QUICKIES . The 80's

You wouldn't believe what just popped out of my television when I turned it on tonight - Sarah Jessica Parker with 80's hair and a one piece and leotards. I almost choked on what I was drinking.  The movie is no other than GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN {Sarah Jessica Parker, Helen Hunt, Shannen Doherty}  I can't believe the clothing, the hair {oh the hair!} and the color back then.  And don't forget the MIDI music! I miss the 80's dude.  I mean, I was a wee boy back then with no trace of armpit, leg or pubic hair but damn, I sure want to see my sisters wear those ugly leotards and sport ginormous hair that reeked of chlorofluorocarbons. 

I miss the 80's man.  Sure people were dying of AIDS in every corner and they were blaming it on gay people and shit, and the Soviet Union and the US got gazillions of nuclear weapons that might have accidentally taken off and killed half of the world's population, and apartheid was still kewl in South Africa. Fuck yeah, come to think of it, the 80's were not so kewl if you think about those shits.  But dude, food was cheap, i was young, there was Sesame Street, and maaaaaan I miss wearin skimpy shorts and cartoon tees and eating my boogers. O

Shlong Post: Karaoke. Beijing Marathon.

I have to confess that the last 3 weeks have been really terrible for me. I won't go into details but it has just taken a toll out of me and I needed a breather of some sort.   Three days ago, my horoscope told me to chill and relax because my Dharma is getting fucked up.  So that I did.  After three long weeks of isolation, I decided to social.

I met up with my Brit friends last night in Sanlitun {the touristy bar district in Beijing} because it was one of them Brits' birthdays.  I love meeting the Brits. It's like every time I meet up with them I always meet new people.  Just last night I met an American girl who is Scientology curious, an American dude slash artist who spoke awesome Chinese {well he's Chinese American}, two really kewl German girls who are on an internship with EU based NPO's and  and American dude who can really sing a good Ray Charles cover.  The experience always makes me feel refreshed after {and drunk}.  Its prolly because of their youthfulness, or them just being sort of a weird bunch {in a good way}, or the alcohol or just plain nice and old company, but fuck I like meeting up with them.  OK, it was one of them Brits birthdays yeah.  After finishing up with a Cabernet and two pitchers of ice cold margaritas, one of them suddenly had an idea of going to a KTV bar.  I dunno if some of my readers are familiar with the word KTV but it just means karaoke here in China.  I've told you in this blog that I am not a huge fan of karaoke. I mean, I can deal with karaoke for an hour but after that I just get bored and shit.  I mean, I usually sing songs but in my head and shit but not really in a karaoke bar. Its like I always end up sitting in the corner finishing a pack of cigarettes after my threshold hour.  Speaking of KTVs, the Chinese really take their KTV's seriously.  The KTVs in Beijing {and I reckon in many big cities in China} are so swanky and ginormous. They're also expensive {We found that part later on}.

Suprisingly though,  I was able to stay and have fun for the whole time.  It was prolly because that I was so drunk.  I even sang a coupla songs {I don't remember them though, I think it was an Annie Lennox song and one was a Green Day song, meh whatevs}.

I was so drunk and tired and sleepy that night so I decided to crash in the Brits' place.  I met their puppy Lyka {named after the first dog in space,  but Lyke the Brits' dog doesn't understand Russian though}.  The pup kept slobbering me {she's the touchy feely kinda puppy} and I've been told that she loves to bite.  Nice.  My kind of pup.  {Speaking of canines, I have another interesting story to tell you which involves another canine}. So yeah, I slept and woke up early like waaaaay early for me on a Sunday mornin' {9 am},  I never got to say goodbye to them Brits because they were all still asleep.  I took the taxi goin' back to my apartment hoping that I could make it there in twenty minutes because I was still sleepy and I completely forgot about the Beijing marathon {in which my boss was runnin'}.  I never made it to my apartment. I was almost there, like only 500 meters more then I'm in my apartment, but the road was blocked because of the marathon.  I had to wait for the road to be opened which means I had to just sit there on the side waiting for the marathoners to finish passing by.  I couldn't cross the road because there were like a gazillion policemen guarding the roadblock, they prolly woulda shot me if I tried.  So yeah,  I stayed {nothing much I could do really} there and watch them pass me by.  Man,  I have to hand it to these dudes,  it takes major balls and ovaries to run a marathon.  I mean, I like running, but I dunno if I can run 46 km non stop.  I prolly woulda bled to death trying.  I took shitloads of pics , but I ccouldn't post all of them here. So here are some.

there were a lotta shirtless dudes 

like this one for example.  he wasn't running though.  he was mostly panting. 

this dude reminds me of the dude from REM

the dude ran with two flags the whole time! FTW I woulda bled to death doin that.

love this picture

the cutest dude in the marathon.  OK there were a lotta cute dudes but this one gets my vote.  we kinda had a moment.  I was takin pictures and he kinda slowed down and looked directly at the camera because he thought I was takin his pic {I was takin the police dude's pic}. i nodded at him and he nodded.  he smiled and i smiled. then he left the course and we checked in to a run down motel and we made babies to last us till the next winter.  

Who's Joe the Plumber?

OK.  I was watching the final debate on CNN and I heard Mc Cain spoke of Joe the Plumber several times in his spiel.  I turn on the friggen tv after a whole week  of not watching any tube show and whatnot and I hear Joe the Plumber this and Joe the Plumber that. Like, who the hell is  Joe the Plumber?  That really piqued my curiosity. So I decided to google the bloke and these are what I got {believe me, these are the ones that made it to the shortlist}.

OK.  The dude's a caricature. Nuff said.

Not. so. hot.  And he works for bloglines.

erm. no. thank. you.

ooooh. likey likey.  but he's in mongolia, so he's not technically joe the plumber.

hawt. and her name's Jo. But I'm looking for a Joe. :(















OK. I gave up googling the bastard. So I YouTubed him and lo and behold, this is what I found.

Like whoa. There really is a Joe the Plumber - and he called Obama a Socialist. No wonder Mc Cain kept sayinghis name like its his fucking mantra. 

So much for equal opportunity fuck :(
Damn I guess I should settle for Mario then.

QUICKIES. Bob Dylan. My floor obsession. Charlie Horses. The Loooooove Doctor.

First.  Bob Dylan is the bomb.  THE BOMB.  I don't care if he's old or if its folk or country yada, but I love his songs.  What can I say, I like his poetry because it speaks volumes.  I'd like to list some of my favorite Bob Dylan songs here, just in case you haven't listened to any Bob Dylan song {if you haven't then you seriously need to google the old fart and download his shit}.  Here are my top picks.

HAWT BOB DEELAN

Ballad in Plain D

To Ramona

Shelter from the Storm

Workin Man's Blues

House of the Risin Sun

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Mr. Tambourine Man

Spirit on the Water

Like a Rolling Stone

Take Me as I am

With God on our Side

One Too Many Mornings

Talkin' New York

Man of Constant Sorrow

The Wicked Messenger

I've been cleaning my floor yet again. I dunno, its like I have this constant love affair with my mop and my floor.  I love cleaning it, especially when I'm in my boxers and sometimes even in my birthday suit {thank God for the trees that hide my windows. PLANT TREES yo.}

I had one major bitchin' Charlie horse 5 nights ago.  I woke up at 3 am with this bitchin pain on my right leg and I actually screamed in pain :(  It hurt like shit dude.  Took me about 10 minutes to actually stop the pain.  I was massaging my cramped leg, just touching it like and it actually helped.  THAT FELT GOOOOD.  I actually moaned some {ok a lot}.  My upstairs neighbor prolly thought I was gettin laid or summat. Meh.  I need more potassium in my system. 


I've been playin the loooooove Doctor yo.  And I feel giddy as shit.  I feel like fuckin Audrey Taotou in Amelie. See there are these two dudes who kinda like me sorta in the not so brotherly way more like Biblical Leviticus Sodom and Gomorrah type of way like.  They kinda saw my friendster {yeah I still have one} profile ages ago and we chatted on a few occasions.  Each of them tellin' me their woes of being young {they just turned two decades this year}.  Lets just call them Bob and Dylan.  Bob's EMO and Christian and has just dropped outta college and Dylan's a med student and Christian and detests porn of any sort.  Both are in the closet trying on their late grannies' stilletos and both have told me that they liked me.  I did tell them that they were cute and shit {they were} but they were far too young for me.  And besides Cupid has already pierced my ass mouth ears nostrils   heart{!} with his sword of love - and yeah I love my mystery man.  I ain't tellin his name on this blog because I'm way superstitious about this kinda shit. I did tell them that if I were younger and in the same country and available and all the crappy excuses I could make yadi yadi yadi yadi, I'd date them and we'd marry and have Christian kids in a nice suburban house, with a dishwasher, widescreen tv, a dog named Julio and a cat named Julia.  Two days ago, each messaged me separately {they hadn't known each other yet}, askin how I was.  Both were still single and looking for someone to devour still were kinda hopin that I'd put out.  I actually had to point out to them that I am in China and there's the South China Sea {they're both in  the Coconut Republilc} and me putting out would not really be possible.  Then an idea came to mind. Oh yes, I'm the LOOOOOOVE GENIUS.  Why not introduce these two kids to each other? I mean, they're both young, in heat, and starving for some good old fashioned closeted brother to brother loving. So I did.  And like an outsourced customer service agent I pimped them to each other while pointing out to both of them their similarities  - Christian, gay, closet, stilletoes, puberty.  Voila! Three days later,  Bob tells me in an offline message that he is in loooooooove.  Dylan tells me that he's gonna visit Bob soon up north and he plans to woo his EMO ass with dead flowers and angry Christian poetry.  Meh, young love. Makes me wanna puke.  Its still fuzzy though.

I felt so good matching them up.  I'm feeling like Oprah minus the vagina and boobs. 

QUIKIES, Lily, her friend and her friend's boss on a Thursday night out. Stu and his search for the American Dream. The Wrath of a Woman Scorned... among other things

Friday night in the Big Smoke and I am at home - something is definitely wrong with me.  I think it's me aging.

Talked with my Russian friend Lily {again not her real name}.  She's not going out on a Friday night either.  Friday nights are overrated anyways. Meh.  She went out and got trashed last night.  Thursday's the new Friday yo.  Well, her friend, let's call her Lily's friend, flew to the Upper East Side (me old city, how I miss the cold) with her 30-something boss  for some business and a whole lotta pleasure.  So being the good host, Lily took them for a Thursday night out.  They drank whiskey and some chinese moonshine.  Lily's friend's boss got so trashed that she started doing acrobatics in the middle of the dancefloor.  Turned out that Lily's friend's boss used to be a circus performer {no she didn't eat elephants, she used to do death defying back bends}.  Let's just say that she had the crowd going last night.  Lily's friend's boss got offers from the guys looking to get laid that night and she had one special offer from the club manager if she could work in his club full time.  Some Thursday night eh? I wish I was there. 

Stu, my Jewish slash filmmaker slash chef extraordinaire slash one time stripper friend is back in the Land of Milk and Oprah in search of his American Dream. He's looking for a job now {GOOD TIMING STU! I HEAR LEHMAN BROTHERS IS HIRING}.  He sorta misses China. Well Stu, China misses you too! Uncle Mao misses you most dude!  By the way, if the job hunt doesn't turn out well, there's always the street corner dude.   Prostitution never goes outta style my friend.

Fakebook is really getting to be more than a social networking site.  Its more. Much more.  It's more than just a social utility where you can share with your friends and shit.  You can also diss yer ex-es in Fakebook.  Take THIS  for example.  I pity the dude.  Like what Rose said in Titanic,  "A woman's heart is as deep as the ocean and shit." That's one angry woman.

VAGINA POWER

now this is whut i'm talkin about. she knows her shit yo.

What to do when the world economy is on the brink of a major super duper recession?

1. Vote right.  Hell yeah.  For those of you citizens of the world who are about to have a major election, try to choose the right candidate.  VOTE PARIS!   Vote for the candidate that focuses on issues - MAJOR ISSUES (like should citizens have more grocery coupons and shit). Remember, the world is a neighborhood.  Your choice affects the Circle of Life. Like they say, "One home's trash, is another home's, well...  trash too).

2. Get a piggy bank for chrisssake.  I'm serious.  The world needs more piggy banks.  Why? If all the ordinary people know how to save,  then we can probably buy out them multi nationals and transnationals and banks and megalomaniacs with our piggy bank savings! Like we'd smash them piggy banks on their corporate heads and make them count the pennies! That would be so hot. And besides, more piggy banks would create more jobs and shit (betcha didn't think of that huh).  But then again they'd outsource it to China, so meh.

3. Donate to charity. Help people who need help.  Charities need your help too, especially in a recession.  Like dude, have you ever heard of the PASS IT ON philosophy?  If not, google it.  I can't explain it 'coz I'm too lazy and hands hurt (don't ask).  So yeah, donate to a charity or a foundation.  Like, my foundation for example - Help Omar Go to Thailand so He can get a Butt Lift Foundation.  I accept paypal donations too.  Mack me if yer interested. :)

4. Buy a bike.  Low maintenance and no crude needed.  And besides, its good for yer prostate.

5. Write to your congressman.  Ask him/her wtf is he doing with the money that you pay'em to make yer shitty life a little less shitier.

6. Have a garage sale.  For real.  People like trash.  Sell anything, yer tv.  yer phone.  yer soiled underpants. yer class ring. yer pubes.  yer dog. anything goes.  The world is ending so it doesn't really matter.

but...

IF THE SHIT HITS THE FAN AND COMES SPLATTERING ON YER FACE.

I've got one advice for you. YES YOU DUDE.

7. Don't panic.  So yer losing yer house. So yer getting a divorce. So yer husband's cheating on you.  So yer bank closed.  So the world is about to end. Fuck that shit.  Life is short.  Everything is an illusion and shit. 

relax.

take a deep breath.

play some chillout music.

grab a smoke.

drink your non-chinese milk.

and call yer mom to tell her that you'd be crashing in for a bit. 




there.....

feel better?


good.



hope that helps.

Working. Weekends. Visits. Zara. Knee Sex.

Old News. I work like a whore.
Latest News. I work like a whore's whore.
So much for that eh.

It's Friday. I've got a visitor from my old city from the Upper East Side of the Noodle Kingdom. To keep her anonimity, lets call her Lily. Lily Hernandez (of course not her real surname) arrived at the Beijing Train Station last night and will be staying in the Big Smoke (which is suprisingly boasting of clear skies these days) for a coupla days or so. She needed a break, she says. I was willing enough to be the gracious host. I miss the bitch.

Lily has been to Beijing so many times that she lost count and interest. The reasons why she came to Beijing were

1. To see me and catch up
2. To go dancing with me
3. To visit a gay club
4. To take a picture of the Olympic thingamajig place which is near my apartment (about a 20 minute run to be exact)
5. To go to a gay club (yeah she's that desperate)
6. To buy something at ZARA's

Now, reasons 1-5 were doable and shit, but reason 6 was like, what's a Zara?
She was like, "It's a clothing store. Spanish. Nice. Expensive sorta but not much."
I was like, "OK, where is it."
She was like, "Let's Google it"
(my apologies for using the word LIKE too much. I just like using it. LIKE SHIT YEAH)

It turned out that Zara was this sorta swanky something clothing store thats located in this swanky something mall located at the business district in Beijing which they call THE PLACE (like whoa) that boasts of the largest ever TV screen in the whole wide world (so they say, still gives me a stiffed neck when i look at it).

So we went to Zara. AND DAMNIT I'M BLAMING LILY FOR THE PURCHASES I MADE! The hat was just way too nice and the top was cheapfordable ($11). I'm never shopping with Lily ever again. Ever.

So I made my purchase, whilst Lily was in the fitting room trying to force herself into a size 4. I decided to take a smoke break.

While I was smoking, two Chinese dudes (one dude and one dudette) approached me. They were asking me if it was OK if they could take my photo. I was like, "What for." They said it was for some fashion magazine. It brought tears to my eyes, I tell ya.

I was wearing a Vera Wang gown, $5 flipflops, a $10 Armani pig print top, a $4 pair of shorts, a T-back, A hot pair of Jiimmy Choos, a pair of $2 sunglasses that I bought in some Chinese market, and a pair of and 5 NO 4 NO 3 2-day old boxers. What is this world coming to? I figured I'd go along and shit. So I made my best Zoolander pose (not really but you know what I mean). After three clicks they said thank you and I did tell them to at least smudge my face a little if I was on the WHAT'S HOT WHAT'S NOT page.

Anyways, I went back to Zara and found Lily proudly fitting into a size four. I was like "Whoa dude, yer boobs and yer ass look bigger."

She bought the shit and we went shop hopping. Good thing I got no more money so yeah.

We were too dirt poor to get a cab so we took the subway. On the subway we started to have knee sex. I have this annoying habit of tapping (or shaking or whatever) my left leg while I am seated (like in church, commodes, hospitals, gay clubs, drug busts, peacekeeping missions, cultural attache meetings and shit like that) and while I was doing that thing with my left leg, my knee was disturbing Lily's knee. So she asked to stop fucking her knee. And that's how it started. 8 stops and my knee was still doing her knee. I almost came.

I hate Beijing really.

It's all superficial.
fleeting.
impersonal.
mundane.
transitory.

But I love my Zara top.

on being hungry.

Yes.  I'm hungry right now.  You see,  I don't have anything on my fridge.  Not that I don't have money to buy fiid and shit,  I just keep forgetting to buy groceries.  I must confess, I have been living on take outs for the past 2 and a half months that I have been in Beijing.  Not entirely my fault, the hotel would not allow me to use the gas cooker.  Safety precautions they say.  But its there.  They should have not put it there in the first place.  I asked for another cooker.  They gave me an electric thingamajig, that doesn't work. They have yet to replace it.  So here I am, two months later, still living on fried rice take outs, instant noodles, cheerios (with mayonnaise), oreos (with mayonnaise), Micky D's and KFC's and the whole blah blah yadi yada. 

And I'm still hungry.  I need proper food.  Like real food.  One that includes the 5 basic food groups.  Or is it 6? Meh.  I'm hungry.

UNTITLED

Chapter 2

The Second Joyful Mystery – The Visitation

At 3 am, Mario was awakened by sounds emanating from his kitchen. He hears soft clanging sounds of pots and pans and someone humming a tune – a Billie Holiday or maybe an Ella Fitzgerald song. He kept thinking about the tune and which song it was, and he was sure he’s heard of it before. Forgetting the fact that there was someone rummaging through his stuff in his kitchen, he lay on his bed for a minute or two thinking about that elusive song. Then finally giving up, he told himself that he would eventually remember it after a day or two. And besides, it was 3 am and it’s been a known fact that human memory doesn’t function well at this ungodly hour. Then he realizes that he had been doing it again – losing track of one mental thought by segueing to another mental though that is somewhat associated to the primary thought. (Mario is like that, a one minute attention span kind of guy. Compared to Mario, a fly has more mental focus on things at hand – like the turd waiting to be feasted upon, for example).

He mentally kicks himself for losing track of the pressing matter at hand. There was someone in his kitchen and from the smells of it, that someone was cooking.

Did he forget to lock the door? Is it the building manager? But what the hell was he doing in my kitchen at 3 am? Am I dreaming? This must be some weird dream, Mario tells himself. He tried to pinch himself, thinking he was in some weird dream that David Lynch probably directed but when he felt the sting of his pinch he realized that he indeed was awake, and there was someone in his kitchen.

Scared off of his wits, he tried to summon his inner caveman and took hold of the nearest blunt object on his bedside table – a big fat aroma therapy candle, lavender scented, decorated with sea shells. He figured that he could try to whack the living daylights out of this intruder or whatever that is in his kitchen right now concocting those aromas and humming that tune which he couldn’t, for the life of him, name.

Carefully and quietly, Mario creeps outside his bedroom and stood beside the wall that leads to his small kitchen. The kitchen light is turned on, Mario notices. He could still hear the intruder humming a nice and clean and full tempo hum and it seemed to be getting louder... or closer. Then the humming stops. And so did the soft sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen. His apartment becomes still and quiet. He could hear his heart beating. A bead of sweat slowly descends from his forehead to his left eyebrow. For the first time in his life, Mario is scared shitless.

This is just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream. Mario repeats the words like they are Hail Mary’s. His whispers break the silence in his apartment and when he realizes that he’s already the one making the sounds, he stops and slowly creeps sideways toward the kitchen door, prepared to strike the would be attacker with the aroma therapy candle.

Grasping the candle with both hands, he holds his breath and mentally prepares himself to face the kitchen door and strike. Then he realizes that he was not alone on this side of the wall. He hears breathing from his left. It was surely not him for he was holding his breath. He could feel the warmth of the breath beside him... He’s more scared than ever. He was going to die. For sure he was going to die in his flat in dirty underwear. In his mind he pictures all his friends and family and all the people that touched him. Each of them, one by one, he tells them goodbye. Life is just cruel he says to himself.

“And you are one melodramatic fuck. Stop picturing your friends and family and your past bed partners! They’re bombarding my head like crazy. I swear, you people watch too much day time soap operas!”, a sweet feminine voice on his left said. “And to be honest, the picture of your grandmother cooking in the kitchen followed by a naked 18 year old Billy sniffing your jockstrap doesn’t really go together!”

Mario turned around and in the faint light that came from his kitchen, saw a heavy set brown skinned woman, wearing colorful ethnic clothing topped with what looks like an African head dress. She stands a couple of inches shorter than Mario, one foot slightly in front of the other, with hands on her waist and is smiling like she is the reigning Miss America.

Mario screams out of surprise. He didn’t even think of hitting the woman in front of him. He just screams and screams. But he noticed that no sound was coming from his vocal chords. He stops and absently drops the candle in his hands and screams again. Again, no sound. He looks at the woman.

“Now, I will give your voice back if you promise, IF YOU PROMISE not to scream,” the big brown woman said with a motherly tone. “You promise?”

Mario nods shakily. He’s sweating like a pig on a hot summer day.

Then the woman says, “No you’re not being truthful, now Mario. Something tells me that if I give your voice back now you’d scream and wake the living daylights out of the people in this building,” she said with eyebrows raised while wagging her finger. “You do know that if I can take off your vocal faculties that I could also take other things from you?”, she tells him. She waits at the stunned Mario to respond with an akimbo pose and she adds, “Yes, Mario, I know your name.”

“But how?”, Mario asked the woman then suddenly realizing he relinquished his voice back. The woman doesn’t feel threatened anymore and apparently, so does Mario. He is curious.

The woman softens and tells Mario, “I know many things about you Mario. I know about your mental segues, and your interest in elevator music, and your fascination with porn and your masturbatory activities – TEN! What the hell were you trying to prove?”, she scolds, “Even porn stars don’t ejaculate that much!”. Then she softly adds, “And I also know about what happened yesterday morning at the kindergarten.”

Mario hung his head upon hearing those words. He’s not really shameful, but he felt naked in front of the fat brown skinned woman. Then a stray tear drops from his right eye to the floor. He’s shaking. He knows that he’s on the verge of crying or bawling even and he is trying to suppress it. He takes heavy breaths and his nostrils are flaring and he feels warm all over. It’s always like this when he is about to get an emotional outburst, and he hates it. He cries like a deranged widow, truth be told. But he rarely cries. In fact he hasn’t cried in a long, long time. Ever since that day, he hasn’t cried. And in a flash as if triggered by some earthquake, memories suppressed came rushing in and blended itself to the present and everything that he was at the moment. And at that moment, Mario admitted to himself that he was in fact, one lonely and sad individual.

Then the tear drop on the floor became two. Then three. Then four. Then five. The floor to which he was standing was slowly starting to form a small puddle. Mario was crying for the first time, ever since that day. Loneliness was pouring out of his eyes and his skin and everything that was him.

Then something happened. He felt being embraced. The fat brown skinned lady who triggered this flood of suppressed memories and tears was embracing him. A warm embrace it was. He felt being lifted and being removed from everything that was of his body and of his apartment. He felt so light. So light that he now knows what a feather, airborne feels like. It’s like his outpour of sadness was replaced by something else. He felt happy but not laughing or smiling. He knows that he was feeling something different. Something he had never felt before. The closest feeling that he could associate with this was orgasm during sex. In his 29 years, he only had a couple of orgasmic sex. One was when he was 16 when a 45 year old guy gave him a blow job in a run down theatre in Manila and the other one was his first ejaculation when he was 13 back in his old room masturbating to Jockey underwear ads on the Sunday paper. Both were all quick, barely 20 seconds the longest. Now he feels like he was having a thousand ejaculations at the same time, only that he was not ejaculating through his penis. He was ejaculating all over. His eyes, his pores, his nails, his ears, his orifice, and every opening in his body were ejaculating except his penis. His whole body was convulsing. His mind felt like exploding. He was making incoherent sounds but he understands what he was trying to say.

Don’t make it stop. Please, don’t make it stop. I love this feeling, so don’t make it stop. I want to stay in this state so don’t make it stop.

Then everything around Mario went pitch dark.

Chapter 1

The 245^th Monday and 10 Ejaculations

I never thought I’d say this but I think I’m addicted to porn, and masturbating.

Just today, I masturbated for 10 times. 10 times. That’s like a record for me – on a Monday, nonetheless... I mean, who jerks off on a Monday? And ten times even. My last ejaculation barely ejaculated. I swore I could hear my dick letting out a silent cry to stop it already if I didn’t want him to fall off, in my last, almost dry orgasm.

I know I have a problem. So what? I mean everybody has problems and issues and all, mine is just more defined – excessive masturbatory practice.

Yep. My dick is chafed. It doesn’t hurt, but it stings a little.

It’s not like I’m a sex addict or anything. I just happen to like watching porn and jerking off. Free porn of course. I don’t have the money to subscribe to anything paid. I don’t even have a credit card for crying out loud. Not that I want one. I had this friend once who got buried in debt and was hounded by the credit card company for buying shitloads of, well, things. Yeah, I do the casual sex from time to time but I prefer beating the bishop. It’s less risky, I guess. But I guess it’s more of the act itself. I like masturbating. Truth be told, I like masturbating more that the act of sex itself. Why? Don’t ask me. I just like it, period.

It’s Monday again. Never liked Mondays, to be honest. Its just boring and long and well, very Monday-ish. Monday, actually kind of sounds like ‘mundane’, come to think of it. Maybe that’s why they called it Monday. This is actually my 245^th Monday here in China. Not that I am counting, but I realized it just now. I have already spent 245 Mondays of my life here in the Noodle Kingdom. Wow. That’s a lot, I think.

I had a long day. I was teaching kids this morning. I was teaching them this song about the parts of the body. They were 6 year olds and they were getting bored so I had to improvise. So I taught them the song. It’s a funny song come to think of it, with funny actions and dance moves and all. A total classroom hit for kindergarten teachers. And the kids were laughing and at each other and at me. We were kind of having fun. Then in the middle of the song, for a split second, I realized something. Something very important. So important it was that it showed on my face for that split second while I was doing the song and dance number with the kids. Some of the perceptive little buggers even noticed it. I noticed it.

You see, I had this epiphany, this overwhelming knowledge that I could no longer deny. I guess I have known it all along but I didn’t act upon it. And to seriously deny this fact would mean to seriously deny myself altogether. I realized something important while I was singing the song with the children, turning round and round with bended knees and flapping arms and head bent with my tongue out like some senile person waiting to die – I had to admit that it was a funny song. I realized that I didn’t belong there or anywhere within a 50,000 mile radius.

I don’t belong here. And it was time to leave.

And in the middle of the song while the kids were singing and turning round and round with their head and knees bent and tongues out, arms flapping and all – I stopped singing then took my bag and left without a word.

I heard the children saying “goodbye teacher.” The Chinese assistant teacher was shouting my name and telling me that I still had 15 minutes left and 3 more periods to finish. I didn’t bother answering. I just left the building and never looked back.

Mario has left the building.
Ho-hum.

I walked for hours. It’s October and it’s really cold in this part of China. I was wearing a t-shirt, a pair of worn out jeans and a letter jacket. I didn’t bother taking a taxi. I just walked and walked till my feet complained then I took the bus going back to my flat. I opened my door and looked at my flat for 5 seconds and I was debating if I should fix myself something to eat or just sleep.

I wanted to make some early dinner but then I was too lazy to make one. Besides, all my fridge had was one lousy rotten tomato. I wanted to order take outs but then again I realized I wasn’t that hungry.

But I was horny all of a sudden. Out from nowhere, my libido was telling me to turn on the computer and browse for free porn. I did. I went to the porn site, opened some videos, undid my belt, opened my zipper and took out my dick. Five videos and ten ejaculations and thirty Kleenex tissues later, here I am – talking to myself in this monologue voice that reeks of National Geographic.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I kept saying that to myself. Even when I was watching porn online and doing the work of my human hands. It’s time to leave. Even when I was smoking my last stick of cigarette, I was saying that over and over, sometimes even in mid exhalation I was muttering the words.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

It’s time to leave.

I went to my bedroom without brushing my teeth or changing my work clothes. I kept saying the words over and over and over again. And like a Buddhist mantra that releases a Buddhist person’s soul to some form of nirvana or something like it – those four words released my whole body, mind and spirit to the world of soft, quiet slumber.

{ untitled } - The Beginning

He stares at the semen on his hand. In his mind it looks like an abstract painting hung on some swanky metropolitan museum for modern art. It could actually pass for an artwork. With the right frame and canvass, one unsuspecting art connoisseur with loads of dosh would actually buy the mess he made and it would set him for life. Well, at least for a good number of years.

Trying not to spill a drop on the floor, he quickly reaches for the Kleenex to wipe off the cum. He throws the used Kleenex in the trash bin beside his computer desk – workstation he calls it. The trash bin is brimming with used Kleenex tissues with dried up and some freshly manufactured cum – 30 in all. He has masturbated 10 times today. Truth be told, he hates ejaculation in any form. He likes the sensation but he detests the mess.

He closes the porn site and turns off the computer then lights his last cigarette and looks at the window. A quiet song is singing in his head. Some classical music he heard two days ago in an elevator. It had violins and piano and a cello. It was sad, and he was kind of puzzled why they would use a sad song as elevator music. Nobody actually bothered to pay attention to elevator music – muzak as some brainy toads would call it, but one out of ten people who ride elevators actually do. Mario Peccado is one is one of them – 29 years old… an advocate of free online porn… a chain smoker… a teacher… gay, but not proud... and a guy who pays attention to elevator music.

Hey HO! Let's Go.

Yes I am alive. I know I haven't blogged in months and I have no excuse except I that I couldn't write. Yes, I have what you would call a Blogger's Block. I shall attempt to write something tonight, substantial or otherwise.

Here we go.

I am based in Beijing now. I've been here for almost a week. I finally was able to get out of THAT city. But don't tell anyone to what I am about to tel

l you, okay. I miss THAT city. Well, how can I not? I lived there for 7 years for crying out loud. Now, Beijing. The Big Smoke. The Big B. The Olympic City. Beijing is so hyped up right now that it could run for a democratic/republican/independent whatever nomination. It's polluted as f*ck. No wonder they call it the Big Smoke. The day I arrived in the Big B, I could not see a single edifice farther than 100 meters. And to top that, the weather was humid. And I was carrying 8 pieces of luggage (see picture below).

Anyways, I decided to move to Beijing NOT BECAUSE OF THE OLYMPICS, but because my clients are based here {yes I still whore my ass despite the fact that I am turning thirty this November} and its closer to almost {well, almost} any place in China, flights and trains and all.

I already have my flat set up. It's way smaller than the flat that I shared with Wendy – two bedroom, a tiny vestibule that can pass as a bathroom, a kitchen in which I cannot use the gas stove {building policy, but there is a friggen gas stove – they should've just removed the friggen gas stove if I am not allowed to use it}, AC{thank gawd}, cable {like actual cable with foreign channels} and the whole shebang. It's small, yeah, but I like it. Why you ask? I don't have neighbors in me building. All the other rooms are offices during the day and are empty as a Ben Affleck movie at night. You know what that means eh? ORGIES, PARTIES and SACRIFICIAL RITUALS! WOOOHOOO! I can't wait to run nekkid and drunk. My flat is fairly new as I can still smell the paint. I like the place. It's so obscure and I get some sort of privacy and autonomy. Opposite my building is a huge college dorm building for foreign students. There's a coffee shop at the ground floor called “College Perk” with the same logo as “Friends'” “Central Perk”, only that there's no Jennifer Aniston {Thank Gawd}and the coffee's just ok-ish but real expensivo.

I miss Changchun {me old city}. I miss the visibility and the way the locals speak Chinese. Beijingers have “R”'s in every word they say {well not every word but you can notice the r's every time they say something}. I miss my friends in Changchun. But I needed to leave, move on, explore new horizons and shit.

Anyways, I have almost finished unpacking and shit and my clothes smell like sawdust. Good thing they already delivered the washing machine when I got back from my run so I spent half of the day washing my clothes.

*!*!*

I miss this one guy. I ain't telling you his name. But yeah. I miss him. I miss taking showers with him. {Well he gives a good scrubbing, yo}.

^%^%^%

I've been watching a whole lotta TV lately {cable}. For the first time in years, I was able to sit in front of the tube for two whole hours. I couldn't believe CNN could be so riveting.

@$@$@$

My internet connection is super duper fast. Well, I paid for it. You know whut that means....... PORN.

&*&*&*&

I had a meeting yesterday with one of my clients. Let's just say that this particular client is not in my favorites list. I'll give you the cliffnotes version. Let's call this client Charlton Heston. Charlton Heston acquired my services for some yadi yadi. Since it was money, I took the job. You know me, I never say no to money {*Omar genuflects in front of Chairman Mao's smiling 100 Yuan face and makes the sign of the cross}. Wrong move. The client is bordering insufferable. Insufferable I tell ya. I tried almost every tactic in book short of blowing the dude. He's just not sure about what he wants and whenever he gets all rattled up he blames the help (moi). Sucks being a whore, but hey, its a living. A friend and colleague actually advised me to go slow and sorta lead him to a firm decision or some sort of commitment. I followed this friend's advice and guess whut? Didn't work.

Okay, So I was in a meeting with Charlton Heston. I haven't even sat down the chair and he starts barraging me with all these yadi yadi yadas that I am not doing what I am paid to do and shit and that he and his committee is not satisfied about the outcome and shit like that.

{Backgrounder, Charlton and his committee asked me to do a project and I agreed, provided they provided me the actual material for the project. Before I agreed, I briefed Charlton at what I actually do and the method and the means that I will employ should I accept this project. Charlton said he was ok with it. To clarify, I repeated to him him that this is what I do and these are were the means that I employ and shit. He said he was ok with it. So, I said yes. What went wrong then? The material came in trickles. The committee didn't like the means that I employ to do the project – It led me to the conclusion that Charlton didn't consult his committee or he didn't consult them that well since he was always flying from one city or country. Then he blames me. Of course, blame the help when the shit hits the fan}.

So he goes on and on about me not being prepared for the meeting and not even bothering to answer the issues he and his committee pointed out in his last email. I wanted to say something real bad ass at that moment but I held my tongue. Because if I did, it wouldn't have accomplished anything. I came meeting to do business and clearly, he wasn't. He was livid. But I was having a good day so I let him go on and on and on. Yap yap yap yap yap. I even acted contrite just to feed his ego. You see, Charlton was angry because I was incompetent and his justification was that I didn't came prepared for the meeting and that I don't even have a hard copy of his last email, which was the topic of the meeting that day. The clincher is, this whore did not receive any email from Charlton Heston. Old Charlie forgot to send me that one important email that would have justified his frustrations for the project by projecting the whole failure to the hired help because he was flying from one city to another. I knew there was no email from the start of the meeting. I wanted to point out that to old Charlie but he wouldn't let me. So, there I was channelling the beautitudes and trying to be meek and humble of heart.

Finally. I dropped the bomb. I asked Charlton, “What email are you talking about?” {with matching, meek and humble facial expressions plus eyelashes}. He says “What do you mean what email, THIS EMAIL {points to the paper his holding}.

MY MOMENT!

I looked at the paper. Looked at him and said, “I didn't receive this email. Your last email was dated XXXXX. I can check it now in my inbox if you wish. If I'm wrong, then I will apologize, my mistake.” He flinches. He runs to his laptop and checks his files. No email. Couldn't find anything. NADA.

Then he looks at me. I look at him {still with the meek and humble of heart expression and eyelashes and shit} and I said, “May I?”.

He steps aside. I open my Gmail account. I typed his name {I tag all my emails. THANK GOD FOR GMAIL}. All the emails he sent me appeared. All dated. But the one email that he was holding in his hand was no where to be found.

He is silent.

I look at him {still humble but with a slight smile forming, but hardly noticeable}

I cough a little.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Once I closed the bathroom door. I did my best Robert de Niro impersonation from Taxi Driver and I did my victory dance. I texted a friend and told him I'd buy him to have his 7 o'clock free because I was gonna buy him a drink that night.

I went out of the bathroom, and there is Charlton Heston, still checking for the lost email that was never sent.

I sat down beside him and I asked him if he could hand me the hard copy. He did. He's subdued now. More meek. More humble. Mind you, I could've shat on his face and repeat every insult he told me. But I didn't. I didn't come there for a pissing contest. I went to that meeting to do business and to actually salvage something of the project that he and his committee were royally fucking up. It was tempting to actually say a word or two, but the dude was already wounded. And besides, it's inhumane to kick a wounded dog.

He was trying to compose himself. He was rather red. I kept coughing small coughs because I was trying not to laugh. We continued the meeting. He wasn't being Moses now. We were doing business.

I learned a lot after that meeting. A lot.

But the most important lesson that I learned that day was about being quiet in a tumultuous situation. Silence is not a weakness. It's a sharp sword that cuts deep. Shallow waters make a lot of noise, but you don't find the treasure chests under shallow waters. You find the pirate booty in the quiet depths.

THAT AND USE GMAIL MOTHERFUCKERS!

GMAIL FUCKING ROCKS!

{By the way, I hope whoever is reading this shit that I am writing actually doesn't think that I am talking about sex! It's not. I actually do have a job}