Monday, February 19, 2007

Yammerings of a schizo man-hater-sympathizer

I haven’t had a good guy friend in (I pause typing to use my fingers to count)—seven years.

It wasn’t always like this. In grade school, I had two gay men for good (there is no best) friends. And I was a tomboy. And we had a grand time. But then, I lost their friendship in high school; one transferred to Ateneo two years ahead of me, sprouted an Adam’s apple and became a creep—not just any creep, he was a creep who carved “Kix pogi” (“Kix” being his new macho nom de guerre) onto his classroom’s broom closet. The other one was coerced into “straight-ness” by his religion, so now he lives a pseudo-straight existence; it goes without saying that he has become a bore to talk to as well.

And so I am this: a guy friend-starved college student. It worries me a teeny weeny bit that males do not have representation in my triangle of friends (yes, triangle; I only have three friends). I just can’t get this feeling out of my system that I might be missing out on something. Anyway, I do not like to believe that my personality is naturally predisposed to keeping guys at bay. I guess it’s just tough when you’re in the Humanities Division (which is made up of 99% MassComm students and 1% English); the prospective guy friends there are slim pickings. It’s always—always—that they’re either openly flamboyantly gay (not my kind of gay), or they’re really really good looking and so self-absorbed that making friends with them would be pointless. There’s a third group—those who are gay but in hiding; I’d rather not hang out with them ‘coz they’ve got issues—plus they can’t make up their mind (and things are bound to get complicated).

Anyhoo, it’s sad that the only guys I see in school outside the Humanities are:

a. slung around their girlfriend’s necks.
b. addicted to DoTA—that automatically disqualifies them from “the list”
c. pitiful sex-starved idiots in search of nubile bodies and pretty faces—that automatically disqualifies me from “their list”
d. there is no D. If there is, I have forgotten it because Papa is having a rollicking good time playing with the videoke player in the next room.

I don’t know when I had this strange yearning for male—platonic—male companionship. Dammit it must be all those shtufid K-dramas and American dramas (in the mold of O.C., OTH, or Everwood). They make it appear that having a male friend is fun!!! Hah, I must not be fooled. If the guys around me are any indication, then it would be correct to say that 98% of guys are smarmy, insensitive, raging-hormone oafs, totally unlike the caring, sensitive, thoughtful, witty, and funny types so masterfully portrayed by cute Korean actors.

I apologize in advance if there are males reading this (!) whose sensibilities (!) have been offended. I just can’t help it: in my world, all men must be marginalized.
In other news, I have finished the second (and hopefully final) drafts of my two Sarangani articles. I’m keeping my fingers, toes, and everything else crossed that the editor will finally get off my back and just approve the frigging articles for publication. I cannot take another week—or, God forbid, month—of stressful revisions. It’s bloody work, I tell you. Already I have incurred stress-induced zit regions on my face. I swear I’ll cry and tear my hair out if the editor asks me for another “total revision.” Merciful editor, please read this and be moved.