i don't know why we still fetishize this very juvenile obsession.we,meaning this g&d (gloom and doom, i.e.) friend of mine back in manila and, of course, the equally g&d (grim and determined, i.e.) personality of mine.
and this obsession? you will know later.
some really brutal facts first. we are so (wince!)into our thirties already yet both of us still have not been able to caulk this gaping personality flaw inside ourselves that still feel very much adolescent, breaking-out-zits adolescent. that is, we almost always never make it anymore to the second date with whomever we went out in the first place.
so we get into this game of depressing one-upmanship. this usually occurs whenever he gets into one of his all too frequent drinking spells (way to go, Colt 45 whore!) and whenever i feel this urgent need to just talk the shit out of someone, which is practically all the time.
after dispensing with pleasantries, we begin by deciding who starts to tell the most depressing story. almost always, these are about our failed attempts to connect meaningfully with another homo sapien.
in our most recent game,i volunteered to first spill my guts out. and into the first paragraphs of my narrative there was no way, i felt, that this bitch would top my story.
________
i did not tell my friend this because i know he would go ballistic on me but when i recently went home, i saw my old boyfriend. he was the one who used to play ball for a top seeded UAAP basketball team.
oh and i guess this is salient to the story. he was the one boyfriend of mine who, at several times in our relationship--and this was kind of frequent, i may add--would lay a hand on me, you know, beat me up, whoop my ass (oh and that, too) during his inexplicable rages--which i may add, too, was frequent.
it did not even take 48 hours after my plane landed in manila that i was able to trace him and call him again in his new cell phone. intrepid happens to be my middle name. at least for the purposes of this story. and we decided to hook up again.
so we went to this straight bar. he can't be seen in a dyed in the wool gay bar because he is working his way up in the second tier professional basketball league back in manila.
and just like in old college days, mr. man oh-i'm-so-hot cager drank one too many cocktails. happy consequence, he became horny. unhappy result, he became verbally abusive again. like this would deter me.
end of scene: a plush bed in a three star hotel in the heart of Malate. him,feigning sleep, me, unable to just shut the fuck up.
me: so when are you going to marry her? (meaning his college girlfriend?)
cager: mmm....can we not just talk about it?
me: why not?
cager: (tosses in bed and faces me, still with eyes closed.) do you still smoke?
me: not anymore. i don't take things that are bad for me anymore.
cager: aww.
me: so when is the wedding? i know they always say december is an ominous month to marry but no. a feng shui expert i know back in new york told me that it ain't so.
cager: you know why we were never good together?
me: could you invite me? to your wedding? i promise i would behave.
cager: because you are just too clingy.
he left me at the hotel room insisting that i don't call him again, ever. i said yes. both of us knew i lied. again.
________
it was my friend's turn.
he met another newspaper man two weeks ago. works for a competing broadsheet. discrete and most importantly was into him. which was always a good thing.
so they both decided to go for the dreaded first date. since the guy claims he is no averse to drinking cheap pilsen, they decided to go to this seedy along-the-road ihawan. so far, so good.
apparently the guy can hold his drink, too (Red Horse), which makes my friend really horny now. he is so into guys who have their way with alcohol.
so my friend started being comfortable with this guy, really comfortable, like housedress comfortable. he told him about his previous asshole of a boyfriend, everything about him, from his pseudo halitosis to persistently sweaty armpits.
and this new guy was soaking up my friend's story. so far, so definitely good.
now when my friend was about to close the deal, the guy, who claimed he was with the malacanang press corps, said he had to cover the president early the next day.
my quitely-approaching-the-desperate-zone friend, not wanting to let a good thing pass, pressed on.
my friend: so can i call you?
reporter: no, i'll call you.
my friend: when?
reporter: soon.
end of the night.
three days passed since their first date, still no call from mr. newspaper man. so on the fourth night, my friend, being the bagong-millennium-maria-clara bading that he is, took the initiative and called the guy. the guy's cell phone was perpetually unattended.
this drove him to drink a little bit harder that night. which inevitably made him hornier, if that is possible at all. which drove him to a cruisy park in quezon city just to blow off some steam, so to speak.
end of scene: the cops came to round up the gays cruising the park and my friend, together with a dozen or so freaked out gays, were hauled to the nearest police station.
and guess who was at the station? mr. newspaper man. apparently he was a cub police beat reporter, not the top dog presidential reporter that he claimed to be.
my friend: oh, hi! i called you up but your phone was left unattended.
reporter: oh, you found time to call me?
some four hours later, my friend and the rest of the harassed gay men were released without being charged for this really antedeluvian spanish colonial government era felony called vagrancy. my friend lingered on at the police station to look for the newspaper man. he found him smoking outside.
my friend: so can we go out again?
reporter: i'll call you.
despite the sun being already out when my insomniac friend went home, he miraculously was able to doze off. he, however, was shaken out of his sleep and hangover when his house phone went off.
my friend, thinking it was him calling, jumped out of bed and flew down the stairs toward the living room where their land line phone was.
my friend: hello? hello?
he couldn't hear nothing.
my friend: manang (talking to their house help), is something wrong with our phone?
manang: nothing. it's not our phone ringing, it's the other apartment's.
my friend decided to call in sick that day.and all throughout the day, the only phone that he could hear ringing was that from the next door, never his.