Obsession

It’s been long overdue, but I only had the luxury of time just now to watch the entire first season of Rome. I was able to watch snippets of some episodes on HBO before, but I was surprised at how much they cut out some rather “pleasant” scenes until I watched the DVD.

There were tons of frontal nudity, on both males and females, and I rather found it amusing at how they treated coitus with such nonchalance that it was as casual as eating bread and drinking wine. How I would love to have a mother (or father) to insist on having my first sexual encounter, and pay for it, as on young Octavio’s case. I still can’t quite get over having attendants to wait on you during sex, fanning your, err, fanny. And after Marc Antony came on top of Atia, these servants came rushing as she snapped her fingers and demanded “Water!”.

Anyway, I am lusting after Ray Stevenson, the god who plays Titus Pullo, the brute who willingly fucked Cleopatra, and unknowingly fathered her child (as suggested in the series). “A ferocious lover of life, possessing the courage and loyalty of a warrior, but the morality of a pirate. A man of huge appetites and wild passions. Impulsive, unreflective, optimistic, conceited, generous, and brutal.”

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Whew, my kind of man. He’s exactly what I want. His character in the series, at least.Can anybody play pretend and be Titus Pullo? Well, Ray? Seriously, I’ve never lusted after anyone like this. Not even as close as I did after Clive Owen. He is so fucking hot. Pardon my cussing, but really, Ray as Titus simply sizzles in my book.

Oh, Ray dahling, be the father of my babies! Okay, I can’t have babies. Don your Roman costume and let’s have coitus then!

Of Broken Promises

I noticed that I write between finished accounts and new ones. I simply cannot distract myself during an ongoing project. Perhaps that’s just how I operate. Like a horse.

Lately though, I have been in such a lull that it took me quite some time to snap out of it. Spacing out between meetings, sleeping late, staring at the blank screen, picking on food, no drive at all. I was beginning to be pissed at myself for being unproductive, but no matter how I drag myself from one meeting to another, conduct brainstorming sessions, I still preferred to lay down and sleep. Sure, we do get tired sometimes, and we should allow ourselves to rest for a moment or two, to take a breath and calm ourselves when things don’t pan out the way you wanted it to. When situations or people disappoint us, it takes a while to get over it. Recently, I had a growing share of people promising things but not fulfilling their end of the bargain. I don’t bother going after them anymore. I learned my lesson not to humiliate myself that way. Let them be. Let karma take care of them, I always thought.

When I lost a recent lover to natural circumstances, I was in a state of denial that thinking about him was not an option, and that work was my refuge, even my strength. While most of us succumb to depression, I didn’t. I thought I was done with love, and that I never really loved him anyway; he was just someone who happened to be there. I cannot afford to be weak. Many people depend on me, and I cannot ignore my responsibilities.

I was at a Funeral Home visiting a friend whose father died when I heard a loud wail coming from the other room. I had a phone call to make and stepped outside. A new body was being laid to rest in the other room, and a trail of family members followed the coffin being placed in the room’s center. I proceeded to make the call, and was about to head back when I heard whispers from the old ladies. Suicide. Boyfriend. Young. Seventeen. He left her. Pregnant.

I looked up in their direction and saw a huge portrait of a very young, beautiful girl being set up near the coffin. That’s all I needed to know to make out her story. I felt my knees buckle and my heart swell and before my parents saw me, I rushed to the car and locked myself in and cried.

I cannot be that girl. I am not weak. I am not weak. So he fucked me over. He broke his promise. But who am I to keep him?

I’m not exactly sure if I miss the person; I think I miss the routine more. Of talking until I fall asleep, exhausted, and waking up to find him still there. Of being reminded to take water and Vitamin C’s everyday. Or being sung Happy Birthday to in the middle of the airport terminal before boarding flight, and the weekly bouquet of roses. And because he saw right through me, and fulfilled all my wishes and secret dreams unknowingly, I grew rather fond of him. He took care of me. He really, really took care of me. What I didn’t know was that I was in deeper than I thought I was.

I was prepared for such a loss, always have been. But I never learned to grieve properly. Not until now.

A Guide To Dealing With Men

From Fine Art of Free Speech and Dissent, some ways of letting your man know you’re not in the mood, and that you don’t take no crap either.

One: The word no should be enough. If a woman does not want to have sex, or is uncomfortable doing a sexual act, or doing a sexual act a certain way, or simply not in the mood, the word No should be enough. End of story. If a male continues on with the pressure or merely takes what he wants, those things are coercion and rape, and are punishable by law. But if you find no gets boring or old, or if it is not so much a matter of coercion and rape, well, I suggest the following tactics for dealing with the penis bearing oppressors when they get out of hand. Here are some examples of “unsavory” male behaviors, questions, and criticisms, and suggested ways to combat them. Take note, I have found a great deal of success using these modes of combat in the sexual battlefield.

Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, I would really like to do/try anal sex.”
Upstart female: “Really? Me too! Why don’t you assume the position, I will be right back with the toys and lube / bar of butter and a broom handle. You’re going to want to relax, babe.”

Penis-bearing overlord: “I could really go for a blow job.”
Upstart female: “Then go.”

Penis-bearing overlord: “You know, it would be really hot if you arranged a three way for me with your best friend.”
Upstart female: “What makes you think if Donna and I decided to go at it we would invite you?”

Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, you could stand to lose a little weight.”
Upstart Female: “Considering you’re the one generally on top, you should be the one worried about your figure.”

Penis-bearing overlord: “Honey, you could stand to put on a little weight.”
Upstart Female: “Then fucking learn to cook.”

Penis-bearing overlord: “I wish you had bigger tits.”
Upstart Female: “Well, I wish you had smaller tits and a bigger cock, but I don’t make a big deal about it now, do I?”

Penis-bearing overlord: “You should shave.”
Upstart female: “I’ll get a Brazilian if you will!”

Penis-bearing overlord: “You don’t cook/clean as well as my mom.”
Upstart female: “I am sure I don’t suck dick as well as she does either.”

Penis-bearing overlord: “(insert name of ex here) was much more adventurous in the bedroom than you are.”
Upstart female: “She also cheated/destroyed your credit/gave you herpes/set your clothes on fire/got you evicted/smoked weed 24-7/ rolled your car…but feel free to go back to her if it was that great.”

Now, for actual tactics.

Penis-bearing overlord grabs the back of your head in an attempt to throat-fuck you when you are not down with that: grab a handful of his hair, either in the pubic region or upper thighs. Pull. Hard. Not only will this generally end his erection, but he will understand the meaning of discomfort as you are experiencing it.

Penis-bearing overlord tries to “sneak in the back door” during regular intercourse. Move, quickly. Glare. Grab his unit. Remind him “gently” you are a front door girl only, and if he wants in any door at all, he will not pull that shit again. Also, you might tell him that generally there is preparation that enthusiasts of anal sex engage in prior to having it, things such as enemas, and him trying to fuck you there unprepared could be a very messy, smelly, and disgusting experience. Your potential pain may not strike all that real to him, your shit all over his dick? Very real.

Penis bearing overlord does not heed any of these words or less subtle hints? Stop fucking him! Boot his ass! Move on! Stand up for yourself and walk away. He is just a guy, after all, plenty of them out there if you really feel you need one that badly!

Should the penis bearing overlord not get any of those hints, well, then you can embrace the patriarchal assumption that all women are evil (as the good book says) and insane (as popular culture says) and do something like write “Piss off, I know where you live” in pigs blood on his front door, but make sure not to leave any prints!

So, these are things to remember if a plain old “no” just isn’t good enough for you.

Something Light And Trivial

I tagged myself. It’s contagious. You read another person’s blog, and you feel like doing the same thing too. Happens all the time. Anyway, i can’t help it. So indulge me. 🙂

ABOUT YOURSELF
Eye color: Dark brown
Hair color: Dark Black
Piercing: Two (ears and tongue)
Tattoos: None
Boyfriend/Girlfriend: None. There’s gotta be somebody out there, right?
Overused phrase: Right. (sarcastic tone)

FAVORITES
Food: Italian. Pesto pasta, pizza. Pepper steak. Lays’ (sour cream and onion). Teehee.
Candy: Ritter (white), Truffles
Number: 1
Color: Red. Duh, isn’t it obvious?
Animal: Cats. White ones.
Drink: Diet coke
Alcoholic drink: Vodka
Letter: A
Body part of opposite sex: Loins. Sexxxy.

THIS OR THAT
Pepsi or Coke: Diet Coke
McDonalds or Jollibee: Jollibee hands down.
Strawberry or watermelon: Strawberry
Hot tea or iced tea: Hot peppermint tea
Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate when I need to perk myself up, Vanilla as a base for my experiments.
Hot chocolate or coffee: Hot chocolate
Kiss or hug: Kiss
Dog or cat: CATS hands down
Rap or punk: Punk
Summer or rainy season: Rainy season. I just wanna curl up in bed and feel lazy.
Scary movies or funny movies: Funny. You CANT make me watch scary movies. I’d be covering my eyes the entire time.

YOUR?
Bedtime: 4 am
Most missed memory: Getting stoned and laughing so hard with my three roommates in UPLB.
Best physical feature: Eyes and mouth
First thought after waking up: “Did I win that bag on eBay???”
Goal for this year: Be emotionally stable.
Weakness: My nephew, Matthew, bags, Truffles
Fears: Drowning (cos I don’t know how to swim )

HAVE YOU…
Ever drank: Duh, yeah.
Ever smoked: Occasionally. Trying to quit now.
Ever been drunk: Uh, yeah.
Ever been kissed: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!
Ever been in love: Barely, but yes. I am, indeed, capable of loving.

IN A GUY
Favorite eye color: Blue. Sigh. Wish ko lang. Haha. Anything. Doesn’t matter.
Favorite hair color: Brownish-tawnish
Short or long hair: Bald, long, or cut right.
Height: Above 5’7″
Style: Extremes. I like em rockin’ and I like em clean and smart. No slobs, please.
Looks or personality: Personality, hands down.
Hot or cute: Hotttt. You gotta make me wetttt
Drugs and alcohol: Uhm… hehehe. Don’t make me answer this one.
Muscular or skinny: I hate skinny guys, and I get really uncomfortable with muscular ones. Especially when they start flexing. Oh dear.

RANDOMS:
Number of regrets in the past: 3 (1, my first sexual encounter. wrong choice. 2, academic pursuits. 3, some guy I shouldn’t have hooked up with)
What country do you want to visit: Italy! Santorini, Greece!
How do you want to die: Intoxicated, knocked out, or in a coma.
Do you like thunderstorms: No
Health freak: Yes. I’m being careful now. Somebody taught me to take Vitamin C and lots of water everyday. I miss that someone.
Do you think you’re attractive: Hahhahahahahahaha. Do I really have to answer that? Hahahahahhaha.
Believe in yourself: Hahahahahhahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. And I’ve been getting sooo much flak for doing so!
Do you smoke: Yes, occasionally. Hasn’t this been asked already?
Do you drink: Yes, occasionally. This one, too!
Shower daily: Twice.
Been in love: Yesss.
Do you sing: Yes. And I think I sing good, especially if I got a goooood mic 🙂
Do you dance: Yes!
Want to get married: Yes, but not possible. Refer to my previous entry.
Want to have kids: Yes, but I can’t. Again, refer to my previous entry.
Age to lose virginity: Huh? Age I LOST it, you mean? Hang on, is this whole trivia thing from a teeny bopper slumbook?! Well, so, yeah, a couple of weeks before I turned 18.
Do you hate anyone: Uhm, no…I actually don’t. Wow.

Truth is…

I apologize for neglecting this blog; even in my frenzied state, there were moments when I could have written, but I kept putting it off. Now that one account is finished, I found myself to be idle. And in that idleness, I panicked. I’ve been so used to burying myself in work, obvious to others that this is my way of moving on, that I don’t know how it is to be idle. I was suddenly not doing anything. There was a moment of silence…and then the demons in my head started to talk.

I’m fine, really. I just hate being idle. I want to work. Before doing so, I need to address something.

One reader comments:

You wanna know the reason why you always end up with the wrong men and you seem to always land on those shittiest guys girl?

It’s because you’re spoiled, you have too much air in yourself, and you overvalue your own worth.

To you you may think that you’re beautiful, seductive, witty, and all those things, but to the normal guy who has simple dreams of family and children, you are a disease to be ignored and if need be avoided.

To most loser-males’ eyes, you are nothing but a sex object. You have portrayed yourself as such and such will you be taken. A mere sex object, a toy, to be discarded once the initial thrill has passed.

You think you are mature, but to be honest with you, you have the mind of a 14 year old brat who seems to be just coming of age. If you truly had any semblance of maturity, then you will try to patch the pieces of your life and take a detour to what’s right and just.

You want to be respected and loved. Treat yourself as such. You want a man with honor and decency, who will uphold your dignity as a woman, wife and mother. Then start with yourself by removing those bitch lifestyle that you have. You want children who will cherish you and grandchildren who will cuddle next to you and lovingly call you Lola. Then start by doing what is good and just.

I do hope in your heart you still have the wisdom to see what is right.

Normally, I ignore comments on this blog. I get flak all the fuckin time, I’m so used to it. I would like to believe that the one who wrote this is bitter, terribly bitter. For some reason, his writing style is so familiar and similar to the emails I received in my inbox from this guy I turned down for being so, erm, “assuming” and “feeling close”. I could be wrong. It doesn’t matter.

Now, you bitter man, actually caught my attention. Woohoo. However, I cringe at the word “disease”. Surely, I can’t be THAT bad? I’m quite positive that there are a few who agree with this guy and I don’t mind, really. If there’s one flaw I have, it’s being too understanding and accepting. Okay, so that’s two. Seriously, because I understand where this guy is coming from, I won’t give him crap for it. But I need to say something in my own defense, and perhaps of other women as well who copiously enjoy this lifestyle.

The truth, bitter man, is that I dream of children and of a quiet life in the hills of Tuscany, where I can grow my own to-mah-toes and basil. I dream of a quiet wedding by the prairie, and no matter how hippie it can get, I want to be barefoot in my own wedding. Truth is, I dream of being a soccer mom, of shuffling my kids from school to ballet class, music class, soccer, whatever. I dream of being a good wife, greeting my husband with a blowjob as soon as he arrives home.

BUT, I have long accepted that I cannot conceive, that marriage is not for me as men are dogs and they will need variety at certain points in their lives. I am meant to be alone. I will, however, have lovers. I need love to live, no matter how make-believe it is. I will never belong to anyone.

I am an old soul, I belong to the old world. You’d be actually surprised if you talk to me. Most who found themselves talking to me could attest to this. I am actually nice. I am not an immature 14-year-old sex object as you think I am, in fact, you would actually wish YOU were single and YOU don’t have a 14-year-old daughter. There’s something about this blog that projects me as how you would like to perceive me. I won’t even bother to correct that perception. That’s the fun part, proving you guys wrong.

So, bitter man, what does it mean to do what is “good and just”? Does it mean chasing after my dreams? But after the premises I gave you, it is quite obvious that it is simply impossible. Then this blog will have to close, and when that happens, that only means one thing: I AM indeed living my dream.

Surely you don’t want that to happen? You, bitter man, who find yourself reading this? But I am your only guilty pleasure. I won’t take that away from you. I told you, I’m nice.