Men & Their Erections 5

Once upon a time, there was a girl whom, we shall call, Charisse. She looks remarkably like that female FBI-agent in “Silence of the Lambs” that was assigned to interview Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter.

As far as nerdy women go, Charisse will win as president, if the elections were held today.


Charrise: Ana, what did I do with my life? I made a mess of it!

Ana: (Looking up from cooking blueberry souffle, which made somebody in the audience snicker and say yeah right, good luck on that!)  What  made you say that?

Charrisse: I went through all these shit to finally have a white coat and this is all there is? I mean after all the hassles and the drama and the sleepless nights, this is it?

Ana: You did do what you set out to do, right? I mean you started all this and you did not think “hey someday I would be a flight stewardess”. That was not the goal.

Charrisse: Well, yeah. But I still hate it when you put it like that. (pouts)

Ana: (Finally, putting her concoction into the oven and crossing her fingers — “Let it rise,” she thought “I”ve had it enough with stuff that are supposed to rise but didn’t!”) Okay, spill. What’s wrong?

Charisse: (shows Ana The Ring)

Of course, this picture is a joke! This is not a horror story -- obviously!

Of course, this picture is a joke! This is not a horror story — obviously!

Ana: OMG, Really?

Charrisse: Yep, really.

Ana: So why the pout?

Charrisse: I am trying to make a list of reasons why I should marry him.

Ana: And so?

Charrisse: Ana, we are just so … different! I am an extrovert, he’s intro. I am into books and writing and blogging and reading and he’s happy just sitting around playing Baldur’s Gate or Might & Magic! I am a morning person, he sleeps late! And I hate to sound like a bitch — which I am — but, financially I am way more well off than him. And he’s so much nicer than me, Ana — I mean what kind of a guy is actually nicer than you?

Ana: So you had these apprehensions after you accepted the ring?

Charrisse: Oh please! Don’t be sarcastic! I said yes because he kneeled down and asked so sweetly and then the kiss was sooo goooood! Ana, just give me one good reason why I should go through with marrying him!

Ana: (Distracted, the darned souffle won’t still rise, darn it!) Why don’t you marry him because he’s the kind of person you would like to be?

A Romantic Story

I can't find the website where I downloaded this photo! Wherever you are, thank you and I promise I will try my due diligence to find you and then will make the proper ownership attribution.

I can’t find the website where I downloaded this photo! Wherever you are, thank you and I promise I will try my due diligence to find you and then I will make the proper ownership attribution.


“Okay don’t be cute now, I hate it when you get cute.”

“I am not being cute.”

“What is it with you following me around then? I mean WordPress, then Facebook, then Twitter? Thank God, Multiply went out of business!”

“I just want to be near you. I want to see you everyday. Listen to what you have to say. Look at the world through your eyes.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Look at the world through my eyes? The world is an apocalypse.”

“An apocalypse with you in it is paradise for me.”

“And why do you want to see me? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I have nothing for you.”

“Well tough shit. That’s okay.”

“I’m a crazy, delusional maniac.”

“I’m  a boring, attention-seeker, whore.”

“Don’t call yourself a whore.”

“You called yourself a maniac.”

“Really, stop it now.”

“Stop what? What am I doing?”

“You’re pissing me off. You have no idea how much you’re pissing me off.”

“Really? I’m pissing you off?”

“Yes. You. Are. Pissing. Me. Off.”

“Gosh, don’t be so sensitive.”

“I am not sensitive.”


“Yes, no.”

“I love it when you say yes.”

“Mother of God!”

“That would be Mary, right? Do you think she and Joseph did it? Or was it all platonic like all those people want us to believe?”

“I have no fucking idea and I don’t care.”

“Why did you say Mother of God then?”

“Because I am exasperated.”

“I see. You are?

“I am.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to exasperate you. Are you very tired?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Well we can hang out and talk about stuff, you know.”

“I said I’m tired.”

“I see. What about if I give you a massage then?”

“A what?”

“A massage.”

“What for?”

“They loosen up the muscles. It will relax you.”

“I don’t want a massage.”


“In fact I don’t want you here.”


“I hate it that you’re always around.”


“Yeah, I hate it. You follow me and follow me and follow me. What are you? A shadow, or something?”

“I don’t know what I am, really.”


“Yes. No I don’t. I know one thing. I want to be with you.”

“But it’s crazy!”

“I know, right?”

“So why do you do it?”

“Maybe because I want to.”

“Do you do everything you want?”

“Not all the time. Just when it’s convenient, harmless. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Holy Christ! You really have it bad.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you could get hurt this way.”

“I know. I’m not a masochist, though.”

“Ha, ha, and you’re not a sadist either!”

“No, I don’t relish pain. I hate pain. I hate being ignored and being talked to sarcastically. And being … well, misinterpreted, actually.”

“We all hate that.”

“Yes, we do!”

“What else do you hate?”

“I hate sunsets and sad endings and movies that are too loud. I hate that Princess Diana is dead and that Prince Harry won’t still marry me. I hate pornography websites and the Catholic Bishops Conference. I hate that  children are dying and the poor are hungry. I hate …”

“You’re scamming me …”

“No I’m not.”

“Did you just say those things that you hate while laughing behind my back?”


“Why did you say them then?”

“Well, first to impress you. And second because they’re true.”

“God, you’re hopeless.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, so I have to eat you now just to shut you up then.”

“Sure, go ahead. Unfortunately, you can’t do that literally since this is just an Internet forum,”

“My dearest love, that’s what you think.”

***  the end, nothing follows ***

The Best Way To Die

Dear Grim Reaper (or,  to whom it may concern)

May I request that  I go via a massive heart attack or a massive CVA (cerebrovascular accident),  something that will do me in in 5 seconds or less?

I hate pain, so please, make sure I’m adequately anesthetized. I heard endorphins can do the job. Please let them kick in before the pain does.

I don’t care if you donate my viable organs to whomever may need them.

I would prefer DNR to being indefinitely brain dead.

May I also ask that you visit me first before you come for G. It’s hard to imagine a livable life without him.

I want to die in a flowing red dress made up of tulle or Alencon lace.

I want to have a great make-up artist to do my cadaver’s face.

I don’t mind the casket I will be buried in but I would hate for it to be any other color but white.

I want Karen Carpenter, Air Supply, Whitney Houston, Barry Manilow, the Bee Gees, Carole King and Rey Valera songs in my wake. Boo hoo if the attendees hate sappy 70s and 80s lovesongs, they’d better put up with them or else I’ll rise from my casket and fix the darned  CD player myself!

I want all my friends to visit me at least once during my wake or burial. I understand your busy schedules, guys, but as this is my last request, you’d better put out or suffer the consequences. Bwa ha ha ha!

I would prefer to be cremated. But if my loved ones so desire, I wouldn’t mind being buried in toto. Please don’t bury the casket with me, all those trees just for my cadaver! Bury me in a biodegradable sack or cloth or whatever. Donate the casket to those in dire need.

If I do get my way, post-mortem, and got cremated, please scatter my ashes to the following places that I have lived in and loved (you can ask G for details, as I won’t go into specifics here):

1. The building where I studied high school  — unfortunately they are now razing it to the ground to give way to a mall.

2. The apartment in Manila where I got rid of my virginity.

3. The hospital where I learned how to be a doctor. The second one, not the first.

4. The place where we used to run on Sundays, and where someone sang Martin Nievera’s “Valentine” to me one night 11 years ago. Yes, I remember, even if he’d probably filed it away under the heading, ‘cheesy things i did which i am never doing again’.

5. That space in the college of medicine near the canteen where someone told me he loved me for the first time and to which I replied, “I’m not really sure I know what love is.”

6. That space under the stairs where all sort of shenanigans happened.

7. Okay, you can get rid of the darned ashes in the beach of my hometown, the one where I spent the first 4 years of my life.

Consider this post my advance directives.

on death and dying

Sex and Dying

romeo and juliet

Romeo and Juliet — 2 adolescents who had the sense to have sex before dying. Image courtesy of Wikipedia.

I have recently come across a delightful young man named, shall we say, GM.

When his story started, GM was not yet 30, and he was afraid of dying before reaching the dreaded 3-0. A fear, one must admit,  that a number of women, young and old, also possess.

GM is a scientist, or at least his field of work involves hard applied science.

A minor comment: While medicine is applied science, it is not hard enough, in my opinion, to give it the moniker “hard science”. B, also a soft-scientist and totally not involved in this story, would say, “That’s why I don’t date medicine-men, they are just too soft!”

At a tender age, GM fell really hard. And got his heart broken in the process.

We should feel sorry for GM because he lost his dad at a young age and he had to support his mom and family.

At this point, my friend, A would say, “Boo, hoo, tough luck! I also had to do that. He doesn’t have the corner on suffering in the world you know! (with much appreciation for Joanne Greenberg’s ‘I Never Promised  You a Rose Garden’ from where that quote was lifted and paraphrased).”

I conversed with GM one day and he told me that it is his dream to “Marry a woman who reads. And writes. And travels. And beautiful. And has a good heart.”

I said, “Okaay. Great. That’s a great goal.”

And then he said, “But I’m afraid of dying before I’m 30.”

Me: “So how old are you now?”

GM: “Mid-late 20s.”

Me: “A lot of people say they’re going to die before they get to 30. When I was 17, I said I was probably going to die before I’m 25.”

GM: “You didn’t die?”

Me: “I’m talking to you now, right? The thing is, you’ll never have that perfect woman/man, or even the perfect sex, if you don’t go out there and put yourself out and get naked and vulnerable.”

GM: “I already did that. See all these scratch marks?”

Me: “Well you have to go out there again. The difference with sex and love is that with sex, you only die during orgasm. With love, you die every single day.”

Why Human Beings Need Sex

Being Needy is Checking Your Blog’s Stats Every 4 Hours


“You can’t let the whole world into your story, but you can let in the ones that matter most.”

(Stephen King, On Writing)

Stephen King, in his book, “On Writing”,  said that when one writes, one should always keep in mind his/her Ideal Reader. The Ideal Reader is that person you love so much that only his/her opinion matters when it all comes down to crunch time. For Stephen, that person is Tabitha, the love of his life (he did stay married to her for sooo many years).

on writing

One day, Stephen and Tabitha were driving towards somewhere in the Southern USA. Stephen was behind the wheels and his Ideal Reader was given the task of reading the manuscript of “Hearts in Atlantis”.

The following excerpts are from the book, “On Writing”:

There are some funny parts in it — at least I thought so — and I kept peeking over at her to see if she was chuckling (or at least smiling). I didn’t think she’d notice, but of course she did. On my eighth or ninth peek (I guess it could have been my fifteenth), she looked up and snapped: “Pay attention to your driving before you crack us up, will you. Stop being so goddam needy!”


Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with neediness. We do need to eat. And take a bath everyday. We need that roof over our head to protect us from the elements. For some people, it matters whether that roof  is made up of thatched grass or terracotta tiles, but that’s another story.

I also propose that we need sex.

The biological reason being procreation and propagation of the Almighty DNA (hi Mr. Richard Dawkins!). But more than that, sex fulfills that need to be close to someone other than ourselves. Because 1 is such a lonely number, so God invented 2! (And the Mayans invented zero, ha ha ha — nerd joke).

Also, and I’m just imagining stuff here, we have sex because we don’t want to die alone.

A dying sea turtle after a shark attack. Photo was from

A dying sea turtle after a shark attack. Photo was from

(asl) Age/Sex/Location

I once tried cybersex.

Yup, back in the 1990s, I was 19 y/o and the Internet was new and innocent and shiny. And webcams were not the norm.

I did it with 4 men (Or maybe 5? Who keeps track of these stuff anyway?) from 7 pm to 4 am. That morning, I slept throughout the Biochemistry lecture. Thank god the lecturer was the kind who loved listening to her voice more than she loved teaching.

While cybersexting, I learned a useful acronym, asl, which stands for age/sex/location. The guys (at least they claimed that they were males, there was no way to confirm) I had cybersex with came from the US, Turkey and I think there was one from Norway whose English was not very good.

Who would have though the “as” in “asl” can mean so much? At least according to CDQ’s article, it apparently does:

Men and Their Erections 4

Ana’s POV: Chemistry (as it pertains to things sexual/romantic) is all about context


Therese: Ana! You have got to read this! It is way too hot!

An excerpt: “She tried to hold him but he was too wild, out of control, almost lifting her from the bed with the force of his thrusts.”

(From: Iris Johansen. The Wind Dancer.  Bantam Books, 1991, pp 90-92.)

Annotations from The Omniscient Storyteller: A number of people will snicker at the preceding sentence, most particularly, at the word “thrust”.  Therese, on the other hand, was touched, moved  (and yes, she also got hot reading the love scenes) at the story involving the slave named Sanchia and the condotierri named Lion Andreas who lived, both in Iris Johansen’s imagination and in Renaissance Italy.  That is the importance of context.

wind dancer

Ana: (without looking up from watching Spartacus season 3 on her laptop) Yeah, been there, done that.

Therese: Really? Get out of here! Even pages 258 to 261?

Ana: (smirking) Yep.

Therese: No wonder you can’t leave Christian.

Ana: Therese, really! I can’t leave Christian because I love him. When I look at him, I get convinced that there is still a lot of goodness in the world.

Random Notes 7/28/13

7:30 am

E is my midwife. She is 60 years old and she has been assisting mothers push their babies out into the world for over 30 years. E doesn’t plan to retire soon and will wait for the mandatory retirement age according to the Civil Service Commission.

A is on duty with E. A is younger, in her late 30s. Her husband is working as a baker in Papua New Guinea and they have a dusky-skinned daughter named M.  Eight-year old M is the spitting image of her mother — both in looks and temperament.  A wants to migrate to Canada and she has discussed this with her husband. Her husband is digging his heels. Is he having an affair?

Later today, Gg will report for duty, together with R. Gg is short and bristly; her husband works for a news anchor/local celebrity who possesses the same aura of bristly-ness as Gg. The local celebrity is the wife of one of the most powerful men in this country. Gg’s husband, T, sometimes dabbles in politics, and their daughter, L, seems to be following dad’s footsteps. Is she going to be the Margaret Thatcher of my country? I will ask her later. She will probably laugh at my face and think that I am joking.

R is Gg’s partner until 4 pm today. I hope the two of them will be able to take on all the pregnant moms who will come because I have been stitching vaginas all night and I’m sleepy. R is the newest midwife in the clinic. She came back from Saudi Arabia a year ago. She was a midwife in a government hospital in Riyadh for 9 years. She came back because she found out that her husband was fooling around with another woman and her 2 children were beginning to hate her. Since I recently contemplated working abroad, R was a very valuable resource person for me.

I studied for 7 years after high school, went through 6 years of post-graduate training. But I have learned more valuable lessons from my midwives than from all the years I spent in tertiary education.

Sex, Sex, Sex!

Of course sex sells. The word alone gets people’s attention.

I dare anyone reading this now to disagree.

If you have gotten this far, you may also be interested in reading about the New Prostitutes.

And, while pondering on that depressing New York Times article, ponder this.

Of course, the connection between the two is only in our minds. But making connections is what our brains and — may I say — the Internet have been invented for. With all due respect to Tim Berners-Lee.

Sir Tim Berner-Lee, without whom, this morning's activity wouldn't have been possible. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

Sir Tim Berner-Lee, without whom, this morning’s activity wouldn’t have been possible. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia.

Men & Their Erections 3

Christian’s POV or Not All Men End Up Like Harry Potter Who Saved the World From Lord Voldermort

Scene I

Therese: What do you call something that hates verbosity but loves words?

Ana: A haiku?

***king's bounty

Scene II


“What?” Marcus looked up from playing King’s Bounty on the PC.

“Women love words.” Christian replied.

Marcus shook his head. “Nah, I said it should be a name for a creature that loves words but hates verbosity.”

Christian thought about it for 5 seconds. “You’re right. Women don’t fit that description.”



Scene III

Ana: So you remember “Almost Famous”, right?

Therese: Cameron Crowe, I love Kate Hudson’s hair!

Ana:  What’s the name of the guy?

Therese: The rockstar?

Ana: No, the boy pretending to be a journalist who interviewed the rockstar.

Therese: William Miller played by Patrick Fugit. Do you know that he’s cuter now that he’s older?

Ana: That was Christian when he was 15.


A Poetic Interlude …

Regarding Christian (Ana’s POV)

He, with his day-old stubble

and many-layered eyelashes

the dimple  that peeks like a surprise

during balmy nights in suburbia.

All I know of love

I learned from him —

from the cheesy to the profound,

from the crass earthiness of “nipple”

to the direct playfulness of “cock”.

He is the reason why I did not choose to be a lesbian.