A Cold, Cold Christmas

"I've lost him, Sally. I've lost him forever. It feels hhhorrrrible. I want to take out my heart so I'd never feel this way again."



It's strange the way things turned out. Had AD told me this over a year ago, I would have done backflips -- I was inlove with him then. I would have wanted him to drop his prick of a boyfriend and then spend his life with me. He never knew that, of course, and I wouldn't have wanted him to know because his situation was beyond my control. Like they say, Once gay, Always gay. I dropped my plans of "converting" him into a fully functioning straight guy, and then we became, strangely, the best of friends.


"You'll be all right, sweetie," I told him. "Nobody dies of heartbreaks."


"This is going to be the worst Christmas I'll ever have," he sobbed into the telephone. He was in KL, back with his family. He took a two-week emergency leave without telling anyone, apart from our boss Sarah, of his plans to fly home. I was despondent when I knew through an out-of-office notice email. He didn't even tell me in person.


My thoughts flew to the first time he opened up to me. We were in Bangkok for an assignment, and it had been weeks since he last saw TC, his boyfriend. He showed up on my hotel door, looking for someone to talk to. We talked, and mostly it was about his latest love. I tried my best not to show my displeasure. Then he squinted his eyes and covered them with his hands. He fell silent, like he was holding his breath. And then I knew he was crying. "I miss him so much it hurts," he said. I reached out and held him for the longest time until I couldn't feel him shivering in pain. "You're tired. You should sleep it off," I said.


When he left my hotel room, I knew we'd always be together. And then we were, just not in the way I imagined it.


"I'm sorry to ruin your Christmas," he said. I heard him sniffle into a wad of tissue.


"No, no, don't. Don't be sorry. We're friends, remember? He doesn't deserve you, AD." I pictured TC in my mind, and secretly I wished that his penis would burst open like a flower when he sleeps with another guy. I never did like him.


"Yeah, right. Oh well, we'd better end this call. I'll see you as soon as I get back."


"I love you, sweetie. Merry Christmas. Don't try to kill yourself, okay?" I said. "I'd be very disappointed."


"I love you, too, darling. If I slash my wrist, Sarah would kill me. Say Merry Christmas to your family for me, okay?"


We said good bye, knowing we'd meet again in the New Year. He'll be better.



*Image from Getty.

Carole King - You Make Me Feel (Like a Natural Woman)

Ah, well. The song says everything.

101

my breath was caught by
the minty breeze that blew through
a gap in the door

JUMP!

Stumbled on this video featuring Girls Aloud singing "Jump", a track from one of my all time fave movies LOVE ACTUALLY. (Which reminds me, must give that DVD a spin since Christmas is a comin'.)

Watching it so made me want to write another chicklit story. :D

3-0

suddenly you realize
that age is irrelevant
that a number cannot dictate
what you believe to be true
you start acting what you know
and decide by what is right
then birthdays become
nothing more than reminders
that you've lived another year
that you've been lucky
or blessed, whichever way
so you live with grace
and not just age with it

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

*With apologies to David Mann

... you listen to...

1. Jane Monheit>> If you went away
2. Jamie Cullum>> I can't get started
3. Gabrielle>> Out of reach
4. Dina Carroll>> Someone like you
5. Siobhan Petit>> The look of love
6. MYMP>> A little bit
7. Raffi Quijano>> Don't know what to do
8. Billy Collins>> Nightclub
9. Jamie Cullum>> What a difference a day makes

...then, you hope for sleep to come.

I Love Coffee

I. Good Morning

Woke up this morning with a massive headache. I felt as if I slept on a rock all night. My head throbbed like it had its own heartbeat. Figured it was just stress -- had lots of to do for just two workdays, squeezing everything to make sure the market's happy. When afternoon came, hours after every corporate requirement was ticked off the to-do list, brain was still complaining. Asked AD to do wonders on my head and shoulders (he doubled as the office masseuse), good thing he agreed. Call it best friend benefits. Had a bonus ten minute rub session, but the pain was still there.

Told to this to my mom this evening (the headache, not the massage). Asked me if I had my coffee today. No, I said.

Ah, that must be it, she said. Happens to her too. It's a withdrawal.

Currently stirring my midnight cup. Headache's gone, but I need caffeine now to keep awake. Editing duty calls.


II. Issues

Am not really a starbucks girl in the sense that I would complete those holiday promo cards to get a free planner. I don't usually order frapp (on the rare occassion that I do, it's usually on those treacherously hot days). I can't appreciate their drips (when I taste them they're all the same and it must because they've overheated the coffee). Most of the time I order the same ol' same Short Cafe Mocha with a Shot of Raspberry. It's my whole life in a paper cup -- I take it all/most of the time because it works for me. Tastes great. Makes me happy. Fuck calories.

If I wanted my own cafe americano, I'd be mixing nescafe at home. (Btw, the "new taste new aroma" nescafe tastes WORSE.)


III. Parentology

The irony is I hate it when my dad drinks coffee. He drinks it five times a day. When we're there at home, he asks us to make him a cup, even if it's eleven in the friggin evening. He's been doing this since we were ten? twelve? some odd child age. Well, better this than alcohol. And we love him anyway. Anything to make him happy.

IV. Marketing

Must admit, the devils at Starbucks are genuises. I can't imagine we ALL fell for the comfy chairs, the wifi, the coffee bean story, the brew aroma (which, I have just found, they did on purpose, like a sampling ploy), the mug merchandize, the flavor stories, even the baristas who speak perfect english (so conotic an accent that I suspect they're rich bums) ... Their coffee's a killing at atleast 80 pesos a cup. Margins margins margins. Brilliant!

V. Love

Coffee bars took over dinner as a relationship starting point. Probably the trend now is friendster/myspace>> email>> text >> phone >> coffee >> dinner >> etc. In the old days, people actually met face to face THEN asked each other out to dinner. This generation's added too many steps in the courting process. Time to streamline.

Let's Play Distraction

"Hi."

"Yes?"

"I want to scream."

"Go ahead."

"Do you want to know why I want to scream?"

"'Why do you want to scream?'"

"I've got deadlines. For three different people. Using three different parts of my head."

"Left brain. Right brain. What's the third?"

"What's the third? ... You're right. Okay. I'm going to need both sides of my brain for three different things."

"Go ahead and scream."

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Too many people."

----------------------------------------

"Hi."

"Yes?"

"I can't get to work on my stuff. Can't concentrate."

Reads papers. Ignores person.

"Do you want to know why?"

Folds paper down. Raises eyebrows. "I'm dying to know why you can't concentrate."

"There's just too many things to get done. Overwhelming, really."

"How many?"

"Three. Three things. One's a story I need to edit. Another's a story I haven't started. The third's just planning and making the most of long holiday. I hate wasting holidays."

"There is nothing there that involves abstract reasoning. You told me awhile ago you need both right and left brain."

"Hello? Planning is abstract reasoning."

"Says who?"

"Says Freud. Carl Jung. It's in theory."

"Freud and Jung actually theorized that the left brain takes care of planning vacations?"

"Yes. It's complicated stuff. YOu have to know where do you want to go, how much to spend; if you need to bring your big or small overnight bag, whether or not our cuz Gary should sit next to my mother, that sort of thing."

"Those little things need left brained activity?"

"Actually, come to think of it, should be more right brained. Yeah, that's right. Have to be creative in figuring out the thing to do."

Goes back to reading papers.

"LIke I said, I can't get my work done. Very distracted."

Turns next page.

"I want to scream. Do you get that feeling that you want to scream?"

"Yeah. I do. You won't believe I do."

Always the Eifel

Babot and I decided that we should get a culture upgrade at the Met. One more museum wouldn't hurt, she said. Think of all the impressionist paintings we'd get to see. Enough to last you your whole life.

When we got to that part in Paris (le rue's name escapes me now), the line was unbelievably infinite -- from the ticket booth a hundred people from a hundred more races stood under the scorching June sun. We did travel thousands of miles from Manila, but I didn't think that standing in line for hours when you've only got two days in France to spend was worth it. Babot shrugged her shoulders and then put on her cheshire grin. Look, she said. There's a man doing miniatures.

I looked across the street. A frosty wind blew, even though it was summer. (It must have been a normal gale for locals but my asian skin was not used to temperatures dipping below 20 degrees.) It fluttered the fresh paintings that were clipped to a nearly invisible cord that ran an impressive length along the Seine.

Shall we go see? I asked.

Of course, she said. I took her hand and we crossed the busy street.

There were tiny little frames, snapshots of nooks in France we barely knew. There were watered cafes and dreamy cobble-stone streets. Some pictures had women with long thin cigaretteholders with smoke curling at the ends. There were men in suits, their eyes looking as if they had read too many books. Always the Eifel, tucked somewhere in the distant back in dark bronze strokes. Soft, soft afternoon light. There weren't any pictures of tourists with maps and backpacks, whitebread men in hats and khaki shorts and sandals. No chinky-eyed asians with digital cameras. No drunken poets. No beggars. Not even portraits of painters which this city spored every minute.

Want to buy one? It's a nice souvenir, Babot asked.

The girl in the blue dress holding flowers would have made the wall in my apartment less lonely. I turn to look around, back to the museum I never got to see, the tourists arguing about where to go next, the red double-decker waiting for passengers at the bus stop.

Nah, I said.

Later that day at Champ de Mars I told her, This looks like a fine spot for posterity.

My mother laughed and gamely posed. I framed her in my hands, the Eifel silently perched above her like a crown.

=========================

Happy Birthday, Ma. Love you!

=========================

Family Values

I. Human Dignity

"What if we just drag all of the blind people out of the way? All the ones we see on the streets?" my dad asks. We're in the car on the way to church. He's driving, and I'm on the seat next to him.

"What?"

"They're traffic hazards. And I don't know if you noticed -- there seems to be more of them on Sundays. Taking advantage of how some people behave better on church day than on the other days." He checks the traffic light and the car ahead of him. "Running over one would be a hassle too. I bet it takes a longer time to get things processed when you hit somebody. They'll take my licence. Have this impounded. Type up reports in the precincts. What'll you do if ever we run over a blind man?"

"Call Tod?" I say. Tod is Dad's right hand man. He knows everybody who's anybody in City Hall. I figure he could get us out of any sticky wicket. Or so I thought.

"Tod's nothing. Call a lawyer. That's what we'll need."

The road's slick and glossy. It has stopped raining, but the thin sheet of water can still make the pavement slippery. Perfect day for an accident.

II. Blood and Water

John hands me the wad of cash. It's in a white envelope. "Don't forget the receipt."

If someone else said it, I would have taken it as a thoughtful reminder. But it was John. Anything my brother ever said hinted at a complete lack of trust. Now, what he means without saying is he wants to make sure the money goes to whatever it was I said I was needing the money for.

I shut up, but I want to give him a piece of my mind. I'm your sister, damn it.

III. Freedom of Choice

My legs are still numb. I can't feel my belly, even if I poke it with my finger. I look around and see Tod sitting on the chair next to me. He's reading the Sunday paper and looking for familiar names. The obits page.

I knew it. I shouldn't have brought him along.

The doctor comes in the room (it's the spare in his house which he turned into a recovery room) and tells me that I should be fine the next day. The womb's clean, as far as he could tell. Every bit's been scraped and taken out. There's no way an infection would start, that's his promise.

I can't help it but I cry for hours. I miss my mother.

Wish Me Luck

Just sent off a story to an open call.

Time to get some sleep.

Vignette:Josephine & Marcia and the Missing Silver Hairdryer

"The hairdresser was chatting away about some nouveau riche madame getting her hair fried when suddenly the lights went out and everything, everything in the parlor! went up in flames!"

"And how did you escape?"

"I was on the chair by the door, reading the latest OK magazine, the one that featured Regine and Ogie and Ruffa and Yilmaz."

"Did anyone get hurt? I mean, when I saw the parlor this morning, it looked like charred black things. There wasn't a flicker of pink anywhere."

"The hairdresser -- sheem's dead! And that's strange because the place was small, it was easy to get out of. Even the manicurista who was washing her tools in the corner sink came out with nary burn nor bruise."

"Sheem's gone! How awful! I have an appointment booked for the wedding on Friday! Where can you get a stylist at this late a time?"

"Hear, hear. Sheem was a rather talented one, wasn't sheem? I mean, sheem had hands like Franck Provost. Sheem can make Lotlot de Leon look like Keira Knightley."

"Or poor ol' me from a wilted spinster to a dashing debutante."

"Aye, me. Sheem will be missed."

"Fancing cracking the mystery?"

"Of the exploding parlor?"

"What else, dearie? Heaven knows I'm not going to go after whether the naked photo that's going around is the real teenage girlie from High School Musical."

"Hmm. Let me get my thinking cap on."

"Where should we begin?"

"Let's go to ground zero then. Number 45, Severina Avenue -- the building with hideous yellow accents and pink pink walls. It is too horribly loud for even a gay man to work in."

"Ahh, dear. Let's not get our personal preferences for classic and tasteful design in the way of good ol' fashion sleuthing."

"Hear, hear."

Whatever Happened to... First Love?

It's here! It's finally here!!!

Get a hold of FIRST LOVE, the latest anthology from Cozy Reads Publishing. Features 11 new stories from prizewinning authors as well as new and exciting voices.

Here's the TOC from the official website:

Project Uno - Elyss Punsalan
That Familiar Hand - Celestine Marie G. Trinidad
Room 101 - Belen Morabella
Summer Interlude - Chona Suner-Narvadez
A Certain Quality - I. P. Goze
A Kiss Is a Kiss Is a Kiss - Karen Manalastas
Whatever Happened To...? - Sally Magdiwang
Meeting at San Agustin - Ana Maria S. Villanueva
Love Digitally - Jason Paul C. Laxamana
The Seatmate - Raymund P. Reyes
Note to Self - Isabel Reoja

The book was released at the 28th Manila Book Fair. I'm not sure if there would be a formal book launch anytime soon... Anyway, if there is going to be one, it'll be posted here.

Like Cozy Reads says, Curl up with a good book. Make it First Love, ei? :-)

Forwarded Massage II (Classic)

After the seminal Forwarded Massage I (Classic), here's Part II. The author's still unknown. God bless her! Or him!

WARNING: Reading this out loud (and acting it out like I did) would really screw up your grammar IQ.

---------------------------------------------

I thought Jay's ex-girlfriend was really out of our lives. But heaven only goes
that I was wrong. Kakakasal pa lang namin nun when Jay received a uninamous
text. "Meet me at the clinic." I had a stinking feeling in my butt. I told him
not to go. It might in danger him. Pero sabi niya, ok lang daw because life is
what we make. Tumahimik lang ako. Sabi niya, "Penny for you talks." But I didn't
know what to say. Beggars can't be losers. Isa pa, worried talaga ako na baka
yung girl yun. Jay said, "Can't got your tongue?" I tried to smile at him. Kahit
di ako nagsalita, actions speak louder than works, di ba?

Be that as is
may, umalis pa rin siya. I was out of the loophole. After a few hours, I called
him on his cellphone. But my calls fell on Jeff's ears. Lalo akong nag-worry
kasi I didn't even know Jeff. Sabi na nga ba di na dapat umalis si Jay. That's
what I'm talking about it.

So I tried calling some friends who will help
me find Jay. That's what friends are for naman di ba? But I just faced a blank
mall. I had to do this alone. Nag-taxi na lang ako. Pero ang mahal na pala ng
plug down rate.

When I got to the clinic, the security was really buffed
up. Di basta- basta makakapasok. So I said, "I beg your cordon. I'm patient.
It's my favorite virtue nga e.Nagduda yata yung isang guard. Hinawakan ako sa
arm. The nerd! I shouted, "Don't touch me not!" Buti na lang the other guards
were nice and said, "Come on, let's join us."

When I went inside, parang
I've been there, done there. Nung walang nakatingin, nag-explore ako. Nakarating
ako sa top floor and I had a bird's IQ of the clinic. I could not explain it but
I was drawn to a room on the floor. Siguro Divine Intermission na yun.

Parang may narinig akong umuungol. I was thorn. Di ko alam kung aalis ba
ako o papasukin ko. It made me stick in the stomach to think that Jay and his
ex-girlfriend were there. I tried to tell myself to slower my expectations. But
to tell with it! I had to strike while the iron is not. I had to hear the truth
from the corpse's mouth. I barraged in. O my gas! Si Jay, naka-strap sa
operating table, parang genie pig sa isang nakakatakot na experiment. He was on
the cutting edge. He was bleeding. At ang doctor na nagpapahirap sa kanya, ang
ex- girlfriend niya at ang bago nitong boyfriend, ang nurse na si Walter. Doon
ko napatunayang blood is thicker than Walter.

Guess watch? Di ko alam
kung paano ko nagawa pero I was able to search and rescue Jay. Siguro adrenaline
brush na yun.

Now, he's recovering. Nag-sorry siya na hindi siya nakinig
sa akin. I know it's a better pill to swallow your pride so it's forgive and
forget me not. All swell that end swell. I know we should kiss and put on
makeup.

Ang ex-girlfriend naman niya at si Walter, nakakulong na.
Detention is really better than cure. So the moral of the lesson is: if symptoms
persist, insult your doctor.

The Day Sally Decides to be Single and...

Made out of unexplainable boredom and paranoia.

Keeping It Together

So for a minute I thought that the train was going to run me over and grind my innards into a summer fruit slosh on the Ayala station tracks. But then Oliver grabbed my collar and pulled me back, and I'm reminded of that scene from Sassy Girl where the very drunk love interest is saved by the unassuming protagonist.

I don't want to ramble on and on. But I have to tell you that my life flashed before my eyes and it was a pretty boring show. If I could I would've channel surfed, or subscribed to a different cable provider. I'm regretting that I didn't live my life. And I mean LIVE like the way the boys in "Stand By Me" or the dimwitted beauties on "Temptation Island" circa 1980 film did.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," I said. It's a strange feeling to be looking at Oliver so closely. My recollection of him in college was this unflappable and gorgeous student who made being a genius in engineering equivalent to owning a car. And he owned a car. How uber-cool was that? Years later he's within breathing distance and I can barely feel my legs -- the skin on his face was luminous, his eyes evenly lashed, his bone structure was a candidate for the perfect symmetry test. He could blind me with all that beauty. I reached to touch my eyes and pretended there was something in them.

When he spoke again, there was a mini second delay from the time his mouth moved to the point where I heard his voice. Like a missing audio-video lock, video editors would say. "You should really be careful."

"Yeah." It was the only word in my vocabulary that moment. I wanted to run into the wall and smash my head to get the words out, pick them up like I would do to coins from a broken coin bank. See? I have pretty coins! I have sparkling wit!

"I gotta go. You sure you could find your way back? On your own?" he asked.

There really was no point to the question, I realize just now. He wanted me to go on my own because he didn't have time, the energy, or the emotional attachment, for him to accompany me to my house's doorstep. That's the problem with married guys.

"Yeah."

We waited for the next train to arrive, and when the doors opened, I managed to squeeze my way through the egressing mob and into the car. I heard the buzzer and the doors closed. Oliver had gone. I felt faint, but the pack of people held me up. I might have lost my cellphone which I put in my shoulder bag pocket, but I wasn't really up to protecting anything. All I focused on was getting home without falling apart.

Homecoming

She knew where everything was -- the piano, the old reading lamps, the weathered garden set. It was as if she flashbacked into the past, for a split second, and then she saw beyond the thick blanket of dust and white cloth that covered everything. She was all alone now, officially. She had just buried her last parent. Her brothers had settled in another country, never wanting to see Manila again. She had come back for no particular reason, but having no particular reason was as compelling as having one.

"Oh hello."

Someone, in a white flowing veil, snuck out of the doorway at the far end of the hall. The little girl stared back with her dark eyes.

"Hello," the little girl answered.

There was a jasmine flower stuck in the girl's ear. Missa felt the scent soak into her skin, the fragrant air dropping a few degrees colder. The girl started to walk very small, unsure steps toward the woman in front of her.

"You're back," the girl said.

Missa walked toward the girl, confident and business-like, as if meeting a new client.

"Well, I don't know for how long. How are you?" Missa asked. She even offered her hand to shake.

The girl scratched her nose and looked at the ceiling. What could possibly be more interesting than the spanish lamps hanging up there, she must have thought. "Your parents, they're all right, you know," she said.

Missa gazed at the girl. Then her hands trembled at her side; her chest tightened as if a balloon was inflating, wanting to burst her open into a mess of shattered organs, limbs, body parts. Her knees fell sharply to the floor. The pain was too much.

The girl clutched Missa's arms quickly-- she was very near her now. Missa shivered in her own tears, tears she kept from escaping when she went to the hospital to see her mother fading, shrinking into her bed. These were the same tears she hid with dark Gucci sunglasses at her father's burial.

"You shouldn't worry too much, Missa," the girl said again. She stroked Missa's hair with her pale bony hand, then wrapped her arms around Missa's grieving body. A few days from now, the girl thought, her friend will be back to her old self.

On the Street Where You Live

Awww...This boy is going to grow up a heartbreaker.

Absolutely Nothing

“It’s eight already.”

“Oh.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be in Portico’s by now?”

“Hmm.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s nice sitting here in a café. By ourselves. Do we really have to?”

“Yeah.”

“I suddenly don’t feel like going. I’m getting tired just thinking about it.”

“Got a text. Katz and Menands are there, waiting. Soon the rest are going to be there.”

“It’s going to be the same conversation…”

“We haven’t seen them in months, Sally.”

“But we email them all the time.” Sighs. It is the first of many.

“It’s not the same, okay.”

“You’re right. It’s not the same.”

There is a lull. “You’re still not getting up. Does this mean I have to convince you?”

“Tell me one thing, just one thing, that’ll make me want to get my ass over there.”

Sighs. Looks through the windows, then down at the pack of people in the park waiting, waiting. “I got it. And if this doesn't get you moving, I don’t know what. Wanna hear it?”

“Okay.”

Holds breath. Looks Sally in the eye. "Oliver."

Two seconds, Sally's up and running to Portico's.

FORWARDED MASSAGE (Classic)

NOTE: Isang classic forwarded email message. Nung nilipat ko ito sa Word, nagbreakdown yung grammar-check ng Microsoft. Kung sino man ang nagsulat nito, dapat kang bigyan ng award.

We' ve been friends for a long time ago. We come from the same alma mother. Actually, our paths crossed one time on another. But it's only now that I gave him a second look. I realized that beauty is in the eyes. The pulpbits of my heart went fast, really fast. Cute pala siya. And then, he came over with me. He said, "I hope you don't mine. Can I get your number?"

Nag-worry ako. What if he doesn't give it back? He explained naman na it's so we could keep intact daw. Sabi ko, "Connect me if i'm wrong but are you asking me ouch?"

"The!?!!??". .. ang sarcastic na sagot nya.

Aba! The verb! Parang siya pa ang galit! Persona ingrata!!! Ang kapal niya! I cried buckles of
tears.

Na-guilty yata siya. Sabi niya, isipin mo na lang na this is a blessing in the sky. Irregardless daw of his feelings, we should go ouch na rin.

Now, we're so in love. Mute and epidemic na ang past. Thanks God we swallowed our fried. Kasi, I'm 33 na and I'm running our time.

After 2 weeks, he plopped the question. "Will you marriage me?" I'm in a state of shocked. Kasi mantakin mo, when it rains, it's four! This is true good to be true. So siyempre, I said yes. Love is a many splendor.

Pero nung inaayos ko na ang aming kasal, everything swell to pieces. Nag-di-dinner kami noon nang biglang sa harap ng aming table, may babaeng humirit ng, "Well, well, well. Look do we have here." What the fuss! The nerd ng babaeng yon! She said they were still on. So I told her, Whatever is that, cut me some slacks! I didn't want this to get our hand kaya I had to sip it in the bud. She accused me of steeling her boyfriend. As is!!! I don't want to portrait the role of the other woman.

Gosh, tell me to the marines! I told her, "please, mine you own business!" Who would believe her anyways? Dahil it's not my problem anymore but her problem anymore, tumigil na rin siya ng panggugulo. Everything is coming up daisies. I'm so happy. Even my boyfriend said like twice. He's so supportive. Sabi niya, "Look at is this way. She's our of our lives."

Kaya advise ko sa inyo - take the risk. You can ever can tell. Just burn the bridge when you get there. Life is shorts. If you make a mistake, we'll just pray for the internal and external repose
of your soul. I second emotion.

My Ego is As Big As This Planet

"Did you get to read this?"

"Yeah."

"You think it's you he's referring to?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't dream of it."

"So why did he run a script?"

"He's probably bored. Or going back to his stage roots."

Scratches head. "Stage roots?"

"On stage. Like a drama. He wrote plays. He also used to be an actor."

"The word 'stalk' also appeared..."

"It shouldn't mean anything."

"You wrote about stalking days ago. A full week ago."

"The word 'stalking' isn't copyrighted. He's free to do what he wants."

"You're such a liar."

"You're saying I'm a liar." (Repeats because she has just gotten out of an emotions management seminar.)

"Deep inside, you're looking for an affirmation from one of the country's bemedalled writers."

"Off it."

"You're human. It's normal to feel that way."

"I am so not listening. ... But I am wondering what prompted him though. I wonder which blog he was referring to."

"It's *this* blog."

"Come on. Sobra ka naman."

"Uyy... kinikilig sya..."

"Di noh! I don't have a big ego. I am so humble it makes me weep."

"So how do you think he's 1) using a script 2) uses the word ego 3) referring the blog author is a girl."

"He doesn't say the author's a girl."

"But he keeps hiding the gender. Ergo, female."

"What?"

"I think we should get dinner. My ulcer's going straight to my head." Starts to pack. "Would be nice to think it was really me though. Wished he'd comment or something."

END.

But Of Course, James!

From Shameless.

Cold Feet and Destiny

"You're home early. How was it?"

"Terrible."

"You were Little Miss Sunshine before you left this morning..."

"I know. I fucked it up."

"Language."

"Who cares. "

"What happened?"

"Ten minutes before I got out of the cab, I chickened out."

"Attack of the cold feet?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll never grow up. I can't stand rejection. And it would be my third try to ask him out. And it's awful that I had to wait until the art session was over before I could subtlely and tastefully ask him if he'd like to join me for dinner."

"Aww, that is so lame."

"Not to someone who's been doing the chasing. Mother Nature would have smacked me for being Ms Desperate. I'm tired. I'm a walking sad story. After the presentation I just walked out of the gallery and drowned myself in cafe mocha. I finished 2 ventis."

"This is the 21st century. There is nothing wrong with chasing... Wait, I think the correct term should be 'being proactive.'"

"I have a 21st century retort to that. 'He's not that into me.'"

Pause. "Maybe it's you who's not that into him."

Pause. "That's possible."

Removes shoes. Sits down and swings legs on the arms of sofa.

"I'm probably not meant to be with anyone."

"Shush! That's not true."

"It's sad, but it could be, you know. It's not a bad thing -- being single. Maybe this is the way life's meant to be for me."

"Oh, don't give up because of one little mishap."

"It's been a series of mishaps, my dear. And it's not giving up. Maybe it's ... having an epiphany." Looks to sister. "Are you happy with your boyfriend?"

"Let's not change the subject, shall we?"

"My point exactly. Maybe everyone's supposed to be single. We're not built for conflict on a 24 seven basis."

"How about procreation?"

"People have sex all the time, and most of the time there's no emotional connection. It's just body part this and body part that rubbing against each other. Nothing substantial comes from it. It's just a waste of energy."

"That's not true."

"How do you know?"

Pregnant pause again. "Where is all this coming from?"

"The fact that I'm thirty. I'm single. I'm successful but I don't feel I'm living."

"Aunt Celia got married when she was fifty. There's still hope."

"If you're asking me to post my profile on that internet dating service, get off it. I got one out there in the virtual universe and it's disappointing that no one, NO ONE, ever dropped me a line."

"You're angry."

"My eggs are going to die without even seeing a shadow of a sperm cell. I might not have children. Like Aunt Celia. Like old, withered, frigid, Auntie Celia."

"You should talk to her. Aunt Celia. She'll change your mind, am sure of it."

"Where is she?"

"On her honeymoon cruise with John. They're...," looks at watch,"in Seychelles by this time."

"Do you believe in fate? Destiny?"

"Yes. It's my favorite premise in any chick flick."

"Well, I was waiting for the Simpson's movie to start last night, in Rockwell. I was in Fully Booked. Bumped into an old classmate. She had two of her friends along -- a girl and a guy. The guy and I got on pretty well..."

"You got it on?"

"Ano ba? What I meant was 'rapport.' When the movie was about to start, I felt a bit sad because we'd be in separate seats. Because we didn't buy our tickets at the same time. It was really strange you know..."

"Suspense. I can't stand suspense."

"We went in opposite directions, them left, me right. But we arrived at the same row. The guy and I turned out to be seatmates. "

"That's destiny."

"It's not."

"How could you say that when there was a score of other seats available and you two were meant to sit together? You had no hand in the choosing."

"Well, I gave him my business card later after the show. He has not called me since last night. He's not that into me."

What it feels like to pick up Britney Spears by Neil Strauss

It's all here.

The interview was going nowhere. She was on autopilot. I looked at her,
crossing her legs and fidgeting on the hotel-room couch next to me. She didn't
give a shit. I was just an amount of time blocked off on her calendar, and she
was tolerating it -- poorly.
Her hair was tucked under a white Kangol hat and
her thighs pushed at the seams of her faded blue jeans. She was one of the most
desired women in the world. But in person, she looked like a corn-fed southern
sorority girl. She had a beautiful face, lightly and perfectly touched with
makeup, but there was something masculine about her. As a sexual icon, she was
unintimidating and, I imagined, lonely.
A gear slammed down in my head.
There was only one way to save this interview: I had to sarge her. No matter
what country I was in or what age or class or race of woman I was talking to,
the game always worked. Besides, I had nothing to lose.
I folded my list of
questions and put them in my back pocket. I had to treat her like any club girl
with attention deficit disorder.
The first move was to hook her
attention.

And another interesting article : "A Totally Scientific Guide to Seduction" from the same author Neil Strauss:

When it comes to meeting and attracting women, many men are
resigned and complacent. We figure some guys were born with that particular
power and other guys weren't. I wasn't. So, to compensate, I did something so
embarrassing, I didn't even admit it to my friends: I embarked on a two-year
course of rigorous study and training on the subject of women for my new book,
The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. Guided by men who
claimed to be the world's greatest seducers (men known by names such as Mystery,
Toecutter, Sin, and Juggler), I plunged into an international underground
seduction community and approached more than a thousand women around the world.
In the end, I was transformed from student of seduction to reluctant guru. I
offer you now something I never thought I'd be able to provide: a step-by-step
primer on attracting women, compiled from the collective knowledge of the
world's greatest ladies' men.

Must try...

First Love and FHM

Can't wait for the book FIRST LOVE to be out. Got a story in there called "Whatever Happened To...?" Publishers did say it's supposed to be on the shelves by 3rd wk July, but where? oh where could they be?

I thought it would be a good idea to coincide First Love's release with the much-hyped HP7 yesterday, to take advantage of the high traffic coming into the bookstores. Then again, I would have to trust the Cozy Reads folks with what they're doing. Let's cross our fingers and toes.

By the way, a friend of mine told me Heartbreak was on the latest FHM issue. Gave me a good excuse to buy that (wretched) magazine (and finally see what all men were drooling over, aside from the obvious -- gigantic boobs and sexual fantasies which only an Olympic gymnast could do.)

(It was funny you know, how me and my girlfriends read that FHM magazine in Serendra, in a place as wholesome as Krispy Kremes. I was trying to make sure that no toddler would be staring in our direction, and then asking his mom what we were reading. It brought a whole new dimension to covert reading when you're in your thirties. Anyway...)

And I can't believe that my daily paper, PDI, the one paper my family reads, has never mentioned, not even once, Heartbreak. Not even a line? Not a whimper? And to think the book was launched internationally in the last World Book Fair in Singapore! What could possibly convince them to write a review, or a feature, anything! to drum up interest. Haay... Buti pa ang Cebu's Freeman, supportive.

Hmmm.

To -----

I'm sorry you haven't met my witty self. I c.an be fun too, you know. And interesting.

And interested.

Anyway, I should have stopped blabbering about myself and asked more questions about you. That's the advise old women gave on how to charm a man. I forgot about that. (I've been forgetting a lot of things lately, really important ones like my nephew's birthday, my parent's anniversary, the topsecret plans in my job, my common sense, my middle name...)

If I could start over, I should have said, "Oh, that's wonderful (what you do)! So how do you do (this) and (that) and that must be so exciting, don't you think?" The old women say men like their egos fluffed up like pillows every now and then. I'd do that gladly, but only when there's enough fluff in the pillow.

Then we could have ended spending the rest of the night having a gabfest in a cozy cafe until 3 in the morning, instead of writing this letter you'd never get to read.

Story of my life. Another one got away.

S.M.

"Sing Like Yamin It!"

I MISSED ELLIOT!

Loved him on AI 3, and I'm so happy he's back with a great CD, a great 1st Single (Number1 position on most radio stations for Wait for You), and a great make-over!

Check out the before and after pictures:

At the AI compet, I used to refer to Elliot as The Faun (after James Mcavoy's character in Narnia. Btw, James is also a hottie...)

The Boy in Vienna

Before you get started, no, I am not turning into a pedophile. Or a thirty-something spinster with an overbearing mothering syndrome.

And no, the boy I took a fancy on wasn't this cute adorable Italian kid (who started out as a silent train co-passenger, but two hours later, was pulling my hair as if I were a head of brocolli). I just posted his pic because he's a charming thing.

The "boy" happened to be the twenty-year old son of my mother's Pinay friend who stays in Vienna.
He was tall, spoke sexy German, had dark curly locks on his crown. Had biceps the size of which were illegal for his age. Shy. And oh-my-fancy-pants, soooo young. Young-ER! Damn.

He called me Ate.

After that, nothing was the same anymore.

The Guy in Paris

Alright, I don't really remember how everything happened (because Europe happened in just three weeks, three years ago, and mom and I just spent under 48 hours in France), but let's say, it was right after we visited the Notre Dame cathedral. Mom and I had nowhere else to go after going to the base of the overcrowded overrated Eiffel, and the Champs Elysees. So we went this little English rose garden somewhere in the area, and I saw this handsome male specimen reading (such a turn on - he reads!) an art history book (okay I made it up). I wasn't my brave self that day, so I just pretended to be checking my camera and clicked a shot in his direction. But I could have said, "Monsieur, volez vouz (... ay, pwde English na lang?) Bonjour. Do you come here often?"

Duh.

But then he could have answered, "Oh, of course, Mademoisselle. I am a locale... I surmise you are still Mademoiselle with your pretty face and gorgeous body."

"Oui, cest moi une, solo, singulare. Available (wink wink)." The last one said with a French accent.

"Ah, then you are in luck. I am une as well. Maybe we could be au pair?"

Oui! Oui!

Of course, these are just figments of my hyber caffeineted imaginacion. Back to reality.

TOP TEN THINGS To Say To...

1> Old Boyfriend, now married to prat: "You deserve each other."

2> My two lovely underlings: "I dread the day I'd f*ck it up big time."

3> Dean Alfar: "What do I have to do to make you publish me?!"

4> My excess 60 pounds: "Here's a one-way ticket into the next solar system."

5> Mom, Dad: "I love you. May I please be exempt from washing the dishes?"

6> AD: "Break up with TC. He doesn't deserve you."

7> JK Rowling: "You'd better make Book Seven amazing, or else..."

8> My boss: "Can you move the planning conference, to like, the next millenium?"

9> JK Rowling: "So, does anyone die in Book Seven?"

10> Future Husband: "Brad, you don't have to match the color of my hair."

Breathe in, breathe out ...

(Kish ka kish! Lightning! Kish kish ka kish! Thunder!)

I'm alive!!!!!!!!


Yun lang.