I haven’t gone out on a first date for so long that I don’t think I’d know what to do if I went out on one all of a sudden. I was with someone for the past four years and I’m still in the process of trying to bounce back from the breakup. (Emotional overeating is so empowering! If anything, breakups give you the license to forget exercise and stuff your face silly. Based on the formula popularized in Sex and the City, I’m allowed to pig out without guilt for two years.)
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Flawless, white underarms…just one of the many concerns that women have, and that men (lucky bastards) never have to think about! I’ve had long conversations with girl friends regarding different methods—laser treatments, waxing, toners—to achieve those gloriously fuzz-free ‘pits.
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When I was in college, I never really deviated from textbook first-date protocol: meal, movie, coffee, all followed by a yap fest of your finest qualities—two people bouncin’ to the boogie with only their best feet on the dance floor. This has to continue many more times because everyone knows that only girls with loose morals allow themselves to be kissed on the first date. I learned this in Bullshit 101.
I eventually graduated and got a job, where I one day overheard a woman recounting how her first date one night ended. Details were sketchy but I remember it was with more than a peck on the cheek. I wondered if she was a slut, because she didn’t look like one. So I asked her why she did what she did on that first date. She smiled at me and said, “Because he was Italian, and I have a libido.” Turns out she wasn’t a slut. She was the company vice-president—smart, funny, successful, approachable, with double Master’s in Economics and Modern Literature. And she had become my muse. So the first thing I did with my paycheck was buy myself a backbone, the kind that allowed me not to give a flying fffffft what my reputation would be by the water cooler. And then I discovered a secret still unknown to the nuns in my high school—that even if they confiscate your libido, IT GROWS BACK.
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The Lunar X PRIZE race has got me riled up and I don’t know whether it’s because I envy those who can be in it or the fact that the $20-million prize money could be used to help a lot of people on Earth. I mean, hey, give Filipinos $1 million to spruce up the MRT or something. Or maybe just give $1 million (or maybe a little bit more) for all Filipino women to share and buy outrageously-priced-but-fabulous shoes with.
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After so many years, the University of the Philippines has reclaimed the top spot at the annual UAAP Cheerdance Competition. And I must say, it was well deserved. I quite liked their “rock” theme this year, a bit unlike their previous themes, which were sometimes a bit too far-out for my taste. (Must give props to them for being endlessly experimental, sure.)
I watched the competition live with two other former cheerdancers: Caleen and another of my bestest friends, Patching. Part of me wanted to take notes, but a stronger voice in my head urged me to just enjoy the show. So these comments are just what I was able to store in my memory bank.
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And I thought Erap was hard to blog about. Haha.
This, of course, isn’t something I could claim to be an expert on since I haven’t gone on a first date in about seven years! I don’t even know what’s uso now. I’m surprised when people still bring up the subject of courtship (as in, “This guy was making me ligaw…”) because I didn’t think it still happened in this day and age. (Surprisingly, it does!)
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From the time I hated boys up until the time I loved them, I was in a Catholic all-girls school. We had scheduled weekly confessions with our resident priest, masses every first Friday, retreats and rosary marathons and very few encounters with the opposite sex. From the chaste nuns and my confused peers, I learned important guidelines on how to behave around boys I like - and still go to heaven.
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