Storms and Blackouts

With no electricity and no access to social media, the one good thing that the recent storm contributed to the life of a good friend, is that it got so boring it got her thinking about her life in general.

“Am I a badass chick? So I don’t deserve some good, serious man?” she asked.

Yes she’s she is badass. Yes, there is no denying the fact the she is actually IT, personified. But her second question hit something close to home. It got me thinking, if you have done a lot of fuckery in your past, are you not worthy of any good shit in the future?

As kids we were thought of the concept of heaven/hell and reward/punishment. If you do good, then you go to heaven. If you do bad, you go to heaven hell.

Then how do you explain good girls falling for bad boys and good boys jerking off for bad girls? Or that devil friend of yours who still hasn’t gotten any bad karma despite of being, as everyone knows, the devil.

And you know the Philippines is fucked when after more than, I don’t know, a freaking long time now, that the perpetrators of the Maguindano Massacre still hasn’t been punished.

We are all fucked. By society. By media. By the producers who rigs your favorite reality show. By the casters who cut you early in the audition. By your one true love who you still think is your one true love in spite of all the blinding flash of the obvious. By the Mayan Calendar… We are all fucked.

This whole Bopha superstorm shall pass like some midterms you didn’t study for. There will be loss. There will be collateral damages. But there will be good things that will spring out because of this. Like the picture, everyone is waiting for; the proof that a friend really has ingrained the goal of remaining beautiful in times of distress. (Rianne we're waiting...)

It may sound jovial, but isn’t that what we Filipinos have been known for?

What I like bad things happening is that when everything has settled, good thing ensues. Last year’s Sendong brought out the heroes in everyone. We are now a close-knit community more than ever.

So back to my friend. She’s been through worse than a superstorm of a year these past eleven months. And had quite a number of blackouts (oh yeah). For some time I thought she hits rock bottom until she hits a new low again and again and again.

I never judged and I never imposed my beliefs. It would be hypocritical of me anyways since I was never the good boy in people’s high moral standards.

And maybe, that’s what should friends do. Instead of being a self-righteous prick, why can’t you just be a friend for once? Help not because there are cameras but because it is what you ought to do. Like helping a drunk friend walk on his way home, you too, will stumble. But that is something you can just laugh about.

So does she not deserve a good, serious man?

Well, I say, everyone deserves to be happy. Why settle for serious when you can have fun?

And we really should have blackouts more often.

Scenrealt's Guide to Weeding Out Sucky Friends

"Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you 

should hold on. " -Baz Luhrmann

The truth of the matter is we no longer have time for friends as much as we used to. That’s the price of being in your 20's. People just moved on… prolly to somewhere better or to someplace wherein you are just not a part of anymore. And either they’re busy, or you are, reasons as to why your siblings from another mother just couldn't have the time to have reckless abandon duties with their college partner in crime just pile up. Mostly because of work, then work, and work. Add different geographical locations to the equation, then comes another episode of In Your 20’s.

So if this is really a part of growing up, which part of this doesn't suck?

*crickets chirping

Yeah it got me thinking too.  I can’t really think of any good reason why it is not a sucky time of our lives at all.

If losing friends is really inevitable, who are the one’s we should keep and who to write off? One would assume that after two decades of existence, most of us have been calibrated on who’s in or who’s out.

The people you went to jail with, IN. The person who got you out of jail, IN. The reason for that jail time, OUT. The person who has the all the stash connections, IN. People who are gonna be huge someday, OU-er IN. The most loyal minion in the world, IN. The bar owner, IN. The person to be most likely hated by the jury, IN.

Weeding out is tricky, you say? It sure is. But I've made a list of some species I’m planning to eradicate.

Tall-tale Teddy

I’m dead sure that if there’s anyone I would weed out right now, it’s those people who until now, at this age, tell tall tales just to impress everyone. Friendship that is not based on substance isn't friendship at all. Then what do you make out of friendship that is based on lies?

Simply put, we don’t couldn't care less about how your vagina can open a coke bottle. Because as friends, we already know what your koo-kaa is capable of. We know a lie whenever we hear one.

Needy Norman

They reach out to you whenever ONLY they need something. The minute they start PMing, DMing, texting after a long time of no communication means they need something. I’m like, seriously?

I’m not Santa. And I’m not fucking rich. I’m not gonna help out anyone who only remembers me when the need arrives.

Some friends are just there for the booze but not for the sobriety. They’re the ones that leave you cold when you’re sober.

Unreachable Udale

There will always be people that aren't good in keeping in touch. They don’t do social media. They don’t do phones. And we accept that.

But then there are just a bunch of airheads that think are just waaaay better than you. Better jobs; higher education; These are the things the got into their heads and swelled it.

Most of the time, they are the insecure schmucks that yearns for acceptance by the people they deem cool. High school was awful for them, most likely. And they spent half their lives hating on people who had it better. But what they fail to realize is that they will always be misfits looking in. Unless, they get over the fact that, yes high school was torture like what everyone else had, then there’s no way of getting them have their feet back into the ground.

Hypocrite Hector

Ever had someone ask you how you’re doing and it didn't feel genuine at all? That. These are the “friends” that check up on you because they want to affirm that they are faring better. Come on, this isn't a competition. If you can’t be happy for another person’s success, then just curl up and die.

In your 20’s, there comes a point in time when you realize who your friends are; who makes the effort... and those who are worthy of those efforts. Things aren't gonna be what it used to be anymore. People grow and people grow apart.

Gone are the times when after class hangouts happen. Whatever your definition of hangout was.

If you still think, it’s that sucky. Think of it this way, at least at this stage in life, we already know who’ll stick with us for a very very long time.

That Gap Year

I partied hard last new year’s eve.

Perhaps it was just my way of saying goodbye to the gap year I took before I actually started taking life a little seriously (do not question). It was all planned. Whether I liked my job that time or not, I was deadset on just going home, don that white uniform, look good in it, and live miserably thinking what could have been had I not chicken out on some job opportunity Communication graduates would swore their life for.

But no, it did happen. Things happen. People take a stopover in Cebu and suddenly everything falls wayward to the side. Suddenly I got the backpacking bug. Suddenly it seemed I lost any form of logic. And momentarily I was lured into some crazy ride. And a whole lotta crazy I did.

Nothing’s gonna knock this boy down.

Out of the blue, I got this message from a classmate I never had any form of communications with whatsoever for ages asking me “what happened to you?”

I was like, “yeah what happened me?” Have I done something wrong? Did I just kill someone with my awesomeness? Have I just gotten more awesome than I already am? Should I go to prison? I’m guilty as charged.

Problem with today’s society is we’re so caught up with the images we see in social media, we couldn’t get past superficiality. If she’s hot, confirm. If not, maybe next time. Admit it, facebook has turned us more superficial than we already are.

As my good friend once said, “We are just a good as our surface value. As the name goes, facebook; face”

I’m hella positive for real. I’m all good.

Contrary to popular belief, I have a friggin’ job people. Yes a friggin’ job… which actually requires me to look dapper as Don Drapper. Weekends though, is another story.

So just save all that worry. Believe me, it’ll do you much good especially on those lines on your forehead. If you’re just gonna express concern with the way you think my life should be going, just… don’t. If I wanted to live your life, then I should have already modeled mine with perfection also known as your life. Because how I see it, if your life is really that perfect, then how on earth did you find time to check on what’s happening in mine.

Who says I’m on a downward spiral? I’m having fun.

And why are you on facebook 24/7?

I’m trying to get a hold on this. And I mean it.

Days after the New Year, I shaved my head, packed my bags, got myself a new job and moved on to another place.

Seven months later, here I am now having a thought vomit while raping the replay button of No Doubt’s “Settle Down” on Vevo. If this were the 90’s, I would have watched it on MTV.  Then again, change had always been inevitable.

Before I know it, I may no longer be the free spirit I once was.

My friend once try to scare me with the thought that someday I’ll wake up and see a fat fuck staring back in the mirror. Yeah, we’ll see about that.  If Gwen, Tony and the gang can preserve youth… so should everyone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWDxZJ4zinw

So when a gap year ends really? Maybe now or I dunno. But seriously, why does fun have to stop?

Get get get in line and settle down. Riiiiiiight.

The Bitch, The Cunt and The Ho

Lenore: Although we sell dick and not cars. We can learn a lot from Diego Rivera. Notice the workers. Clearly their jobs are depressing. They work for so many hours for too little pay. And they have to wear unattractive overalls.

Tanya: Actually Lenore. The workers are meant to be the heroes of this mural.

Lenore: No Tanya. When I look with a modern eye, I see someone like Ray, teaching history year after year to ungrateful kids. Or maybe that’s you Tanya at Wagner and Finch, in a washed out yellow jumpsuit.

-Hung

***

Much is to be said about growing up. First, it sucks. Second, it just plainly sucks: Youth and vigor, gone. Awesomeness, diminished. Sharpness, ugh. Don’t let me start on this one. Dude you are bound to become a thicker plank by the minute. I couldn’t even recall who MTV Asia’s January 1999 Artist of The Month was anymore. I used to be good at this shit. Is it Michael Learns to Rock? Fuck. And that’s coming from me, who is not yet even 21. ish.

If you look in the mirror and you are no longer look like a gangly teen with a humungous head, then you, my friend are an adult.

Probably with no job, or with a crappy job, or even with a job, it’s all the same; Adulthood is one bitch who would screw you over like an extended summer without cash. Yes, could it be any more heartbreaking? Just done with graduation and you’re cash-strapped, Two words: Social. Suicide. But hey if it’s any consolation, it just wasn’t your social life who went dormant like The Stroke’s career. Everyone else’s had too.

And when time comes that you actually rise above that conundrum, adulthood could take in a form of a cunt. Yes, that C word you wouldn’t dare calling a Jersey girl with. And yes, like that boss of yours from that crappy job who think she’s all that. In fact she could be some rude condescending little pig who would treat anyone with intentionally messy hair with disgust. Oops, my story. Besides, I wasn’t there to impress her. Who would?! And mind you, my bedhead was sexy. It just wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. I would have made my brother from another mother Kurt Cobain proud.

Simply put, adulthood is one ho you just have to deal with whether you like it or not. It’s what you make out of it that actually matters. Would you rather play the victim card and let yourself be railroaded, or do the reverse cowgirl with some helicopter to that word you dread to hear when used in a serious context (and not the dirty kind)?

These past few weeks, from my new job which 60% of the time I think is a blast, I’ve had to deal with people I would never want to have anything to do with. When they start doing that thing they do, I just remind myself that some people were unloved as kids that they have take out their insecurities and frustrations on anyone who looks and is doing good. Like, dafuq? Seriously? That in itself is quite comforting,

Hey did I just sound like an adult but not quite? It’s getting there. I know I’m a piece of work.

So next time, when you look in the mirror and you see a bit of grey hair and fine lines, that my friend is a sign of growing old. Adulthood, is such a big word that everyone has their personal take on it. It would be a shame to contain it in a certain box.

It’s just like how Love Marie Ongpauco, the eternal crush, groped for words to describe why she likes The Calling’s “Stigmatized”.

“It’s like, you know. Basta”

Wow. It took me a decade to realize that it was a pure genius moment happening before my very eye.

***

Ray: Can we get to the point?

Lenore: Glance to the top. You see that doughy Asian person and that manish woman holding rocks? That – those fat people could be us. If we can change our way of operating, I believe there’s a place for us in the mountains.

Ray: What about these clenched hands?

Lenore: To me that represents fisting Ray.

I Invented Post-its

If you’re ready to throw in the towel, can you at least say that, as a living organism, you've ‘made it’?

“And until you told me that our lives weren’t good enough, I thought everything since high school was a blast…”

-Michelle Weinberger, Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion

In one of those exchanges of cerebral inputs, I found myself shocked to discover that, despite his achievements he collected through the years, my friend still thinks life has overcome him. Over Rum shots, another buddy, fessed up his frustration towards still not making it. And by that, I truly think he’s referring to some sort of a Kurt Cobainish kind of thing. You know, wherein he’s supposed to achieve rock cult superstardom and just die. God forbid.

But what exactly does making it means?

I made it through college despite being myself. That in itself is worthy of a celebration. Ramona made it through Turkey despite security. She even made it through life despite looking like a boy. With humongously big bones (redundancy needed). And that hobo man from across the street made it through the rain last night. In fact, he’s still making it, dirty disheveled clothing/messy surfie hair and all, as we speak.

This got me thinking, if the proverbial making it has turned itself into being more than just a fad; has our generation just found itself in an era in which dreams are supposed to be within reach but not? Have we become deludanoids?

Tone deafs are auditioning in almost all singing competitions. Self-explanatory.

Everyone tag themselves ‘models’. Uh no hon, maybe someday when you can finally work on your height, or angles… or face.

Anyone who’s got a fancy camera label themselves ‘photogs’. Then quit using that auto function for chrisfuckingsakes!

Even people who graduated from some token far-flung branches/’sister’ (yeah right) schools of certain colleges develop that audacity to say that they went to this school and that. I say ‘UP Diliman is UP Diliman. And UP Los Baños is UP Los Baños. And whatever UP system you’re from, that’s where YOU’RE from. Don’t push it..”

Blame it on American Idol. Seriously, do we really want to put ourselves in the company of William Hung, Bikini Girl, and Tatiana Del Toro?

My point exactly.

Then why is everyone so caught up in making it big and measure up to great expectations?

Romy and Michele went to their 10-year high school reunion claiming they invented Post Its. Romy was a cashier. Michele was unemployed. And until Romy told Michele, that their lives weren’t good enough, Michele thought life since high school was a blast.

So who gives a flying fuck with what everyone thinks? Beavis and Butthead, I saw them recently, and they seem happy and content watching tv and making fun of Jersey shore. Now, would we really want to be labeled as that bloke who really tried so hard to make it and didn’t that he killed himself or that funny guy who made it in life having fun?

Because at the end of the day, it all boils down to what having ‘made it’ means for you.

Staying Too Close To the Sun

What about Icarus? He had a lot of that hubris. Daddy warned him not to fly too close to the sun coz that was territory reserved for the Gods. But he paid big daddy no mind and ended up frying like a hush puppy.

-Mary Cherry

IT was a match made in heaven. Mere mortal snagging up one one heck of a sex goddess. How lucky can he get? Slamming body, check. Bangable, double check. Nothing could ever go wrong with the juxtaposition of the two parallel worlds right?

Well, that’s what Andrew (not his real name) thought at the time. The shagging was incredible, that’s all that mattered. “Never minded the hating,” he says. For all he cared, he had every man’s dream by his side. And he was, in all positions, happy.

Then the hating never stopped.

Why is she dating him? Has she gone blind?

She’s just far too pretty for that guy.

And well yes, for some time, they managed to survived the scrutiny the eyeing public. Then broke up. Hooked up again. Then broke up again. God knows what they are now.

It seems that, it all boils down to this; After centuries of questioning the norm and courting the public, from Ric Ocasek & the perfect specimen that is Paulina to Sam Ronson and the ambiguous in terms of choosing which team to bat for, Firecrotch LiLo, the world is still not at ease with interfacial relationships.

Word is, you better stick to your own kind. And not aspire for something greater.

But can’t a person just try to switch it up a bit?

“It depends,” Mary (not her real name) says. “…on what kind of switching you’re referring to. Personally I abhor any person trying too hard to rub it on everyone he’s better than everyone else intellectually, coz most of the time, he’s not.”

Tell me more about it.

Oh I know that story. I’ve encountered that kind of mortals before. You know, people who don’t have anything else going for them that they’ve reduced themselves into just proving their intellectual worth which most of the time just backfires anyway. Unintentionally, that redflag just shows itself up, along with their shortcomings. The more they try too hard, the more everyone’s gonna feel sorry for them.

Weren’t they hugged enough as a kids that the only thing their good at is alienating people?

But shouldn’t we commend people for reaching higher intellectual heights?

Not if they’re immature, callow, know-it-alls. I’ve met far smarter individuals whose IQ scores are something I could just dream of having, and they don’t go out of their way to show everyone how rocket science is just a piece of cake.

At the end of the day, if a person is smart like he say he is, he needn’t shout it out to the world. If you’re one, then you’re one.

In ancient Greece, overestimation of one’s own competence and capabilities was a crime. The very act of hubris would lead to one’s disembowelment or something. Like, something more tragic and gory. I’m thinking, Saw. And actually laughing at the thought.

I'm pretty sure loving someone way higher in the hotness meter scale isn’t a crime. But it sure does inspire cluster headaches from haters, rivals, and the judging eyes of world. That in itself is, I believe, enough punishment from the gods already. But who wouldn’t want to hook up with a supermodel anyway?

Back to those trying hard to be smart mortals, word of advice; we all know what happens to the flies that get too close to the light right? Most of the time, electrocuted.

Stuck on You.

When everyone else has moved on, why haven't you?

Let’s lay out all the facts. For whatever reason you messed up, grew apart, called it quits or just couldn’t do that “long distance thing”. Bottomline is, you broke up. Moving on just as easy as 1,2,3 right?

Well for Blanca (not her real name) it isn’t. It’s been 8 months and she’s still hasn’t get past over that stage wherein you have to either have to get drunk and hook up with some random person in the bar or wallow for an entire weekend. Yes, she’s been wallowing that long.

“I missed the bus” she says, referring to why she’s still stuck on to the past. “And I don’t have a ticket for the train… and yeah, I sound like a burned out emotional mess.”

It got me wondering, where in the world were her so-called friends when she needed to get drunk?

It actually takes Adele’s 21 a 48:12 of runtime to get her point across that yes, she’s mad as hell she could kill from the break up (Rolling in the deep) to she’s finally gotten over it (Someone Like You). And even less if you choose to play just the two tracks respectively. A frigging 48:12, that’s all it takes, but why does it feel like your quitting alcohol? It’s better said than done.

“It’s far worse that you can imagine,” says Jay (not his real name), another wedged soul in the purgatory. “Especially when mind gaming comes into play, it’s like, ‘can somebody pass me that mind condom?’ sorta thing. Getting mind fucked has got to be the worst feeling in the world ‘cause you’re just totally confused.”

Jay actually, as of recently, did that drastic move of moving to another geographical location thinking starting anew would leave certain things behind.

“Dude so how’s that working for you so far?” I ask.

“It’s cool man. Everything’s just kinda falling to where it should…”

“And well?”

“Well, there will be things once in a while… and it’s a process”

“And?”

“Well… FCUK! I still think why head-screw when you can just screw?! Sucks man. Sucks that I had to leave but I just couldn’t stay... [it] just isn’t healthy anymore for me”

Hahaha! Now were talking.

Jay is a living testimony that no matter the gargantuan amount of booze you devour, it still isn’t enough to blot certain things sway. He was a boozehound, probably still is, and yet for him, some things are gonna be so hard to forget that he had to leave. So much for having a penchant for the physical and not the emotional.

Then you ask, all these pain, the drama, aren’t all these just well… self-inflicted? Bad situations need serious coping. Throw in the masochistic tendency, then you get perfect human samples to to future 'remember the time when ' jokes.

It may not be funny now, but it will be for them, when they finally cross that line.

Another noteworthy fact is that Blanca and Jay are on the opposite poles of the spectrum. One had to wallow while the other, boozed for months, and yet none of the two ways actually worked. In that case, what would then be the best route to get to that other side?

Jay took the boat. Maybe Blanca should too… And perhaps while she's on it, she should listen to 21 as well.

Clitoral Thinking

Like most Filipina of her generation, Olive (not her real name), 20ish, knows good sex, and would rather not talk about it. It’s a Pinay thing. But unlike most supposed to be sexually “active” Pinays, as of recently, here’s the sitch; she just wasn’t getting any.

07:05:12 am

jaime..

02:39:16 pm

jaime, I did s0mething realy crazy.

02:43:50 pm

hahaha. threes0me..

Oh no she didn’t but oh yes she just did. She was finally getting some again. I woke up, browsed through my phone and holy schmoly, Olive just had her first threesome.

03:02:58 pm

I felt a hint of guilt… but d idea of threes0me, n0t a single bit..

Geez Olive, I could really feel your devastation. I would’ve thrown her a party

Why of course, a story is only as interesting as its details. Why and how it happened, let’s just say she and the other party felt a connection she haven’t felt in a long long time. Okay, horny. And the third wheel just happened to be there, what supposed to be the lone audience to their execution of carnal hunger, decided to join in on the fun. That brings a whole new meaning to audience participation.

Having been told vividly and horridly the straight out of porn shenanigan, especially from a female perspective, it got me thinking. Could it be that the clit is the new cock?

Venus (not her real name) was a girl I met from one of those “research” on nightly dispatches at college watering holes. When got so hammered by rhum, she told me that guys she’s recently been with, literally ran off, running for their life just because they couldn’t keep up with her. At first I thought she was joking. Turned out she wasn’t.

After a few more meet ups, and getting even more hammered than the last, she wound up confessing she haven’t had orgasm for ages. In my mind, images of Linda Lovelace from Deep Throat, the movie about a girl discovering her clit is on her throat, played in slow mo. But let’s be serious. It couldn’t be, now could it?

“Jaime, remember that guy who came up to me earlier?” Venus says. “He’s the guy who ran off. Pussy.” From then on, I knew that the smartest thing a guy should do in the midst of Venus, when everyone calls it a night, is to just go home. Alone.

If our boy-parts heads below gets rushes of blood from time to time, so does its female counterpart. When it comes to classifying Venus, she’s not a sex machine, she’s a flytrap. (Just a fleeting thought; Wouldn’t it be rad though that after doing Venus, and you did good, got her toes curling, you get a shirt saying “I survived Venus Flytrap. And lived to tell the story…”) But certain things need certain machines for drilling. Thou shall not bite more than you can chew. If your tools aint tuned up, then you might just want to fahgettaboutit.

She comes with a warning. Enter at your own risk. Proceed with caution.

It’s amazing how some modern Filipinas are these days. I encountered a skank once, next thing I know, she’s critiquing my art. Secretly I cried foul, because that’s what us guys are, dicks with humongous egos. More than that, I figured it was inappropriate for someone known as their college whore critiquing my works when the only thing she’s known for is being the entire college’s lay. Go back to your usual corner whore of Babylon.

And so I asked Mikky (not her real name), a recent explorer of the non-virgin territory, if there is some sort of truth to my theory. “saba oi! Buang,” she texts “beat the heat :3”. Translation: “Yes Jaime we are just horndogs as you guys.” Don’t you just hate it when girls have to code-speak. It makes us guys to put on that extra effort to decipher simple things like a yes or no. Like every Filipina, does she really have to give some indirect affirmation? But at least I got my yes.

Yes generations do change. With the exception of a classmate back in sophomore year, I haven’t seen a girl in a long skirt and long-sleeves in ages. Thank heavens for that! And while some are for the better like Olive who would act out smut scenes from time to time, then comes in a curveball like a stuck up whore who has to just have to have a say in everything. Venus the flytrap is debatable.

I remember telling Olive what she did was perfectly normal and it’s just one of those things she’ll think fondly of when she’s all wrinkly and stuff and hopefully still getting some action… that back in the days, when being drunk leads to doing the nasty, she was getting some, like crazy.

03:10:53 pm

ma0 gyud! hehehe. it was just one weird drunk nyt. Hehe

You're A Pussy

After decades and decades of instilling in our pop-culture subconscious that rock–hard abs and even harder guts gets all the glory, have we failed what Rocky and Rambo?

Three months ago, things weren't going well for my friend Will (not his real name). Mastering the art of slactivism to its purest form and embodying doucheness in its truest sense, he was leading what seemed to be the road towards possible perdition when he accidentally broke it off with his girlfriend… a day before valentines.

You’re thinking, a total jerk-off right? I mean, who does that?

But let’s cut the guy some slack and give him the benefit of the doubt that there is deeper reason on why he had to call it quits on what his girlfriend would consider as the most important day in February, aside from the premiere of what would then be a badly-acted, poorly-received Machete. Like, she wasn’t flexible enough or she wasn’t as enthusiastic in giving head as he was on going down on her or she’s just plain lousy. Whatever his reason was, I’m sure there was one… or two.

So it came off as a surprise, well, actually no, when his text message reads “Yawa k.hilak ko blue valentine. I’m afraid of this fuckd up shit bai.” I was like, dude, seriously? Who would ever cry to Blue Valentine? Was it because of the mere sight of Michelle William’s cute white ass or was it because of the beauty that was Michelle William’s cute white ass? I could not think of any other reason.

“I feel s0ry f0r myself f0r being so dumbass fuckng in l0ve… Sakit bei. Di ko ksab0t…I l0ve d girl so much nd there’s n0thing that I can do but to just suck it up,” he continues.

Wait, isn’t this supposed to be Will, my friend, the jerk-off who dumped his girlfriend, a day before Valentines?

I’m thinking, what a pussy.

Episodes like Will’s have been infecting my friends lately like it’s some kind of epidemic. Take John (not his real name), for instance, 23 years young, intelligence off the scale, and currently enrolled at a graduate school. In other words, nerd… In recent years, he was making a name for himself, appearing in local dailies and getting recognition, calling himself a semi-celebrity, shit like that. Last year he topped a licensure exam.

Is there anything this wonder boy couldn’t do, you ask? Us, friends of his know better. But let’s just leave it at that.

“Say dude, theoretically, if bigwig comes up to you and asksyou to consider working as a segment producer for a certain show you’re a big fan of, would you consider?” I ask.

“I don’t know what a segment producer does, but I know I’m gonna be good at it,” he replies.

You’re thinking, dick right? Apparently humility is something he’s really good at.

The harrowingly fine line between confidence and cockiness can be really tricky and, obviously, despite his immensely high IQ, the guy’s not fully aware. But then again, why should he when he can effortlessly just, as Beyonce puts it, back it up? Simply put, Kanye can be *coughs dick what he is because he is Kanye.

But brilliance has its price. When you’re at a point in your life wherein you’re young, so full of promise, got virtuosity written all over you, how can you top yourself when you already set the standard yourself?

It was during one of those times he chats me up on facebook, asks me what I was up to and I tell him “Nah, same old same old” and he then tells me how my life sucks… when it was pretty obvious he was envious of the flippancy I had towards life simply because I was drunkenly having fun. He was not.

“I think my life has overcome me… Sure I was making things but that wasn’t what I just wanted to be...” he whines.

Wait, isn’t this supposed to be my friend, John, the huge ego who, whether we like it or not, had every right to be one, the Renaissance man whose bravura I respected so much, and the guy who makes his batch mates secretly feel what we’re doing must not be enough?

Again, pussy.

For Jaime (his meddle name), a badass bonito dork who spends his day contemplating for world domination, got himself what he calls the chance of a lifetime; the big break he rightfully deserves; and, most importantly, every haters worst nightmare.

”Jaime! Asan ka na ngayon? I need a segment producer na adik sa survivor for this season,” Daniel (not his real name), the big boss, offers.

OMG, right?

He neither confirmed nor denied this, but knowing how big of a fan he is of the show, I’m pretty sure his lacrimal glands provided more than the needed eye lubrication the minute he got the message.

But for some reason he didn’t want to elaborate, the last time I checked on the ultimate fanboy, he said he’s no longer going. At least for now.

But wait, isn’t this supposed to be the Jaime, the pinnacle of hot dorkiness, the perfect combination of wit, humor and looks, and the self-obsessed Survivor god, not pursuing his dreams of world domination and unrequited behind-the-scenes stardom?

Another pussy?

The proofs are unsettling; the crying; the complaining; the confessing. Are we a bunch of pussies? Whatever happened to ballsville? Most importantly, where have all the balls gone?

After decades and decades of instilling in our pop-culture subconscious that rock –hard abs and even harder guts gets all the glory, have we, especially the male populace, failed what Rocky and Rambo fought for in those movies?

But then again, you ask who? Exactly.

In a time where Green Lantern’s sidekick gets to kick more ass, Ryan Gosling is some kind of a rockstar, and girls love ‘em Edwards and not Draculas, is there even a room for brainless machismo?

As for Will, he’s hopeless. Unless he moderates on those chick-flick fares, and start on that Entourage season 7 marathon I encouraged him to do, he’ll forever be a wuss, crying about some stupid movie and his love life when he ought to have been having a fun time watching the perfection that is Sasha Grey.

I loved Blue valentine too. But mainly because of the cool end credits.

John should learn how to let loose and Harvey Levin’s philosophy on toilet manners. Sometimes, there’s a room for mistakes here and there. The top is a lonely place to be, especially when you’re alone and alienated everyone else.

I told him once about Sasha’s life, how she waited tables, saved 7 grand, moved to L.A. and became the star that she is now. She gambled and it paid off well. He believes taking chances are for people who don’t have options. He now complains about his life (or lack of it).

Jaime’s a different breed. On what reasons why he chooses to put his delusions on hold, we may never know. But there’s definitely a reason. Probably a skewed one, but a reason nonetheless.

One thing’s for sure though, he will still try to emulate Hayden Kho (yes, him). At least the good parts.

Of this moment, parts these three guys are maybe without are balls*. It’ll be back in no time. But as of this moment, what good are balls when don’t have a brain? You can’t just go shoot and shoot without aiming.

Besides, to end this discourse, it actually takes balls – huge humongous balls, to admit you ain’t got none.

Disclaimer: Only temporary; Pertains to the hypothetical kind. The men mentioned above are young virile animals that would fulfill your appetite just as any men would do you or even better. Only difference is, they’re smarter than most meat you’ll ever get in this lifetime. So grab a book and get smarter. You might snatch yourself one and get a taste cerebral intercourse heaven, baby.

All Them Haters

To reach for a higher consciousness has always been something I thought I’d get only at or during when that one bottle of Rhum starts kick in and take over the gray matter. C’mon, whether you like to admit it or not, it is only when you’re drunk that you get to avail that luxury to philosophize. Minds meet and collide, all hell breaks lose, and some Dalai Lama takes over your body to connect all that shit to some certain forces we could not fully fathom for we are nothing but just mere human beings in this world.

But then at that drunken moment you think you’re right you couldn’t care less about the world and the heck what’s going on in you’re surroundings because that’s just how it is. You’ve just reached a mental state only a few have achieved so consider yourself lucky. My friend at that very moment you became The Philosopher.

Imagine you and your buddies boozing it, performing meeting of the minds with each shot, and getting numb and high in some intellectual dispatch when suddenly you feel something off. Your synapses are sending messages that something’s just not right. Could it be the Rhum? Or is it just the temperature? Are your pants wet? No. Then what could it possibly be? Ohmmm. Ohmmm. You start to channel John Lennon’s soul from his LSD stoner years. Yes… yes… You get signals… gets a little choppy. Oops, wait, don’t move. It’s getting clearer. And them bam, you realize that that something off, that something’s that’s just not right, that bleep in your radar is no other than that trashbag that had tagged along in that Rhum-sponsored incoherence-inducing cerebral summit. Ladies and gentleman, meet the Hater.

Now isn’t that an introduction.

Chances are you’ve had close encounters kind in one way or another. You probably have dealt with them some time in the past and how you handled the situation leaves so much to be desired. I, even personally believe that the best way to do it is to avoid them like a plague. But then, life’s just like not that. No matter how hard you stay away from and pray for God to get rid of that plague, life has just certain ways to pull a joke on you. Et voila, next thing you know some hater is on your midst.

Once, or thrice I’ve hung out with a certain trashbag who couldn’t really offer anything on the table other than snide comments on things I’m sure she didn’t have at least half the grasp of. She has just got to have opinions on things. Not only that, she had made things worse by talking shit behind my back as if I wouldn’t have noticed. I’m like, “bitch must be craaazzy.” Seriously, who does that? Being the most welcoming person I am in that sacred Rhum watering hole, the guest my friends and I accommodated so well just couldn’t deliver the manners we expected her to have.

They come in all forms and sizes. They could be that now-douchey classmate of yours back in the days who’s now got a really promising (oh puh-lease) future, or that lecturer who considers him/herself so busy and yet has the time to call you out on your tardiness or whatever it is he/she can call you out on for the sake of it, or even that friend of yours you considered a friend. The plague is everywhere. Worst case scenario, it could be that person in your mirror.

Naturally, of course being eternally drunk in the past (I have changed my ways since. Sobriety’s once in a while is cool – my mantra.) I ask how could I not fathom this like how a drunk should understand the connection of the earth’s movement to the stars and whatnot or even just rise above just like what a Dalai Lama ought to do. But then again, intelligent we may think we are when intoxicated I know my IQ’s not 130. I wish it were but then it’s not. I am not a genius. And be like Dalai Lama? LOL. Just LOL.

I maybe wrong on this one but trashbag probably was just crushing on me and was trying to get my attention. Obvious. And that lecturer probably was, too. The rest are nothing but insecure schmucks who, like Kanye, according to Kelly, weren’t hugged enough as kids.

And so I end this with words from a hated person and who recently get bad reps for being just, well, privileged. By that, we mean, a trust fund kid, have loads of cash because of daddy, and now carving a rapping career indirectly because of daddy. Gawker once reported that written on Chet’s social networking page were the words “Keep on hating while I’m celebrating.” Amen to that. Now who wants to hate when we can just celebrate? Stop hate people. And just celebrate yours or other people’ success. Believe me, it does wonders.