you wake up with the phone ringing like hell. you reluctantly grab it and try your best to sound hours awake, purr hard on the 'h' of your hello so the creature on the other end doesn't hear ello instead, and stifle a yawn that's on hold for ages. the creature, of all creatures to call you on a friday morning when your throat's all sore and your nostrils are clogged, fits the very illustration your mum warned you of. you act as if you're thinking of an answer, something witty like this is elvis presley. i'm out to record an album today so just leave a message after the beat. *tut* or fuckoff, manwhore. for the nth time you've got the wrong number. however, your neurons jam on the way to your mouth, just like they always do when you run out of wit and nerve. you resort to lazily slamming the handset onto its cradle. you pause, expecting to hear the damn thing ring again. luckily, it doesn't. you try to breath through your clogged nostrils, close your eyes and recall that beautiful dream you were having before the useless git called. what was it again? were you running through fields, or eating strawberries drowned in sweet milk, or playing on plastic laptops, or slapping carlos for being a serial gay basher? you get pissed. you can't remember a single detail, and all that comes back to you is the futile seduction of light beer and a glass of it going down your intestines --- alcohol to wash off the dirt brought to you by three sticks of isaw and tengang baboy. you heave a sigh and call for Sausage. your pet comes running, she jumps onto the bed and starts licking you all over. your nostrils are still clogged but somehow, you feel better.

(sigh)

another day on planet earth. good morning, then.

it's been a long time since i've gotten myself into an obssession.

there's this guy. the moment i wake up --- that is before fixin my hair, gargling, and taking a trip to the toilet --- i connect to the net and check out his blog, drool over it, stare at his photo, read his posts for the nth time, and allow myself to become stupid. when the trance finally lapses, i get through my daily routine that includes 2 more glances at his page. (sigh) (you say: give me the damn url and i'll see for myself.. i say: dream! he aint in my links page so find a fantasy of your own. hehe :p)

okay, so what's so hot/cool about him? aside from bein good-lookin and sporty, apparently rich, and smart and intellectual, there's hardly anythin else coz i dont really know him (and i dont really know why i'm puttin so much effort in writing this entry) but i think i do know him because his entries strip him down (in a figurative manner, that is). he's just different coz i haven't really met (yes, we've met though i aint worth his attention) a straight, macho guy who can write without being branded gay or scholarly but instead you see as the guy, this guy.

enough.

i think i'm bisexual. i like males but i also have this attraction to females, and it's not that i-want-to-be-her-friend attraction but the oh-yeah-babe-let's-jam sort of thing. okay, well it begins with the friend idea.

i first noticed this when i saw the bisexual host in gma's out!, a show devoted to gays, lesbos, and bis that aired round 11p, some time in the summer, maybe 2 years back. she is gorgeous -- i just imagine her wearing nothing and i get the creeps (hey, typical awe for the perfectly sculpted female body). i think her name's avi siwa. it was really brave of her to admit her gender (i.e. social role not biological makeup, some people mistake one for the other) and it introduced me to the idea of what a bisexual is: you're no lesbo, you're no hetero, you're a bi and you can have the best of both. then, i saw oprah's episode on gender crises which featured young children already saying that they belong to the other sex. this bothered me big time, partly because i realized that even kids have an idea of what they are and what they want to be, and partly because i never thought of myself as someone who'd get into a gender crisis. okay, so i'm not into a gender crisis per se, but somewhat like that, only it's too internal that other people never sensed it.

my blockmates often tease me of being a lesbo, seeing as it is that i seldom look at men. maybe that's just the long-term effect of an unexpected trauma. i'm talking bout the oblation run. before actually seeing naked men running wildly about, i, more or less, already have this idea of what they'd look like. but expectations didn't prepare me for the actuality. i saw them, with their 'thing' dangling from their waists, swinging from side to side (that's exaggerated, fine) as they ran the corridors of the AS bldg.. i was horrified, and deep down i swore i will never get married to a man and be desecrated by that icky organ. i tried shutting images out of my head, but it's as if they're on a constant playback. i couldn't sleep that night. i was afraid to see them in my dreams. very afraid. i took offense, obviously. i'm never seeing them at it again. (disclaimer: i have nothing against the organization, to which i am 'affiliated'; i was just mightily distrurbed)

the danger of men vs the sensuality of women. if i were adventurous, i'd go with the first one. but adventure stirring within me is almost rare; i like to be relaxed, flowing, serene, easily unified. that's what you get with women. we're sensitive, beautiful, graceful -- and an awful lot of things barbarian males aren't.

(part 1 of 2, will post continuation some time soon)