One of the salacious observations I've seen in human nature that drives me absolutely livid is how imagination runs amok because of their penchant for cheesmax. [Laos.] Wrongful use of the brainstorm time & unnecessary pooling of brain waves. What should be a simple case of "Ok." becomes a string of [mis]information, awry fishing expeditions resulting in frenzied vooollsheet [with matching ubo].
Astutely sad yet true- Do 9 out of 10 things right and the hoi polloi will fixate on the 1 thing wrong. It's always the minimal misdemeanor that runs free where tongues of fire are concerned. Life's a bloomin' onion sometimes. It just brings tears (laughter/happiness and woe amongst others) to your eyes.
Pro'ly the singular reason why I'm AT peace. Such a real estate cliche'. Location, location, location. Far from wagging tongues- sort of being in a Cast Away-inspired set providing for social interaction at the behest of the lone star. Standard of living so high survival concept couldn't be missed. Money being the harbinger of sustenance and Maslow's Basics comes and goes till it comes again (don't get me started on council tax whingeing), plus character's battery acid has withstood trials to sawa that even recycling won't do. All's well that ends well. I've dealt with my soulitaire cards as I put them down. On my table in my own time on my initiative. I am the boss of me. Twas here that I made ME my numero uno fan.
Late realization that was late but appreciated for its impeccable timing!
. . . . . .
You Rolex...Me Ikepod!
Chatted casually with J today. Of same ethnic throng, but oceans apart in mindset and demeanor. He's the gold diamond studded Rolex and I'm the Ikepod with all the bright and complicated dials. I cater to the niche market. [Right...] I have known this friend for a decade. Hmm...J is a bit of a brag who will claim he can walk his millionnaire talk. I dare not disagree. Flaunt it as you choose (although cooler when you don't.) Anyone would be impressed upon initial ocular inspection of J. I don't mind braggarts as the conversations make for fun tea-time tat. As long as they ain't rude, condescending and matapobre, I can string along. The business savvy of his kind are unparalleled. The angel's in the minute details.
He's 老扳 ［lao ban］（aka C.O.O. =Child Of Owner） of a family-owned agri-business (typical!), wears ONLY designer (di daw sha nagfa-fake), plays golf, wears THE watch and drives THE car and lives THE darn good life. He eats only in expensive restaurants and has probably never had to wash anything but his ass in the entirety of his existence. (It is humbling perspective, isn't it, that no matter what kind of shoes you walk in, you still go to the toilet.) End of the day, dude checks out! That's the prototypical Tsinoy for you. Very familiar stirrings of the prototype I fell for some light years ago. Ouch!
I digress... chat buzz ala J, accompanied by a preoccupation of packing and a glass of red...said he heard that I shall be homebound. "We should see each other." Of course. Who wouldn't want to see all the friendly faces one can muster in a fortnight before brandishing the plane tix that takes me back to Big Ben?
The 90-sec catching up all done, he then starts asking questions about relationships. Ahh. For some unflailing reason, friends think my lovelife is loverly than it really is. If I remember accurately, the last time J & I spoke about this was over beer and chow when I was a rough-and-tumble man-hater with a mission for spewing forgettable expletives unbecoming of a lady.
So Chicken Little fires away.
"Dating anyone?" some.
"Puti?" Some.
"Okay ba?" Ayos lang.
Then a roll on the floor laughter of a smiley. Curious Georgina that I am, I asked why. And the answer-
'ay player ka pa rin'
I just sat back and settled into my packing without replying.
Not furious, frustrated. When these instances occur, I back off.
Five minutes later, there was a melange of explanation with apologies...all of which made things worst. I'm not going to copy and paste a script of Gossip Girl.
All that needs saying is the throng is WRONG, & I am happy I am not there to hear. I don't get upset for myself. But for the people I love, it affects and hurts them.
People can sh*t-talk me and expect a reaction, after my hell and highwater experience, it takes a lot more to get a rise out of me.
I have a manhid gene the size of the Soviet Union. I don't agree with his hasty generalizations, I can abso-F***IN`-lutely see where it all comes from.
Told you. Same throng. I understand the whys and wherefores. It isn't a two-way thing though... I don't think he gets me. But having said that-- mi pièce de résistance is much less digestible...
The conscious choice to becoming fisher-friends of men does not a player make me.
Because I admit, I like men.
I befriend men. I laugh with men. I learn from men. I drink with men. I dine with men. I dance with men. I meet men. I hug men. I flatter men. I think of men (especially men I try not to think about). I listen to men. I kiss men. I manhandle men...
So many activities, and with so many men in sight, why the heaven not? (Devil worshipper ako haha)
In a nutshell, I do menstuff with men. And I am comfortable with that.
Eversince the last torch traveled from Greece to Beijing, I have become a converted (albeit convoluted) man-loving woman.
Sure, I'd been jinxed by a stink of a man, but who hasn't?
My fault was in the lapse of my judgment with a man who i thought was THE man.
I loved someone who had been right in the eyes of many, but so wrong for me.
And the society didn't see what happened behind close doors.
That's what makes judgement so easy to pass and so hard to hold back. Like fart.
And unlike the rest of the femmes in da throng, I am lucky in the sense that I found out early in life as I am settled in the knowledge that my kind wasn't for me. (I think the feeling is mutual.)
Had I not fallen into the traps of youthful sexual fervor (naks!!!), I'd have traversed boundaries earlier on. [At 20, I wanted to go to New York to study by day & bartend by night. hehe...] My mom says what happened with ... was in hindsight, a blessing- because had it not, I would be a drifter as I seem to not have set my sights on slowing down. She worries that I've misplaced my mojo for commitment. She worries, and it is imminent in her advice. I just don't feel the urge to merge. She is dumbfounded that I'm a poster girl for singlehood. I scold and dismiss how daft tradition is mouthing off, talking nonsense. I will commit when I'm ripe for the picking, . Her friendly soothsayer (yes, she has one whom she believes...I kid you not!) has opined that 1 of her daughters will find it a challenge to commit. Tough call.
But all that aside, the man-hating stage is over. It was nothing that time couldn't nix and fix. Leonine women love men and try as I might, I cannot and will not be a man-hater. I cannot be told (or asked) to compromise.
Interplay is not idle play. Interaction is not body action. Intercourse isn't simple sexual coupling. (Apparently Gestalt is in again.) And flirting is a skill that involves banter, laughing out loud and jumpstarting the dura mater into activity + a bloke in the periphery for inspiration. Just how bad is that?
Screwed up, scrubbed down and sewn together again...regardless of the kind is what i meant to say, men are men. And men...like women, are the same. All want to be loved, accepted and showered with affection. Sure- the obvious differences aside that will flame an endless debacle may ensue as to which sex reigns supreme, but the inclination for L&A isn't one of them. The matters of the heart encompass gender juxtaposition and provided you are honest, love can never deny you or be denied by you because ultimately, it catches up with you at some point. It is a human desire you can't avoid. And why would you ever want to?
LIFE IS TOO SHORT TO NOT WANT IT ALL.
But celebrate life whether or not you find him.
As for J and to the rest of our throng- No hard feelings. I feel the oomph! for the first time. I am where I should be.
Welcome to my good life!
