A few years before I moved to Dumaguete, I used to regularly freelance for FHM Philippines as a contributing writer. I’d cover restaurant and bar features, the male celebrity they’d showcase for the section Quote, Unquote, and yes, I was sent many a time to interview and write about the bodacious babes that appear on its pages (I’ve even done a few covers!).
Anyway, in the thick of my FHM freelancing days, I was set up with a guy whom we’ll just name “Mike.” A non-descript name for a non-descript guy because that’s exactly what he was—vanilla with a desk job.
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I can’t say I’ve gone on a lot of dates, or maybe I’ve just been in such a great relationship for so long that the dating horror stories of yesteryear don’t seem to matter anymore. So it’s kind of hard to write about The Worst Date of My Life. I think I’ve been lucky in the sense that my not-so-good dates were still OK compared to what other people have had to endure. There was that bad sort-of date where my ex and I broke up (well, more of “cooled off.” Whatever. Do people still do that?). And that date when I was in my room getting ready, literally in tears because I REALLY didn’t want to go out with the guy waiting for me (while I was on the phone with the guy I actually wanted to go out with)—nope, it wasn’t a blind date. In fact, he was my best friend. Er, long story!
And then there was that date where I swore never to go out with a rock star again.
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Dating in Manila is one of the challenges that I face inspite of the fact that I get to be invited at parties and events. An average of four events in a week and sometimes a night that I need to be at, and three events to write about. The social circuit highway is static which is an opportunity to find a date by meeting diverse people.
However in my case, if I will bring a date along with me without a doubt I will be the worst person to be with, since I will be constantly socializing, taking photos and buzzing like a bee as part of documenting the event. Whoever is with me in the end will be annoyed and feel ignored.
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“Naku, be careful. Norwegians are horny.”
Pre-date advice not from my friends, but from my 70-year-old Lola. I was about to go out on my second date with a half Norwegian, half Pinoy blue-eyed beach volleyball player (yummy, right?) and these were to be her words of wisdom for me. I was 20 years old, fresh from a break-up, and so having a horny blue-eyed boy beside me was a welcome “problem”. I asked my Lola how she could’ve possibly come to this conclusion and she said they have six months of day and six months of night in Norway and this conditioned them to be horny. And she had several Norwegian friends and she said most of them were pretty frisky. Whatever.
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