I should know, I love the coffee!), looking mega chic in short shorts and a print top and aviator sunglasses that scream style. She looks like a junkie, but a mind-blowing junkie at that.













Nicole Richie looking like she's ready to serve time, but still she looks great. Kind of like Gwen Stefani's style in L.A.M.B. Nicole looks rock chic with a striped sweater, skinny jeans, and a Chanel bag.














With husband Joel Madden looking incredible in a white top, a lovely blue scarf around her head, and a Goyard tote. As usual, she is stunning.














Nicole Richie spotted after shopping in Christian Dior. Oh my gosh, I am so creaming, her style and beauty is sublime. Sublime, sublime, sublime, sublime.















Looking druggie chic (and kind of like Mischa Barton) while walking. I am so loving the way she is dressed here, where she exudes mega-glam while also looking unkempt and casual. I so want to pull this look off, but I just can't.














A picture of her shopping. I've noticed her affinity for the Balenciaga Lariat. She has one in lime green (as shown), white, and navy blue.














I have to say that Nicole Richie is one of my style icons. She has the grace, sophistication and elegance of Audrey Hepburn, but also the spunk of a rock star. Her style is obviously influenced by rock glam and bohemian, thanks to her former stylist/friend Rachel Zoe. Her staples seem to be: aviator sunglasses and huge jewelry. I admire her style because not only can she make everything look chic, she looks chic in everything.

Make Me Undress, Joyce Jimenez

I still can't stop thinking about Paolo. I don't even know why I'm thinking about him, but I can't get him out of my head. I know there isn't even a problem because what he felt was a thing of the past, but I can't help but be burdened with the weight of this "problem". We actually had a field trip for our NSTP class today but I didn't go because I couldn't bear facing him.

Yesterday I went to Shangrila to meet up with a date. I dropped by the Store For All Seasons to check out their shirts and hopefully get one before meeting Tim. The Store For All Seasons is a consignment boutique along Shaw Boulevard that sells gorgeous clothes that are oh-so-unique. One of their labels is Proudrace, a local version of House of Holland. Their staples are statement shirts i.e. LET'S GET IT ON, IVARLUSKI ASERON; JUST DANCE, DON'T VOGUE, KYLIE MINOGUE; and COLD AND BITCHY, NICOLE RICHIE.

I was annoyed because I got lost while looking for the Store For All Seasons. I wasn't really familiar with the topography of Shaw Boulevard so I spent half an hour walking along the wrong street. I couldn't really blame Arvin, he gave the right directions, it was me who was in the wrong. When I finally got on the right street (the peanut vendor assisted me), I got really exasperated because Arvin told me it was very near Starmall. It was not. From there I spent almost another half-hour looking for the boutiqe. Just when I was about to hail a cab and meet Tim (at this point, I was a sweaty Betty), I saw it at last. There I bought MAKE ME UNDRESS, JOYCE JIMENEZ. I absolutely loved it.

So when I changed shirts (I wore the JOYCE shirt) I walked back to Shangrila Mall (It was traffic) and met Tim. Timothy is a 21 year old Journalism teacher in an exclusive school somewhere in Pasig. We met at Starbucks and had coffee and talked. Timothy is absolutely charming. Very talkative, lively, and interesting. He kind of reminded of Mickey from Pinoy Big Brother. I found it very fascinating how he used the word ANXIOUS in a sentence. Usually, I only encounter that word in a book and not in a regular conversation.

So after grabbing a cigarette (I know, I know) and talking some more, we decided to part ways. I managed to get home safe, and hark the herald angels sing, I didn't think of Paolo the entire night. Instead, I thought of rhymes for future shirts I'll have custom-made. Okay, I admit, I first brainstormed for a Paolo shirt and I thought of this: YOU MAKE ME SO SILLY, PAOLO MANALILI. What do you think? Some of my other concepts are: WHAT'S THE PLAN,KOJIMAN; and KISS MY BAZOOKA, KOJI IIZUKA. Isn't it cute?

I am so going crazy over statement shirts. From the words of the future great director Shinji Manlangit: ALAVET!!!!!

A phrase from Dido's song HERE WITH ME: I didn't hear you leave, I wonder how am I still here, and I don't want to move a thing, it might change my memory. Oh I am what I am, I'll do what I want, but I can't hide, I won't go, I won't sleep, I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me. I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be, until you're resting here with me.

Sino ba ang hinahanap mo, andito lang naman ako. Mahal kita, ikaw lang at wala ng iba.

Yesterday my friends and I went to Alabang to throw a surprise party for our friend's birthday. Throwing that party was especially hard because certain situations with the girl he's dating is affecting his temperament. Trouble is, the girl that he's dating is also in our circle. Yet, in spite of the paramount trouble we were faced with, I put a lot of effort into it (I did most of the planning) and managed to pull off the impossible. I must admit, one of the reasons why I really wanted to surprise him was because he is someone I've been crushing on since the first day of class. Actually, he is my closest guy (straight) friend in Perpetual.

Everything went well. He and his girl were smooth sailing; all my good friends were there, especially Miko who rarely hangs out with us after class (I love you, Miko!! :D); and of course, there was booze. So while we were doing shots and gossiping, there came a point where everyone started confessing things. I was already high as a kite, and this boy, the boy I have feelings for, suddenly confessed how he had feelings for me that was beyond platonic! He admitted that once in a while he had thoughts about courting me and being my partner. His exact words were: minsan iniisip ko gusto kong boyfriend-in si Koji. I was shocked. No, I was overwhelmed. By the way, let me make it clear that he does not feel this anymore, and that he is madly in love with his girl.

Of course I was flattered. Boy, was I. Imagine crushing on a straight guy and he tells you flat out he wants you to be his boyfriend. Yes, this guy is straight. Trust me, I can attest to his heterosexuality.

Though I was tickled pink, I was embarrassed. I couldn't look him in the eye, and I couldn't talk to him. For some reason, I was also mad. Of course a part of it stemmed from jealousy. The girl actually wants to stop seeing him but the poor boy is obsessed.

I just wish he didn't tell me that. I think it would have been better off for me not knowing he felt that way. It's pathetic, but now a part of me is hoping that those feelings would return and he would one day look at me and take my breath away. I know I'm not supposed to because he's in love with the girl, but I can't help myself from feeling what I'm feeling now.

If Rachel Zoe can do it, so can I.

If uber A-list celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe could bet at the top of her game and dress mega-socialites (i.e. Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, among many others), I bet I could do the same thing too. You see, the stylist that all the stars are turning to in times of couture crisis has had no formal fashion training and relies on innate talent to turn rags to satin. Also, what interested me about her was that during her college years in Washington State University, she majored in sociology, and surprise surprise, psychology, which I am taking right now. I am so glad to know that you don't need to be a slave to fashion to be in the fashion business :) The little people like me actually have a chance!

Oh yes, lest I forget, congratulations to my bff Arvin who is now interning for mega-hot designer Gian Romano. You can do it, sweetheart, I am behind you all the way, waiting for my 30% discount on deconstructed coats and ties :)

Anyway, as I've said, if Rachel Zoe could do it, so can I! But I don't want to digress from the main piece of this essay.

There is this new guy that I am dating :) We've actually been dating for almost a month, and to be honest, it's a tornado of a romance. Let's call him Chuck (I noticed I've been using aliases when it comes to my partners, this time it's because the guy is straight - don't ask), an engineering student in UP-Los Banos. What I love about him is that he lives so near, meaning we would get to spend lots of time with each other, which we are doing. Although he dorms in Los Banos on weekdays, he doesn't make it an excuse not to meet with me even if it isn't a weekend. Like a few weeks ago, he went from Los Banos to Alabang (not an easy feat, mind you) just to teach me Physics for a couple of hours. I initially dismissed him as immature when he started ranting about pimples and how big of a deal it was, and I refused to text him for quite some time. But after going to the Madonnathon, I decided to give him a chance, and look at us now :) struggling, but happy.

The Madonnathon is an annual party at Government that showcased all of Madonna's hits, and being a die-hard Madonna fan, I went with my bff Arvin, and we partied hard after a 3-month hiatus. I didn't know what pushed me that night, but I bought a pack of cigarettes (I quit - or so I thought) and ended up smoking almost all of it. Going home that night (this was the opening party), I was suddenly aware of this thing that I've been feeling everytime I come home from a hard night's party. I usually flush these thoughts, but it hit me full force that particular night. It was that feeling of disgust when you've had too much to smoke, where you can smell the scent of the cigarette reeking in the entire car; mixed with cologne, sweat and alcohol. So while on the road, I decided not to go to the main party to get rid of this unpleasant feeling. Arvin couldn't go anyway, so why bother? I also decided to stop smoking ENTIRELY, and to limit my party nights to a bare minimum. I'm not going to give up my social life of course, I will still go out, but only to watch movies, have meals with friends and dates, or drinks with whomever. Saturday morning witnessed me having an interview with Kenneth, the sports editor for the school paper. He was screening me to check if I was capable of being the next sports editor. Of course, I wasn't, and I didn't really want to be the sports editor anyway. I wanted to be the features editor, but our editor-in-chief, Elydia, has been dropping gargantuan hint bombs that I'll be the editor-in-chief after Joan's (her successor) term. Arvin texted me, telling me it was on for tonight, so I decided to go. But I didn't forget my resolution. I decided to still party (not as much though), but I will go cold turkey on the Marlboros. So that night, armed with a casual cocktail and a hardboiled resolution, I partied the night away; safe, happy, and Madonnified.

What changed my perception about Chuck was the many people I've met in both parties of the Madonnathon. Before, when partying, I would usually meet people, random strangers and friends of friends, and there would be this awkward ambience when both of us know there is this attraction between us. There will be clipped conversations, cold auras as we try to hide our shit and analyze theirs, and the rest of the night would be spent sitting down, trying to make the proverbial ball roll. It's not an easy task to talk to a beautiful stranger amidst the loud music, trust me. So I settled to remain friends with everyone and flush away all sorts of attraction on my part and gently veer theirs away with friendly gestures. No more casual laying of hands on the knees, quick kisses, and discreet hand holding. So that night, I met many people, friends, and I enjoyed the night. Unlike meeting guys who share a mutual attraction with me - my newfound friends were warm, bright, and open. This is the kind of people I want in my life :)

With my resolution in mind, I found myself in Libis on a Friday night weeks after the Madonnathon with my UST friends Ysa and Kay (guys, I miss you. Kay, I so missed your cynicism. Ysa, I missed our bonding moments. You gained some weight, but you're still gorgeous. I love you both!). True to my word, I found myself seated the whole night in Jack's Loft having I D'eclair (try it - their desserts are awesome, yet easy on the pocket) and daquiris and weng wengs. We bonded the whole night, and I noticed that sitting down, having dinner, drinks, and a meaningful conversation with the people that matter was more fulfilling than dancing the night away with sweaty and ugly strangers and going home looking wasted.

So I texted Chuck. He was heavily flirting, but I decided to give him a chance so we could be friends. I don't know what happened exactly, but we ended up dating. We have our ups, and we've definitely have our downs, and although we fight almost everyday, I must give him credit for having so much patience with me. He has seen my mood swing from one end of the sprectrum to the other, often serving as the receiving end of my many fits. He's not very good at keeping up with me, but he's trying his best. And that's what I love about him :)

Ako Si Wonder Woman

While the trio of typhoons have been beneficial to me by suspending a week's worth of classes, it did have its cons like dampering on my weekend plans. So instead of having lunch with Arvin and then a movie, and attending a restaurant opening, I found myself walking aimlessly around Alabang on a Saturday night. Well, I did buy an Oleg Cassini dress shirt so it wasn't really THAT aimless.

On my way home, I was listening to the radio. Being a Saturday night, most stations played dance music, and lo and behold, what else could be playing but Deepest Blue. Deepest Blue is a song I've been enjoying for many years but listening to it last night, all the painful memories of Quincy came back. Months ago, I dedicated that song to him, and whenever I hear it, I think of Quincy and how much I love him. I know it's pathetic that I'm still obsessing over him, but I can't help it, I love him. There hasn't come a day when I haven't thought of him, and last night, the aching was too much to bear. I wasn't really mad at him, I was just disappointed. I just wanted him back.

I will forever refer to him as my sweetest downfall. As much as I wanted to move on with my life, I find that I couldn't. I had no idea why really, since during the 3 months we were together, he was only present for a month.

As I pick up the pieces of of my shattered heart, I couldn't help but wonder if he was a test of my character. I have always considered myself to be strong, but after Quincy, I was left bloodied, weak, and unstable. Prior to, during the, and after the break up, I was an interminable wreck. I couldn't focus on my studies and my stellar performance in my academics dropped. In fact I couldn't remember doing anything profound after the prelim period. I could only guess where my professors would get my midterm grade. I became physically and emotionally stressed, and I became sick. Very sick. I was drained. I was frightened of the intensity of my emotions, and I asked myself, was I as strong as I liked to believe? Was I as my mighty as my facade? It ruined me, broke me, to know that my exterior was a sham. My indifference, my nonchalance was just a cover. Inside, I was just as vulnerable as everybody else. And what hurts me the most is that not only did I lie to the world, but I lied to myself.

Weeks ago, I spoke with a guy and I spilled my grief. Although we ended bitterly, I must admit Jeff has taught me an important lesson. I am just human and there was nothing wrong with that. I was initially aloof because I was still under the illusion that I was Wonder Woman. But then now, after reflecting, I realized Jeff was right. I was just human.

As I pick up the pieces of my shattered heart, I couldn't help but wonder if Quincy was a test of my character. I will forever refer to him as my sweetest downfall, but a downfall nonetheless. In spite of that, I will still respect him because he has taught me an invaluable lesson - being humble. I still see myself as Wonder Woman of course - fierce, headstrong, and capable of dishing it out like a real man. But beneath the sleek outfit and glossy hair, Wonder Woman is still a woman - delicate, fragile, and vulnerable.

A Dime A Dozen

My on-again off-again relationship with Quincy has finally reached its climax - a definitive off. It was a whirlwind romance, something I did not wish to end, but it was just too broken to fix. The plot is too thick for me to narrate completely, but suffice to say that he did not show any more effort.

You can't blame me, I did my part, and more. I communicated with him, begged him to talk to me, but he was just too busy. Yes, it's true he is swamped with extracurriculars, but it's not as if I am asking him to drop them all for me - that would be selfish and just plain wrong. For a month I begged, but instead he ignored me. It came to the point where I kept leaving him. But I was too in love that I came back. Again. And again. And again.

You might be thinking, he probably have lost interest in me. That I could handle. I'm strong enough to know that he did not care for me anymore. I'm not that pathetic to hang around a guy who'd rather have me dead. But what irritates me is that he kept telling me he loves me, and he couldn't live without me. Call me a sap, but I bought it.

For a complete month I tried my best to reach out, but he shut me down. Finally, just last week, I was finally able to talk to him. He told me he would do anything just to fix this. I didn't buy any of it. I believed him for some time, but it wore off, like the color from cheap ass jeans. I ended it. For good. I did not get the closure I begged from him, but why wait for something that might never come? I was still in love with him - until now, actually, but he has hurt me enough.

I did not know what I did wrong. I did everything I could. I was selfless, I was honest, I was caring, I was faithful. I stepped out of my comfort zone, which is something I never did with guys. So why am I being treated like this? I think I still deserve to be treated like a queen, at least a human being.

Why is it that men are only there during the first few weeks? They treat you like royalty, and then suddenly - they're gone. It's so sad. If you don't tire of them, they tire of you. It's a vicious cycle. All relationships are bound to end. Why start it? I was struck with this thought. All men should be shot on sight.

On my way home from school, juggling my bag, my file case, my copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and my takeout from McDonalds, I realized that I probably walked away from one of the best guys I've ever dated. But it hit me. At least I walked away with my dignity and self-respect. Guys like these, smart, handsome, focused, good in bed, they are a dime a dozen, but my dignity, priceless.

Breakfast At Tiffany's

Exactly a week ago, I watched Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Exactly a week ago, I wrote an article about love, and I ended the essay by quoting my favorite philosopher, Carrie Bradshaw. In the pilot episode of her hit sitcom, Sex and the City, the scene opens to her saying: No one has breakfast at Tiffany’s and no one has affairs to remember. Instead, we have breakfast at 7 AM and we have affairs we try to forget as quickly as possible. And two days later, I met the guy who would force me to rewrite my article, and who would shatter my cynicism in life.

I’ve been dating this guy for three weeks now. I doubt he would be comfortable knowing that his name will be here (he’s in the closet), so from here on, we would leave his name as Q. To all the people who have been religiously reading my blog, I love you guys. Your continuous support has pushed me to express my opinions. And to those people who have been detracting me, I would like to thank you too because you have helped me prove to everyone that my life is far more interesting than the pathetic piece of shit that you call your life. But I don’t want to digress. Q is a xxx student in La Salle, and what can I say about my Q. Bear? He’s intelligent, he’s witty, he’s ambitious, and a little bit on the arrogant side which I find absolutely sexy. He has swept me off my sneaker-clad feet with his charms, his positive influence over me (corny I know, but he’s really turning me into a better man), and his disarming smile that could rival any of the jewels at Tiffany’s. Though Q is extremely cute and he has the brains that can make me come in my head, he is not really the kind of guy I would have pictured to be beside me in the altar. But that was before I had an entire philosophy makeover.

Last night, while having cocktails in Alabang with a family friend (Sophie), I ran into J. There was a bit of the awkward side, but besides that, nothing extremely embarrassing happened. But what happened was, I had a sudden flashback of all the guys I’ve dated and I noticed most of them had a common denominator. And Q didn’t fit any of the physical characteristics I want in a man.

But then I asked myself, so what? Just because my relationship is not what I pictured it to be doesn’t mean that it is not good. Though breakfast at Tiffany’s is fabulous, it’s not realistic. We all want our men to be a la Brad Pitt (Personally I would have picked Antonio Trillanes), but these people are not real. No, I am not saying Brad Pitt is the male replica of Simone (seen that movie?), but my point is, the odds of meeting someone like Brad is equivalent to finding the gold at the end of the rainbow. But I am not saying we should settle for less. Just because Angelina has already snagged that man candy doesn’t mean we should marry that fat slob next door. Why settle for mediocrity when we deserve the best? I dated this one guy (there will be no mention of names to protect the innocent, namely me) and he is what every girl dreams of. A good listener, supportive, gallant. Also, he is there when you need him. Who could refuse? But no matter what he does, regardless of the many bouquets of flowers he gave me, or the thousands of pesos he has spent for me, it really wasn’t going to happen.

People surprise you. Q may not have the height (boy, I love a tall guy), nor the features of a chinito, but he makes me happy. He supports my interests, he accepts me for who I am, and he helps me become the best I can be. What more could I ask for?

Imagine

It’s a Saturday night and instead of glamming it up with the buds and hitting the town, I chose to stay at home and lounge the night away. Summer classes were over so I really had no reason to lucubrate. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t as if I had a choice – I was flat broke. So my Saturday night was spent talking to this guy, Quincy, an interesting character from La Salle.

Anyway, I’ve been active on the current affairs scene (which is both informative and a great conversation piece with guys), and that night, I tuned in to watch XXX, a local show that featured exposes. I actually saw the teaser, which featured an expose on a massage parlor in Paranaque that used breasts and tongues as tools of relaxation. The show featured 3 exposes and what bothered me was not the massage parlor expose (I would have been hooked had they busted on male masseurs) but the first one which focused on a public school in the province that reportedly charged Php 150 as enrollment. Now what made the scene wrong was that public schools should not charge interested enrollees. Free education was provided for the less fortunate and some greedy principal decided to take advantage of the situation by implementing a “No Php 150, no enrollment” policy.

It broke my heart to actually see footage (hidden camera) of a woman begging the principal to allow her 2 children to enroll. Problem is, the woman couldn’t afford to pay the “tuition” so the principal was vehemently denying the kids to be enrolled in the school.

Whether or not her excuse is true - she claims the money was optional and was to be used for insurance and for arrangements for the PTA – I think it’s total bull. When Karen Davila confronted her, she was nervous. It was a sight to behold. I laughed.

I was suddenly ashamed of myself. My closet alone could send the children of an entire barangay to school. Some individual pieces could even send one kid straight to college if the rates were that low. And to think it I only use ¼ of my clothes. I was embarrassed because what seemed to be too much for one woman was too little for me. I suddenly had a vision of last week’s gimmick with Kay and Ysa to Tiananmen Bar, then to Beer’s Paradise, and Government with Arvin where I spent an unmentionable amount on drinks and cab fare – and I felt myself go red in the face.

Yes, it is true it is not my fault that my family can afford to put me and my brother to exclusive schools and have a little bit of leg room for life’s luxuries. My mom has worked hard for our money and although I hate my father, he has been an excellent provider. But these reasons do not justify selfishness. Just because our money was hard earned doesn’t mean I should not give.

I am no philantrophist, and I am definitely no Mother Teresa. I am not going to claim I am going to sell my clothes and donate the money to charity. While I was watching the footage of the woman begging, I wanted to reach out, hold her hand and tell her it’s okay, I’m going to take care of your kids, but I knew I couldn’t, because what could I give? I’m still a student, I am not making any money, and to be honest, I pay more than what I earn.

But what I could do is to give what I can. And that is where you come in. My effort, combined with yours, we can help the less fortunate. Consider yourself blessed that you have a family. You are blessed because you are studying, or you have finished studying. Blessed because there is always food on the table. Not everyone has these privileges. There is no need to keep the blessings to yourself. Please share. You don’t need to donate thousands of pesos to help the world. Loose change will do. There are coinboxes in most stores that cater to various charities and organizations. Please do not confuse them with the tip boxes. Giving alms wouldn’t hurt as well.

A popular song said that children are our future. This is true. Your help will move the mountain that is poverty. You never know who you’re going to save or send to school. He might be the person who will find a cure for AIDS. Or cancer. Won’t we need these kinds of people in the future? Or better yet, he just might be able to revolutionize cosmetic surgery and give you a better nose. Give others a chance. It is only fair.

Unlikely, yes, but what are the odds? He might contribute for the good of mankind, but he might just be like the many Filipinos in the streets - somewhere in Manila, a high school dropout, a raging drunk, a wife beater, with 5 kids.

Life. What a funny thing.

Kostutera

Been incredibly incredibly busy. Went to Bed and Government last Friday with Arvin; then Robin came over that Saturday, with another gorgeous bouquet of flowers; went to Alabang Sunday with the folks to have a birthday lunch at Saisaki's (Happy birthday, Gabbie!); went to Rockwell Monday and had dinner with Ysa, Kay, and Eunice; Robin came over Tuesday, and he bought me Madonna's Confessions tour (which I really appreciated); and all throughout the week, I was taking my finals examination. And Sunday, the cherry on top of my fabulous fabulous week, Philippine Fashion Week.

Toting my corduroy ukay ukay coat, garbed in skinny jeans, sneakers, and a gym shirt inspired Enchanted Kingdom top, I made my way to fashionable Manila (Rockwell) for Philippine Fashion Week's Luxe Wear show. Met Arvin at Zara, then headed our way to the tent and grabbed our seats. Fourth row, nosebleed, but we got a nice view of the models when they came out.

When the lights went up, and the first model sashayed down the runway, followed by the next, and the next, I could not help but be amazed at the impressive array of clothes the new designers presented. The show was fabulous, and it was filled with raw talent. I'm not going to deny the fact that there were designs that I was not fond of, but a lot of them will make it big, if they play their sewing machines right. Kudos to Veejay Floresca, who I personally thought was the best designer of the night. His designs were futuristic, dresses just screamed glamour, and well, hands down, he is extremely talented.

After the show, it made me think. I am a fashion whore, that is true, but I must admit, I prefer the Italian and the French when it comes to couture. I would definitely prostitute myself for a Birkin (cripes my ninang has a Birkin - when she walked into Saisaki's, my jaws literally dropped) and there are unspeakable things I would do just to get Loboutin boots. Though there are Filipino designers who catch my attention every now and then, for example Mich Dulce and Kate Torralba, I would shit my pants more to see Alexander McQueen than Joey Samson. I have nothing against Filipino couture but I was raised seeing my mom's Pradas, Fendis, and the omnipresent Louis Vuittons.

And then a particular thought struck me. Why do we go into delirious frenzies and manic hysterias into getting our paws on the latest Marc Jacobs bag or that new Valentino dress? Yes, the covetable factor is there and it would definitely be taray walking around Embassy with the latest Westwood frock and having jealous eyes pierce your designer shit. Anyway, the point is, why go for international labels when we have potential design superstars here in La Isla Filipinas? In our histrionic attempts to become like the fashion capitals of the world, we have forgotten our own. I myself am guilty of this. I get so worked up when I watch a Galliano show, but I am nonchalant when I see a Rajo piece. But after having a first hand taste of pinoy couture, well, I can vouch the fact that we do have some gifted people in the world of tulle and chiffon.

This is not just about fashion. This goes way beyond Ivarluski Aseron, Randy Ortiz, Tom Ford, and Nicolas Ghesquiere. In general, why force ourselves to live first world? In the first place, we do not even have the economy that could rival theirs! Reality is, we do not have the blonde hair and the blue eyes (authentic ones that is), and we do not have the golds and reds of autumn. We do not have 5th Avenue, we do not have the Eiffel Tower, and we do not have Big Ben. Hell, the closest we can get to the Big Ben is the Manila clock tower near the city hall.

Though we do not have a lot, we have the fabulous blues, greens and the whites of Boracay, Puerto Galera, Pagudpod, and Mindoro. The 7,107 islands holds so much beauty that we cannot appreciate it all in one lifetime. We have the distinct beauty of the people, which is evident in Raya Mananquil, Rissa Samson, and Isabel Roces, among many other Filipino men and women. There are a thousand and one reasons to be proud of the Philippines. Hiding behind Diors and Cavallis makes us blind to the wonders of the third world, especially ours. Our culture alone is something we can be proud of.

Also, we have kickass designers that would make Jose Rizal's kostutera proud.

Oscars 2007

Hello, dear readers. The Oscars is definitely one of the most prestigious awards show in the entertainment industry. I love the Oscars of course, as it gives recognition to outstanding films from larger than life directors, and it showcases the talents of amazing actors and actresses in Hollywood. But what I love more than the event itself is the glamour and the fabulosity delevired by the actresses when they get down from their vehicle and sashay their gorgeous gowns for all to see. And of course, the best and worst dressed, according to Kojiman.

The Best Dressed



Hands down, Reese Witherspoon takes the Kojiman Best Dressed Award with her navy blue blue Nina Ricci gown. It's beautiful how the top is simple, and how her skirt just screams gorgeous. The layers are lovely and the fit is perfect. It was a good choice that she didn't go over the top with her jewelry, choosing a low key bangle, and she kept her hair and makeup simple, which didn't compete with her dress. She looked sophisticated and chic, unlike the somewhat tacky attire she wore during her Legally Blonde days. The whole ensemble was balanced, and kudos to Reese and her stylist. If Ryan doesn't want her back after seeing this, nothing will.

Other Best Dressed



I don't know why the critics hated this Valentino dress. I absolutely loved how simple it looked, yet somehow, it still commanded attention. The color was original (not a lot of actresses wear pristine white gowns), the cuts are interesting, though the dress could have looked a little smoother. The shoes (are those Jimmy Choos? They look fucking gorgeous), the clutch, and the bangle coordinated with the dress, and so did her hair. She looks better as a brunette than a blonde, especially with this dress.



This Armani Prive dress by Cate Blanchett is so glam. The fit is ooh la la, especially around the hips. The skirt looks amazing, especially the print around the bottom. The color suits Blanchett well, very seductive.



Hot! Hot! Hot! Jada Pinkett-Smith looks absolutely divine with this gold number by Valentino. The skirt that hugs around the hips and forcefully fans out goes well with the corset, which gives off a stiff quality, but is perfect with Pinkett-Smith's strong features.



I don't know who did this dress but I am absolutely loving it. I am not usually a fan of empire dresses or dresses that are loose, but this gown, on Naomi Watts, is perfect. The gown is simple, accented only by a sash, but it looks absolutely ELEGANT. Maybe it's the 50's inspired hair, or the diamond necklace, but she looks
GLAMOROUS.



I've died and gone to Balenciaga heaven. I never knew Ghesquiere made gowns as hot as this. The red gown, with the bow detail looks so good on Nicole Kidman. She looks H-O-T. Although it is very low key, it screams mega hotness. Kidman looks very sexy.



Although this gown does not look like a Versace, this is uber fun! Somehow resembling one of Nicole Kidman's costumes in Moulin Rouge, this shouts SHOWGIRL. The top looks sophisticated, and the skirt looks so FUN.

The Worst Dressed



I love you, but what is this Marchesa dress? It is absolutely horrid. This Grecian inspired empire dress is so not working for you. Why hide your perfect bum under all these? The detail on the top would have worked on a fitted gown but with this? Total nast. The hair would have been gorgeous as well, but everything was ruined because of the ugly fit. Nice color by the way.

Other Worst Dressed



The dress looks weird. The top loses its shape thanks to the ugly bow detail (what happened, Valentino?) and the skirt looks like it's for old women. There was even another ugly bow at the train of the gown. Anne Hathaway, you look old. Such a waste, you are a very beautiful girl.



I'm sorry Tata, I love you, but I don't like Beyonce's Armani Prive dress. While Beyonce remains very bootylicious, and her skirt looks chic, the top looks BULKY. What's with that thing stuck on her chest? It makes the top big. She should have left it on the limo. Sorry Tata, not crazy in love with the dress.



Zac Posen, I love you, and I still want to marry you, but this is one hell of a dress. I love the coral inspired detail, but the top looks really UGLY. She could have looked perfect if not for the sleeves. Nast.



Jennifer Hudson. Been hearing a lot about this girl, and I've been hearing good things. But after seeing this... Hmm... When I first saw the jacket, I got stuck at the jacket. The bolero was too strong for the Oscar de la Renta dress, and I never had the chance to appreciate the lovely color of the gown. Wait, are those pockets? Gorgeous hair though.



The best accessory a girl could have is a gorgeous boytoy. Perfect man, perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect designer (that, my dear, is Chanel couture), but oh wait, what the hell happened to the top? Even the gorgeous skirt and detail could not compensate for the disturbing top. That is really nast. Another case of beautiful skirt and ugly top.



I love you, Portia de Rossi, but, EW.



This gown is PERFECT. She looks like a 50s moviestar, with the old-school glitz and glamour. The details are perfect, the colors are amazing, this Proenza Schouler number could have outdressed Reese Witherspoon's, except for the ugly fit. She looks BIG.

The popular designer that night seemed to be Valentino, the dominant style seemed to be the sleeved detail (which I am so not loving), and trains seemed to be all the rage.

Binibini

"This is the last 2 feet of cloth we have left. Let's turn it into a skirt.". This was a witty comment a friend of mine made as a scantily-clad female sashayed into the bar we were staying at. Usually, attention-striking clothes like these serve as receiving ends of either praises or boos, but that night, it was different. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but I found the lady's criminally short skirt quite depressing. I looked around, and I noticed the harsh reality. Most girls wore garments as revealing as the lady's, or something as close. Although I would like to commend the girls for having the guts to dress as they please, I still felt sad, because I knew, that that girl, who was getting her butt groped by a man, who was probably a stranger, was someone's daughter. She was the daughter of respectable people, of people who worked hard just to get her to school, get good grades, and not to gallivant around Makati in skimpy attire. Whatever happened to the Maria Clara, to the classy debutante? What happened to the binibini?

She was simple, but she had elegance around her. Modest, but she had the air of confidence. And of course, her clothes revealed only what was necessary, but she had the aura of beauty that could still catch breaths and stop tracks. This was the Filipina. She had an old world charm, a certain grace, and poise, that gave off class.

Today, Filipinas seemed to have been influenced by the magazine Cosmopolitan into believing that being liberated is the key to happiness. In this day and age where culture has been modernized, a certain amount of liberation is needed, but not to the extent where it will look tacky, almost disgusting. But that is the case. Skirts have gone higher, underwear seemed to get flimsier, and, well, it did look like the last 2 feet of cloth that was transformed into apparel. Girls today seem to be aggressive, brash, but too much of these is not appropriate.

Whatever happened to the Maria Clara, to the classy debutante? What happened to the binibini? She has lost herself in the false belief that being demure is dead, that the only way to be beautiful is to dress baringly. Sexiness is not defined in the amount of flesh a girl shows, or how provocative she moves on the dancefloor. Sexiness radiates from the inside, from the confidence that she gives when she moves and acts. The ideal Filipina should not be the stereotype Maria Clara where she is covered to the nines with layer upon layer of garment, but she is the girl who looks both respectable and chic.

I think a perfect example just walked into the bar.

Runaway Bride

Disclaimer: In this entry, all names have been abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

I got to talk to my ex, R, who happens to know this guy I know. Anyway, I heard, this guy, A, was recently kicked out of his house by his parents because he was gay. According to R, A's mom suspected the kid of being gay, and most probably she caught him smuggling guys to his room. Indeed, this seems likely because the bastard can be pretty horny when he wants to.

Anyway, the mom told the dad, and he beat the shit out of A and kicked him out. I think the guy he smuggled (when mommy dearest caught him) was J (not J from previous entries), this good friend of mine. I'm not sure if it's J, but I'm guessing it is.

Now A is hopping from one house to another. He even asked me last week, but I had to decline because it was my prelims in school, and I had to study. It's really sad, because he had to be kicked out of his house just for being gay.

I know a lot of people are against homosexuality, and personally, I don't see why. For me, homosexuality is just a preference for people of the same sex.

That's just it - a preference. It's exactly the same as preferring pizza over vegetables. Same with orientation. I prefer guys over girls. Nothing wrong there.

When I talked about my sexuality with my mom and my aunt, I was glad they understood (took some time, but I'm happy they got the hang of having a gay kid). Their initial reaction was disappointment, but at least they were open to my side, unlike A's parents.

I presented my case (the one mentioned above), and they were mature enough to accept it. Also, I listened to their side and tried my best to understand. For the parents, the hang up of having a gay kid is of course, is ending up with a genetic dead end. But then, hey, there are some straight people who don't have kids. And I don't see parents complaining (well not too much) about them.

Until now I don't get the point of being mad about having a homo as a son. If you can't accept it, at least tolerate it.