hardcore · fuckers

the kid sent me a text message: pwede ba maging tayo? (could we be a couple?)

let's step back a bit: we started as textmates and i invited him over the chairless apartment. he's 20 but looked like a high school kid, partly because he's a bit on the short side and skinny. one could say he's cute, in a little-kid-with-a-perpetual-grin kind of way. on one of his visits, i decided to give him some of my now too-small shirts, including the white astroboy shirt i so loved but only wore once because it wouldn't fit me. i told him it was love at first sight when i saw that shirt; but me and that shirt, alas, were not meant for each other.

and, well, he has slept over in my room. a couple of times. and afterwards, i would cook something for us to eat and he would always eat what i serve with much appreciation. one couldn't get a better and more sincere compliment for one's cooking.

but i couldn't see him as a boyfriend. at most he's like a little brother (a comparison that is both wrong on some levels and familiar, as coming from someone else) and so i answered his question with a no. and i felt like a horrible person dumping a really nice guy.

Normally I wouldn't be blogging on Christmas night because normally I'd be too drunk to do anything but sleep (or maybe sneak a little porn and jerk off) but normally, my drinkmates wouldn't be sleeping on me this early. Half-past midnight, I'm still sober and consciously alone. Fine, I'll blog my frustrations away, maybe make this night a bit fruitful, for me anyway.

I'm really happy to report how I've changed so much, for the better (or so I believe). I'm not a big drama queen anymore, so yay for that. It's also one of the reasons why I can't seem to blog anymore, cos I was so used to writing about all those sappy-angsty-melancholy stuff that when I've learned to just ignore/fix them, I can hardly write about anything else. And there's also being a professional writer, which makes any form of writing seem like work and that includes blogging. And why the hell would I wanna work on my LJ. Too much pressure.

So there's one of the reasons why I don't blog so much these days--except for the occasional picture posts on my Posterous blog. I also need to point out that there's something about this journal that seems to siphon the drama out of me, so I kinda have my guards up in this place. Except for now, cos I got this vodka-soda mix with me and hell be damned if I sleep sober tonight.

Can I talk about my mother? I wanna talk about my mother. Oh God, she drives me crazy. I did say before that she's a Born Again Christian, right? I have nothing against most organized religions and I have nothing against Born Again Christians. Some of my closest friends subscribe to their beliefs and I respect that. My best bud could worship a tree for all I care but as long as we get along fine I shouldn't be bothered (and besides, the weirdness factor would be amusing. Haha, worshipping trees). So, what I dislike about my mother is how she turns on the TV and tunes in to these evangelical channels, or turns on the radio and listens LOUDLY to these AM evangelical stations. I'm starting to suspect she's trying to convert us into her Church. One of these days, when I lose my cool, I will have a hard debate with her about religion. Specifically HER religion. I will crush her beliefs because I will turn things around (because collegiate debating can teach you that) and I will feel bad and she will cry and hate me. So that day may never happen and I will keep on listening involuntarily to those damn pastors.

I love God, I really do. That's why I don't go to church anymore. I feel closer to Him when no-one is shoving Him down my throat.

Which brings me to guys and sex. (How, I can't be sure.) So I've finally learned how to enjoy single life. It's pretty easy: get a fast-paced lifestyle that involves a lot of work and a lot of parties and eventually you're bound to forget that you fantasized the idea of falling in love. Until the holiday season comes! Lately I've been thinking about him again. And I had to remind myself again that he will not fall in love with me, but that doesn't stop me from thinking of the could-have-beens, the things I could have done right, the things I shoouldn't have done in the first place. But hey, we move on. We have to. Nowhere to go but up, or forward, although I'd prefer up cos it connotes success?

I have already seen my future: rich, successful, influential, popular, single, alone, lonely. It feels good to know that I know how to get temporary happiness and if temporary happiness doesn't run out because I can afford it...I can see my future: I'm going to be Courtney Love.

(A moment of self-pity: Courtney Love was once loved.) (Albeit by somebody who killed himself.)

As for the sex part...I've been monogamously doing this one guy cos I don't like to sleep around anymore and yes I did entertain the idea of dating him but he just likes to have sex because "relationships are complicated". I can see my future: I am this guy, but more successful.

It's comes as sort of a good thing that for 24 years, life has never been a bed of roses for me. I was never in a comfort zone. I had to be my own source of moral support, had to be my own best friend. Which is okay. It taught me to a greater deal than what other people would still have to learn in 5, 10, hell even 20 years. Maturity comes with a price and oh boy, the price I had to pay...

I'm not even sure what I'm talking about anymore, I'm just blabbing till I get tired.

So, hmmm, I will probably never fall in love again because I stop myself all the time, I will probably need to learn how to raise a parent, I will probably turn my attention to forging a career I can be proud of, I will probably take a longer time getting to NY, I will get myself a drink because this has been too long and I don't make sense anymore and I don't like it. Merry Christmas, I hope yours was better.

Saw a boy on the train wearing his serviceman uniform. Not a boy really, maybe 20 years old.  6 feet tall, typical buff Chinese Singaporean build. And no it wasn't that I was attracted or anything. So it's not that kind of post.

He was standing by the door and as I looked up about to get off at my stop, I noticed that he was glaring at everyone and no one in particular. I thought that curious, but then I saw him clenching his fist by his waist unconsciously. That's when I saw it just as I left the train. He had an 11th finger. A skinny complete finger stuck to his thumb on the wrong side. It wasn't as wide as thumb, more like a pinkie finger.

It just had me thinking all the way back to my apartment. If you had an 11th finger on you hand, how would you see life differently? My mind went in all directions imaging what it would be like in his shoes.

I mean, it's not a handicap nor an instantly obvious deformity. Would you be cool with it? My next thought would be, Oh my God, it would be so cool to play the piano with an extra finger! But then again, would you practice moving you extra digit? I would.

But my bet is that he would have a whole complex about it. Not being like other kids. Trying to go out on a date and holding someone's hand. Being stared at. Would I have daydreamed of having it removed? Or would it make me feel special? Given his age, I guess he was going to keep it.

Don't most parents pray that their kids have a complete set of appendages and digits? My mom told me that was her thought every time she got pregnant. So what it you got that, plus one? How would you explain to your child why he's got an extra one? Would you think it was your fault? Would you have sleepless nights thinking if you should have it removed or not? Would you tell your kid he had magical powers that come from it? Or that he swallowed his twin in the womb and all that was left was his finger.

As a kid, my siblings and I used to go to the Christmas carnival and they would have freak shows. Where for 20 pesos, you could enter some wooden tent and ogle at live-chicken eating "cannibals", mermaids with rubber tails and more often than not, real Siamese twins. Some years there would be these incomplete twins, where one person had 3 arms or legs, or an arm growing out of his side. The posters outside would proclaim them as scary monsters to entertain the kids. But they always looked quite sad and bored. Like a zoo animal in his cage being circled by kids and their parents. What did they do after that? Play and watch tv with their folks? Or did their folks give them away from the provinces to make a few extra bucks in the city?

So this is my weird random Christmas time memory. Rollercoasters, hot dogs, haunted mansions, giant slides and the random freakshow.  Funny how you just remember things like that but see them in a whole new light.

...somebody to love! Or an electronic wheelchair, cos that works fine too. My arms felt like they wanted to fall off from all the rolling (rolling!) rolling (yeeeah hey!) rolling on the Solar Entertainment Christmas party. Everybody loved me! Even I loved me! Too bad I wasn't able to get some pity sex from the hot new boy one floor below mine, because later in the night I needed to get up and pour myself a drink.

Posted via email from This Boy

As usual, we were last place again in the x’mas party dance competition and I didn’t win the raffle. Sigh.

My party get-up (btw, the theme was “Reliving the ‘80s”)

I danced MJ’s Beat It.

I watched our videos today. We aren’t that bad, (except for B who forgot her steps in "Let's Get Physical" and other members who forgot to put on their shades in "I Just Called to Say I Love You"), it’s just that the other groups really have the advantage of younger members/better dancers.

With lifting and everything! (I'm envious! I always dreamed of performing "Time of my Life"/dirty dancing with lifting, too, but I'm too heavy)

So, LUZ VALDEZ talaga!