Friday, October 10, 2008

Freshmen.

In light of random, UN-fortuitous events, it has forced me to ponder upon the subject of "friends" and just how important genuine friendship is to a person. I suppose you could say I was given some inspiration... a muse came my way, so much like myself... someone of such unbending faith and loyalty, someone always willing to help... and sometimes, also willing to drive her own self crazy while attempting to make other people "uncrazy". Because that's what friends do --- they are our pillars of strength, our devil's advocates, our unsilent mirrors... the ones who will go to Hell and back with you... sometimes, even FOR you... without anything in return except for maybe... just maybe, a small, humble acknowledgement, that their presence... their very existence... helped you realize your better self. Because more often than not, you really are as strong as your friends say you are.

And because I was able to keep a lot of memorabilia from back when I was still in school, here are three letters I wrote to each of my three good friends before I had to take that final march as a UP student. I began each letter with this:

“For the life of me, I cannot remember what made us think that we were wise and we’d never compromise. For the life of me, I cannot believe we’d ever die for these sins, we were merely freshmen…”

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Sis Monna,

We’ve been together since day one of the UPLB experience… since the days of Mcdivith (ok, more like one day cuz you guys didn’t come back for our block meetings)… since we began to cut class just to go to Tambayan Online for a few beers… since we joined UP Socius and you and I became the automatic “favorites” of the brods… since the days of love… of trial and error… of fooling around… of failing econ 11… since your pregnancy (should I make that plural? =)… since our drunken days… our sullen days… our drunken days… our crying ladies drama… our drunken days… our bandaged hands… (oh and did I mention our drunken days?)…

We’ve been thru so much (and I know that that itself is an understatement)… we’ve been thru more than most girls our age and then some… we’ve faltered and fallen… we’ve risen and we’ve vomited… we’ve taken things forgranted and we’ve thanked God for all of our blessings… for passing Soc 198 under the influence of “the Horse”… we’ve conquered life and love and fear with every meeting at KA and every gulp of our coffee (biosci especially)… even if you’ve spilled half of your cup on your hand… and smoked like a chimney… we held on to each others hands, tears, laughs, smiles, and bitchy remarks… thru it all… we simply were… the best of friends.

This is actually hard for me. I’ve written a good 500plus papers to some of the toughest professors known to man yet… I still have such a difficult time expressing just how significant our friendship was to my college life and how it still makes such an impression on my life as I’m living it.

I don’t wanna bullshit… and I don’t wanna make this too serious (because you and I were never really serious about ANYTHING)… and that’s what made us such an incomparable, inseparable pair – our ability to shrug things off when everybody else was stressing about school and their significant others and other melodramatic instances that life has to offer. But I guess I want you to see just how sincere this really is… even though I’m forever going to hike on you and drei about shopping at broadway gems. =P

God knows that I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you as my confidant. You taught me a lot, Sis. And for someone who thinks that she knows everything, there you are to shed new light… and make me feel stupid for being such a relentless bitch, haha! But then again, you were also one of the few people who saw right thru that… and accepted and loved me for who I was… and that’s probably one of the greatest blessings I’ve ever received… and I am deeply indebted to you and the precious memories you’ve given me. They will definitely be reiterated and reminisced in the years ahead.

If you were a crayon… you’d be a pink.

From the bottom of this merciless, tactless, retarded heart… I thank you.

You will always, always have a friend and a sister in me. (And I better stop this before I start crying… =)

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Sis Dre,

Stunning…

Hun, you and I both know that that’s hardly an adjective fit for a woman like you. (I guess that’s also why I never really liked you much in the beginning… aside from being GJ’s supposed girlfriend =) You reminded me of… myself. (And that’s a f*cking compliment so be thankful!) Hard, relentless, unfazed… cool calm and utterly reserved… you were always my standard of grace and unbreakable loyalty. Never in a million years would I have dreamed that you would become one of my favorite people during our UPLB experience. (Oh god, I feel like crying now…)

I thought I was ok with the friends I had (well maybe just Monna)… but surprisingly and fortunately, you came along and joined UP Socius… and I found another friend who would serve as one of my sources of strength and inspiration. I learned that it’s ok to cry and that it was never a sign of weakness to admit to a broken heart. That was such a hard lesson to learn… for the both of us, I guess… but with you right there… I found a cushion and a ray of light and hope that perhaps someday, we would find it, hold it, and never let it go.

Then again, we were usually drunk out of our minds when we had those epiphanies so I don’t know whether I should’ve taken those days seriously. Hahahaha!!!

My down-ass bitch… shit… I feel like the most beautiful girl around you and your constant words of encouragement (and flattery). And whenever I felt like I was fucking up being president, you were always there to remind me of your unbending faith. I simply could not ask more out of our friendship. And to this day, I would like to be there to give back all that you’ve so generously given me… as a sister and a friend.

I wouldn’t want anyone else to be with me when it comes to hiking on the exes and the not-so-exes but will be soon with our conniving, hehehe!

And if you would allow it… I would want to be there when that heart of yours is finally tamed. (So I can make fun of you for being such a girl and so that GJ and I can get you and Monna a new wallet for your wedding. =)

But even if it doesn’t and you grow up to be a lonely spinster who’s successfully conquered the corporate world… I would still want to be there to pour you your first glass of Paradise when you wanna rant about why men seem to like those innocent-looking but ugly-ass girls named after fruits who can’t write comprehensive sentences and don’t know how to use grammar check when writing their papers. =P

If ever all of that comes to pass (God-forbid)… I wish that you retain that haughty self-impression of yours that’s beautiful, remarkable, and absolutely…

Stunning.


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Brod GJ,

What do you say to your reflection? For someone who is like me in almost every single way… I don’t think I really would know what to say without meaning the same things for myself.

I’ll try to keep the melodrama short…

GJ… you will always be the man who will keep me guessing. Perfection would’ve been achievable with you… but then again… two pathologically perfect people were never meant to be together in such a cruel world… with us as king and queen reigning over it with utter criticism and cynicism.

But knowing you like knowing me, there is a shade you possess that’s soft, admirable, and maybe even hopelessly romantic. And to have been given the chance to see that more tender side is truly overwhelming… because it inspires me to accept who I am.

Of course I won’t ever forget the dominant bitch in you… that quality of yours that’s made me laugh ridiculously with such fervor (girlfriend, fervor means passion, hehehe!). The metrosexual friend I’ve grown to love so much… even if love is still undefined and overrated… sometimes, all it takes is a beer and a few Christmas songs to help us put our walls down and show a side of vulnerability… but only between you and me.

To be completely honest… there are moments when I wonder what it would be like if you and I were… together. (But when I remember how much of a manwhore you are, I realize how grateful I am that we’re just friends, Clammy, hahahaha!!!)

This is like a self-profession because all that I want for you is all I’ve ever wanted for me… or at least, all I’ve ever cared to admit. I want you to find the one thing you shun and abhor… or think you hate… and love it to the point that you can’t live without it. I want you to be as passionate with love as you are with your creative talent… and dancing prowess, you gay sex-bomb dancer wanna-be, hahaha!!! But at the same time, I want you to retain the funny, tactless, attitude problem you have… the star complex that’s inspired me and Monna and Dre to not take shit from anyone… to continue making fun of people who are wearing ugly clothes or who walk funny or who trip in front of us… even if they don’t deserve our mean-girl demeanor.

And I want you to be there when I need someone to debate with me whenever I’m turning into a Marcos... over cigarettes, coffee, and maybe a few beers.

I love you, GJ. (Oooh… the vomit just came into my mouth… =)

You’re why I’m so proud to be me… and I don’t think there will ever be anyone I consider as close to my ideals as you. (Then again, my ideals are all fucked up anyway.) You make being sexy, naughty, bitchy look so damn hot!!


LOVE,


Michelle

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Taken after I had just given birth and looking like shit --- from left fo right: Guise, Drei, Me, Monna, and GJ

(I love them to pieces...)


One of these days, I shall take my pen and paper and write everyone who's ever touched my life significantly, in a big or small way. (Maybe this Christmas... =)

But right now... you are acknowledged... and appreciated. Thank you for sticking by me... even if it meant going against your loyalties. If it's any consolation, at least your principles were in check. And thank you for keeping MY principles in check. It may not mean much to you, but it certainly means much to me. Thank you for going crazy to make me UN-crazy. =)

Thank you, thank you.

 

Thursday, September 25, 2008

Wild Sex.

Ok so I was watching the Discovery Channel a few weeks back and finally caught one of their highly-educational programs about the sexual preferences and mating rituals of "lower"animals (though sometimes, I still don't see how we became the better species and perhaps, God should've just let the ants rule in our place...)

But anyway...

So I was watching Wild Sex, see, and the episode was about "deviant sexual behavior" of those in the animal kingdom (not including ours since any deviant form of sexual behavior on our end, you can easily watch on Law and Order Special Victims Unit).

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There are transvestite garter snakes. Yes. Transvestite snakes. And when they mate, they gather in this massive, shallow pool of slippery, slithery snake spaghetti, all vying to f*ck the much larger, but very few female snakes... who are victims of violent prodding and poking by overzealous, horny little noodles. Since some male snakes can't compete, the "transvestite" male snakes have the ability to emit the same female hormone that help the male snakes determine where the female is in all the orgy-like confusion. Once the transvestites have fooled the other males, they can freely begin to search for the real female without much hindrance.

Unfortunately, some of the male snakes are fooled too much to a fault and as an occupational hazard, some transvestites are first raped into submission before they can go about their business of heterosexual mating.

Wow.

What some men would do for a little booty, ey? *ahem*

Moving on...

Then there's the seahorse. (Now, I don't think the men would like this to ever happen to them though I think most women would find this strangely romantic). When the male and the female mate, the females eggs are sucked in by the male and are fertilized inside him. So for the duration of the child-bearing process, it's the male with the big ol' belly fending for himself while the female only visits him ocassionally.

Now where in the evolutionary process did WE go wrong????

Jeez.

....................

But apparently, the most deviant form of sexual behavior in the animal kingdom is...

*drum roll please*
*drum rolling*
*drum still rolling*

***you wouldn't believe...

MONOGAMY.

Penguins, Seagulls, Swans.

Humans.

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Let's defy the norm, shall we? *wink wink*

...

Peace, love, and Mariska Hargitay everyone.
(If y'all haven't seen Love Guru, then you suck.)

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

7 Reasons the 21st Century is Making You Miserable

Scientists call it the Naked Photo Test, and it works like this: say a photo turns up of you nakedly doing something that would shame you and your family for generations. Bestiality, perhaps. Ask yourself how many people in your life you would trust with that photo. If you're like the rest of us, you probably have at most two.

Even more depressing, studies show that about one out of four people have no one they can confide in.

The average number of close friends we say we have is dropping fast, down dramatically in just the last 20 years. Why?

 

#1. We don't have enough annoying strangers in our lives.

That's not sarcasm. Annoyance is something you build up a tolerance to, like alcohol or a bad smell. The more we're able to edit the annoyance out of our lives, the less we're able to handle it.

The problem is we've built an awesome, sprawling web of technology meant purely to let us avoid annoying people. Do all your Christmas shopping online and avoid the fat lady ramming her cart into you at Target. Spend $5,000 on a home theater system so you can see movies on a big screen without a toddler kicking the back of your seat. Hell, rent the DVD's from Netflix and you don't even have to spend the 30 seconds with the confused kid working the register at Blockbuster.

Get stuck in the waiting room at the doctor? No way we're striking up a conversation with the smelly old man in the next seat. We'll plug the iPod into our ears and have a text conversation with a friend or play our DS. Filter that annoyance right out of our world.

Now that would be awesome if it were actually possible to keep all of the irritating shit out of your life. But, it's not. It never will be. As long as you have needs, you'll have to deal with people you can't stand from time to time. We're losing that skill, the one that lets us deal with strangers and tolerate their shrill voices and clunky senses of humor and body odor and squeaky shoes. So, what encounters you do have with the outside world, the world you can't control, make you want to go on a screaming crotch-punching spree.

 

#2. We don't have enough annoying friends, either.

Lots of us were born into towns full of people we couldn't stand. As a kid, maybe you found yourself in an elementary school classroom, packed in with two dozen kids you did not choose and who shared none of your tastes or interests. Maybe you got beat up a lot.

But, you've grown up. And if you're, say, a huge DragonForce fan, you can go find their forum and meet a dozen people just like you. Or even better, start a private room with your favorite few and lock everybody else out. Say goodbye to the tedious, awkward, painful process of dealing with somebody who's truly different. That's another Old World inconvenience, like having to wash your clothes in a creek or wait for a raccoon to wander by the outhouse so you can wipe your ass with it.

The problem is that peacefully dealing with incompatible people is crucial to living in a society. In fact, if you think about it, peacefully dealing with people you can't stand is society. Just people with opposite tastes and conflicting personalities sharing space and cooperating, often through gritted teeth.

Fifty years ago, you had to sit in a crowded room to see a movie. You didn't get to choose; you either did that or you missed the movie. When you got a new car, everyone on the block came and stood in your yard to look it over. You can bet that some of those people were assholes.

Yet, on the whole, people back then were apparently happier in their jobs and more satisfied with their lives. And get this: They had more friends.

That's right. Even though they had almost no ability to filter their peers according to common interests (hell, often you were just friends with the guy who happened to live next door), they still came up with more close friends than we have now-people they could trust.

It turns out, apparently, that after you get over that first irritation, after you shed your shell of "they listen to different music because they wouldn't understand mine" superiority, there's a sort of comfort in needing other people and being needed on a level beyond common interests. It turns out humans are social animals after all. And that ability to suffer fools, to tolerate annoyance, that's literally the one single thing that allows you to function in a world populated by other people who aren't you. Otherwise, you turn emo. Science has proven it.

 

#3. Texting is a shitty way to communicate.

I have this friend who uses the expression "No, thank you," in a sarcastic way. It means, "I'd rather be shot in the face." He puts a little ironic lilt on the last two words that lets you know. You ask, "Want to go see that new Rob Schneider movie?" And, he'll say, "No, thank you."

So one day we had this exchange via text:

Me: "Hey, do you want me to bring over that leftover chili I made?"

Him: "No, thank you"

That pissed me off. I'm proud of my chili. It takes four days to make it. I grind up the dried peppers myself; the meat is expensive, hand-tortured veal. And, now my offer to give him some is dismissed with his bitchy catchphrase?

I didn't speak to him for six months. He sent me a letter, I mailed it back, unread, with a dead rat packed inside.

It was my wife who finally ran into him and realized that the "No, thank you" he replied with was not meant to be sarcastic, but was a literal, "No, but thank you for offering." He had no room in his freezer, it turns out.

So did we really need a study to tell us that more than 40 percent of what you say in an e-mail is misunderstood? Well, they did one anyway.

How many of your friends have you only spoken with online? If 40 percent of your personality has gotten lost in the text transition, do these people even really know you? The people who dislike you via text, on message boards or chatrooms or whatever, is it because you're really incompatible? Or, is it because of the misunderstood 40 percent? And, what about the ones who like you?

Many of us try to make up that difference in sheer numbers, piling up six dozen friends on MySpace. But here's the problem ...

 

#4. Online company only makes us lonelier.

When someone speaks to you face-to-face, what percentage of the meaning is actually in the words, as opposed to the body language and tone of voice? Take a guess.

It's 7 percent. The other 93 percent is nonverbal, according to studies. No, I don't know how they arrived at that exact number. They have a machine or something. But we didn't need it. I mean, come on. Most of our humor is sarcasm, and sarcasm is just mismatching the words with the tone. Like my friend's "No, thank you."

You don't wait for a girl to verbally tell you she likes you. It's the sparkle in her eyes, her posture, the way she grabs your head and shoves your face into her boobs.

That's the crux of the problem. That human ability to absorb the moods of others through that kind of subconscious osmosis is crucial. Kids born without it are considered mentally handicapped. People who have lots of it are called "charismatic" and become movie stars and politicians. It's not what they say; it's this energy they put off that makes us feel good about ourselves.

When we're living in Text World, all that is stripped away. There's a weird side effect to it, too: absent a sense of the other person's mood, every line we read gets filtered through our own mood instead. The reason I read my friend's chili message as sarcastic was because I was in an irritable mood. In that state of mind, I was eager to be offended.

And worse, if I do enough of my communicating this way, my mood never changes. After all, people keep saying nasty things to me! Of course I'm depressed! It's me against the world!

No, what I need is somebody to shake me by the shoulders and snap me out of it. Which leads us to No. 5 ...

 

#5. We don't get criticized enough.

Most of what sucks about not having close friends isn't the missed birthday parties or the sad, single-player games of ping pong with the wall. No, what sucks is the lack of real criticism.

In my time online I've been called "fag" approximately 104,165 times. I keep an Excel spreadsheet. I've also been called "asshole" and "cockweasel" and "fuckcamel" and "cuntwaffle" and "shitglutton" and "porksword" and "wangbasket" and "shitwhistle" and "thundercunt" and "fartminge" and "shitflannel" and "knobgoblin" and "boring."

And none of it mattered, because none of those people knew me well enough to really hit the target. I've been insulted lots, but I've been criticized very little. And don't ever confuse the two. An insult is just someone who hates you making a noise to indicate their hatred. A barking dog. Criticism is someone trying to help you, by telling you something about yourself that you were a little too comfortable not knowing.

Tragically, there are now a whole lot of people who never have those conversations. The interventions, the brutal honesty, the, "you know, everybody's pissed off because of what you said last night, but nobody wants to say anything because they're afraid of you," sort of conversations. Those horrible, awkward, wrenchingly uncomfortable sessions that you can only have with someone who sees right to the center of you.

E-mail and texting are awesome tools for avoiding that level of honesty. With text, you can respond when you feel like it. You can measure your words. You can pick and choose which questions to answer. The person on the other end can't see your face, can't see you get nervous, can't detect when you're lying. You have almost total control and as a result that other person never sees past your armor, never sees you at your worst, never knows the embarrassing little things about yourself that you can't control. Gone are the common quirks, humiliations and vulnerabilities that real friendships are built on.

Browse around people's MySpace pages, look at the characters they create for themselves. If you've built a pool of friends via a blog, building yourself up as a misunderstood, mysterious Master of the Night, it's kind of hard to log on and talk about how you went to prom and got diarrhea out on the dance floor. You never get to really be yourself, and that's a very lonely feeling.

And, on top of all that ...

 

#6. We're victims of the Outrage Machine.

A whole lot of the people still reading this are saying, "Of course I'm depressed! People are starving! America has turned into Nazi Germany! My parents watch retarded television shows and talk about them for hours afterward! People are dying in meaningless wars all over the world!"

But how did we wind up with a more negative view of the world than our parents? Or grandparents? Back then, people didn't live as long and babies died more often. Diseases were more common. In those days, if your buddy moved away the only way to communicate was with pen and paper and a stamp. We have Iraq, but our parents had Vietnam (which killed 50 times more people) and their parents had World War 2 (which killed 1,000 times as many). Some of your grandparents grew up at a time when nobody had air conditioning. All of their parents grew up without it.

We are physically better off today in every possible way in which such things can be measured ... but you sure as hell wouldn't know that if you're getting your news online. Why?

Well, ask yourself: If some music site posts an article called, "Fall Out Boy is a Fine Band" and on the same day posts another one called, "Fall Out Boy is the Shittiest Fucking Band of the Last 100 Years, Say Experts," which do you think will get the most traffic? The second one wins in a blowout. Outrage manufactures word-of-mouth.

The news blogs many of you read? The people running them know the same thing. Every site is in a dogfight for traffic (even if they don't run ads, they still measure their success by the size of their audience) and so they carefully pick through the wires for the most inflammatory story possible. The other blogs start echoing the same story from the same point of view. If you want, you can surf all day and never swim out of the warm, stagnant waters of the "aren't those bastards evil" pool.

Only in that climate could those silly 9/11 conspiracy theories come about (saying the Bush administration and the FDNY blew up the towers, and that the planes were holograms). To hear these people talk, every opposing politician is Hitler, and every election is the freaking apocalypse. All because it keeps you reading.

This wasn't as much a problem in the old days, of course. Some of us remember having only three channels on TV. That's right. Three. We're talking about the '80s here. So there was something unifying in the way we all sat down to watch the same news, all of it coming from the same point of view. Even if the point of view was retarded and wrong, even if some stories went criminally unreported, we at least all shared it.

That's over. There effectively is no "mass media" any more so, where before we disagreed because we saw the same news and interpreted it differently, now we disagree because we're seeing completely different freaking news. When we can't even agree on the basic facts, the differences become irreconcilable. That constant feeling of being at bitter odds with the rest of the world brings with it a tension that just builds and builds.

We humans used to have lots of natural ways to release that kind of angst. But these days...

 

#7. We feel worthless, because we actually are worth less.

There's one advantage to having mostly online friends, and it's one that nobody ever talks about:

They demand less from you.

Sure, you emotionally support them, comfort them after a breakup, maybe even talk them out of a suicide. But knowing someone in meatspace adds a whole, long list of annoying demands. Wasting your whole afternoon helping them fix their computer. Going to funerals with them. Toting them around in your car every day after theirs gets repossessed by the bank. Having them show up unannounced when you were just settling in to watch the Dirty Jobs marathon on the Discovery channel, then mentioning how hungry they are until you finally give them half your sandwich.

You have so much more control in Instant Messenger, or on a forum, or in World of Warcraft.

The problem is you are hard-wired by evolution to need to do things for people. Everybody for the last five thousand years seemed to realize this and then we suddenly forgot it in the last few decades. We get suicidal teens and scramble to teach them self-esteem. Well, unfortunately, self-esteem and the ability to like yourself only come after you've done something that makes you likable. You can't bullshit yourself. If I think Todd over here is worthless for sitting in his room all day, drinking Pabst and playing video games one-handed because he's masturbating with the other one, what will I think of myself if I do the same thing?

You want to break out of that black tar pit of self-hatred? Brush the black hair out of your eyes, step away from the computer and buy a nice gift for someone you loathe. Send a card to your worst enemy. Make dinner for your mom and dad. Or just do something simple, with an tangible result. Go clean the leaves out of the gutter. Grow a damn plant.

It ain't rocket science; you are a social animal and thus you are born with little happiness hormones that are released into your bloodstream when you see a physical benefit to your actions. Think about all those teenagers in their dark rooms, glued to their PC's, turning every life problem into ridiculous melodrama. Why do they make those cuts on their arms? It's because making the pain-and subsequent healing-tangible releases endorphins they don't get otherwise. It's pain, but at least it's real.

That form of stress relief via mild discomfort used to be part of our daily lives, via our routine of hunting gazelles and gathering berries and climbing rocks and fighting bears. No more. This is why office jobs make so many of us miserable; we don't get any physical, tangible result from our work. But do construction out in the hot sun for two months, and for the rest of your life you can drive past a certain house and say, "Holy shit, I built that." Maybe that's why mass shootings are more common in offices than construction sites.

It's the kind of physical, dirt-under-your-nails satisfaction that you can only get by turning off the computer, going outdoors and re-connecting with the real world. That feeling, that "I built that" or "I grew that" or "I fed that guy" or "I made these pants" feeling, can't be matched by anything the internet has to offer.

Except, you know, this website.  ----By David Wong

 

http://www.cracked.com/article_15231_7-reasons-21st-century-making-you-miserable.html

Monday, July 28, 2008

S-L-U-T

For as far as I can recall, I have always been called a slut.

Well, maybe not until I arrived in the Philippines from the States that I became much more acquainted with and accustomed to the word. Slut. It began when I was 13. I was a slut for wanting to play hide-and-seek with boys. I was a slut for having grown up with male cousins and their male friends thus my natural propensity to want to be around the male species. I was a slut for being pretty. I was a slut for having long, curly brown hair and pale skin. I was a slut for looking like sex goddesses Amanda Page and Thalia at such a tender age. I was a slut for being well-endowed and mature-looking. I was a slut for being precocious. I was a slut for speaking with a twang. I was a slut for having been raised in a Western country.

It was already beginning to sound so Third World.

In highschool, I was a slut for being popular. I was a slut because I colored my hair GOLD in a catholic school. I was a slut because I liked changing my hair-do. I was a slut because I was vocal and opinionated and liberal. And yes, I was a slut because break-ups never fazed me. I was a slut for having this superhuman ability to move on quickly.

In college, I was a slut because I was a loner. I was a slut for not hanging out with my other freshie dorm buddies. I was a slut because I wasn’t afraid to speak to my professors on an intellectual level. I was a slut because I smoked and drank. I was a slut because I loved to dance. I was a slut because I held a firm belief that wearing shorts to class was only appropriate attire for tropical countries. I was a slut because men enjoyed talking to me about their problems over a drink. I was a slut because I didn’t have a steady boyfriend. I was a slut because no one wanted to take me seriously. I was a slut because I was always a mistress. I was a slut for believing that he’d leave her. I was a slut because I never gave up hope.

And the more I heard it, the more I became it. I was a slut because they said I was. And it was getting harder and harder to disprove it. Because you realize that you can’t disprove it. Because morals are relative. And you can’t please everybody. And you can’t punch everyone who calls you a slut in the face. It’ll only wear you out. And you will lose. Because everyone’s a critic. I learned that the hard way.

My dad says, “After you sleep with someone, all you need to do is take a shower, and it’ll come right off.”

God help those who have things and people they can’t just shower off themselves.

I’d rather be assumed a nice, intelligent, well-accomplished slut than an unintelligent, classless, pretentious carpetbagger.

But that’s just me.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

F*ck n' Go

No you really don’t care about her

You just wanna fuck her then go

And she let’s you do it to her over and over again

‘Cause when you’re inside her, it makes her hope

 

That you could fall in love again

That you could fall in love once again

That you would stay this time til the end

That it’s her you’ll want, no one else

 

And she has to hide every hint of wanting you

‘Cause she feels so sad, she’s just mad without you

But you’re so indifferent, with or without her

And she’s find it so hard to act cool

And make you think she doesn’t care

That she’s only playing, but she’s really praying

 

That you could fall in love again

That you could fall in love once again

That you would stay this time til the end

That it’s her you’ll want, no one else

 

She has to try to hide her love away

Try not to wanna see you everyday

So you’ll think she’s only playing, but she’s really crying

Oh, her faith has been worn, this game has been lost

 

If she would fall in love again

If she could fall in love once again

Should she stay next time, til the end

If it’s her he’ll want, no one else

 

No one else…

 

***Song by Mating Season --- and sung by my favorite smitten kitten, Kat.

 

(I still have it in my little red notebook! And I still remember how the song sounds, too.)

 

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Among all the books I’ve read --- from Kundera, Marquez, Ludlum, King, Andrews, Gibran… I have to say that I’m still my own favorite author. Hahahaha! And my favorite book is still my own Little Red Notebook (which is really a diary of sorts). I read it whenever I feel… uninspired, I suppose, since it reminds me of so many lessons I’ve already learned and all of the other things I’ve accomplished and overcome in the past few years --- when I was at a point in my life where I became fully conscious and aware of all the things I was doing. That’s why I decided to write in it. And that’s why it’s still with me despite my many false promises to burn it.

 

***The abovementioned lyrics were given to me by a good friend of mine. I was privileged enough to have some of her work, her experiences fill some of its pages. If I could, I’d let anyone write in it (like I did before when I was in college except with another notebook --- which was supposed to be for school but alas, I was too lazy to take down notes and I didn’t want to put to waste a perfectly usable notebook =)… then you’ll realize how therapeutic it is to just let it all out on paper --- even if no one else understands its real context. At least, you do. And ultimately, that’s all that really matters.

 

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This was MY own little version of “Fuck n’ Go”:

 

He was right there just a moment ago

Right there… on your right

His scent still on the sheets,

On the pillow you’re holding tight

 

He’s been gone for hours, you don’t care where

‘Cause you’re sure he’ll be returning while you waited for him there

 

That’s what you said a few days ago

‘Cause that’s what he told you

He said he’d be returning,

And you believed him, too

 

He was right there just a moment ago

Right there… on your right

You were still holding the pillow,

Holding his words tight

 

But you already knew, didn’t you?

You knew it all along

He was right there… on your right

When everything went wrong