I'd like you to meet my boyfriend..

inspired by: http://french-graffiti.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-dont-want-boyfriend.html

I wake up to my phone ringing and I groggily pick up my cell. It's Miguel,calling me first thing in the morning like he always does. Only it's ten am and it's not really that early. He's asking me to have breakfast with him in that roadside place in Pampanga. I laugh and tell him by the time we get there it would be almost dinner. He doesn't believe me but then I remind him of how last week's breakfast trip to Tagaytay turned into merienda by Taal Vista. He insists, saying breakfast is any meal with sunny side up eggs. I agree because who can argue with that logic?

Miguel is a writer for a rival ad agency. He is eons better than I am at this job and I am in constant awe of him. He rolls his eyes at my adulation , saying he could never match my passion. I laugh derisively at this but secretly melt every time he says it. He says his real passion is fiction and I know this to be true. He has a published book of essays and two children's stories. He has Palanca's to show for the latter two. Currently, he is co-writing another short children's story, this time, with me. *heart heart*


Miguel is not only talented and witty and intensely in love with traveling for breakfast, he is also quite the looker. He's very Seth Cohen meets Chuck only cuter. He has a crookedly charming smile and constantly tousled hair. His eyes though are completely incongruent with the whole geek appeal - as they are piercing and intense. At times, he looks at me as if possessed and it sends shivers up my spine. I almost always have to avert my eyes to keep myself from pouncing on his juicy lips - just imagine how awkward a situation it would be if we're at a family brunch or church. It goes without saying that he is a.ma.zing in bed.

He smokes sometimes out of boredom but mostly, he wastes time doing crossword puzzles or reading jokes in Reader's Digest. He can never get me interested in the former but I am all over the latter. Sometimes, we argue about who gets to read the jokes first.

Miguel loves discovering new music. He introduces me to quirky bands he finds on myspace and lastfm and wherever else one finds new bands. But he's far from being a snob. In fact, we are united for a common liking for 90's pop. And we're talking gooey mainstream pop here like Paula Cole, Backstreet Boys and Jessica Simpson.






And of course, we are also united under our common love for the Eheads - heck, we almost met during their reunion concert but we were much too busy shouting our lungs out to notice our possible love of our lives were in our midst.

It's not all roses and sunshine with Miguel, of course. We fight. We argue. We walk away. But we never shout. We never curse. And there are times when even if we are extremely mad at each other, I find we are still holding hands.

Got to wrap this entry up. Miguel just sms-ed. He's downstairs already. Pampanga breakfast here we come! I wonder if I could convince him to go to the Paranaque Dampa for dinner?

Grocery Drama

Today, the day I had to have my passport picture taken, I broke out in hives. So before stepping into the photo booth I stopped by a grocery store to buy water so I could down my meds.

It was all pretty routine until a song played over the P.A. system.

Around five years ago, I saw Shania Twain's video From This Moment playing on MTV and without thinking I giddily reached for my phone and texted my then boyfriend that the song reminded me of him. And he texted back, promising we'd some day march down the aisle to it.


Cut to present day, and the only aisle where that song and I would meet is at the grocery.





Never has a cashier met a sadder shopper.

I am Not Creepy

When I have nothing better to do I spend my time going over every interesting blog, Plurk, Facebook, Tumblr I can find. Google is the awesome enabler of this bad habit as it leads me link to link to link until I realize it's 4 am and I once again have forgotten to sleep. (And I wonder why my skin is riddled with pimples. :P)


It satisfies the voyeur (or more simply the chismosa) in me to be able to peek into other people's lives. You find out things that years of actual friendship may never reveal. And although I never share my piece, it feels as if I was part of a conversation.

Years ago, I found blogging to be a weird concept. It was introduced to me via Livejournal.com and, despite peer pressure, I really did not want to join. I didn't get why I'd want to tell the whole world wide web what I was up to, what I was feeling, what I was enjoying. Journals for me were things that were meant to be secret - anecdotes shared only between writer and page. There seemed to be no sense letting big_daddy2234 join in.



But here I am, years after, the proud owner of several sites. None popular. None followed.
But fame is not the point. It is the pleasure in the probability that someone may read these entries and empathize. And in their own way, listen.

No one can interrupt you as you type away in your blog. Even when limited by 160 characters, all 160 characters are yours. People who choose or stumble upon your site are forced to acknowledge your thoughts. And some of them, if you're lucky or witty or both, will stay long and visit often. And then, even at your loneliest, you're really not alone.

In some Richard Gere movie, it was said that we all need witnesses to our lives. Someone who can definitively say we existed even after we're long gone. And cyberspace has given all of us a greater chance to be remembered.

So you see, I'm not a creepy cyber lurker. I'm really a witness to your life...albeit a silent unknown one. :P



image from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mhatilda/268795316/