I belong to the school of thought, perhaps you can even call it a religion, that believes only Mariah can do Mariah. It is a known fact that it is suicidal to attempt a Mariah song, especially on shows like American Idol.  Anyone, and I mean ANYONE, who attempts to sing her songs are bound to:

a) make complete fools of themselves, they’d wish they were dead.
b) die of depression, because no matter how well they sang Mariah’s songs, they would always be considered mediocre compared to her.

Thus, I was in a state of pure, unadulterated bliss and excitement when I heard about American Idol’s Mariah Week. For those who have read my previous blog, you’d know how totally stoked I was for today. And for those haters ( *cough* Justin *cough*) who keep on dissing about how this is all a publicity stunt for her new album, keep on hating. I’m sure Mariah cares. Nyahahaha!

Knowing that those poor, poor souls only have two options, to either fail miserably or be considered so-so, I was excited to see blood flow. However, I also had hopes that they wouldn’t butcher Mariah’s songs, or that some of my “favorites” would actually learn from her. As I wrote in my previous blog, some of the contestants should use this time to reinvent themselves, do something different, shock people (in a good way.) Admittedly, 90% of Mariah’s songs are flirty, fun, sexy. After MJ and the stripper boi got booted off, A.I. was totally dull. This should have been a fun week. But as the title of this blog suggests, this week was a TOTAL FAILURE. Why? Reader, be cautioned. There are some serious spoilers ahead, and a lot of HATE. Read on at your own risk.

*****

Let’s start with David Archuleta. This boy has got an amazing voice. That’s a fact. He’s also cute, young, and attractive. I’m sure, despite his age, you’ve all thought how he was in bed. I’m kidding, maybe that was just me. :p LOL. Anyway, as I said, we know David A. is bankable. His appeal is almost universal. Young kids luvvv him, Mommas just wanna pinch his cheeks, and more! HOWEVER, he keeps on singing LAME songs!

Seriously, I am so over him. This week he sang “When You Believe” from the “Prince of Egypt” soundtrack. Groundbreaking, David. Totally brave song to do. Oh, but wait, doesn’t this sound like all the songs you’ve sang before? Isn’t this another one of those inspirtational-i’ll-save-the-world-i’m-here-for-you songs? RIGHT. What the f*ck is new with that? He didn’t even sing it with the same jaw-dropping, tear-inducing quality as he did “Imagine.” If you are going to sing something like this, Little David, make sure to wow people because if you don’t, they are just going to forget you. Or you’ll be known ALWAYS as the Ballad boy, sexless and unexciting. You don’t want that. BUT I really don’t care now. If you sang something up tempo, something cute, fun, or even a bit sexy, I would still be supporting you. You could’ve sang “My All” or acted all cute and boyish while singing “It’s Like That”  and I’m sure all the girls in America would be voting for you. Stupid, stupid decision.

*****

Carly sang “Without You.” Infamous for being parodied so many times, but still a great, emotional song. I thought she started pretty well, she sounded in control. Her voice was made for these kinds of songs. The song choice was right for her, too. I would’ve wanted something lighter for her, but “Without You” is a powerhouse song. I thought Carly would’ve managed the high notes. However, it sounded like she was holding back at the end. She began to lose momentum, and I think the notes should have been one step higher. She could have really gained a lot if she was able to hit that last note. I mean, who hasn’t tried singing the part when you shout, “I Can’t live, if living is without you” thing, and find themselves almost injuring their throats? I thought Carly would manage it, after I heard her sing Heart. It was a bit disappointing, and scary, too. I LOVE Carly. I’m scared of her being eliminated. She’s got to be aware how good she really is. Wake up, bb. I don’t want you to go. :c

****

Syesha Mercado was good. I don’t particularly like her, and I think she’s one of those contestants you’d totally forget once they get booted off. I had no idea Mariah had a song named “Vanishing.” Still, I thought it was one of the best performances of the night. She did well. I loved the end where she played with the notes and that trilling part she did was awesome. I would have to search for the original to see how different/similar Syesha’s version is. She’s still not my favorite though, and I won’t be too sad if she left. Hopefully, she does before Carly. :c But tonight, I don’t think that’s possible. Syesha is clearly safe.

****

Brooke was a mess with “Hero.” UGH. The song would have been perfect for her. But she sounded like she was in a rush! She botched some keys, and a lot of notes were VERY flat. I have never been more aware of her breathing. I could hear it after every word! Seriously, I was thinking, “Was she a phone sex operator before? Because all this heavy breathing isn’t normal!”  It was the most terrible performance of the night, IMHO. So I won’t be surprised if she gets booted off. I kinda like Brooke. She’s quirky, and she looks like a nice person, someone you can actually be friends with. I would be sad if she left, but after what she did with “Hero” tonight, I think there’s no saving her.

****

Jason Castro. My loverboi. :p  Bb was also good. He sang another unknown song (well, I haven’t heard it before) “I Don’t Wanna Cry.” He made it sound his own, bluesy/reggaeish. Perfect song choice, IMO. Although, I would still have loved to hear something new from him. But overall, I think he did a good job. He won’t be going home, not yet.

****

I’m saving the best and the most surprising for last. I hate both of these guys for very different reasons. I hate Kristy Lee because Rami got booted off when she should have gone. She’s had really, really terrible songs, but still managed to survive. She’s like a f*cking cat! I hate David Cook because he’s too… generic rocker, imma shout all these notes guy. However, I found myself LOVING their performances tonight which is totally surprising for me.

I was shocked at how good Kristy Lee was with her rendition of “Forever.” It was countryish, yes, but it didn’t lose the Mariah flavor, and she played with it. The arrangement was awesome. She had perfect timing, and her voice was in top form.  I loved it.

David Cook, IMHO (in my honest opinion), was the bravest tonight. He was the only one who sang a light song, something that wasn’t so melodramatic, so overdone, so serious! And I think it paid off. He sang “Always Be My Baby.” It was flat at some points, but I think it was a good, if not the best, choice. He didn’t shout a lot. It was lighter compared to the songs he’s been singing. And I loved the arrangement done on it, too. I shouldn’t say this, but I think he’s got a good chance to be in the Top 3. Argh.

*******************

ALL in ALL, it was a dismal Mariah Week, with only a few bright spots. I was hoping to hear someone sing something new, such as “We Belong Together” or even “Touch My Body”! It would have been soooo awesome to see Carly do something fun and light and flirty. To see David A. let loose and act his age. To see country gals Brooke and Kristy act all thug and hiphop. I am pretty much underwelmed by the whole thing. I’m happy though, that some managed to make it through with their dignity intact. I’m happy that it probably won’t be Carly or JC who will go home tomorrow. 

 

 

I now conclude this post with a prediction:

Someone won’t be blogging about American Idol anymore.

I sailed through the stages of drunkenness with so much ease, it should scare me if my family had a history of alcoholism. Since there was none, I allowed RHs, Empys, and Kamikazees to take over me like demons.  The first stage I call the “buzz”. It’s when everything becomes fuzzy, as if I was looking at the world through a frosted glass. My skin feels tight and tingly. It is not an unpleasant feeling. While in this stage, my senses and my emotions become dull. Like when my ex said, in a moment of weakness, “I wish someone else would help me. Why does it have to be you?”

At first, the barely concealed contempt behind those words didn’t register. Thanks to the shots of Empy, it took me several minutes to find out what he really meant to say. And when it did hit me, I struggled to maintain my calm. Only when he left did I feel like breaking things and shouting at the top of my lungs.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself at a bar with some friends. Having ditched my ex, I took on the serious task of getting completely sloshed. I accepted the tagays with no reklamo. I accepted tagays from new friends, old buddies, even strangers. I skipped the stage/s between the buzz and being totally wasted. I was aiming for oblivion and got it.

I was so drunk I didn’t see my other ex walk in with his current. When I saw him, I thought I was hallucinating. I was thinking about him that very moment. I was thinking that if I was with him, I would never be this drunk. Or if I were, he’d never leave my side. So when we met just outside the bathroom, I didn’t say hi. Who talks to the ghosts of their pasts?

I remember, albeit vaguely, how I got home. I think it was more of my friends pushing me inside a cab and telling the driver where to go. I woke up with a bad hangover and had to go to Jollibee for food. Yes, I think Jollibee is the best cure for a hangover. Then I began to remember bits and pieces of last night. The things I did. The things I let people do to me.  It weirded me out. But last night, I thought it was hot.

I can’t wait to get drunk again.

We lay on my bed, quiet and unmoving. I could feel the sweat drying on the skin where our bodies did not touch. I could feel the slick, warm, dampness where it did. Your breathing was slow, languid, as if you were sleeping. But your heart was beating fast, frantic, like a trapped animal.

I could feel your lashes brushing against my chest as you tried to blink back the tears. I knew you weren’t asleep. Not yet.

You said, “Are we going to get back together?”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still, unmoved by your tears. Did that mean I no longer loved you?

****

I look at you, lying on my bed. The picture of casual confidence. I drink the sight of you. Your smile, always unsure. Your eyes, always guarded. You say you want to live with me. I think about all the complications, all the problems that it would bring, your living with me. But I say nothing.

You say I’m the only one you can trust. My heart beats faster. I look away.

You sit up, your head bowed. You ask me if I didn’t like you here, with me.

“You can stay, as long as you want,” I said.

You smile. You say I’m the best friend you’ll ever have.

****

That night, I slept alone. And when I woke up, I knew I dreamt of one of them. Only I didn’t know who.

It isn’t great, but it’s there. That one reminder that life does exist after I turn off my computer. That something, whatever it is, is waiting for me outside the door.

 On normal days, the blinds are drawn. Life becomes the letters, words, sentences that I write. I forget that life is so much more than that.

Sometimes, I forget. And it makes me sad.

So I’m thankful for this day. This day that I spent working instead of watching Kyle XY. This day I could’ve spent in bed, reading. This day I could’ve spent feeling depressed and emo-ish.

 I will remember that the view isn’t great. But it’s there. Like a lot of things I don’t have, I know I’ll get them someday. And knowing that will make me happy.

The woman announces the numbers in a bored monotone, her metallic voice sharp in the tense silence. An unlikely deity, she. Here, in this room full of people whose hopes rely on numbers, numbers that she alone can give out like gifts, she is a goddess. When the day is over, her voice becomes softer as she says goodbye to her work mates, says hello to her children. But for now, as she sees the crushing disappointment of many and the unadulterated joy of a few, she steels herself. She announces, “B-10″.

Relieved sighs coupled with frustrated groans echo in the room. A few seconds, and everyone is still again, ears cocked, listening tensely and praying harder than they ever had for the right number to be announced. A man coughs loudly, and like a knee-jerk reaction, everyone quickly looks for the source of the sound, fearing the proclamation. The man grins apologetically. His throat was itchy, that was all.

In a corner, a man sits alone, hunched over pieces of paper that could give him instant fortune. Yet, he has missed several numbers that have been announced. He is not listening at all, his mind replaying an earlier scene with painful clarity. She told him she has slept with six men while they were together. In his mind, only that number held any significance. It was the number of pain, of loss. It was the number of betrayal.

A tap on his shoulder, and he glances up, squinting at the light. A woman asks him if they could share the table. He doesn’t see her face, the light a blinding sun behind her. He nods. She sits across him and he sees her for the first time. She smiles shyly. He smiles back. For the next few minutes, she helps him with his numbers, tells him the numbers he’s missed, even marking announced numbers for him. They share their lives in numbers, too. Her age, the year he graduated from school, the number of years they’ve both worked abroad. He looks at her hands, white and translucent under the bright light. She looks into his eyes, dark and hurting in the bright light.

“Bingo!”, the coughing man shouts triumphantly. A few people congratulate him. A woman clenches her fist. Another sighs with exasperation.

The game has ended and neither has won. She grins at him, a what-the-hell-it’s-just-a-game grin. He can’t help smiling back. With more daring than he thought he had, he decides to take the plunge.  He knew that life isn’t the movies, so he doesn’t ask her out for a cup of coffee. Instead, he asks for her number. In a soft, trembling voice, she gives it to him. “Zero nine one seven…”

They walk out of the room together, she, a few steps ahead of him. At the door, she glances back, a silent goodbye. He nods. They separate ways.

He forgets about the number six. He smiles.

Before my mom was reassigned to Manila, we used to spend our lonely nights drinking. She preferred sipping cheap, over-the-counter wine while I guzzled my favorite beer. We also videoke’d like there was no tomorrow. Although my mom loved the old songs, she also had a penchant for singing Britney’s hits. Once, I caught her humming an Incubus tune. She’s crazy like that. Our conversations ranged from her nonexistent love life to why Gloria is a good president. Since she knew that I was a drama queen, we discussed my love life, too. She knew everything about me, who I was dating, the people I found attractive, even where I kept my porn.

It was during one of those nights that I asked my mom why she always took my dad back every time he returned. My mom and dad’s relationship was what I’d call erratic love. It didn’t follow a straight line, as most people’s relationships do. Theirs was a love that jumped ahead, doubled back, or faded away from existence only to resurface at a later time. Theirs was a love likened to the spikes on a dying man’s electrocardiograph (care of Justin), you knew that the spikes were blatant lies. There was nothing but death in the end. My mom and dad got back together and separated a lot over the course of their 20-something-year relationship. Sometimes, my dad disappeared for a day, two weeks, 7 years. Always, when he returned, my mom welcomed him with open arms. My mom, a smart, confident albeit emotional woman, baffled me. Why did she always welcome him back? She knew it was going to end.

It was one of those questions you never ask when you’re sober. But under the influence of alcohol, I could ask my mom everything. She looked at me with a sad smile on her lips, and said, “I took him back because I loved him.” I told her that if stupidity was money, she’d be filthy rich. She just laughed. With a wistful tone, she said, “Life changes us. Every second, every moment, changes occur inside us, like little bombs that explode and transform the landscape of our lives forever. Every time your father returned, I knew he was a changed man. I just didn’t know if the change was for the better, or for the worse. Because I loved him, I had to find out what those changes were, even if I knew I might be hurt in the end.”

I didn’t know what to make of those words back then. I only knew the spontaneity of young love, the brief flashes of pain that comes with every heartbreak and disappears with every new romance. Now that I’m older, and my heart looks like a disaster area, I understand. We can love someone for a day, for ten years, and still find new things to love and hate about that person. No one is an expert when it comes to love. Everyone is a student, learning the ropes, but never really getting the hang of it. That is why we never stop loving. It is human to aim for perfection, even when it comes to love. It is also human to accept failure and move on. That’s what my mom did. She moved on. And among all the things that I’m proud of about her, that’s the one thing I’m proudest of.

Friends have asked me why I chose this name. They think it totally contradicts my personality. I am by no means dictatorial, but I like getting my way, and would do anything, honest or not, to have it. In relationships, I am the more dominant type. I may not love confrontation, but I am not submissive and I certainly fight for myself.

Because of this “name” and its, let’s say, provocativeness, I have been approached by complete strangers who would love nothing more than have me lick their feet and some other parts of their bodies I’d rather not name. Others think I’m just sexually depraved.

No, I don’t have an intense longing to have somebody whip my behind, nor do I plan to spend my days following someone’s orders wearing nothing but a leash. I also get laid when and if I want to, so that covers the depravation part.

 So why Slaveboi? A few years back, whenI was dating someone younger than me, it hit me that all my life, I have been taking care of myself, and others. People come to me for help, and most of the people I’ve fallen for end up to be needy, hung-up, or weak and I end up being strong for them. All the years I’ve spent being someone’s rock crashed down on me and it made me feel weary and drained. I felt on the verge of hysteria, to be honest. And the worst part was I could never give in to the madness, I could never break down as long as there were people who expected me to be strong for them.

That was when the alter-ego, “slaveboi” was born. I chose slaveboi because I wanted to feel that if I fall, consciously or not, someone would catch me. I wanted to know that in moments of weakness, I didn’t have to pretend to be strong because someone else could be strong for me. I wanted to be able to place my life in someone’s hands in moments when I know that if I held it, I’ll destroy it. I wanted to be able to give them control over my life, knowing that they would take care of it and cherish it. I wanted to be able to pass my burden on to someone for a moment, while I dance like crazy under the rain.

Why do I keep the name until now? Isn’t it obvious? I haven’t found that someone yet. And until I do, I’ll just keep on shooing the perverts. It gets pretty nasty at times.

I have come to the conclusion that God is one hell of a bored deity who gets a kick out of watching people get in and out of hairy situations. No, I don’t think He’s cruel or mean. I honestly love God and I’ve got great respect for Him. I also believe that although He sets up the “traps”, it’s our choice to get caught in it or not. You say, “Surely God has better things to do.” You might be right. But think about it. I get bored when I do the same thing for an hour. God has been watching over us forever! When you have nothing else to do, and eternity stretches like a vast ocean before you, things can get pretty dull.  That’s why whenever I find myself in situations that makes me want to tear my hair out, I just shake my head and grin. After all, not everyone gets the honor of entertaining Him.

There have been a lot of times in my life that my theory was proven. When I examine my past, I cringe at the numerous and often obvious mistakes that I let myself commit. Those mistakes range from the slightly embarrassing, (when I emailed an officemate who I thought was quitting his job and telling him I liked him, only to find out that the management, to stop him from leaving, has promoted him to be my team lead) to the utterly life changing (cheating on, and being caught by the only person who truly loved me). I knew God’s machinations were in there somewhere, and that He probably set me up. But being human, making mistakes is one thing I’m good at.

Upon closer examination, I now believe that it was those mistakes that made me smarter and more mature. I also believe that it was during those times that I was trying to repair the damage I’ve caused, or get out of the quandary I was in, that I felt most alive. Nothing beats the rush of knowing you’re about to do something stupid. Those moments of hesitation, those moments right before the jump, those were the moments that made my life worth living. I knew I was playing right into God’s hands. But I also knew that everything will turn out fine because God would never have thrown me something I could not handle. Some people  might live their lives obsessing on doing the right things, or preventing mistakes from happening. Some spend theirs constantly on the look out for the pitfalls He has set up for them. I realize now that God isn’t a sadist for giving me my trials. He wants me to learn and feel alive while experiencing them. That’s why when I find myself about to be, or already in deep trouble, I remember that it’s Him I’m playing with. I know I can’t win until He lets me. Knowing that, I might as well enjoy the game.

Like a true, romantic fool, and one that thrives on complications, I am once again making one of the most terrible mistakes of my entire life. And I’m not doing anything about it.

Like watching a car crash unfold, from the moment it hits the wall until the bloody remains are removed from the scene,  I am riveted to this sordid moment of my life. I know the result will be disastrous, and the casualties many. I know my heart will be like the driver’s body, broken and bloodied beyond description. And like most car crashes, I am helpless from the moment I lost control of the wheel.

These car crashes in my life are many and varied, ranging from minor scrapes, to all out,  teeth-shattering collisions. My decision to get a credit card was a minor scrape, yes, but when I decided to spend all of it within the space of a week, now that was a classic. When I took on a lover, that was supposed to be minor. But when my real lover found out, I thought I’d never recover. I sometimes believe that when God chose the gifts He’ll give me, He decided foresight won’t be part of it.

Today’s car crash involves three passengers. Me, and two of my ex’s. The first and more recent ex still loves me and wants me back. The second ex, I broke up with years ago, but is the love of my life. From the moment I said to Ex Number Two, “Yes, we can meet.”, I knew I’ve already lost control. Somewhere, I knew there was a wall waiting for me, with my name on it. And although I was very much, although recently, single when I agreed to meet him, I knew that if I did, I’d lose my mind, and heart all over again. I asked for time and space from Ex Number One, which he gave me. But if he finds out that I’ve been seeing (and making out with) Ex Number Two, and that he’s planning to move in with me, all hell will break lose.

I know I can stop this from happening, and probably save all of us the grief. But I can’t. Although it may seem I’m just being a selfish prick, I honestly don’t think it’s time for me and Number Two to be together again.

I know how this ends, so I’ll just sit back and enjoy the ride. After all, until the crash happens, it won’t get any better than this.

never have i felt more alone and more hopeful at the same time.

i have no way of knowing where this leads, and this sweet, sad feeling of giving up, of letting go is alien to me. i am letting go not only people, but worlds, worlds carefully created and embellished over the years.

taking this first and crucial step towards the unknown fills me with dread.
at the same time my heart is urging me to take the leap.

on the brink of indecision, i feel most alive.

life is meant to be lived like this.