antecoitus

26.05.07

so i dove into thin air — with a goal at least not to shit myself, pee airborne, puke in my hair or passout during the jump. It was a minute of freefall before the chute pulls you up, the best single minute i’ve had in a long time (better than sex? hehe, I’m not annd I say that honestly. I think… I have a new hobby.

the past month

• I spent some time in r o t t e r d a m, it’s no match to prg but it’s doable. Its saving grace is that AMS is only 40 mins away, and it’s a new place for us. The flat is also not half bad if I’m going to take it.

• I found out that in p o l a n d when a child receives the sacrament of communion they make a nice party. So we spent a weekend in w a r s a w for W’s brother’s. Daig pa niya ang nag-debut. Ako hindi man lang ako nag-debut, dapat pala pinilit ko na lang na magkaron ng first communion par-tay. We gave him his first real football, Jan (9 yrs old) and I teamed up against W and Adam (7 yrs old), the other little brother, we trashed them 10-8. Adam kept calling foul, a word he just learned, now everytime he falls I tease him by shouting foul. He laughs. Adorably. Maybe Christiano Ronaldo of Manchester United can do the same. (haha) That guy can throw himself three meters in the air without anyone touching him.

• Motivational Management in b r a t i s l a v a - how to manipulate people without them knowing it. Che! My first real training was with the Evaughls who have mastered the craft with such panache (anez mga ateh?).

• A lot of people I love (in MNL) are going thru this strange, depressive stage the cause of which is unknown. I wish I was there for them. We could have drowned ourselves in conversation, coffee, tsaang inaabuso namin sa Dome, the beach, hotel nights. I’m deeply sorry I can’t be there.

• Lumapang ako ng tortang talong (literally, okay? eggplant na may itlog) for the first time in three years. Heavenly. Kung kasya lang ang isang buong talong sa bibig ko in one go. (hahaha deep throat itoh) talagang dedma. Ubos ang talong.

• Lei is my new heroine. Woman, you go there (to NYC) and brave the Saturnalia. Abject debauchery is favorable to professional achievement and inner happiness. Not too mention better, healthier looking skin. Eet ees zee glow. (hah. If I continue with this, I might put the Dalai Lama out of business, charito solis). And if anyone gives you any sh*t about this being dangerous, remember, you can always put it down to experience. =)

• I got to know about something that I should not have known about because it is unnecessary information for me. But the person who actually shared it confirmed a decision I made a long time ago. But frankly, I was neither really surprised nor angry – I was actually trying hard to find a bit of anger but there was nothing, instead I told her that that person delivers all current expectations. She said she was sorry, because if anyone was wronged it was me, it melted my heart and it opened for her. That is all I ask for from anyone I come across with in my life, decency and honesty. She said, she told me because she values my character and I will be eternally flattered. We laughed together although there was a tinge of sadness in me for the passing away of someone who was once a good friend and an amazing person. I don’t know what brought this immense change on. It’s a death that now, no one grieves for. Everything that happened as an aftermath (ALL of it), I have expected given those involved. She had nothing to gain from it but peace of mind, and I truly value her candor, her humility and the way she continues to handle the situation. She didn’t run when things got freaky. She didn’t base her choices on the fact that if she chooses otherwise another person will think less of her and laugh at her folly (as if that other person doesn’t already). She didn’t lie nor attack contemptibly nor compromised her character with basement priced behavior to pull back up for air. She’s built of good stuff and she has to realize that. Therefore, she never fell, contrary to what other people would think and would never have the necessity of kicking back. Her flip flops are too precious for that. End it here, sweetie. Don’t look back, you might turn to salt.
• Now I’m in g d y n i a. I’m always somewhere else when the drama and the shit avalanche at work back in prg. I might have to cancel my flight for an earlier one.
• Para talaga akong hinahabol ng demonyo pag umuuwi. I feel that I have to finish so much: visit the doctor, iron clothes, do the groceries, go to the bank, watch movies, clean up, reorganize the closet, etc. over a weekend. And when its already written on my agenda I have this big load of guilt on my chest if I don’t find time to do. I have to take it easy lest I’ll start getting comments like ‘Are you on angel dust?’ 
• This weekend I would like to go to Sensation White. Pero ewan ko ba umaariba ang aking tira-tira sa kunat self. The only tickets left are the vip ones which cost 142 euros – and its not like I have not seen Armin Van Buuren, the headliner play (kung si Armand Van Helden siguro papatulan ko pa). Kailangan kong humanap ng scalper.

 

 

I
would miss prg but not working in prg, not really. These
past three years have been just about changing and managing it, I want to have
some peace. Not that I will escape all the worries totally because what I
actually will transfer to is change management. Yaha. Still, the alteration of
characters I have to deal with is enough to refresh me.

 

But
I will definitely grieve for prg ,
the city. If there is one word to describe prg, it should be picturesque. It is
postcard beautiful, even when it’s plagued by traffic and tourists. The fact
that a lot of period films are shot in prg
is enough to explain how much of the old is left and how elegant the
architecture remains to be. When I thought I was going to be indefinitely
staying here
I inevitably forgot how magnificent the places I pass through going to and from
work are. That’s how it is when they seem to be so everyday to you. My route
passes through Jiraskuv Most that has a great view of the Vltva river, the p r  a g u e Castle and Charles bridge, a view that can take your breath away if you
happen to be stuck in traffic on the bridge and a flock of birds flies over
your car  and suddenly snaps you from
your daydream. For the longest time I have not even cast a second look at the dancing building (a Frank Gehry and Vladimir
Milunic masterpiece dubbed Fred and Ginger after Astaire and Rogers) when I
turn the corner towards the direction of my flat. That is mainly when I am busy
contending with a blondie who cut me a couple of hundred meters before.

 

Now
every time I stroll along little cobbled streets, to find a recommended club,
bar or restaurant which has just recently opened, I look around dazed at
buildings, trying to figure out if they are of the Baroque or the Renaissance
period.

 

A
couple of weeks ago, I went to dinner with G in this Argentinean Steakhouse.
The sirloin, the empanadas, the tapas and the wine were all excellent. Although
a lot of people were looking at us because we are both exotic (i.e. not white) and
they were all probably wondering which one is actually the girl. We were also
very close to the grill, which heightened our adrenaline and increased our # of
words spoken per minute. A magician came over and made me his monkey for the
night – with card tricks and 500 euro bills which he produced out of ashes –
while a couple tangoed around the tables. It fabulously mimics a Latin bistro
with big doors, palm and the smell of good spices.  We finished with a cosmopolitan (in honor of
the most confused woman in the world, Carrie Bradshaw) for me and a beer (in
honor of the Czechs who I will be leaving soon) for him. We started at 7pm and
finished eating at half past nine, and since I was going to meet M for the
Latin Night in Radost in the same area, G and I decided to walk around. We
ended up in this charming little piece of the old town
area where Chez Marcel is. Under a tree we talked and laughed and talked and
fell of the bench giggling — about Grey’s Anatomy (long story, you have to see
us perform it for it to be funny, at siyempre siya si Meredith Grey), about
men, about our holocaust weekend trip – it’s a trip we’re planning in order to
visit all the concentration camps in most of e a s t e r n  e u r o p e – and the possible
difficulties we will face with having to pose and smile in front of a gas
chamber, of curing higad irritations with vinegar, of our life in p r a g u e and of
how we are going to miss each other.

 

We
were sitting on a bench under a big tree (I think it was oak) spurting fits of
laughter… in the middle of dreamy prg
on a spring night. It was so simple and yet that night will be so difficult to
forget. With a wonderful friend, I also realized, this city can give you a great backdrop for memories.

 

Attending a hip hop concert produced this little prattling, an inspiration from Wu-tang’s Raekwon who makes millions of dollars now merely from albums sold and who sang classic tracks from 36 Chambers during the concert I went to recently. The concert made me feel so young, so with my thumb ring, I even raised my lighter in honor of ODB. I am not a hip hop virtuoso, but my affinity to it in the past which, though limited to a tagging alphabet I keep to this date and knowing some words to some hip hop hits, has continuously amazed me. It’s the only music genre which managed such multi-faceted status consisting of dance (street/break dancing), DJing, beatboxing, urban art, grafitti, MCing and poetry. There are not a lot of music genres that link to a cultural movement – hip hop does. To a lot of people my age it was a statement, even a way of life. Hip hop has always managed to draw head bobs from me but I thought that the encounter and inevitable pledging of allegiance to the adult world has already stopped me from thinking that hip hop is whack.

As I am not especially mushy and the max of my sappiness is illustrated only in my ability to bawl (and I mean gut wrenching wailing) over happy endings IN cinemas — love songs, that promise virtually everything except multiple orgasms never really wowed me enough to make me buy a full album of oh-baby-oh-baby-you’re-mine. (Plus, I don’t really feel comfortable being told I’m someone’s, like I don’t feel totally comfortable owning someone - haha, oo na jaded, e ano ngayon? But I digress, that’s another entry. Haha). Honestly some love songs make me wonder why they don’t end with a “aaaaahhhh I’m coming!”. I even made it clear to W that a CD as a wedding souvenir is out of the question, not that there’s anything wrong with it, in fact it’s really sweet. It’s just that I can relate all love songs to us if I wanted to (haha lusot, ang totoo niyan, hindi talaga ko theme song type). Acoustic nights are cute, we can all drown in the nostalgia of past loves, lost relationships and wonderful new ones – but three acoustic nights in a row can turn me into a lithium hungry madman, who may unconsciously perform a rain dance in the middle of the show if not stopped.

House, trance and techno, I liked before — and adore now, especially for long drives and feral themed, jungle inspired parties usually attended when my neck muscles are all ready to snap because of work. Jazz is sweet and colorful, it makes me imagine psychedelic colors twirling in front of my eyes. I still spend one night every two months in a quaint little jazz club that makes my hair stand up, but in a good, its-tragic-that-I-can-never-ever-be-musically-gifted kind of way. I feel the same way for R&B, especially Justin Timberlake’s recent stuff. I am not being sarcastic. I think that when Timberland started producing Justin’s work, he and his stuff started to show signs of growing up. Ethnic music, I frankly only learned to appreciate when I met W’s dad who made an album (which I was told will again be released in

Poland

) of South East Asian music. He compiled and arranged it under an art grant in his youth after traveling by ship to our part of the world. Other than that I was never really properly exposed. Etcetera, etcetera.

But hip hop is one of those that have continued to amaze me through time. No matter what wrong messages overbearing 50Cent rap about women.

Some people may unnecessarily connect hip hop with certain stereotypes, like how some people can automatically link certain types of music to drugs of choice. As in – for dance -house, trance, techno– its E, coke or K, not really respectively, for hip hop its weed, for rock (alternative, punk, etc) its crack and heroin, for classical it could be opium (I’m presuming), for love songs if it’s not chocolate, it’s pheromones, and for everything else — a lot of alcohol. =) I believe that hip hop is one of those that are highly stereotyped. What with the graffiti, the skateboarding, and the big men who wear baggy pants which they refer to as extremely ‘tight’. When men who wear more beautiful jewelry than women, sing about MILF weed in a TV series with a title also referring without hesitation to cannabis (that was d-o double g, in case you’re wondering)… people do form judgment. That’s inevitable for a previously underground genre which has gone successfully main stream. I mean, it happens to most music types. I mean just look at how

Ibiza

is filled with people who do not really listen and enjoy the music anymore because they are too stoned to notice the track playing amidst the cool laser lights show. (Underground rave is DNR.)

A lot of people say that hip hop aggravated gang violence and unnecessary confrontations, when in fact hip hop gave gang members another medium to express their gang pride through graffiti, beat boxing, or street dancing meet-ups. If we want to blame hip hop for anything, I think it would be for the extreme materialism derived from hip hop videos which boast of pimped cars and more pimped boobs, lips and cheekbones. It’s been bitterly said that hip hop makes us want more – that bling, that car, that silicone. But what music genre doesn’t? C’mon how many boy band love songs did we have to endure as girls before we realized that we’re being tricked into wanting that guy which looks absolutely sweet, innocent and sexy, all at the same time –– when almost at least one of each group is gay and will never be interested in us. Hip hop’s bragging, dissing (did I just say diss?hehe) nature started when MCs were trying to promote DJs so that people would go to their dance parties, and thus free style rap competitions like the ones in 8Mile survive until now. I noticed that in Europe, DJs (often also the producers) and MCs still have satirical pieces which mock the government, society, consumerism and culture or discuss issues to celebrate all that is either simply good about life or finding it again. It’s still poetic in this way, it’s more than chillin’ at the holiday inn. It’s more like what Eminem does when he’s not passing judgment on his mom and when he’s realizing his family’s worth. I think that’s pretty cool. How about more of Francis Magalona and less of Andrew E? ehehehe (if we can even call that hip hop)

When W tells me stories of his youth as a skateboarding chump who stops his bike to appreciate graffiti, I listen with a bit of envy. Now he stops the car on the way to snowboarding to do the same on legal graffiti walls where the pieces are given thought, time and effort – not only the testosterone dribbling marks on newly painted buildings. Here I am with an almost torn apart tagging alphabet, a few lyrics, and a Vanilla Ice album. (Haha, kadiri. Let’s just say that Vanilla Ice during that time was still very much the very basic version called disco rap.) But anyway that’s the only stuff I have to remind me of my fairly insignificant affair with hip hop, like many of those who wear baggy pants and a twisted cap singing the latest shnizzle mah nizzle and think they have been immersed in water blessed by Tupac, hip hop’s sacrificial lamb. =) W on the other hand lived most of its facets and honestly loved it. He skateboarded, tagged (and been caught), owns one too many Wu-tang clan albums among others and follow the local hip hop scene to this date which included taking me to a 3 day camp which featured all of this music type’s fundamentals – from weed and huge hooded sweaters to footbags – and no weekend shower at all.

I think it’s beyond being able to sing along with our African-American (or should I say African-‘insert other nationality here’) brothers and appreciating their ability to rhyme words. I really think it’s more than that.

Mean Girls was one of the few high school flicks that entertained me because of the bitter comical truth in it. I love how women fight. Needless to say that we have to use this talent well, lest we are in danger making fools of ourselves.

It’s fair to say, that we, members of the feminine sex can probably thrive in a jungle and co-exist with animaldom more than the men because although driven by emotions (and hormones, at times) we are very very sly. Some men, give too little credit to how much we can actually manipulate a situation that I often wonder why they call us the weaker sex. Maybe, we wanted them to think that. I admit, sometimes, I maneuver the situation to fit my needs without anyone noticing that I actually am. Even I, don’t. I believe most especially the opposite sex are left clueless at what we just had them do. Because when an enemy does not think you can strike them as hard, if at all, when you do pounce, you can inflict much more damage. And pain. Unless you know you have to delay it. Women fight in a sexier, more interesting way than men. Taking it outside is just so medieval. Too simple. Too easy. Women like head fucking more. While broken bones heal, a head fuck lasts much longer and is more potent. Are we scary creatures? Definitely. We’re a fascinating foe. But men do not have to lose sleep over this fact, because most of the times, we fight only when necessary. When we are driven to the edge. Even when we are already being shoved we use nicely manicured fingers to shove back. We simply do it with more style.

What I despise though, is when we gang up on another woman, especially when we do not fully understand the situation— the truth behind why we actually want to hurt someone. These are the times when cunning yet cowardly men get the better of us.

For example, and this is purely hypothetical, a boyfriend told you that someone is so crazy for him she’s claiming to be someone to him when according to him she’s nothing but trash. He says this just to keep you from throwing tantrums when he’s with her. (I mean, c’mon! The jerk does not even have any respect for your emotional maturity). Do you really believe that someone is so unbelievably enamored and overwhelmed by him that she just can’t keep her hands off of him? Unless your boyfriend has a… you know… as big as the e i f f e l t o w e r or is a prototype of the Mark Walberg/Brad Pitt porn god, he’s probably just feeding his ego with your gullibility and his lie. There is something and you know it. Mostly it was his fault. That little nagging feeling is telling you so. It’s either this is his disease, which is worse or they really have been attracted if not in love with each other. Chances are, you’re guy has used this same story with his ex-girlfriend and that there are more cases you don’t know of (and there will be more in the future). It’s an overused piece of bull. Ask the ex-girlfriend, it will do you a whole lot of good. Unless you’re scared shit of her because you were the woman you hate now, she was you before, and you were actually aware of wronging her. Plus you know that she did not perform such shoddy little tricks you think you can get away with by humiliating the other woman. You owe her that much to at least spare your imaginary villain.

But, you know what’s worse, what if she (the other woman now) was there before you?? The horror. Whoa. This means you’ve actually always played second fiddle. You now wonder why he’s with you then? Oh well, you probably know.

So you tell your friends. And your girlfriends, being the loyal blood sisters they are, trash the other woman just as bad as you do. You just sent them to hell. Your Ya-ya sisterhood is tainted with despicable cheapness.

When really, she, is nothing but an innocent soul.

While your boyfriend is a brazen, brainless, ball-less son-of-a…well…female dog.

And you are just simply, thick. Dim-witted.

Bitch.  

We cannot be like this, we fight well but we have to fight for the right reasons. Good, solid reasons. Otherwise, its just a shame. It’s a waste of an inherent advantage.

I am conceptualizing this shoot called Threesome. One of the people I have requested d to model asked me if it’s in anyway like the concept for Sean John (P Diddy) fragrances. No, its not its going to be more vague, and the only thing erotic about it is….;) Let’s not spoil it.

Anyway, just to be sure, I checked the site. What struck me was this — the fragrance is called Unforgivable and tag — Life without passion is unforgivable.

It’s simple, it’s cocky, it’s sweet. And for me, a bit unexpected.

Hah! What do you know?

Sagacity, Puff style.

Justice is a weird concept, and whether we should long for it or not, I am not very sure. There’s a very thin line between being fair and being vindictive. I am not pompous enough to say I know much about imparting justice. The kind of justice some people need to be able to finally forget hurting. Nor do I know the pleasure of holding the whip and lashing at someone who in my head, I believe has wronged me — if I claim to be okay and happy with my life. Besides I hate self-righteous people with a passion (of 3 bitches in heat). Especially the ones who easily forget that they wear tattered reputations under their pretentious cloaks of honor (believe me, bitch fits are never glamorous, and they never make the right point).

 

What I know and understand is Pareto efficiency and I think it should be the basic principle of forgiveness and moving on.

 

Given a set of alternative allocations and a set of individuals, a movement from one allocation to another that can make at least one individual better off, without making any other individual worse off, is called a Pareto improvement or Pareto optimization (source: Wikipedia)

 

I think we should all try to be that individual that though not the one made better off will try until our noses bleed to not at all feel worse off from a movement. From a change. Treat it like it was a charitable deed, maybe the person who is made better off needs it more than you, or better (or worse, depends on your perspective), deserves it more than you. This movement is a step forward towards growth and well, it’s like coming down from a high that was never good for you. Or a high that was never good. Period.

 

If you see yourself ending up somewhere you like at least, there should be no more bitter pill to swallow. Especially when you know that the direction to which you are heading has always been the less empty one, and the point where you came from will never give you the peace and the esteem that is rightfully ours.

 

After you have moved in on the situation and moved on towards something else, as time passes, you notice that those who have wronged you are still conspicuously drowning in guilt and brazenly manifesting it. Or maybe they are gloating at the fact that you felt a small tragedy with your loss, but then who gives a rat’s rump? That’s when you can quietly smile, look up and say a quick thank you to the heavens for sending the muses to inspire you to love yourself first and get a move on. You laugh at the prank that the Fates have played on you because you now appreciate that the funny thing about justice is that most of the time – it’s free.

 

I’m still not fatalistic and still not the type to say that something absolutely out of my control directed me to where I am now, but I, for some reason succumb to the truism – things fall nicely into place if malice was never in your heart.

 

An allocation of resources is Pareto efficient or Pareto optimal when no further Pareto improvements can be made.

 

You will know when that happens, and you will appreciate, gumption, finally.

 

Much of the content is directed to a friend of mine who is undergoing a wonderful change in her life, she deserves it.

 

I adore gay people and I love the lingo. I used to speak it, now I don’t remember much. Last night I read a small dictionary by Louie Cano on Pinoy Pop Queer and started to remember why gay people rule.

 

Katol – mukhang katulong

 

Variables – spare change

Tahong – girl

Hipon – magandang katawan, pangit ang mukha (as in tinatapon ang ulo ng hipon usually)

Spluk – to speak

Shurely Fuentes – sure

Joana – flat chestd (dyoga, wala na)

Jollibee – dyogang mailbag

Jaguar – guardiya

Bill Clinton – restaurant bill

 

Etc etc. Yun na.

Warsaw, Easter 2007

W and his dad

It’s appalling how similar we are to our parents whether or not we try to be, whether or not we’ve spent our whole lives with them. It might be a form of subliminal osmosis. We were in WAW this Easter with W’s dad’s family. His parents have been divorced since he was nine, right before the Velvet revolution and the time he moved to PRG with his mom. He has lived with his mother for most of his young life and all of his young adult period, until he met me. That probably explains his astounding way of connecting with a woman in a relationship; sometimes he has a more respectable intuition than me. Like kids of divorced parents he spent time with both parents separately and missed out much of it with his dad. It made me wonder if he has any bitterness in his life because of this before, but he told me simply, that he has never been wanting for love from either of his parents and he still considers himself lucky. 

Both W’s best friends have babies now. One is six months old and the other is yet to be born. Mateusz’s and Anya’s daughter is simply delightful, you always have this feeling that she wants to blurt something out but at the last minute decided not to. Her face shows every little emotion she can contain in her tiny breast - farting, taking a dump, hunger. Then finishes off with arms stretched in the most adorable “ahhh-ggooo”. It’s not even a word but I well up every effin’ time she says it.

W came to me in the kitchen and said, ‘Can you believe that after all these years of being so independent minded, peer pressure is finally affecting me. Now. At 27. Do you think we should give in to expectations this time? (smirking, seeing that I have my mouth unconsciously open)’.

‘Give me four maybe five more years, and…’

He gave me hug. ‘You look like someone who’s not able to pay her mortgage this month, praying for time’. 

- Jan (W’s little brother) and I won against W, 6-4 in football.

- Walking in the forest with the kids

- Fixing the fireplace and keeping fire at the guest flat where we stayed in.

- Time turning ever so slowly.

- W changing a flat tire with 20 shots of vodka in his blood when I encountered what looked like a shrapnel while I drive us to a friend’s place

- The Polish Easter tradition – blessing of Easter food and eating all day on Sunday.

- The Holy Sacrament guarded by firemen.

- Family. Even if I’m far away from my most loved ones.

Bits, pieces and one-liners

- It’s funny how PRG looks a lot more beautiful now that I know of the big possibility that I’m moving out and into a new position in another country.

-          PRG has taken me in, loved me and created the most hilarious yet most beautiful twists and jokes so far in my life.

- I’m still doing at least a couple of months of teaching this spring. Fate is not as nice to those poor people who’ll be hearing me bluff about economics in business; all I’m going to tell them is assume, follow your gut and never assume that heads cannot roll.

- I hate myself for not coming home again. I know other people hate me out there too, I can’t blame them. Unfortunately things did not fall into place as I planned; I’m still fighting to at least be at my high school reunion.

- I adore my two girls here so much – Rina and Elaine – I have to say thank you for reminding me that a good night out (which is equivalent to a wonderful dinner, two bars, several cocktails and non-stop laughter below the Tine) will always be better than a collagen faux fix at getting you to stay young.

- Paul Oakenfold made me high with nothing but my own endorphins and Judge Jules blew my mind. Paul’s set on Saturday was great but something we predicted, Judge Jules’ though was the one that made me pour my redbull and vodka drink all over arm because I plead temporary insanity. You can see how much he enjoyed doing his set, the standard 7 minutes progressive and then a trance break was a fulfillment of expectations. That and what followed really made my night.

- Wojtek’s mom’s 60^th birthday celebration was filled with a lot of older people, great live music – piano, guitar and accordion and good food even if W was repeatedly sneezing beside me.

- I’m in WAW again thinking of getting room service and… tomorrow. I left W with meds, a cold towel on his head and lemon and tea.