sourgrape

alright, they look great together.

he looks yummy happy being with her.

and yeah, she looks more beautiful than i give her credit for.

and yes kami, i can see the resemblance between her and me.

my eyes are bigger though.

and her hair’s gazillion times better than mine.

pero mas maganda ako mag-smile!

damn!  we would have looked great together too.

hahaha.

ano ba, i’m so over him kaya!

double the hahaha.

i’m so glad i’m back to viewing profiles anonymously!

the grrrrrrr! factor

that’s the thing with me, i don’t get over things that irk me that fast.  and i have this weird habit of torturing myself by repeatedly going over the very thing that ticked me off!

in a way, i guess i’m still insecure.

i just couldn’t get rid of the mental picture that’s been haunting me since yesterday.

i know, it’s a thing of the past but…

habi says i shouldn’t even think about it anymore.

but i couldn’t shake it off!

for one, i don’t keep pictures of my exes!  alright, i have a couple stashed somewhere safe but i don’t give it to friends so they could post it online!

i know, i’m just making a big fuss over something trivial.  ‘m’ and me are okay–at least that’s how i see it.  we’ve lost touch but i still text her and ask how they are.  i also emailed her on ‘his’ birthday but my mail was returned.  i dunno what’s up with them now but i sincerely hope they’re doing just fine. 

i’m no longer jealous of her but sometimes old demons get the better of me.  there are times when i get transported back to where i was before–in limbo.  i know i shouldn’t be feeling this way because i know and i believe that habi’s securely in my arms and that we love each other but i guess sometimes my often-idle-mind breeds not-so-nice-thoughts.  i am evil that way.

at this very moment i’m trying to restrain myself from checking cool’s profile again.  i know it’s still there–a part of me want to have it removed but i know i shouldn’t.  it’s his profile.  what he puts there is none of my business and besides, i alreday convinced myself that i’m okay with it.

am i really?

sigh.

bullets

●  i woke up early because my throat was–it still actually is–sore.  for the first time orofar-l doesn’t seem to work.  i must have had too much sweets during the weekend.  what with chocolates, pastillas, dulcinea cream puffs and caramel popcorns! 

●  i changed my mind about directwithhotels. i don’t think i like it there.

●  habi and i went to trinoma yesterday along with his family and sheryl’s family for her dad’s birthday.  i realized i should have worn my trusted ipanema high instead of my wedges.  my feet were killing me as we went checking out the shops and ‘touring’ yeshi.  i am in love with that boy! he’s just the cutest! (okay, next to hya’s maddox! hahaha!)

●  i went to novartis for a brief meeting briefing.  it’s nice to be ‘working’ again. hahaha! 

●  habi’s friend cool sent me a message telling me about his updated profile.  when i checked the photos i saw something that well, i didn’t want to see! habi’s pic with ‘m’–i wouldn’t have minded but remember this? and besides, it was the same photograph i ‘unearthed’ from his email account back in the days when he and i were still in limbo! so that must explain why i feel kinda ticked. oh well…

●  we went to paco park yesterday and habi was impressed by the quartet. hmm…they were actually good but i dunno…

●  upon seeing a very elegant black gown at trinoma yesterday i asked habi if he’s already okay with us going ebony come 2020.  his response: ’sige na nga, black na!’ YES! i put that in writing!

● habi to chingan yesterday:  ‘payag ka bang mag-itim sa kasal namin?’ chingan to habi:  ‘ayoko.  di ako pupunta.  maglalaro na lang ako!’  me to chingan:  ‘baby, di pwede kasi ikaw nga maid of honor ko!’  chingan to me:  ‘ayoko nga!’  me to her: ‘ayaw mo pa ba ko kasal?’ chingan: ‘grrrrrrrrr!  basta ayoko na sabi eh! yoko na pag-usapan yan!’ houston, we have a problem.

● ‘he’ hasn’t texted.  no more good mornings.  no more goodnights.  i guess i’ve to get used to it.  if there’s something i learned from events of the weeks past, it’s that i’m not as weak as i thought i was.  and yes, i know how to quit ‘him.’

quote of the day

me:  habi, sana ganito ka na lang ka-guapo…(showing him the man on the brochure)

habi:  kung ganyan ako ka-guapo sa tingin mo kaya ikaw ang girlfriend ko ngayon?

screaming infidelities

last night over the phone.

me:  wait habi, may nag-text.

habi:  sino?

me:  si jaie.

habi:  ano sabi?

me:  write daw ako lyrics.

habi:  hmm…nagdududa na yata ako d’yan ha!

me:  nyek!

habi:  nabasa ko na yung blog mo…

me:  alin dun?

habi: tungkol kanino yung ‘unan’?

me:  basta…

habi:  yung blog mo puno ng ’screaming infidelities!’

me:  hahaha!

habi:  meron pa dun sa MOA incident, ‘the captain texted…’

me:  eh ano naman?

habi:  di dapat captain yun eh!  dapat ‘the tank’!

me:  hahaha!  sobra ka!

sometimes it’s amusing how habi puts up with what he calls my ’screaming infidelities.’  you see, he’s not the jealous type.  of course the green-eyed monter gets the better of him at times but he’s not the type who rants about it.  the only time he was vocally jealous of someone was during our early days as a couple–ooops!  correction, it was during our ‘are-we-an-item-or-what’ phase. and the guy he was jealous of was drum rolls him!

hahaha!

i could only laugh at the reasons he gave me.

1.  me being extra attentive to him at work.

2.  me buying him breakfast once.

3.  him buying me pizza once.

4.  him spending time at my table often.

5.  us getting cozy during tapings.

hah!  gosh, if alvin only knew! i remember tuloy how paul would tell me ‘naghahaba na naman leeg ni dar…’ each time he would catch habi throwing glances at my table whenever alvin’s there chatting with mavic and i!

hahaha!  those were the days!  naisip ko tuloy, ‘pero kay papa r never s’ya nagselos!’

then came wenwen of course–which was an entirely different story.

and the captain–which was another entirely different story.

of course habi would sometimes tease me about him and him but never with the tinge of jealousy evident whenever he and i would reminisce about or fremantle days and casually got bulate mentioned in the conversation.

as in, up to now!

hahaha!

unan

i did it.

i threw it away.

it was liberating.

it’s gone.  everything it represented.  everything it stood for.

the love that shouldn’t have been felt.

the affection that shouldn’t have been shared.

the pain that shouldn’t have been dealt.

somewhere someone will find it…

in its ratty, filthy glory…

a homeless child in need of a soft pillow to cushion his sleep…

a restless stranger in search of warmth…

but whoever finds it would never know the story behind it.

the reason it was given.

the reason it was thrown away.

why habi and spare key must meet

habi drove ate amy, me and the kids to MOA yesterday.  after about 20 minutes of going round and round trying to get a parking slot closest to the entrance we finally spotted one that was just perfect.  ate amy and the kids got off first then i followed.  since habi was so used to having me wait for him, he got off the car as well and helped me lock my door–then boom!  his door got locked too while the engine’s still running!  the key’s left inside! panic attack.  the guard advised me to go to mr. quickie so i could ask a locksmith if they have a masterkey or something so off i went.  while trying to find the outlet habi rang me and told me he’s already opened the door.  i heaved a sigh of relief and then said a little prayer–‘i hope he didn’t break the window…’  we met him halfway while trying to decide where to eat.  ‘how were you able to open the door?’ he said a driver saw him desperately trying to pull down one of the windows and asked him what was wrong.  he told him the story and he offered to try opening it using his key.  luckily* the key fit!  lesson learned:  there’s a reason why spare keys exist.  and it’s never a good idea to leave one at home.

*p.s. the captain upon learning what happened: NOT SO LUCKY YOU BECAUSE HE MIGHT USE HIS KEY TO CARNAP YOUR CAR SOON.

that kept me up till 4am.

i so dread that thought.

i’d rather remain thankful to the driver than being skeptical.

but then…

i used to be one :)

Ode to Nice Girls  by Jessica Leigh Griffith

This is my tribute to the nice girls.

To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong.

This is for the girls who don’t give it up on the first date, who don’t want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they’ve heard a thousand times.

This is for the girls who understand that they aren’t perfect and that the guys they’re interested in aren’t either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe… maybe this time he’ll have understood.

This is a homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don’t deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word.

This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it’s an experience that they don’t want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they’d rather not have experienced.

This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn’t care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed.

This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt.

This is for the girls who have been told that they’re too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one’s for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won’t because it’s easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with.

This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he’s just not ready, he’s just not over her, he’s just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it’s easier to believe that it’s not that they don’t want you, it’s that they don’t want anyone.

This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you’ve returned home alone, for the nights when you’ve seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he’s with to be a random hookup.

This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship: it was that he didn’t want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he’d realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let’s still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you’ve received from your female friends, for the nights they’ve reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you’d have was with a pillow and your teddy bear.

This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we’ve believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we’d have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisfied with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don’t think that they deserve more, because they’ve been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don’t understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don’t appreciate them and don’t want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made.

Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging.

Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call… and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you’d met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth?

And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find?

Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you’re not looking for a nice girl. You’re not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you’re looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don’t say you’re on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won’t answer your catcalls, sometimes you’re looking at a nice girl in whore’s clothing– we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we’re all thinking the same thing: "This isn’t me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I’ll have slept alone and I’ll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don’t want the nice girl.

So don’t say you’re looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we’re willing to extend - - but in return, we’re looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they’re running they’re chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets… the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she’s a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won’t matter), hoping against hope that maybe you’ll realize that they’re the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we’re waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)

incognito

i’ve been itching to check his profile but i couldn’t because as per lei’s advice i should stop viewing profiles anonymously so i would know who’s checking mine.

i don’t really mind people checking my profile but after what happened to he-who-must-not-be-named i started getting a little anxious. 

so, paano kaya?

i tried to bully kami into making her own friendster account just so i could view ‘his’ photos but she just won’t give in. kainez!

my fingers are prodding me to go on and send ‘him’ a smile but i couldn’t bring myself to do it.  gosh!  is this me? i’m not one who’d chicken out when it comes to stuff like this but look at me now!  i, who have no qualms in telling someone i like him.  i, who–sige na nga–’courted’ someone back in highschool! hahaha! okay, sige.  i must be cowering in fear because ‘he’ is connected to someone from my past.  kung bakit naman kasi hilig ako magka-crush sa mga people na connected sa mga mr.-used-to-be sa buhay ko?

alright, i’ll give it some time.  eventually i’m confident i’d be able to muster enough courage to view his profile, check his photos and yeah, even add him as a friend.

i hope habi isn’t reading this.

bits & pieces

okay, we’re still together.

i just overreacted.

i still couldn’t get over his drinking but i love him and it’s tolerable so yeah, i forgave him again.

he promised me that he wouldn’t drink on assignment ever again.

i’m holding on to that.

***

chingan spent sunday at her grandparents’ house in bulacan.  i actually tried to convince her to stay at home with me instead because habi’s out of town and i was really bored but ate amy and her mom convinced her to go to baliuag instead. 

"sinasama nila ako eh."

of coursei didn’t have the right to stop her mom from taking chingan with her so i stood back in defeat.

when she came back yesterday she has bruises on both her palms and her knees.

"nadapa kasi ako eh."

when she’s home with us i take good care of her.  i check her back if she’s sweating, i dab powder on her, i cook for her when she doesn’t want to eat what her mom prepared for her, even when i’m way too tired i still bathe her before she goes to sleep.

i am a ‘nanay’ to her.

and it’s not just me.  ate amy and nanay also take good care of her.  in nanay’s words, ‘ni di ko ‘yan pinapadapuan sa lamok.’

then she goes to bulacan for a visit and EVERYTIME she comes back home she has a bruise here, an insect bite there…

it fucking makes me blow my top everytime!

habi:  ‘di bale pag may diego na tayo maaalagaan mo mabuti.’

***

i exercised my right to vote yesterday. 

i know, i’ve said that i no longer believe in suffrage.

but i really felt i needed to do something that would hopefully count.

i know i cast just one vote and i’m not even sure it would get counted but my conscience dictates that if i thirst for change, fulfilling my obligation to vote is the first step towards quenching it.

so there–i dragged my fat ass to the precint and voted.

who were on my list?

TRAPOS mostly.  yeah.  because no matter what they say, i still go for experience.

angara. arroyo. legarda. pangilinan. villar. recto.

and because i also believe in infusing fresh blood into the system, i threw in kapatiran’s bautista into the mix.

and yeah i also did* voted for chiz and mike defensor.  i love it when they clash.

and of course noynoy aquino was on my list too.

and zubiri.

and yeah, pichay.

i loathe the others from GO.

and there’s no way i would have gone for sotto, oreta, kiram and montano.

chavit was debatable for sentimental reasons.

now, i want the ink off my nail.

not for anything but because my nail’s way too sensitive.

i’m just keeping my fingers crossed that those who’ll make it will get their asses to work and not disappoint us.

***

quotable quote:

‘i love you.  i’m not sure though if i’m in love with you.  sure, i lust for you.  and you’re a great kisser BUT i guess hesitation kills and you know exactly what i meant by that.’