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27.09.03; Showbizzy (Is there such a word?) Saturday;

Days before the desired regularization: 10. Days before “Hans” officially terminates my heartbeats: Unknown. Freezing point of the previous day: My mom’s version of Kris Aquino’s previous masochistic fight for love. Melting point of the previous day: Seeing Kris Aquino shed tears ‘onscreen’ as the erstwhile matriarch does what women do best. Bad move for a one-day-old male ‘textmate’: Call me Lorns with an air of familiarity. Good move for a one-day-old male ‘textmate’: Respect my made-up need for repose. (Wait. Does he have long hair? Probably we could have shut-eye together. Uh-oh. Kris looms. STD! STD! STD!) No. of online vixens I exchanged text messages with yesterday: 2. No. of high school muses I exchanged text messages with yesterday: 2. No. of clueless colleagues I exchanged text messages with yesterday: 2. Texting power: PhP35. No. of drool-worthy off-shoulder tops spotted in Rob Galleria Tuesday (?): 4. No. of ukay ukay shops to hunt down: 10 but since pa-bibo ako, I aim to get 12.

Dear Niwee,

So I learned more about the controversial victims of showbiz and politics. Now I understood why an officemate denied she was into tears whilst reading the forwarded link about the Couple of the Year. Don’t pretend you don’t know them.

I have seen the make up deprived Kris Aquino and bruise-tattooed Kissa-ble skin. But when I saw the other voice behind the show Morning Girls, I had to stop watching. Not that I find her unsightly. I was supposed to report Agenda Setting when I was in college. Mom, back then, had nothing to offer but she-deserves-it litany. Yesterday, I finally listened. According to my mom, Joey Marquez (pardon the absence of any titles) made the highest-paid star (I heard) feel like a falling one when they’re together. Everyday was the right time for a lover’s quarrel. And these heated altercations lead to heated bed sessions. Their favourite position? Missionary. Redundant as it seems, ask me what’s the deep shit. Marquez’s DNA pool parties were fatal.

Where has Alma Moreno gone? (Do I sound tolerating the apparent objectivity in news delivery? Call me up.)

Between the two sagging genres in the local movie industry, I wouldn’t blame Kris Aquino for leaping from action to comedy. Though action stars have a comedic sidekick and a whistle-bait leading lady, comedians have less room for pretensions. They don’t supply side dishes to distract the audiences from what they can’t provide. But there’s something about these clowns that only a blinded woman could uncover. The scowl behind the white make up. The suppressed words of pissdom behind the jokes. The bottled up itch to pluck someone’s life after those carefree acts. The crawling insecurity to pull their successful woman down on their stinking feet. Their insatiable need for their partner to feel and live their sufferings. I salute Kris Aquino for waking up and smelling the cognac. I should know.

So I learned more about my own family as well. Mom is a typical product of the 50’s, hell-bent to cock their eyebrows a fraction of an inch when a loose woman makes a catwalk out of the streets and to chortle the loudest when this woman’s stiletto splits into half. Since my brother wouldn’t hear the sob story, he indulged himself with PBA thrills – mocking imports and screaming gays. There you go, a self-righteous conservative and two homophobic lazybones in the family. The youngest has manifested respect for trivia and sarcasm at an early age, making the eldest bitch nod with approval. Not that I’m a good example.

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