A little TV break...

Spend funny Friday nights with Gus and Shawn on Psych.

I hope you're all enjoying the Cosmo Series. I'm almost at the homestretch (more than halfway the 16 posts). So yesterday, Friday, after submitting one post and working on the next two drafts, I decided to reward myself and finally make a chocolate cake I've been wanting to make since early this week. I'll blog about that in the next entry and post pics, too.

Evenings are usually when I move from the desktop computer and to the bed and get on my laptop to either blog or work on pending deadlines. And as of this month, I've decided to make 11pm to 1am my manuscript editing schedule.

Anyway, last night, after making the cake, I went to bed earlier than usual and watched TV.

I have a funny relationship with TV: I can go for months without watching, or get glued for hours until my eyes get droopy. If I had Direct TV I probably would have totally different viewing habits. (If you live in the US, click here for more info on Directv and get up to 5 months free when you subscribe.)

Two of my favorite shows to watch are Psych and Burn Notice, and a third I'm curious about is White Collar—out on October 23. All are part of the roster of shows on USA Network (House, Monk, etc.).

Psych (pictured above) features fake-psychic Shawn Spencer and best friend Burton Guster who help the Santa Barbara Police Department solve crimes. Shawn has developed a heightened awareness of his surroundings thanks to the strict and regimented upbringing of his police officer father, Henry, played by L.A. Law alum Corbin Bernsen (who also has great comic timing).

Gabrielle Anwar and Jeffrey Donovan play sleuthing spies in Burn Notice, back this winter.

Burn Notice, on the other hand, is slightly more serious, featuring burned spy, Michael Westen. I've been following it for a few seasons now and it's gotten a bit darker and grittier over time, but still overall fun to watch, with Fiona and Sam (played by Gabrielle Anwar and Bruce Campbell) as Michael's smart and dashing 'sidekicks.'

"White Collar is about the unlikely partnership of a con artist and an FBI agent who have been playing cat and mouse for years," according to the USA Network website. Click on the image below to read up on the upcoming series. I'm guessing Matt Bomer, who plays con artist Neal Caffrey hired by the FBI to help catch other white collar criminals, is the network's answer to Don Draper of Mad Men—a show I have yet to watch.

(For more info on DirectTV, visit http://www.blogtelevision.net.)

Images courtesy of http://download-apps.net (Psych), http://zoknows.wordpress.com (Burn Notice), and http://www.usanetwork.com (White Collar).

Three Types of Men to Avoid

Is the guy you're seeing anything like John Tucker?

Because of my previous post, that nasty lawyer I dated briefly (who broke it off with me via text) crossed my mind again. I realized, while I haven’t been out in a while (I’m getting married to my boyfriend of five years), I could properly categorize chumps that women in the dating scene should steer clear of. I am assuming these warning signals will still hold water for a long time coming. Beware of…


…The "Busy" Big-Shot Flake

I once met Mark* through a group date. (This was around the time after my Blind Date Boo-Boo.) He was a successful finance guy who partied/went to college in Boston, who had a brimming platter of back-to-back activities. I was impressed: I’d never dated anybody so…high profile? My circle at the time consisted of co-writers and editors, struggling artists, and bohemian rockclimbers. Yuppies were like aliens from outer space.

One time he asked me, “What do you spend your money on?” I was baffled—because he meant it on a level of cars, interior design, or maybe even investments. I was a young editor on a young-editor salary. I 'splurged' on Starbucks and shelled out cash for pulled clothing and accessories I wanted to keep, which also explained why I was always broke. Oh yes, and I also paid rent: the concept of which was as alien to him as crunching numbers was foreign to me.

Suffice it to say we became quite fond of each other. I was amused by his world and, with his sheltered upbringing, he was amused by mine (“This is the age of women who drive themselves!” he once exclaimed, referring to my very 'independent' way of living by not having a driver. Okay…) He had so much going on, all these grand plans for himself. He spent Saturdays running big errands, like scouring dealerships deciding on what car to upgrade to or shopping for Scuba gear.

Here’s the catch: He filled up his plate so much that I kind of fell off the menu. He told me he just got carried away at first, but he wasn’t ready for a relationship (we were actually both rebounding from long-term exes).

One Friday night he called to check in and said, “Hey, I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

He called back the next Friday. And then I never heard from him again.


…The Lying Ladies Man

Ah, Raffy*…I’ll never forget him. Why? He was dreadful! But of course it took me almost four months to figure that out. Raffy was the lawyer who swept me off my feet by playing the role of the perfect suitor, and his stories played out perfectly, at least in the beginning.

“How many girlfriends have you had after Elaine*?” I asked.

“Two,” he replied. “[Name of ex-girlfriend #1] and [name of ex-girlfriend #2].”

“Oh, wow.” I’d assumed after getting his college girlfriend, Elaine, knocked up, he had a whole roster of lady loves. Two was quite a conservative number, judging from his reputation of being a Class A flirt.

Naive as I was (and remember, since I shy away from lying, I am quick to assume people around me do the same) I never questioned his stories. Two ghosts of girlfriends past it is, plus the mother of his child. Surely I could handle that.

Despite later on noticing a large circle of women friends, long and intimate phone calls with them—he would promptly put the phone down as I entered the room—and even going as far as seeing him walking around law school side by side with one of these friends(?), I kept dating him. I brought him food and candy during study sessions and practically became his bar exam caretaker.

The thing with us women is that we persist and persevere in an effort to make something work, even if it means putting up with bad behavior, dealing with immense stress, and going against our gut. And for all those months, my gut kept screaming, “No!” Even my beloved, sharp-witted grandmother, who’s never met him, promptly gave him the thumbs down.

Raffy turned out to be stressful to be with, selfish, insecure, hostile, uptight, and not anything like he was during the courtship stage. I always had to take freezing showers at his apartment, because he wouldn't turn on the heater, fearing his electric bill would go up. It didn’t help that the bar exams brought out the worst in him: he yelled at me on the phone and treated me like…gosh, I don’t even remember; the details are lost on me. All I can recall is this general feeling of dreadfulness.

Eventually our relationship deteriorated. Yes, at the very end, via SMS. A few weeks after the ‘breakup’ (we never really got together officially as a couple), I bumped into one of his friends, who assumed we were still seeing each other.

She asked, “Hey, are you coming with us to the beach?”

“Oh, no. Raffy and I aren’t seeing each other anymore,” I answered.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that. Did he ever mention that I was his ex-girlfriend?”

“Really? Um, no…” I trailed off, thinking how this girl was definitely not on the two-girlfriends list.

And then I wondered: So how many ‘undeclared’ girls did this guy have? I never really found out.


…The Elusive Drama King

Josh* was absolutely hot. At least that's what I remember from when I first laid eyes on him eons ago. He had the perfect rocker, bad-boy vibe: rugged Doc Martens, pierced ears, and a perma-five o’ clock shadow. He was also smart, diligent, and graduated on time (I didn’t, by the way).

Years later we would actually start hanging out. I thought I’d found a kindred spirit in Josh: We were both relatively ‘weird,’ eloquent with our thoughts and were able to put into words our feelings about the world and music—but unfortunately not our feelings for each other. I could never figure him out. He was just so…elusive.

One time, we went running. While stretching post-workout, he asked:

“Are you hungry?”

I answered, “Yeah…you?”

“Yup. And I’m having dinner at home.”

“Oh, okay. Bye.”

Talk about unpredictable. I thought he was going to suggest grabbing a bite somewhere.

This went on for a couple of weeks. He would call and ask how I was, and then abruptly say goodbye. Or send an SMS, and never reply to any follow up texts.

I finally snapped out of this "Does he like me?" hot-and-cold reverie when I bumped into a hot(ter) model whom I haven’t seen since I’d worked with him at a shoot a few years earlier. We flirted all evening at an event, and exchanged numbers by the end of the night. He promptly text-messaged. But he turned out to have a girlfriend (oops) so we never dated. What I took away from the experience though was that if a guy were into you, he’d show it—CLEARLY. He would even go out on a limb to make you feel like royalty.

Bottomline is, the E.D.K. either likes you but makes you work hard for it; or is conflicted enough to give you mixed signals. You’ll need a lot of pushing, prodding, walking on eggshells... But is that really what you want? I mean, if you enjoy a challenge, why not try Capoeira? Or train for a marathon? A relationship (or the beginnings of one) should be fun, lighthearted, and breezy. If you’re already working so hard now, can you imagine what it’d be like when this guy is actually your boyfriend?

On the flipside, the elusive guy may be acting the way he is because…he’s not into you (you’ve already read this so many times, right?). So move along. As in the case of Josh, he was acting strange and lukewarm because he was actually already seeing somebody else: a married woman whose situation already merited a barrage of drama in his life that I had absolutely nothing to do with! Don’t ask how I found this out; that qualifies for another (embarrassing) Cosmo Confession post.

In retrospect, I’m not bummed by the dating choices I’ve made in the past. In fact, I feel enlightened by these experiences. After all, with every glitch comes a lesson and realization that eventually leads to the right path, and God-willing, the right man.


Part of this month's Cosmo Series, eighth of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of RottenTomatoes.com)

*names have been changed.

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Slut...or Not

Never judge: The "Samantha" you know may be more like Charlotte.

I know at least three women who have, in the past, been branded “easy” or worse, “slutty” because of either their sexy way of dress or aggressive dating habits (or a quick turnover of dates, for that matter).

But surprise, surprise: These women, at the time these labels were slapped on, were actually VIRGINS, and the first men they've incidentally bedded were either their longtime boyfriends, and/or the men who became their husbands. And all of them have been nothing but faithful. Shocked? It gets even better: The real "sluts" are now hardworking career women and mothers living successful married lives. Though their reputation may have preceded them in the past, (someone I knew in college was notorious for getting down and dirty with her boyfriend in the parking lot) they're now cruising life in the fast and fabulous lane. Talk about having the last laugh.

The moral of the story here is, don't judge...at all. Whether it's the touchy-feely class flirt or the girl who loves a plunging neckline at work, resist the urge to propagate nasty rumors. It's a total waste of time.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd ever been labeled something horrible. After all, I did work in Cosmo and met gorgeous models. (One time, my cousin’s husband totally freaked and thought I was at a seedy nightclub when he saw me on TV at a Bachelor Bash! I had to explain that it was, um, work.) But I guess when it comes to these things, the recipient of a shameful moniker can never really find out the full extent of her reputation. I’d like to think I've kept a good one throughout the years, but again, I’ll never know, right?

What I do know is that in those years I spent being single and meeting different kinds of guys, my dates all ended with dessert of the wholesome kind and me driving myself home—alone. I think that was the ironic side of having my own space early on; I became more discerning (bordering on paranoid—my apartment was tiny yet you needed to go through two locked doors to get to my bedroom door) of the people I invited over.

I once did bring a dreadful lawyer home who kept insulting my place for being a fire hazard and for not having air-conditioning at the time. Like fungi, he didn’t stay—in my home and in my life—for very long.

I love how my friend, Frances, takes it all in stride when it comes to pointless tittle-tattle:

“Gossip is evil and you truly cannot do anything about it. If you protest, it will fuel it. And they'll never believe you anyway.”

She adds, “If all the gossip I heard about me were true, I'd have lost my virginity to 30 boys at varying times, been many times pregnant, had them all aborted, stole at least 50 boyfriends, and have had tons of bastards, too. Incredible. My life is such an open book…And yet, nasty false rumors like those surface again and again.”

“[On another note,] only very important people get gossiped about. It's dumb consolation but it's true.”


Part of this month's Cosmo Series, seventh of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of HBO.com)

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The Truth And Nothing But

In the new movie, The Invention of Lying, people live in a world where everybody tells the truth.

Up until I reached freshman year in high school, I didn't make a big deal out of white lies, or lying in general. Growing up, I watched people fib about random, silly things, so I found myself also stretching the truth here and there.

That came to a halt when I was 11. (Yes, I was a very young high schooler.) We were at my friend Mia's house when one of the girls called me out on a white lie. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what it was exactly: It was so in-passing and probably an exaggeration of tween proportions, perhaps like how one's little sister would exaggerate, "My mother bought me these sparkly blue shoes and they had real diamonds!"

What I do remember to this day is that our friend Dawn said jokingly, but meaningfully, something to the effect of:

"Hey, that's bad. Lying is wrong."


I don't remember her exact words; after all, that was 18 years ago (she may have also pointed out to me that lying was a sin). But I got reminded that lies, no matter how 'small,' were just not right.

From then on I quit lying, cold turkey. Except when I was 13 and told a guy I went to a different school. Other than that, I don't remember a distinct moment wherein I'd purposely spoken an untruth. Or if I did, it was probably one of those things when you're filling out a form and it asks you for your annual income and you don't really know so you just round off some number off the top of your head; or if a creepy person asks what your name is and you say something else. That kind of stuff.

In the years that followed, I became this straightforward—at times to the point of tactless—frank, and transparent individual. Some of my teachers also called me out on this. My first boss nicknamed me The Truth Serum.

It's true, though (and for sure you've already heard this before): The truth is just easier to remember than a string of lies.

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, sixth of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures)

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Back-to-Back Boo-boos

[Note: This is one of my favorite posts so far. In it are three "Oops!" moments that happened different times. While preparing this a few weeks ago, I realized I had SO MANY boo-boos enough to do a blogging series. So I might do just that once I'm done with my guest-blogging stint at Cosmo. Meanwhile, enjoy this post! Hope it makes you laugh like I did while writing it :)]

Speaking of setbacks, what comes to mind next are boo-boos. You know, the kind that leave you dumbfounded and embarrassed beyond words (and if you say anything afterwards, it gets even worse).

I couldn't help but chuckle when I read Cosmo staffer Beam Mariano's post, "Keeping Things to Myself," wherein she talks about embarrassing herself at a recent shoot with a famous model. I could totally relate: I've had my share of mortifying moments, so many that I can't recall all of them.

Like her, I tend to constantly embarrass myself around people.

To this day I'm still learning how to deal with boo-boos. I wish I could say that once you've had several, it's easier to get past any that follow. Unfortunately, each one is so unique, and you never know what to expect or how to make light of every situation. The best strategy, therefore, is to move on and have a good laugh, and hopefully develop the pulse to distinguish when to speak up and when to keep mum.

I'm more inclined to speak my mind and that's why I've managed to put my foot in my mouth many, many times. Here are some memorable ones. Brace yourself.


The Blind Date

When Cosmo started a blind date section years ago, then editor Myrza Sison asked me to participate in exchange for a fun night out with free dinner and dessert. I gladly obliged—I didn't mind meeting this new person (I was fresh out of a breakup) and was friends with the photographer who was going to follow us around on our date. The guy turned out to be nice, well-mannered, and cute. In the car, we exchanged info on our work, likes and dislikes, and so forth. I kept saying "I looove dessert. I love dessert so much that I gave up meat so I could eat more of it."

We had a great dinner, and when it was time to order dessert, he wanted to order an exotic coffee-based cake from the menu. But I insisted on something more homey and sweet: chocolate mousse. He agreed, so we had these lovely morsels served on a plate. Since we were stuffed, we couldn't finish the whole thing so I nudged him to bring it home, to which he politely declined. I kept urging, "Bring it home to your little sister, she'll love it. Here, let me call the waiter." So we bid each other adieu and off he went, clutching a small brown paperbag.

The next day at work, an editor friend asked how the date went. I said it went great, it was more of a shoot than a real blind date, but I had a nice time and dinner. And then she said:

"You know his family owns Red Ribbon, right?"

"What?! I kept going on and on and on about dessert! He must have thought I was nagpaparinig. What if he thinks I wanted gift checks or something?! Oh no...and the chocolate mousse! No wonder he didn't want to bring it home, he must be so sick of chocolate mousse, of all things!"


Resort Retort

I was in a big car with some new friends, who were more like gimik friends at the time so we weren't that close. One of them brought up the idea of going to the beach, and everyone agreed.

"Let's go to Bataan," the guy in the front seat suggested.

"In Montemar?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Oh! I don't want to go there," I said, and continued (in a single breath), "I've been there twice, for shoots. The first time was great, but the second time, the food wasn't that great and the service was bad."

Guess what? Front seat guy turned out to be one of the owners and shareholders of the resort. I think I ended up saying something polite and feeble and palpak like, "Oh, but um, I would still go back if it's with you guys..."

Now, imagine the same scenario, different setting, involving a person whose family produced Blu Skies crackers. And this is what I said before finding out the former:

"Oh, you shouldn't eat Blu Skies crackers. My friend says they contain marine fat, like animal lard, and it's BAD for you."


Otap

When I was a teenager, my cousins and I lived in the same house (with their parents) and we were like siblings. My cousin, Jacque—who was more like a big sister—was particularly gorgeous and always had suitors. Her little brother and I benefitted from the gifts her admirers would send over. One evening, as she was getting ready, I was in the dining room eating Otap [a flaky sugary biscuit like Elephant Ears] while waiting for all of us to go out to dinner. Her suitor was also waiting downstairs. While making small talk and munching—obviously enjoying every bite—I exclaimed:

"Oh! You MUST try these! They're Otap from Cebu, they're YUMMY! They're different from regular Otap. Here, try them."

Can you guess the conclusion to this story?:)

Part of this month's Cosmo Series, fifth of 16 posts also published at Cosmo.ph.
(Image courtesy of Universal Pictures)

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