I hate Madonna.

So there I was, thinking I was okay. I thought I’ve convinced myself that I’ve moved on. It was hard, especially with her constantly in the background, but I forced myself to be indifferent, and I managed. For a while it worked, but like every passionate emotion, the feeling that I tried so hard to repress, to forget, came flooding back, and it was just as intense. I thought that the previous blog entry will be the last about him, but I guess I was wrong.

Our prelim exams finished a week ago. I like to believe I did well, fantastic even, but answering those questions wasn’t an easy task. So to blow off some steam, my friends and I decided to celebrate the end of the torturous week by buying a lot of beer and heading to Bob’s house. It was the typical night out with friends. Lots of drinking, lots of smoking, and lots of unruly conversation. Some of the guys brought weed but I didn’t mind, thinking nothing would happen anyway. But then I got drunk, which would later cloud my judgment, and worse, my memory. When I woke up the next day, I thought everything went well. I must admit he and I got touchy, but only to a certain extent. I had my arm on his thigh, but it was more of a friendly gesture, like the time when I fell asleep on his arm and he played with my hair. Friendly. Right.

Usually, after a night of shameless drinking, I text my friends and ask what happened. But Bob beat me to it, since he was in a worse state because of the weed. He asked if he did anything foolish around Miko [the girl he’s crazy for], to which I answered no. I then asked the same question, and he commented that Paolo and I were too friendly that night. I assumed it was the time when I had my arm on his thigh or when I drew happy faces on his leg, but he told me that we were already holding hands and we even had a quick kiss. The kiss I remember. It was the time when he was about to leave and we hugged and not being able to resist [blaming the alcohol can be very convenient, mind you], I gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the hand holding I don’t remember. I just. Cannot. Remember. Holding his hand. Or him holding mine.

Honestly, I’m having second thoughts about what Bob said. Bob is a great friend. I have high respect for him, and he is one of the few people I can talk to when I want to talk about serious things, things I know not many people would understand. I trust Bob with my heart, but he was high as a kite that night, and I don’t know if it was the marijuana’s effect that made him see us holding hands. I guess he suspected that that was what I thought and he said he was wasted, not hallucinating. Good point.

You guys were too friendly last night. You were holding hands and you even had a quick smack.

Two short sentences, that when taken apart means nothing. It’s not even romantic. But it had a disconcerting effect on me. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was okay. I thought that seeing her name saved as hun hun would finally slap me till next week, but it didn’t. It failed miserably. And then I knew it. If seeing something as painful as that can’t make me get over what I feel, then it must mean something. Could it be? Am I in love? Or am I just stupid?

I don’t even know why I’m so into him. He’s not even my type. Given the fact that he’s goodlooking and his smile can make my knees crumble, he doesn’t really have the qualities I want in a man. I’m a big fan of intelligent, witty, and clever guys, and frankly, he doesn’t fit the bill. So to think that I’m head over heels over this guy is pretty odd. I guess my feelings “deepened” when he admitted to me he had a thing for me and he wanted to court me. Naturally, I asked him why he didn’t and he said it was because he made a promise to the girl that he’d wait. I was annoyed, but I can’t really blame him. He had feelings for me, but his feelings for the girl is deeper.

I know perfectly well that he’s madly in love with his girl, so why am I wasting so much time waiting for him? I’ve come up with a somewhat plausible theory on why I’m going bananas. Here it goes: It’s a fact that I got irritated when he admitted to me he wanted to court me but didn’t because of his promise of undying love. Who wouldn’t be? Let’s compare what is happening to a train station. I am a commuter patiently waiting for the train to come to bring me to my fabulous job. And then it comes. We were both there. We were both there at the same time, but he left without me. He and I, at some point, were into each other. I think the reason why I’m still hanging on is that the guy I like likes me back, and since he admitted he had feelings for me, I’m subconsciously hoping that it will come back, and we will live happily ever after. The question is, will that happily ever after come? Leave it to a romantic psychology student like me to come up with the most farfetched and idiotic ideas. I read a past entry, and I realized that I should have done last Thursday what I did almost a month ago:

Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob’s was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, “Every time I see you, I hear there’s something that’ll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don’t you worry if we’re apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile”. Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn’t mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

He will never be mine. Neither do I think that he will leave the girl for me. So why wait? And then it hit me. Yes, I am in love with him. I love him. And I have made the difficult decision to wait for him.

The other night, the folks and I visited my mom’s boyfriend for their annual christmas party, and on the way, I was listening to my iPod. What better song to listen to than Madonna’s No Substitute For Love, whose lyrics go something like this: Face the truth, I will wait for you, no substitute for love, no substitute for love.

I hate Madonna. She’s always right.

I can feel your heart beat for the very last time.

I never knew that it would take someone as kooky as Weird Al Yankovic to wake me from my delusional fairytale. Weird Al Yankovic, who is widely known for doing parodies of popular songs [Click Here to view one of my favorite Yankovic songs, eBay], served as my wake up call and slap in the face. But what really woke me up was watching his video spoof of Madonna’s Like A Virgin. His version, titled Like A Surgeon, was definitely funny, but oddly, it struck a chord in me. His last line, I can feel your heart beat, for the very last time, was sad, if not hilarious [Click Here to view the video].

I can honestly say that I am happy for Paolo and Pie. Yes, I still have strong feelings for him and I don’t think they would go away anytime soon, but after having lunch with the two of them yesterday [I was initially hesitant, but I agreed to lunch with them anyway], I saw how happy the twosome were, and I didn’t want anything to come between them, especially me. The three of us are friends, and I think it would be better if we stayed that way.

I came across Weird Al Yankovic when I went to YouTube to search for a song about eBay I heard months ago on Saturday Night Live. I was interested because recently, I made an account in eBay which resulted in my unwavering addiction. I am currently broke because within two weeks, I have bought a grand total of 14 books and 2 CDs, and I have committed myself into buying 6 more books. I must admit I have spent an unmentionable amount of money on books that I won’t be able to read right away [I have 59++ books in my reading list], but I must say, it’s worth every cent. Despite that, I am not condoning this kind of behavior. I have made a vow that after paying for this batch of books, I will make a considerable dent in my reading list before buying the next batch, instead of allowing books to pile by the dozen.

I’m glad my academics has been steady regardless of my obsessions [both Paolo and eBay]. Usually, I get hung up over something that my academics take a back seat. Let me reiterate that Madonna was wrong when she said that time goes by slowly. It feels like only yesterday that class has resumed after the semester break, but the prelim exams are now only two weeks away. This semester is a good one, not only because my grades so far are stellar [except Trigonometry], but because I am getting along with all my professors. My Biology professor is good at her job, and learning from her is an easy task considering her subject is scientific in nature. My professor in FCL is a kindly old lady who loves regaling us with stories and songs. My PGNC [Philippine Government and New Constitution] professor is a Law graduate who seems to know the Philippine government like the back of his hand. Listening to him is very stimulating. My Philippine Lit professor, although boring, is competent in the teaching department. My Arts Appreciation professor is my favorite in the lot, because she is, as she says it, the only one in the department qualified to teach Arts Appreciation. She may be demanding and she may have high standards, but if you do manage to pass her subject, you know you have learned something. My professor in Trigonometry teaches an absolutely boring subject, but she is great. She’s approachable and friendly, which are qualities I require in a math teacher. My Trig professor is actually my second in the subject because I dropped my first one after my first professor called me stupid. It happened during the second week of the semester when he asked us to bring an index card and a 1×1 ID picture with a blue background. I wasn’t able to have my picture taken the day before because I went over to Khaye’s [Perpetual Khaye, not UST Kay] to drink with some of our friends. Instead, I brought a passport sized photo [I had my passport renewed a week before] because it has the background color the professor required. So on that morning, I asked him if it was okay if I use the passport sized photo instead, because come on, it’s not as if it’s going to matter. Instead of answering with a yes or a no, he mutters stupid loud enough for the entire class to hear. At that instant, I felt the wind knocked out of me. Never in the 18 years of my existence has anyone called me dumb, stupid, or anything synonymous to a brain dead idiot, because I am not. Yes, I must admit, I did not follow his instructions, but that does not give him the right to call me harsh names. It’s just wrong. It’s wrong on so many levels. I wanted to retort “Excuse me, but did you just call me stupid? You do not have the right to call me that, because not only is it rude, but it is unethical. Your status does not justify your lack of manners“. Because it is true. He does not have any right to subject me, or any of his students for that matter, to verbal abuse and moral degradation. Instead, I packed my belongings, stood up, and walked out. I went straight to the dean’s office and transferred to a different section. I could have written the dean a complaint letter, or get his ass out of the university, at least my Trig class, but I decided to let it pass because I realized that I do not need to prove myself to someone who gives “one exemption points“.

All things considered, I’ve been well. I’ve gotten over my addiction to Paolo and instead focused my attention to eBay. I’m not seeing anyone, and I’m having the time of my life drinking with my friends [on an almost-daily basis] and coming home drunk as fuck. There are times when I miss having someone love me and take care of me, but I haven’t found the person who would take my breath away and sweep me off my feet. In spite of that, I am not rushing because I’ve realized I’m young and I have all the time in the world to find Mr. Right.

The coup d’etat by the very papa-ble Sen. Antonio Trillanes inspired great fear amongst my countrymen and my friends’ parents last night, which caused the early end of our inuman [we were supposed to celebrate a friend’s birthday, but Kristia had to cancel, so we decided to hold our own party]. Some of us rigorously followed the 12-5 curfew set by the government [I got home exactly midnight, how Cinderella of me], while the hardcore drinkers didn’t. I’m actually one of the hardcore drinkers in the group, but the curfew set worried my mom, so I dashed home [without forgetting my glass slipper, mind you]. Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob’s was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, “Every time I see you, I hear there’s something that’ll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don’t you worry if we’re apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile“. Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn’t mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

The futility of trying to wake up from a sorta fairytale

Putangina. I am drunk as fuck. I just got home (quite literally) from Paolo’s house where my friends and I went to

These were the words I wrote before dozing off this morning. I didn’t finish writing the entry because the keys were suddenly swirling into an indecipherable vortex. As you can tell, I spent the day drinking. Again.

Yesterday was one of one of those days when I felt extremely ugly. I can’t really rationalize this silly notion, but it was just one of those times when whatever you do still makes you look like crap. Usually it takes me half an hour to shower, dress, fix my hair, and shove everything I need in my bag, but yesterday it took me an hour just to pick my ensemble for the day (6 shirt changes and 2 changes of jeans), and a half hour just to fix my hair. I wanted to wear this vintage-inspired yellow shirt (I was inspired to go yellow by Pie last Sunday) with my black pants, non-descript sneakers from Hong Kong, and vintage aviator sunglasses to pull off a glam rock look, but it didn’t go well so I ended up wearing this red and white striped shirt from American Eagle (Thank you Sophie, I am so loving American Eagle now, I wish they have authentic AE shirts here) and my corduroy pants from Folded and Hung.

I rushed out of the house to pick up an I’M SORRY cake from Red Ribbon to give to Trina, our friend who walked out on us last Thursday when we forgot she set this little get together for her birthday. After going to school to surprise Trina with it, Paolo, Gogo, JM, Bob, and I went to SM to walk around. Gogo actually wanted to eat Japanese, but we all decided to go to Paolo’s house instead and chill there. We got there around 1, where the guys played the guitar and drums while I sat and watched, stunned by JM’s drumming abilities.

There was a time that day when I thought I stopped liking Paolo. I don’t know what happened, but it did. The lyrics from the song BALISONG, which Gogo played in his car struck me: I try to tell myself wake up fool; this fairy tale’s got to end. Sometime yesterday, I proverbially woke up from a fairytale that was sure not to happen. But just as fast as my feelings for him disappeared, it came flooding back when Paolo and I drove over to a store to get more beer. I guess it came back when I realized Paolo treats me differently compared to other people. I can’t concretely describe how different he treats me from other people. He treats me like one of the guys, but with more affection. It’s not exactly the sweet kind of affection he shows for Pie, but he’s more caring with me than with our other male friends. I find it also adorable how sometimes he talks to me in English, knowing I speak Filipino fluently.

Around 4 we were joined by Carlo and Julius, and we started drinking. Carlo actually brought a bottle of brandy, but it was way too strong and we settled for the classic Red Horse. We finished at midnight, and after Paolo gave me a hug and a chaste kiss on the neck (it’s something we’ve been regularly doing when we part ways. He kissed me on the neck because I’m much taller than him), we went home.

Today, while enjoying my hangover, I thought about my relationship with Paolo. I’ve partially woken up from the fairytale I’ve weaved around Paolo and me, but I still like him a lot. I’m still extremely jealous of Pie, yet I know I must go on and try to ignore the balisong that is pierced through my heart. Despite my helplessness, I find myself happy because I know I’m lucky. I’m fortunate that we are very good friends and we have invested a certain degree of trust in each other. He may not be my partner, but our relationship is just as special, if not more. I’m happy that even though he is not mine, I have been given a chance to know him personally. Ultimately, I’m happy that even for a brief moment, my feelings for him were once requited.

Lighting A Cigarette From The Wrong End Of The Lighter

My friends and I were at Paolo’s again last night. There we drank and drank until a lot of us got wasted. No wait, that was only me. And Bob also! I remember him sleeping on the couch while the rest of the guys were playing the guitar.

We were over at Paolo’s to celebrate the end of the semester. Who came? Hmm. Of course Paolo, and Bob, Gogo, Pie (Paolo’s girl), Miko, Jam (So far yet so near, Jam Fournier), Angelo (Ang baso ay itaas, Angelo Cablitas), JM (Walang katapat, JM Patapat), Mara, Chermann, and of course, me.

Mara, Chermann, Pie, and Miko left early so I was left with the boys, but I must admit, they’re really wonderful. We were able to talk about guy stuff and it was great. While talking to the guys, I made this realization. You know you’re irrevocably drunk when you forcibly light a cigarette using the wrong end of the lighter.

I was finally able to talk to Paolo about what’s been bothering me. I must say, alcohol really does bridge people. The conversation was pretty light, I asked him why he liked me, and he told me it was because I was handsome. He was about to say something else but Gogo interrupted us with a drink which I graciously accepted. What can I say? I love to drink. After I did my shot, I asked him what stopped him from courting me. He then told me it was because of his promise to Pie that he would wait.

Let me say that I have nothing against Pie. She’s pretty, she’s great, she’s a good friend. I have no right to get mad at her because Paolo chose her. And besides, she’s so nice I can’t get upset. As I’ve said, Pie is a great friend. But yeah, I am jealous. I remember saying things I wasn’t supposed to say, like how jealous I am of Pie and stuff like that.

I ended up dozing off on Paolo’s shoulder while he played with my hair. I asked him to sing me a song, and he sang Crazy For You. It was of course dedicated to Pie, but it was a Madonna song. Good enough.

Around midnight, we all went home. Gogo even gave me a ride. Great guy. Thank you Gogo! I went straight to bed, and now, it’s 8 in the morning and I’m still wearing the clothes I wore last night. Wow. I’m hung over like hell, so do forgive me if my writing is messed up. Gonna shower then sleep again. I’m in no state to attend the meeting for the publication this afternoon.

It’s finally the sem break! Awesome! Monday, we’ll all meet up again to drink (this time with more people) then have a swim in Cavite for Mara’s birthday.

Sino ba ang hinahanap mo, andito lang naman ako. Mahal kita, ikaw lang at wala ng iba.

Yesterday my friends and I went to Alabang to throw a surprise party for our friend’s birthday. Throwing that party was especially hard because certain situations with the girl he’s dating is affecting his temperament. Trouble is, the girl that he’s dating is also in our circle. Yet, in spite of the paramount trouble we were faced with, I put a lot of effort into it (I did most of the planning) and managed to pull off the impossible. I must admit, one of the reasons why I really wanted to surprise him was because he is someone I’ve been crushing on since the first day of class. Actually, he is my closest guy (straight) friend in Perpetual.

Everything went well. He and his girl were smooth sailing; all my good friends were there, especially Miko who rarely hangs out with us after class (I love you, Miko!! :D); and of course, there was booze. So while we were doing shots and gossiping, there came a point where everyone started confessing things. I was already high as a kite, and this boy, the boy I have feelings for, suddenly confessed how he had feelings for me that was beyond platonic! He admitted that once in a while he had thoughts about courting me and being my partner. His exact words were: minsan iniisip ko gusto kong boyfriend-in si Koji. I was shocked. No, I was overwhelmed. By the way, let me make it clear that he does not feel this anymore, and that he is madly in love with his girl.

Of course I was flattered. Boy, was I. Imagine crushing on a straight guy and he tells you flat out he wants you to be his boyfriend. Yes, this guy is straight. Trust me, I can attest to his heterosexuality.

Though I was tickled pink, I was embarrassed. I couldn’t look him in the eye, and I couldn’t talk to him. For some reason, I was also mad. Of course a part of it stemmed from jealousy. The girl actually wants to stop seeing him but the poor boy is obsessed.

I just wish he didn’t tell me that. I think it would have been better off for me not knowing he felt that way. It’s pathetic, but now a part of me is hoping that those feelings would return and he would one day look at me and take my breath away. I know I’m not supposed to because he’s in love with the girl, but I can’t help myself from feeling what I’m feeling now.

If Rachel Zoe can do it, so can I.

If uber A-list celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe could bet at the top of her game and dress mega-socialites (i.e. Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, among many others), I bet I could do the same thing too. You see, the stylist that all the stars are turning to in times of couture crisis has had no formal fashion training and relies on innate talent to turn rags to satin. Also, what interested me about her was that during her college years in Washington State University, she majored in sociology, and surprise surprise, psychology, which I am taking right now. I am so glad to know that you don’t need to be a slave to fashion to be in the fashion business 🙂 The little people like me actually have a chance!

Oh yes, lest I forget, congratulations to my bff Arvin who is now interning for mega-hot designer Gian Romano. You can do it, sweetheart, I am behind you all the way, waiting for my 30% discount on deconstructed coats and ties 🙂

Anyway, as I’ve said, if Rachel Zoe could do it, so can I! But I don’t want to digress from the main piece of this essay.

There is this new guy that I am dating 🙂 We’ve actually been dating for almost a month, and to be honest, it’s a tornado of a romance. Let’s call him Chuck (I noticed I’ve been using aliases when it comes to my partners, this time it’s because the guy is straight – don’t ask), an engineering student in UP-Los Banos. What I love about him is that he lives so near, meaning we would get to spend lots of time with each other, which we are doing. Although he dorms in Los Banos on weekdays, he doesn’t make it an excuse not to meet with me even if it isn’t a weekend. Like a few weeks ago, he went from Los Banos to Alabang (not an easy feat, mind you) just to teach me Physics for a couple of hours. I initially dismissed him as immature when he started ranting about pimples and how big of a deal it was, and I refused to text him for quite some time. But after going to the Madonnathon, I decided to give him a chance, and look at us now 🙂 struggling, but happy.

The Madonnathon is an annual party at Government that showcased all of Madonna’s hits, and being a die-hard Madonna fan, I went with my bff Arvin, and we partied hard after a 3-month hiatus. I didn’t know what pushed me that night, but I bought a pack of cigarettes (I quit – or so I thought) and ended up smoking almost all of it. Going home that night (this was the opening party), I was suddenly aware of this thing that I’ve been feeling everytime I come home from a hard night’s party. I usually flush these thoughts, but it hit me full force that particular night. It was that feeling of disgust when you’ve had too much to smoke, where you can smell the scent of the cigarette reeking in the entire car; mixed with cologne, sweat and alcohol. So while on the road, I decided not to go to the main party to get rid of this unpleasant feeling. Arvin couldn’t go anyway, so why bother? I also decided to stop smoking ENTIRELY, and to limit my party nights to a bare minimum. I’m not going to give up my social life of course, I will still go out, but only to watch movies, have meals with friends and dates, or drinks with whomever. Saturday morning witnessed me having an interview with Kenneth, the sports editor for the school paper. He was screening me to check if I was capable of being the next sports editor. Of course, I wasn’t, and I didn’t really want to be the sports editor anyway. I wanted to be the features editor, but our editor-in-chief, Elydia, has been dropping gargantuan hint bombs that I’ll be the editor-in-chief after Joan’s (her successor) term. Arvin texted me, telling me it was on for tonight, so I decided to go. But I didn’t forget my resolution. I decided to still party (not as much though), but I will go cold turkey on the Marlboros. So that night, armed with a casual cocktail and a hardboiled resolution, I partied the night away; safe, happy, and Madonnified.

What changed my perception about Chuck was the many people I’ve met in both parties of the Madonnathon. Before, when partying, I would usually meet people, random strangers and friends of friends, and there would be this awkward ambience when both of us know there is this attraction between us. There will be clipped conversations, cold auras as we try to hide our shit and analyze theirs, and the rest of the night would be spent sitting down, trying to make the proverbial ball roll. It’s not an easy task to talk to a beautiful stranger amidst the loud music, trust me. So I settled to remain friends with everyone and flush away all sorts of attraction on my part and gently veer theirs away with friendly gestures. No more casual laying of hands on the knees, quick kisses, and discreet hand holding. So that night, I met many people, friends, and I enjoyed the night. Unlike meeting guys who share a mutual attraction with me – my newfound friends were warm, bright, and open. This is the kind of people I want in my life 🙂

With my resolution in mind, I found myself in Libis on a Friday night weeks after the Madonnathon with my UST friends Ysa and Kay (guys, I miss you. Kay, I so missed your cynicism. Ysa, I missed our bonding moments. You gained some weight, but you’re still gorgeous. I love you both!). True to my word, I found myself seated the whole night in Jack’s Loft having I D’eclair (try it – their desserts are awesome, yet easy on the pocket) and daquiris and weng wengs. We bonded the whole night, and I noticed that sitting down, having dinner, drinks, and a meaningful conversation with the people that matter was more fulfilling than dancing the night away with sweaty and ugly strangers and going home looking wasted.

So I texted Chuck. He was heavily flirting, but I decided to give him a chance so we could be friends. I don’t know what happened exactly, but we ended up dating. We have our ups, and we’ve definitely have our downs, and although we fight almost everyday, I must give him credit for having so much patience with me. He has seen my mood swing from one end of the sprectrum to the other, often serving as the receiving end of my many fits. He’s not very good at keeping up with me, but he’s trying his best. And that’s what I love about him 🙂

Breakfast At Tiffany’s

Exactly a week ago, I watched Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Exactly a week ago, I wrote an article about love, and I ended the essay by quoting my favorite philosopher, Carrie Bradshaw. In the pilot episode of her hit sitcom, Sex and the City, the scene opens to her saying: No one has breakfast at Tiffany’s and no one has affairs to remember. Instead, we have breakfast at 7 AM and we have affairs we try to forget as quickly as possible. And two days later, I met the guy who would force me to rewrite my article, and who would shatter my cynicism in life.

I’ve been dating this guy for three weeks now. I doubt he would be comfortable knowing that his name will be here (he’s in the closet), so from here on, we would leave his name as Q. To all the people who have been religiously reading my blog, I love you guys. Your continuous support has pushed me to express my opinions. And to those people who have been detracting me, I would like to thank you too because you have helped me prove to everyone that my life is far more interesting than the pathetic piece of shit that you call your life. But I don’t want to digress. Q is a xxx student in La Salle, and what can I say about my Q. Bear? He’s intelligent, he’s witty, he’s ambitious, and a little bit on the arrogant side which I find absolutely sexy. He has swept me off my sneaker-clad feet with his charms, his positive influence over me (corny I know, but he’s really turning me into a better man), and his disarming smile that could rival any of the jewels at Tiffany’s. Though Q is extremely cute and he has the brains that can make me come in my head, he is not really the kind of guy I would have pictured to be beside me in the altar. But that was before I had an entire philosophy makeover.

Last night, while having cocktails in Alabang with a family friend (Sophie), I ran into J. There was a bit of the awkward side, but besides that, nothing extremely embarrassing happened. But what happened was, I had a sudden flashback of all the guys I’ve dated and I noticed most of them had a common denominator. And Q didn’t fit any of the physical characteristics I want in a man.

But then I asked myself, so what? Just because my relationship is not what I pictured it to be doesn’t mean that it is not good. Though breakfast at Tiffany’s is fabulous, it’s not realistic. We all want our men to be a la Brad Pitt (Personally I would have picked Antonio Trillanes), but these people are not real. No, I am not saying Brad Pitt is the male replica of Simone (seen that movie?), but my point is, the odds of meeting someone like Brad is equivalent to finding the gold at the end of the rainbow. But I am not saying we should settle for less. Just because Angelina has already snagged that man candy doesn’t mean we should marry that fat slob next door. Why settle for mediocrity when we deserve the best? I dated this one guy (there will be no mention of names to protect the innocent, namely me) and he is what every girl dreams of. A good listener, supportive, gallant. Also, he is there when you need him. Who could refuse? But no matter what he does, regardless of the many bouquets of flowers he gave me, or the thousands of pesos he has spent for me, it really wasn’t going to happen.

People surprise you. Q may not have the height (boy, I love a tall guy), nor the features of a chinito, but he makes me happy. He supports my interests, he accepts me for who I am, and he helps me become the best I can be. What more could I ask for?