Déjà Fuck

CAUTION: Not for under 18. ;)


I was just finishing my last few bites (more like quick gobbles) of pork afritada and sautéed balsam pear (nyehehehe...what a pretentious way to say "bitter melon" or "ampalaya"), half-way through the reruns of Season 2 Episode 19 of Sex and the City ("The Chicken Dance") when I semi-choked. No, not because of the, ahem, "balsam pear", but because of one of the lines Carrie was VO'ing to Samantha's fornication scene:

[He] seemed so familiar. Samantha was having a déjà fuck.

Déjà Fuck. Loosely defined, it is "when you're having sex with someone and you realize that you've slept with them before".

My old officemate Bambi told me once that she was having some mmmmm-ing in bed with "some guy" when she realized she's already slept with him (Oscar, his name was) a long time ago. How in God's name did she arrive at this epiphany? The shape--uhm, in all its oddness--of Oscar's penis. Bambi was like, "I swear, Benny-boy [She should SO stop calling me that], I've never had sex with anyone with a dick as big and as crooked-to-the-left as his. When he took off his boxers--Oh, what's up with you men and your boxer shorts? Do you guys think that you are going to sleep all the time?! Anyway...--I knew it was him. Oscar *bleep*. Ateneo Law. Venetia Bar. Horny, sex-crazed bastard. Eeek."

Makes one think: what's up with these now-almost-anonymous one night stands? Has it come to a point where we just lose count, simply because we're already talking in the double digits (or triple!)...and actually forget these people? And what exactly does it take to remember?

I remember a personal experience in a bar in Manila. I was with friends, and I just got back from the US. I got the feeling of being watched, and so, almost instinctively, I turned to a non-particular spot. True enough, somebody was watching me. And quite intensely, for that matter. We exchanged nods and almost perfunctory smiles and went back to our own businesses. But merely five minutes later, me with way over the drunk driving blood alcohol content in my system (thanks to Strong Ice, Vodka Red Bull, and White Tail red wine combined), I found myself strutting to their corner of the bar. As I got there, we locked gazes. And with a semi-bewildered look on my face, I asked, "Aren't you my ex?"

Beat that. ;)

Dating 101

I left the office last night at around 730pm to meet my date.

But first things first. You see, the thing about me is that I normally use the term "date" loosely. I could be with my sister and still I call it a "date". A luncheon meeting with my boss Boni and colleague Ella is likewise a "date". Ditto that food-tripping adventure with Daniel or Sheila or Nolet or Chrissie in the malls or side streets and esteros. Last night's friendly and quasi-business Japanese dinner with Bill was also a date, so it would be from my vocabulary. Heck. Anyone I go out with, I'll consider my date. It beats the hell out of saying, "I have a luncheon meeting with..." or "I'm having coffee and tea with...". "I'm on a date" sounds just succinct enough for me, thank you.

Last night, however, as I was on my way to meet my "date", my friends Arianne and Jay were going on their own: to a Speed Dating event. For a fee of 800 bucks (or as Batch One participant, Grace, said, a thousand bucks), you get some tacos, nachos, drinks, and a chance of a lifetime to meet your destiny. ;)

How does speed dating work? Well, take it from me, a previous participant (nyehehe).

Simply, speed dating is a formalized matchmaking process that actually pokes fun at the overly-protracted courting stage. Speed dating is everything but coyness, hesitation, and convention. Men and women (or recently, even gays and lesbians) are rotated to meet each other for only 8 minutes each (in Arianne's and Jay's case, 7; and in Grace's, 5; in mine, 3), are forced to the next round no matter how much they are enjoying the interaction (or dread the next one), then submit to the organizers a list of who they would like to see again (their shortlist, so to speak). If a match is achieved a la secret ballotting, contact numbers are given to the corresponding people. As I was told by my source, numbers cannot be traded during the rounds, to reduce pressure to accept or reject a "suitor" to their face. Hmmm. How considerate is that??? ;)

A lot of people frown upon this notion of speed dating. They say that it's shallow and that it tends to reinforce first impressions, which are often shallow to begin with. Or that, on the other end of the spectrum, it misleads one to like the other person because the latter puts his best foot forward. Others even go to the extent of saying that speed dating totally bastardizes the very essence of dating: that is, taking time to get to know each other and building relationships.

Personally, I think speed dating is such a whoopee. I mean, come on. In meeting people--be it on a blind date, a "regular" date, or a group date--first impressions almost always last. So, what's wrong with putting your best foot forward and reinforce that (supposedly good) first impression?

As I've blogged earlier in my entries, we are in this time and age where speed is almost synonymous to breathing: anything, almost everything, is instant. If you can get the nod of approval or the liking of your speed-date, and his/her number to go with it, I say, fuck those conservatives and go on to your next level: the REAL date that follows the speedy one.

At the end of the day, what do you lose from this fun (or funny), exciting, and totally enriching experience? Nothing, really. If at all, only your 800 bucks.

So, Arianne, Grace, Jay....rock on!!!!

Ho, ho, ho!

'Twas 5:30 this morning when, for some weird reason, I woke up almost in hypersonic mode (ya know, how those people in a protracted-a-la-The-Dead-Zone coma, just readily open their eyes after a deep slumber?). Since my mobile phone's alarm won't go off for two more hours, I tried to go back to sleep. Normally, it'll be easy as pie...but this time, I couldn't sleep no more.

Frustrated, I pulled out my PDA and started reading where I left off in Tuesdays with Morrie. I was staring at the same page, reading the same sentences for six minutes, when I resigned to the reality that my capacity to be cognitive, let alone be awake, was still on hold. So I plugged in the headset of my phone to activate its FM radio (my mp3 player was downstairs on my table, and actually getting up to get it was so out of the question). First station on my preset ones was playing static. Second was doing the same. The third was playing some Pat Benatar song (OK, fine, I do know its title: "We Belong". Dammit), and the last one was what made me stop, have a quasi-coronary, and sit up straight. They were playing Karen Carpenters' The Christmas Carol. What the hell?

And then it hit me. Aaah. It's the 'BER months now, it being September 1st. Filipinos always love the idea of celebrating Christmas WAY ahead of time. Pretty soon, Ayala Avenue's lamp posts will be adorned with bright-colored lanterns; malls will have cherubs and angels and reindeers (god forbid, harlequins [i have a major fear of those fuckers!]) hanging on the ceiling; and Christmas Bazaars will be all over the place.

I remember when I was back working in the US, I started humming Jingle Bells at around the 2nd of September, and my colleagues gave me this weird, what-the-hell-are-you-singing-christmas-carols-this-early look. And then I realized that at this time of the year, Americans are far more concerned about planning trick-or-treating costumes and turkey stuffings, rather than pine trees and trimmings. Blah.

Aaaah. I'm just glad to be back home where Christmas is three to four months long. =)

And while I'm at it...here's the lyrics of a Rockapella song I've always loved...

Christmas Without You

Scott Leonard

I crunch across the street to the Maine man

who sells us our tree every year.

He asks how we’ve been.

I just smile and say "bag up that five foot blue spruce please". Nice trees.

The taxi ride home, I’m just fine, it’s just me

and a tree and Abduhl.

He shows me the lights, red or green doesn’t matter, pedestrians scatter 'neath.

A snowflake of light suspended high above 57th.

We slide to my stoop, I track in, put up the spruce, step back and see how it’s gonna be.

Christmas without you, it’s hittin home: I’m all alone.

Christmas without you, so unfamiliar.

Christmas without the love we shared a little much to bear this Christmas.

At least you left the lights. OK half,

probably the ones that blink.

Where are you tonight? Everyday I’m a mess even Rudolph’s depressing.

I hop on a train to Macy’s, thinkin I’ll just replace these memories we made together.

But all the memory shelves are bare.

Christmas without you, it’s hittin home: I’m all alone.

Christmas without you, so unfamiliar.

Christmas without the love we shared is far too much to bear.

Don’t think I’ll ever be the same this Christmas without you.

Lonely are the days, lonely are the nights without you.

Christmas without you...

Lonely are the days, lonely are the nights without you...

OK. Time to go to work...and it's 115 days before Christmas. ;-)

21 Questions

So, I'm corresblogging (that's my original. If you're even a little bit pert, you'd realize, it's corresponding-via-blogging. Hehehe) with my new bloggie friend Steph from Vegas. And as normal bloggie-friends do, they peruse each others rantings online (OK, I'm blabbering). So, this morning, as I was reading her blogs (which, incidentally, is freakishly like mine, only in a woman's version), I saw her version of 21 Questions...and more. So I said, what the hell. I'll steal it...and then ask her permission after I post it. Hehehehe.

So here it is.

1. how many people on your friends list are exes? oh god. are there any? hahaha. top o' mind thinking, six.
2. what is your favorite part of the chicken? breast and ass. go figure.
3. what's your favorite town? my hometown, bataan.
4. what's the first word that comes to your mind right now? deadlines tomorrow (OK, that's two words).
5. when's the last time you saw your mother in person? almost a month ago. damn, i gotta go home and visit!
6. what's the best insult you've ever heard? "your belly's gross, man." rub it in, will ya.
7. who got you to started with a blog? sheila. i got jealous of all the attention she was getting from fans. LOL
8. what are you having for dinner tonight? i dunno. prolly a salad.
9. how long have you been at your current job? counting the time before i left and then came back, i'd say 3.5 years.
10. is tom on your friends list? who the hell is tom?
11. what's the last thing you said out loud? i just got laid...whoohoo!
12. look to your left what do you see? my hamper, loads of dirty clothes in it. oh wait a minute...that's my RIGHT. my left? the wall and my diesel bag.
13. what are the last two things you spent over $100 on? my pda and gucci shades.
14. who's your favorite villain? my boss. HAHAHA. kidding, man! i know performance appraisal's not yet done. ;)
15. what's the last piece of clothes you borrowed from someone? a shirt from blair...for an unplanned sleepover.
16. what's the last piece of clothing you bought? sexy black and red underwears. nyehehehe.
17. what word makes you laugh no matter where, when or how many times you hear it? burnik. you tell me it ain't funny.
18. what website do you visit the most during the day? gmail.
19. go into your text message log on your phone...whats the 10th? a joke about a guy doing a census/survey. he asks the woman how many children she has, and she says "14". so the census guy asks her, "so many! don't you use condoms, pills, rhythm or withdrawal method?" and she replies, "no. just a dick." that cracked me up so bad i think my costochondritis came back.
20. who's the last person you texted? my tailor...me bitching about my 2-weeks overdue shirts.
21. When you look at yourself in the mirror, what's the first thing you look at? my hair, teeth, and eyebags.

what...??? no more questions?????!

Cater To Me...?

I was watching some music video channel the other night in a hotel (now, now, don't be askin' questions what I was doing in a hotel...and with who!) when I hit upon this new song by Destiny's Child called "Cater 2 U". This program, apparently, shows the lyrics to the song as it is being played, kinda like karaoke. So, I read on...and it was something like this...

...the more if i need to reassure you, my life would be purposeless without you (yeah). if i want it (got it) when i ask you (you provide it) you inspire me to be better. you challenge me for the better. sit back and let me pour out my love. lemme let me help you take off your shoes, untie your shoestrings, take off your cufflinks (yeah).what you want to eat boo? (yeah) let me feed you, let me run your bathwater, whatever you desire, i'll aspire. sing you a song, turn the game on, i'll brush your hair, help put your do. rag on, want a foot rub? (yeah) you want a manicure? baby i'm yours. i want to cater to you boy...

Don't get me wrong, sugar. I'm all for you taking care of me, catering to me, pampering me...hell, even giving me a manicure. Who's complaining??! And, hey, I love Destiny's Child/Beyonce to tears...but, baby, I seriously, seriously think you gals are giving feminists something to cuss about.

Now, where's my foot rub...?

I Will.

Today I attended a seminar at the Ateneo Professional Schools with seven of my colleagues from the company. It was the Franklin-Covey offering of the What Matters Most (The Life Leadership and Time Management Workshop for the Entire Business of Living) seminar. An endearingly non-Bohemian Doctor of Philosophy named Karen dela Cruz facilitated the seminar.

In one of the activities, we were asked to write a draft of our personal mission statement. This was supposedly the by-product of all the earlier activities that made us identify, among others, our values, our roles, and what gave us a sense of happiness and accomplishment. We were told to make the draft free-flowing and not be confined to a simple essay or bulletpoint-type of writing; in short, be creative.

This was what I came up with.

I will.
I will stand by your side no matter what trouble comes our way.
I will.
I will make you understand, will help you learn new things.
I will.
I will shelter you, give you guidance, and be your rock.
I will.
I will show you how mundane things, work and tasks can be beautiful and turned into a masterpiece.
I will.
I will see the world and share with you every minute detail of the experience.
I will.
I will make you laugh and live and listen and learn.
I will.
I will give you back what it is you have long needed, that I can and will willingly give.
I will.
I will take care of myself--body, mind and soul--the way I know you would take care of me.
I will.
I will take the time to stop, look, and ponder on what my purpose in life is...just as I am pondering--and realizing--that my place in life is here next to you.

I will.

I will shine a light of love and affirmation, piercing the darkness.

I will.

I will love. I will learn.

I will.

Matter of the Heart...or its Neighborhood.

Got back from a teambuilding workshop in Laguna at around 7pm last Saturday, and went straight home to shower and rest a bit. At 830pm, I was walking towards Ayala Center to meet up with my bestfriend Patrick at the Food Court. We both had dinner plates from Holland's Sausage (him the pork chops and sausage, while I had the sausage combo platter) and sat near the candy cart where we could see everybody passing. We just sat there, eating, laughing like crazy men, and people watching (ok, ok, we were also sneering at other people. haha!).

In the middle of all those laughing and hitting/boxing/slapping each other, I felt a sharp shooting pain in my left chest. I stopped for about ten seconds, breathed deeply, and tried to shrug it off as just another one of those heartburns I've been getting at work. But this one was no "regular" heartburn. This was a major killer. Being the hypochondriac that I am, I got panic-stricken with what Patrick told me: that it could be something serious related to my heart. After all, my dad just had a mild stroke a year ago...

I didn't, however, fret. After dinner, i.e. after we parted ways, I still hung out with my friends and had a bottle of beer. I went home around 130am and slept almost immediately, faint pain on the chest still there...hoping that it would be gone when I woke up the next morning.

Morning came. And although I was feeling so much better than the previous night, the pain was still faintly there on my chest. Marinated in bed 'til almost noon, alternated reading a little Tuesdays With Morrie on my PDA, and exchanging SMS with my date. Got up soonafter, and then went down on my knees to scrub the bathroom tiles as I got ready to shower. Packed my gym clothes in my backpack and then left to have lunch. Met up with Patrick again for lunch at WalterMart (which, incidentally, I always incorrectly refer to as "Walmart"). Some more laughing and sneering later, the pain came back...with a vengeance, so it felt. Half-deciding whether to go to the gym or not, Patrick and I went strolling at Makati Cinema Square to buy pirated DVDs. Yes, I am guilty as charged with the DVD issue.

When we parted ways, I went straight to the gym...that is, after feeling so damned hot under the scorching sun (I figured, it'd be better to sweat in a healthier way). As I was taking my shirt off to change inside the locker room, I felt this REALLY sharp shooting pain up on my chest, and I thought, rather disoriented, "Oh God...I did not dream of dying at 29...half-naked in the men's locker room!" And that was the end of my supposed workout. I went home, popped an Advil for pain, and settled in my cozy chair, with my feet on my exercise ball, and watched DVDs.

Two discs in the series of DVDs later, fuck-you-Ben-I'm-not-going-away pain was back. I decided once and for all to go to the doctor (yeah, like, duh).

After calling my friend RD, a resident doctor at the ER of Makati Medical Center, he advised me to go pay a visit to our other doctor friend, Liza at Ospital ng Makati (aka OsMak). So I hopped in a cab and went straight to OsMak Annex by Bel-Air. After all, I'm a Makati resident, and so I could avail of their services.

Upon entering the premises, this security guard started interviewing me--what was wrong with me, how I was feeling, when did that start, the works. Incidentally, haven't you noticed how these days, security guards are getting more and more into the multi-tasking thing? In restaurants, they act as buzz boys and waiters, too. In banks or travel agencies, they act as liaison officers. I wonder if their being in there for security is now the least of their concerns! Haha. Anyway, I'm digressing... So this security guard starts wheeling in a wheel chair and motioned for me to sit there. I was like, "No, boss, I'm good. I can manage not sitting on that." It took three or four haggling until I was finally enthroned on one. And, yes, I've got pictures to prove it. I mass-texted my friends, "Shit, I'm on a wheel chair in a hospital, it's so embarrassing!" (Maita, incidentally thought that it was hilarious that I was feeling mortified with being on a wheel chair [image-wise, that is] rather than be worried about my health condition)

After what felt like eternity, I was finally attended to by a triage nurse, i.e. after practically every one else has been attended to: the 6-year old boy that took 5 orderlies to assuage his homicidal flailing of arms; the rich teenager coming from a drag race and was caught by the police for suspected drug use; the elderly man with bruises and who was obviously drunk to the bones; the nervous first-time pregnant couple; the 9-month old baby having convulsions; and the lesbian girl that had a fight with her live-in partner.

Blood pressure, good. Blood sugar, normal. Later on, I was injected with a VERY thick fluid called Ketorolac which was supposed to allay all the pain I was feeling. Three hours later, nauseated and hungry and exhausted, I was in a cab back to my condo. Diagnosis? Costochondritis (cos·to·chon·dri·tis [kst-kn-drts] n. A condition that is caused by inflammation of the costochondral joints. This is perceived as chest pain with tenderness to one or both sides of the sternum or breast bone. Chest pains are often worse when taking a deep breath or moving the chest wall.)

So, not a heart condition after all. Ain't I relieved to know that?! Try telling that to my chest. (Now where the hell is my Celebrex 400mg?!!)

Tried and Tested

I was just finishing my lunch (of pork sisig and guisado mongo...YUM!) and an episode of Desperate Housewives when I received a message from my friend Daniel. As I finished reading it, a feeling of warmth enveloped me. His message said something like this:

You know what Ben, I think I've never said this before but I believe you ought to know. A man can know many people in his life, but only few can he call real friends. You and Sheila are a few of those people whom I am very happy to keep as true friends, and my life is richer. I am truly glad to have you guys. O, sha, I'm just being mushy...!

I feel exactly the same way about him and our group. I've met so many people in my entire life--both here and outside the country, but I can say that these guys are some of the really scarce people I consider REAL friends. These are friends that you don't really see much of, but you are comforted by the idea that they are there for you...and when you finally do see each other, you'd be picking up from where you left off ages ago, as if you were just together the day before.

That cliche goes, "Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you who you are". If I am, in any way, a reflection of who and what my REAL friends are, then I am ennobled by the idea that I am someone gracious, level-headed, compassionate, open-minded, and full of love.

I'll see you guys soon. I can't wait to be in the company of true pals.

Kanpai!

Friday the 12th was one hell of a rainy day. It didn't stop pouring the whole day, it made me feel like just clicking Start --> Shut Down, fish my jacket and golf umbrella and hit the steam room of Gold's Gym just to escape this lazy-ass day.

At about 430pm, Sheila sent me a message saying that there will be an impromptu gathering at Daniel's place (Daniel's a really good painter, as you can see in the photos. If you're interested in purchasing his work, holler back!). I was hesitant, considering I haven't gone to the gym in 3 or 4 days, and I felt rather bummed out for wasting membership dues either because of plain slackness or some work-related excuse. So despite so much prodding from her (believe me, Sheila can be really relentless!), I irresolutely declined. But you'd think she'll let up? Hell no. Still giving a perfunctory "I will think about it" at around 530pm, I stood from my cubicle and looked at the still-gloomy, wet, and bumper-to-bumper situation outside. I still did not want to go.

And then, she said the magic words. There was going to be wine, lotsa food, and a lot of laughter to go with it. An hour later, I was at Rustan's Supermarket buying Doritos, Herr's and Lay's chips to bring with me to Daniel's pad. Shortly after, I was squabbling with the next eight cab drivers to bring me to Libertad in Pasay City. Oh Lord, have mercy on me for being friends with Daniel for five freakin' years and still haven't been to his pad...and now not knowing how to navigate the damned driver from Legaspi Street of Makati.

Barely 40 minutes later, what with the incessant SMS exchanges between me and Sheila, and me and Daniel, I have miraculously found his 2-storey pad. Pleasantries and abrazos y besos out of the way, I hollered (on the staircase, mid-way to the second floor) "Pop those damned corks and let's start getting wasted!"

Yeah, the wine didn't start pouring until later. We started with white pancit and barbecued pork on skewers for dinner. It didn't feel appropriate to be vino-ish at that time. So we settled for sodas and water, alongside our kvetching for the food murdering our supposed dieting.






Daniel was playing a CD given to him for his birthday by his special friend "P" (not the real name, I later on found out...hah!) when the wine started to get poured on our unpretentious house glasses. Chammie and Daniel were doing something on the computer while Sheila and I entertained ourselves by taking pictures of ourselves on our Nokias. Trust me...they were fun and funny. ;)

Grace came a-knocking after a few minutes to join us. More abrazos y besos, and then some more wine and juice and sodas and water and chips that seem to lose being crispy after barely 2 minutes from leaving their packages.

An hour later, we found ourselves dancing (or, actually, *I* found myself dancing more) and laughing like hyenas at the littlest of jokes and anecdotes. Aaaahhh...the beauty of red wine combining with a total lack of humor. I believe I actually gave Sheila and Chammie each a lap dance. Gracie was way too freaked out and sober to endure my indecency!

When we got tired dancing and listening to oldies from Daniel's babe's CD, I plugged in my Rio mp3 player into Daniel's speakers, and listened to a couple of covers of originals--ranging from Chantay Savage's "I Will Survive" to Destiny's Child's "Let's Wait a While" to Michael English's "(Love Moves) In Mysterious Ways" and Akafellas' "Help Me Forget". (Oh shit, I still owe these guys CDs of these songs!!!) And I quizzed them on what song Eddie Murphy made popular during the early 90's. When they were already uncomfortably haunted by the song that they can't seem to remember, I told them what it was. Can YOU guess what it is? *evil grin*

Called it a night when Sheila started dozing off. Was it the wine? Exhaustion? Oh, hell, all of those. And that was the night Chammie viciously spoiled Harry Potter for the two of us. But between me and Sheila, I was less homicidal. ;)

Nothing beats good friends and good wine. But, heya, Fiona, we still miss your brown ass back here.

Cheers! Kanpai!

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Spoilers

Damn Chammie and her spoilers, Sheila and I found out chapters and chapters ahead of us about Snape being the Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore getting killed by Snape and the Death Eaters, Harry and Ginny finally becoming a couple, and all the other suspenseful insights and discoveries that should have been reserved till the very end. @#$%^&&^*$@#$%^*++$*&.

This Potter book is so...for lack of a more apt term, tragic. I was practically semi-weeping with Hagrid and Minerva and the rest of the Order when Dumbledore died. And I could not imagine KIDS reading this book! My God! All the blood and gore and violence! Not that I'm being too conservative or a bore...but growing up, I was (or perhaps WE were) made to read "fairy tales" where tragedy was, well, subdued. Way more subdued and less gory.

And what's up with the obviously incomplete journey/mission of Harry Potter?? God, this last chapter is so screaming "to be continued"... No wonder JK Rowling's one of the new billionaires: she knows well how to dangle the steak in front of famished wolves.

But I will still perform a curse-hex at Chammie for spoiling it all for us. That @#$%^&&^*$@#$%^*++$*&.

Ahem.

With that out of the way, lemme go back to my blogging.

I can't help but remember our prank with our friend Ritchie when he watched The Sixth Sense with his date Lou. Knowing full well that he was way in the near end of the movie, all of us (his friends, that is) barraged him with one liners such as, "Bruce Willis is a ghost" or "Bruce Willis isn't alive anymore" or "Bruce actually died in the beginning of the movie, you idiot". You can imagine the consternation on his face when he realized that, at the end of the movie, we were--pun intended--dead serious about the spoilers. Nyehehehe.

Or the fake spoiler I SMS'd Ella when she was watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I said, "Oh, Charlie dies in the end". Nyehehehe.

So I guess I deserved the Potter spoiler after all. ;)