PMS (Putting up with My Shit)

Singlehood is great, but the challenge doesn’t always lies on the chase. Rather, it lies on keeping a relationship together. So with that being said, Schroo decided to share a few of his branded wisdom (otherwise known as, realizations) while within a relationship with the most difficult female he has the unfortunate luck to get stuck with. In doing so, over-eager lonely guys might think twice before succumbing to any acts of desperation (i.e. getting a girlfriend).

1.  “Women have a high threshold for pain; they give birth to children and have dysmenorhea after all. They also believe in equal partnership when it comes in relationships. This is why they always make things difficult for you. It is to annoy you. It is to share the pain (and future pain) with you. Deal with it.”

“Hmmm… Sweetie, I think your hair needs a little trim, ” Van said while combing Schroo’s hair down his nape with her fingers. “It’s getting a little bushy at the end.”

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to have my hair shaved off ,” came his reply, “Never tried  the bald look before.”

“You can’t do that,” she announced, still playing with his hair.

“And why not?” he demanded. 

“Because I said so.”

“That’s it?” he said incredulously.

“Well, I also wanted to have the GI Jane look, but you don’t even want me to cut my hair short.” 

“Are you nuts?!? Bald girls are so unsexy!”

“Says who? Says you, of course,” she pouted. 

 ”Are you doing this just to spite me?” 

“No. I’m doing this for want of equality,” she smiled triumphantly.

At this point, give up. It will never do to challenge other things done unequally (i.e. paying for dinner most of the time), lest when you marry her, she refuses to get pregrant unless you become pregnant first.

2. If you ever grew up never telling a lie, being with a woman will soon teach you how. 

“I think I’ll skip dessert this time,” Van said valiantly refusing the urge to order the sinfully delightful specialty Mud Pie of the restaurant, “I feel like I’m getting fat. I wasn’t heavy, was I?”

Remembering the additional weight she put on as evident on the soreness of his lap when she was sitting on it just a few hours ago , he lied, “No.”

“Oh, by the way, how did you like the breakfast I cooked for you?” she asked with a hopeful smile, “I hope I didn’t made the Cajun Rice too hot.”

It was hellishly peppery, actually, he thought, but nevetherless he fibbed, “Naaah. I could take it. In fact, the spicyness is just perfection.”

“That’s good. I’ll cook you more of it next time since you like it so much” she smiled blissfully.

He gulped then said hastily, “You don’t need to slave over the stove next week, sweetie. We’re going round Manila to take pictures of Architectural buildings early morning, right?

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” she agreed happily, then, noticing a batch of tall, modelesque women entering the place, she went for the final compliment bait for the night, “Don’t you wish I was taller and skinny sometimes?”

Now, the experienced Schroo of today would’ve said, “Never. Because you already are perfect in my eyes.” It’s cheesy but it works. But since the Schroo with only 4 months of Van Exposure wasn’t so adept in thinking up cheesy lines, he snorted and let go of a remark coming from a deep prejudice against those in the modeling business, “I don’t really care as long as you have a brain.”

Ding ding ding ding ding! The warning bell sounded off. “So,” she started, with deadly quietness of tone, “Are you saying I’m short and dumpy?”

Feeling the chill in the air, he knew he did something wrong. So he tried to repair the damage by grasping logical flattery, “I didn’t said that honey. You are petite and sexy.  But were you otherwise, I wouldn’t mind it so much because your intelligence is by far sexier than any of your physical attributes combined. ” Whew, he thought in relief.

She eyed him loftily, not really buying his word. Nevertheless, she just said nonchalantly,  “I see. I suppose I’ll be having that dessert then seeing as you’re ok being seen with a fat and dumpy girlfriend as long as she’s smart. What does it matter to you if I become round enough to roll like doughnuts, eh? So long as my calories intake  is in direct proportion with any cerebral pursuit, you wouldn’t mind, right?

3. On Pictures: “Women have an innate fascination with pictures… your pictures.  They contain memories… memories of your dorkiness among different forms of scenery.  Besides providing ample humor during PMS, such pictures remind them of those moments they were absent (and wonder if the picture-taker is a another woman/affair/karibal/home-wrecker).  Thus it isn’t a surprise if she furnishes you a photo collage/mosaic of your pictures, framed no less.  Yes, it is a gift saying “I love you baby”, but also a sign spelling out “I own you baby”.  You know how much they love making signs and signals.

“Why do most couples I know put pictures of themselves together in Friendster and we don’t?” Van asked Schroo one fine afternoon.

“Because we don’t need a cheesy thing like that to remind each other how much we love each other.” he answered.

“Wrong. It’s because we haven’t thought of it until now. So, now that I’ve brought it up, we should join the bandwagon!” Van declared with much conviction.

“Do we have to?” Schroo whined.

“Well, I feel like I’m left out. I don’t want to feel left out, ” she pouted then, as if strucked with a brilliant idea,”Aha! I’ll do something waaaaaay better!”

“Uh oh.”

“Why don’t I make a collage of our pictures, scan it and then put it up as a wallpaper for your computer! Ha! How about that!” she grinned at having thought of so brilliant an idea. 

“Uhmm… No. No way am I going to get the same ribbing Jeff got when Jenny made one for him in his computer at the office.”

“Oh, so it’s been done before, huh?” disappointed, she said.

“Yes, so please, don’t do it,” he said firmly, even if  Van, deep in her thoughts wasn’t really listening.

“Aha!” she suddenly perked up, ” Why don’t I make a bulletin board of picture collages of ourselves and then have Ate Mel put it up in your office? Ha! Beat that Jenny!” then she laughed maniacally at having thought of another brilliant idea.

“Oh God,” Schroo muttered while banging his head against the wall in an attempt to wake himself up from the nightmare he’s currently in.

To be continued… 

Seeing Double

My brain probably got fried by the bright colors of the Speed Racer movie (in SM MOA IMAX, no less), that it resulted to my seeing resemblances for the characters of the the movie. For example, how many of you think that Emile Hirsch’s character Speed Racer looks so much like Ewan McGregor’s Christian (of Moulin Rouge)?

Emile Hirsch                              Ewan McGregor

Schroo: Hmmm… Speed  Racer does look like the younger Ewan McGregor. But, I don’t understand how you can connect Kick Gurry and Enrique Iglesias together. For one thing, Kick Gurry’s Aussie and Enrique’s Latino.

Me: Look at these pictures then:

Schroo: Nope. I don’t see the resemblance.

Me: Ok. Look at the next set of pictures then.

Schroo: Nicely done. Enrique now looks like a sore thumb.

Me (sticking out tongue at Schroo): So I don’t photoshopped well, sue me. 

Schroo: You know who looks like Susan Sarandon, though?

Me: Who?

Schroo: Susan Sarandon of the 80s.

Schroo: Exhibit A. That’s a picture of her from the set of King of Gypsies. Wikipedia reported that she was born in 1946 which, calculating the given specifics, makes her 32 during that movie.

Me: Gee. She looks the same as today. It seems like time stopped for her st 30. 

Schroo: I know. But hey, that’s beside the point. Reinforced by Exhibit B.

Schroo: ...even at age  41 in the Witches of Eastwick and 62 in Speed Racer, Susan Sarandon still manages to keep her sex appeal. Her Mrs. Robinson Appeal.

Me (gives hanky to Schroo): Easy boy, you’re drooling.

Schroo (drily): Ruh- hyt. (Then wiped the side of his mouth surreptitiously).

Shortest Review Ever

While Schroo’s eyes feasted the awesome-est that is Iron Man, Van drooled "Ooooh lala" upon seeing Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark.

On an occasion that a haircut won’t work

A future colleague just announced, over a cup of coffee at my favorite hang-out place in Ortigas, that she’ll be moving on for real, after discovering that her separated husband of 29 years have ruled out getting back together since he already made plans of going to Mindanao and starting out a family with his girlfriend who is 31 years her junior.

Whew.

Anyweyz, she says she’s moving on. No way is she going to call him at his office again for a chitchat whenever she’s feeling lonely. No way is she going to pretend like everything is ok when they’re in the same room together. No way is she going to plan a surprise birthday party for him again like she used to. No way is she going to stay at the condo unit she’s renting that is situated at the upper floor of his estranged husband’s office. No way, yes, no way is she going to put up with her eyebags and wrinkles induced by being so miserable throughout their separation.

No way, she said. No way.

That’s why she’s moving out of the country after she sold her car and unit, live in the care of her relatives in the US to buy herself a new face, leaving a stinking desperation wafting behind her tracks.

P.S. I just hope she won’t end up looking like Jocelyn Wildenstein

Family Hair-doom

The Hair, whether in overgrowth unkemptness or undergrowth pathetic state, has always been a source of insecurity to almost every male in the planet. It is second, next to worrying about the size of their nether region’s appendage.

"I need a good hair dresser," my brother told me while he was phoning from London, "I mean, I only have three hairs left, and when I get back there, I would have wanted to at least impress my wife with my hunkiness."

"Chunkiness, you mean?" I said drily.

He ignored me , continuing, "I want to be able to make my hair more…"

"Full?" finishing the sentence for him.

"Yeah, full." He agreed, "maybe if I massage my hair more with aloe vera, the follicles might decide against dying. Uncle Butch swears by it."

"Did you ever see his hair improving? The least you can do is contact some London hair transplant specialist since all the males in our family has been rubbing aloe vera on their scalp with zero results. " I explained, "Else, just shave off all of what’s left, and then get used to it."

"You’re mean."

"I know." I smiled.