I never believe in platonic friendship between best friends of tha opposite sex. One or possibly both of em's usually in luv wit tha other. Usually tha one who first insisted in labellin' each otha best friends is tha fallen one and tha one who juz goes along wit tha bestfriend thang tho' he/she duzen care much bout labels is tha unfallen. Tha only thang stoppin' tha un-fallen friend from fallin fo' his/her lovelorn best friend is tha realization that tha fallen is not perfect and that small ounce of imperfection is wut holds him/her back -tha absolute little thang that tha unfallen thinks his/her ideal gurl/guy shud have but his/her best friend duzen have [like looks, a brotherly or sisterly quality, an irritatin? habit] while tha slightly flaw'd other juz goes on dumbly adorin' tha unfallen's perfection.
***
Fo’ 2 days, I was outta home in Tagaytay wit ma office mates organizin an invitational golf event fo’ a bank’s clients. Tha 5 of us includin’ moi, Kelmer, Janel, Raul, & a 70-year-old recreational organizer tha boss hired [Mob was busy barkin’ orders & Eypi was busy wit his ear glued to his mobile smoothin’ out everythan wit clients] were tha epitome of factory workers—We cramm’d in an unventilated storage room and unloaded more than a hundred golf bags from their plastic bags & box, placed more than a hundred box o’ golf balls, caps, & box o’ wooden tees inside & then closed em again. We got involv’d in draggin’ down those bags from upstairs & placin em @ tha registration stalls. We then watch’d over em till registration & teein off time’s up so that no 1’d help themselves to them gorgeous Nike bags wit gorgeous freebies inside since registration area wasn’t in a closed area but where people pass by. We also arrang’d tha raffle prizes & trophies & brought em to tha highlands & guarded over em so no1’d touch em & tha wind won’t blow em o’er before dinner –which is hours away- begins. Some of us went down to tha hole or tha golfin area [or wutever] to make sure that tha photographer takes picture of each player & that he gets each one’s names right. [Guess who weasel’d her way outta it & escaped gettin severely dark by evadin’ tha sun’s wrath?] Sumwer in tha middle of tha second day, every’un else was gone & I found ma’self sittin’ next to Sir John [tha heptagenarian] on opposite ends of tha same bench starin at tha plants in front of us. I stared at tha space between us on tha chair & mused on tha space between our ages & why because of it and some other reason perhaps, we were not talkin’ despite bein bored both… then I look’d @ him & made sure he wasn’t dozin’ off like he was earlier then I closed in on tha space and engag’d him in a conversation about… tha Japanese period. After that we sail’d on to otha topics like Raul’s lack of interest in tha job & how tha dollar and tha peso us’d to have tha same value, etc.
***
Later at tha Country club where we were manning tha registration booth fo’ tha golfers’ cocktails, rich Chinese granddads came to plague tha place. One slit-eyed lolo simply wuden go home witout exchangin’ his lucky raffle draw prize of leather luggage tag fo’ nuthin less than tha last of tha Ashworth golf bags w/ wheels. [bet he was eyein tha bags tha whole time & cuden resist but approach when he saw only one left] Another one hit on me. [“I take you home! Hahaha!”] Another tripp’d as he got his prize. Another one look’d like Mark Jimenez. Another was really Henry Sy. At tha end of tha day, Mob had splotches of sunburn everywhere, Pol smuggled a Tiffany mug that’s suppos’d to be raffled off to tha golfers, Sumone from tha office had ma heart and I took home a bottle of red wine from tha bar [& a golf kit raffle draw prize & hotel slippers]

I used to drink everythang in tha first time I realized that Mob hired me & that I wud be ridin’ tha jeep regularly to work. Enuf wit boring everyday ridin’ to skewl & elsewhere wit Raffy, our ikot-happy driver who luuvs takin tha most bizaare and farthest routes & eskinitas. Wit Raffy outta tha picture, I ain’t getting rides anywhere in a car nymore. Tha first few months, no one & nuthin is safe from ma wicked once-overs. Whereas ma sole object of criticism us’d to be tha balding spot of Raffy’s backhead, now I have more targets of ammunition and more fun. I start wit tha person across from me. Notice his greasy bowl-cut hair. Notice his complexion. Notice his companion & tha general attitude in life ive already stereotyped him in wit juz one glance at his blah expression. Then I move on to the person next to him, then through tha whole row before movin’ on to tha people seated on ma side. When I’m done, I move on to tha people we pass along in their abodes… tha naggin’ lady on tha street who is screamin sumthin nasty @ her dirty child, tha endless rows of travel agencies in Malate, tha sign which reads “Parking reserved for May Sun Rest. Customers” which alwez got me thinking of “restroom” or “rest in peace” rather than its real meaning w/c is “restaurant”, tha roamin’ mummy-like lolo near Manila Zoo whose daily routine is to approach jeepney passengers thru tha windows, tap em, then extend his palm moanin’ “aaaa… aaaaa…”, tha cold dusty impersonal smell of cement in sites we pass by that are under construction. And all of em ugly or otherwise used to make me happy. Now I must be gettin’ used to it coz I don’t remember every’un in tha jeep anymore & will only throw a considerin’ look to a person across from me if he or shes a bit unusual like if he has weird nose or sumthin. Or if I can’t figure out if he or she is a gurl or a guy. Like tha one across today. I suspect shes a butch but cant be sho’. Gurl at his/her right got her arms linked thru his/her’s & they all lovey-dovey and I look at tha she-guy hard to figure out her gender. She [a gurl at final inspection] and her gurlfriend threw back a stare @ me. As tha butch duzen seem to any hint of curve up there, I really thought she was a guy then I got to thinkin’ mebbe that’s how butches become butches. They start out embarrass’d @ their lack of curves then they start dressin’ all macho & manly to go wit their man-like bodies then they became serious ‘bout bein’ butches & get themselves gurlies like tis one in front o’ me. Then wit tis last thought, I don’t pay attention to em anymore & I start to complain to paver bout sumthin. And paver in total conformity wit ma problem and happy he duzen hafta worry about escortin me to & from events juz sits there unsympathetically and tells me almost cheerfully that ‘that’s juz tha way it is’ and tha carton of nacho chips I was holdin between ma hands suddenly flew in his direction and paver threw me a ‘tsk’ & a look of evil disapproval, thinking I did it deliberately but I did not & I look at him wit an equally mean look on ma face & then hes askin me to pick it up but I diden coz its way beyond reach & I was poutin & prolly lookin’ more evil by tha mo’ then I saw tha man-gurl across suddenly reachin’ out her hand to tha right to grip tha handle bar at tha end of tha jeep but she look’d like shes shieldin her gurl or sumthin prolly from ma evil looks. And I paid em no heed & go on sulkin then I remember’d tha 33-year-old new trainee Mob hired who duzen have an email account & how I taught him, even YM & he was chattin wit a gurl friend he eagerly call’d soon as we made his new account then how I tried teachin him how to ‘BUZZ’ but tha keyboard duzen seem to function so I tried typin random keys & end up typin “PP” then his gurl chatm8 askd sumthin but I was still too engross’d on why tha ‘BUZZ’ ain’t workin so I wasn’t reading when I typed randomly again & tis time typ’d “K” so it seemd tha guy said ok to tha gurl’s queschn w/c was really stupid coz tha queschn wasn’t answerable by ok & then I chose the pink Hello Kitty ImVironment 4 him & twas really hilarious coz he hates it & I was rememberin all tis when I snorted out a laugh in tha jeep & imagine a mean-lookin ready-to-strike-yer-eyes-out person suddenly laughin & tha gay couple’s prolly thinkin’ “psycho” & then more laughter fo’ me, & tha man-gurl grippin tha handlebars tighter. Then 3 rowdy dirty street kids about 7 years o’ age suddenly fasten’d themselves to tha end of tha jeep & tha gay couple immediately turn’d their eyes on me prolly wantin’ to see how tha “psycho-gurl” across reacts to bratty, dirty, potentially pickpocketing pack of kids but I diden wince, frown or scoot away from em as far as possible. I juz watch’d em & sympathized wit em when tha driver won’t let em get off even as tha kid had meekly ask’d to git off more than twice.

Two weird messages from two strange people in Friendster both written on the same day [02/16]:

1] from someone named Fa:
How are you today? Today is a really sunny day,
and I just happen to run into your profile, and I
was thinking sunshine, what a name. I see you
love to bake, and a lot of other things. I really
don't know what to say, it's like telemarketing.
Well if you want to connect give me a ring.
[and then she diden leave a number!]

2] from someone named John:
HI..I am american guy looking for a gf. I am 39
but I have never been married and I have no kids.
I am dreaming about a filipna wife. Please look
at my pic and write to me...I would love to get
to know you..your are beautiful...
[creepy!]

Quote for the day comes from a male friend whom I invited to today's Close-Up Lova palooza contest wit me. He said:
"Kaw na lan. Busy paco eh!"
Lolz!

a Valentine post...

Written on the body
by Jeanette Winterson

Why is the measure of love loss?

I am thinking of a certain September: Wood pigeon Red Admiral Yellow Harvest Orange Night. You said, "I love you." Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? "I love you" is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them. I did worship them but now I am alone on a rock hewn out of my own body.


CALIBAN
You taught me language and my profit on't is I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language.
Love demands expression. It will not stay still, stay silent, be good, be modest, be seen and not heard, no. It will break out in tongues of praise, the high note that smashes the glass and spills the liquid. It is no conservationist love. It is a big game hunter and you are the game. A curse on this game. How can you stick at a game when the rules keep changing? I shall call myself Alice and play crocket with the flamingoes. In Wonderland everyone cheats and love is Wonderland isn't it? Love makes the world go round. Love is blind. All you need is love. Nobody ever died of a broken heart. You'll get over it. It'll be different when we're married. Think of the children. Time's a great healer. Still waiting for Mr. Right? Miss Right? and maybe all the little Rights?

It's the clichés that cause the trouble. A precise emotion seeks a precise expression. If what I feel is not precise then would I call it love? It is so terrifying, love, that all I can do is shove it under a dump bin of pink cuddly toys and send myself a greetings card saying `Congratulations on your Engagement'. But I am not engaged I am deeply distracted. I am desperately looking the other way so that love won't see me. I want the diluted version, the sloppy language, the insignificant gestures. The saggy armchair of clichés. It's all right, millions of bottoms have sat here before me. The springs are well worn, the fabric smelly and familiar. I don't have to be frightened, look, my grandma and grandad did it, he in stiff collar and club tie, she in white muslin straining a little at the life beneath. They did it, my parents did it, now I will do it won't I, arms outstretched, not to hold you, just to keep my balance, sleepwalking to that armchair. How happy we will be. How happy everyone will be. And they all lived happily ever after.

We lay on our bed in the rented room and I fed you plums the color of bruises. Nature is fecund but fickle. One year, she leaves you to starve, the next year, she kills you with love. That year the branches were torn beneath the weight, this year they sing in the wind. There are no ripe plums in August. Have I got it wrong, this hesitant chronology? Perhaps I should call it Emma Bovary's eyes or Jane Eyre's dress. I don't know. I'm in another rented room now trying to find the place to go back to where things went wrong. Where I went wrong. You were driving but I was lost in my own navigation.

Nevertheless I will push on. There were plums and I broke them over you.
You said,'Why do I frighten you?'
Frighten me? Yes you do frighten me. You act as though there is infinite pleasure and time without end. How can I know that? My experience has been that time always ends. In theory you are right, the quantum physicists are right. Time without end. In practice we both wear a watch. If I rush at this relationship it's because I fear for it. I fear you have a door I cannot see and that any minute now the door will open and you'll be gone. Then what? Then what as I bang the walls like the Inquisition searching for a saint? Where will I find the secret passage? For me it'll just be the same four walls.