It's been a wild ride, thank you.

I am closing this blogsite for good.
No reasons, nothing.
I'm sorry it didn't end up in a dramatic end
but I guess I'm so past drama at this stage in my life.
I might be back or not.
I will do a lot of reading
and walking
and will do better in my Spanish class.
Farewell friends.
You will be missed.

This blog will exist only until Friday.

Kisses.

Winter Prelude

I.

He stood at the far end of the corridor. His face was bathed with the red light coming from some cheap bulbs somewhere and I could hardly see his face. His white, for sure. Everybody's white here except me and a Nigerian rent boy who earlier asked me for 40 euros for his services. "I charge a hundred , honey..." I told him and made my way to the deepest darkest corners of the labyrinth.

Welcome to the darkroom.

I stood beside him and leaned against one of the six cabin doors, all of them closed and quiet aside from the occasional slapping, moaning, cursing, and sometime shouting noises coming from within. The place would make the sauna blush. It was a wicked combination of the mid-august draught and bodily heat coming form the packed dancefloor just above it. Some of the creatures inside were half naked, seemingly proud of their muscles, fully soaked with sweat and other bodily fluids, glistening with sin. The smell was despicable. I choose what I wanted to smell and my nose and brain conspired to the idea. Tonight, I would only smell the cheapest perfume. Cheap perfume goes well with cheap sex and I was up for a ride.

I looked at him intently. I didn't wear my contacts and my eyes are sore from the smoke and the heat. He gave me a rather sly look. He then moved like a skilful eagle swooping for its prey...his hands journeyed onto my body. The door to our right opened and came out a couple. An octogenarian and a bear. A fabulous concoction to a horrid orgasm. With our lips still locked and our bodies entwined, we managed to enter the cabin that has just been abandoned.

"Hmmm...", he moaned, eyes half-closed.

We then flew to oblivion.


II.

"So are you on a holiday?", I asked while drowning on vodka tonic. The music was just too loud and I had to keep close for him to hear me. The guy has taste and I could smell it. He was wearing L'Instant De Guerlain.
I wanted to tell him I know his perfume but it sounded inappropriate so I didn't. Instead, I quickly scanned the place for more prey that might come my way.
By now, almost everyone was ignoring the ongoing drag show and seemed to have lost interest with Starwoman, the transexual drag queen from Granada who was responsible for the noise on the stage. She was singing a Sevillana though she can never do any other impersonations other than Isabel Pantoja and the deceased Rocio Jurado--- Spain renowned flamenco divas. Her stunt tonight was the same as last week's and her face becomes whiter and whiter everytime I see her perform. On a recent interview with a local event magazine, she said she aspires to become a go-go dancer someday and appear on TV. Her greatest ambition though, as it turns out, is to marry her (straight) boyfriend, adopt kids and become a happy family.
I wish I could develop selective reading sometime. I just read anything.

" Yeah, for two weeks" he said. His eyes surveying another drag queen on the bar flashing his wrinkled genitalia to a leather practitioner.


"Okay. With friends?", I said extracting more facts.


"No, I'm with my wife and children", he said; his sad eyes full was transparency. I could almost feel his pain and pride.

I tried to conceal my small amount of shock. I've been with several married men in bed and I confess I am fascinated by their ability to enjoy sexuality of both species, men and women.

"Where are they now?", I asked

"Sleeping"

"Where did you tell your wife you were going to?"

" To take a walk"

" That's a long walk...It's almost 4 am now"

The mood cleared up. We shared a laugh.

Over another glass of drink, he told me how he "turned" gay. It was when his brother died six years ago when he realized that life is too short not to do the things you are reluctant to try at least once. He put up a list that included skiing in New Zealand, sleeping with a black woman and trying it out with a man, among others. He tried the last on his list first and soon enough the "man" became "men".

I guess I've heard the story a million times before but in different versions. It was like watching popular Mexican soap operas back home, only this time it was dubbed in Chinese or Swahili--- difficult to comprehend but at the end of the day, you get summary and it's disappointingly unmoving. Watching those telenovelas for me was like witnessing the fall of civilization; the only saving grace was I learned a few Spanish words like "Gracias" and "Por favor".

I gazed intently to his face while he was telling me about his gay conversion. He was amusing. He gave out a hearty laugh when he recalled how he was initiated by a Taiwanese guy in London and how he was so nervous, he was shaking when they did it. I tried to recall my first time ever with a man but my memory failed me.

The guy was no Pierce Brosnan but his face was kind and seemingly intelligent, the light shone on the strands of his slightly overgrown blond curls and his lips moves with grace as he spoke. I tried to calculate how tall he was but he was no more than two or three inches higher than my 5 foot 8 inches frame. His body was not of an athletes though his arms were strong and firm perhaps by playing golf or something. He was on his mid forties, I reckoned. Just my cup of tea. His skin was paler than usual but I bet in two weeks time, it will change into a lovely sun kissed color.

" My last boyfriend wanted me to leave my family for him and I can't do that, that's why we broke up", he said. I thought that was too much information but I was a willing listener and from the looks of it, he badly needed one.

"That makes a lot of sense to me". I agreed.

It was about 5 am and I was controlling my yawns. Sure, the guy was interesting but no one can stop me from taking my usual eight hour sleep. I suggested we better get going.

" I hope to see you again", he said.

"Maybe". I tried not to meet the sad eyes but it was a feat to do so. I was trapped by my own game. I had to resist.

" Could I have your number , just in case?"

" There is no just in case, the chances of us seeing again would not be circumstantial, I am sure", I said. I don't have problems giving my number to people especially when they're seemingly nice. A number is a number and if push comes to shove, I can always get a new SIM card.

" By the way, it's xxx".

" Nice to meet you xxx", and I gave my name.

" See you around", he said while he waved at me.

" Yeah, maybe you will"

We then both disappeared in the dark alleys of Torremolinos, him to the North, I to the East.

Epilogue

7 am. I wake up to the sound of my mobile phone. It couldn't be the alarm as I've turned it off the night before as I went to the club. It's only been half an hour since I've gone to bed and I am being disturbed by some pathetic ringtone. It was a text.

Hi. It was nice to meet you last night. Let me know if you want to have coffee with me sometime soon. xxx Mr. XXX.

I turn off the phone and place it under my pillow.

The breeze invades the room through my window and it is cold so I pull up my sheet and curl up like a foetus on my warm bed. My Spanish professor may probably be right; winter might arrive sooner this year....

Barcelona in 3 days

What could you do in Barcelona in three days?

No Idea.

Any suggestions? I'm off to BCN in September. Just for a weekend.

The Strange Red



"The wine list is just limited. I think we have to ask the waiter if they something else in the cellar" , Phil said slightly brushing his freshly scrubbed chin as if the task would be rather an impossibility.

The waiter comes in with the same blank face he showed me the day before when I made the reservation. He couldn't be tired yet as we were ones of the first customers to grace their locale today so I guess it is his natural face expression--nothing. He wears a blue over sized shirt which makes him shorter than his 5 foot frame. The sun was high and the light reflects strongly on his blading head, his nose and cheeks. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe he just tripped off a bucket full of olive oil, head first.

"Si,señor?" , the waiter asks

"Do you have any other wine that is not included in this menu? The choices are quite limited and we would like to know if you have anything else"

" One question señor. Do you think we could put all the wines in Spain in that menu?" he says passionately. Still, his face doesn't show any slight change of feelings. Adulterating men should learn from his facial expression (or the lack of it), it's just genius.

" Of course not but honestly, I don't fancy neither of what you have here"


I could feel the tension boiling. Phil tries to calm down although I could feel him wanting to kill someone today.

He fakes a cough and goes on.


"Ah..what about this one?" , asked Phil pointing out some strange wine from an unheard region of the country "Is this good? "


" Ah, señor. I don't know. Personally, I don't like wines; for me they are the worst drink that one could have. Malisimo!"

This is one of the few occasions that I wished I didn't know how to speak Spanish. Ignorance is bliss--is at it's finest at this very moment.

" Is there anyone who in this restaurant who could perhaps tell me something about these wines you have? Someone who actually understand something about wines?"


"Si, señor. Un Momento" and he flees.

Normally, Phil would have given them serious verbal lashings faced in a situation like this. However, he knows I am not happy with him getting ballistic with the wait staff for certain reasons. Most serious of which is that they might spit on our food.

He looks red now.

The Manager comes with a smile from ear to ear. He immediately moves on to explain about the strange red wine from the strange region. The manager is pleasant and does not lose the smile. He cracks a joke which we graciously answer with a laugh.

The tension is cleared. Finally the bottle arrives and surprisingly, it is a good one.

The waiter lurks from behind as we devour our paella and gulp the strange red. I seriously want some baguette to go with the nice food.I look up to call a staff but meet the waiter's eyes instead.

I look down on my plate. The rice is exquisitely golden.

Andalucia Diary meets the Scarlet Journal

Hi,
Thanks for the comment on my blog – I really do enjoy your writing. I must post a comment or two soon! I think to be bitchy with class, you ‘ve got to be sharpe and intelligent and you pull that off very well!

Andrew--www.andaluciadiary.com

from asiansushi@gmail.com

Thanks Andrew. I enjoy reading your blog as well and your house is definitely a visual Viagra! I love it! Looking forward to have coffee with you sometime and oh, when do we get to see a picture of your significant other in your blog? Cheers!

xjeno




The Pursuit of Happiness


I was chatting yesterday with a friend who I have not seen for years now. We were talking about life in general when suddenly, she asked me the dreadful question:

"Jeno, are you happy?"

If our relationship as friends have not been that long and if she were just someone I barely know, the answer to that question would be, "fuck off!" or a simple yes or no. However, she asked me this question before in my depression years and my answer was literally two hours of crying until I fell asleep. It was the height of my drama queen days and she knows exactly that the question needs more than a yes or no answer after all those years. The question is more thought provoking now than ever before.

The question was simple but tricky. Thinking about it, it's an everyday thing to say your fine when someone asks you if you are without really deciphering what "fine" means. Saying fine becomes automatic that it doesn't make sense anymore. However, the question of happiness is more personal. It only takes special friends and rare moments for conversations like these.

I would like to think that happiness is overrated and I wanted my answer to make sense to her.

" And why is it overrrated?" she asked.

"People do impossible things, go beyond their ways in search of happiness just to be disappointed in the end. I believe that happiness is a state of mind, happiness is a momentary experience".

" So, Are you happy?" Not contented with my answer, she asked.

" I am happy at this moment because I am speaking with you and our other friends"

" You don't answer my question".

" I just did".

Anthony Quinn, in his autobiography Original Sin, wrote, " Who said that we were brought to this earth to be happy?--Television!". When I read this years ago, I thought that was a rather pessimistic view of life. Life is harsh, tough and everything in between but happiness is not like a Birkin bag---You don't have to wait for two years to have one; you don't have to to work years, to acquire one. Yes, life could be rather too harsh sometimes, you feel like happiness only exists in Walt Disney films but after a scoop of strawberry cheesecake ice cream or a mindblowing sex, you feel like you're in cloud 9, don't you?

Until now, I don't think I am capable of answering the same question with a yes or a no; neither can I describe happiness in a Hallmark (card) way. I don't think anyone is purely happy unless he/she is mentally incapacitated to distinguish the difference. True, I have millions of things to be be thankful for and appreciate, which I honestly do. However, there is always something missing...something that makes you feel incomplete hence, unhappy.

I am happy typing this entry. I just wish I was more eloquent.

Payback time.


My blog guru once told me "If you act like a diva, you will be treated as one". Well, I just love this philosophy and decided to put it into practice Last Sunday.


You see, my first job in Spain was as a kitchen staff in one of the best or should I say rather expensive restaurants in the coast. I was pulling out fish guts, de-scaling them, going up and down the steeply stairs going to the beach to get seawater for the mussels, clams and god knows what else and finally throwing away tons of trash at night. In short, it was an excruciating job--physically and emotionally. I never had any physically challenging job in Manila before aside from my fastfood stint in JOLLIBEE in college. Everyone in my communications 1 class were having part time jobs as service crew so I tried it basically for curiosity than anything else. The stint lasted for a whole one and a half month and I rather left a sour taste to my managers' buds. Well, I thought I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my university life sliding and falling on the greasy kitchen floor every so often. My career in food handling died a quick death but I never regret one minute of it.

Anyway, so going back to Spain. Last Sunday, I went back to this restaurant that I worked one summer of my life. I was quite nervous to see the the kitchen manager who we call "bruja" (witch). She's a mean piece of shit. She can kick your ass with her non-stop shouting and snooping around everybody's business. I didn't speak any Castellano at that time so I've internalized, I didn't have to put up with it. I just pretended I didn't know a single word she was talking about so even if she shouts at me, I leave her with a blank face and ask my latin-american colleague what she was on about. Of course, at that time, even if she told me what it was about, I didn't make any difference because I barely comprehended her.

"I'm so nervous", I said to my friends.

"Why?" Shauni asked. Couldn't see his eyes as his electric blue shades were distracting me.

"Because it's been almost three years since I've worked here and definitely, it's not really a Walt Disney story, I tell you"

" Were they mean to you?", asked Phil

"Sort of"

" Well, it's gonna be fun sweetie. Enjoy the ride. It's gonna be payback time"

I laughed.

So we were seated and Dolores (I really didn't remember her name. I just overheard someone calling her when the memory came back to me), my Argentinean ex-coworker asked us for drinks and we ordered a glass each of white wine. She didn't seem to recognize so I didn't really chat her up. When she came back with a bottle of Marques de Riscal, she said hi and we started to talk about old days.

" Hi. I didn't recognized you!" she said.

Oh it was almost three years now. How are you?"

[small talk about work]

So, is Lola (the bruja) still here?

"Oh, no. She's gone now a long time ago. I don't know where she is now"

"Ok. What about Raquel? DO they still own this restaurant?" (The name of the restaurant has been changed since)

Yeah, she's actually on her way now to here.

Ok.

Aside from Lola, Raquel is the other character I loathed in that restaurant. Don't get me wrong, she is a stunning Spanish woman with very expressive eyes and lovely figure but during my kitchen muse days, she must have spoken to me on 3 separate occasions only. First, 3 minutes on my first day when she was looking at how I was mopping the floor (the horror! I didn't even know how to properly mop floors back then!), the second time was when she had a go at me when I forgot to clean something, and lastly when I brought a copy of the magazine I worked with before and she found out that I used to be an editor of a certain third world publication.

" Hmmm...es caro estar alli?" (Is it expensive to be there?)" pointing to the picture of a Palawan resort on my magazine.
" No" , I said. I wanted to say more but the language was just a hindrance. She didn't say anything and left.

That was the last time I've spoken with her. I've seen her once in Puerto Marina and I'm sure she saw me as well but we didn't even say a word to each other. Not that I cared at all.

" Hollllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

I almost choked on my wine being startled with a woman's voice. It was her.

" Hola! Que tal? Hace Mucho tiempo!" (Hi ! How are you? Such a long time!), she said while grabbing my arms and then giving me a big kiss on both cheeks.

Obviously I was surprised. I thought...hmmm...I don't think she even knew I existed then why the fuss. I remained to look enthusiastic.

Little chat about work and stuff. Then...

"Well, it's wonderful seeing you again! I'm glad everything's well with you".

Thank you very much. I politely replied. Afterall, she was an ex-boss.

And she took our orders.
I felt like a true diva that afternoon. We were served quite exaggeratedly by three different attendants who were happy seeing us drink like fishes. My ex-boss was coming back every so often to ask if we need anything more or if everything's okay.
In the end, we consumed three bottles and paid a total of hundred fifty-eight euros bill for the lunch.

Needless to say, I got drunk and spent the afternoon lying on the poolside, passed out.

I dreamt my former boss and Lola serving me food. They've cooked the giant ( and I mean like three meters long) stingray that was washed ashore one fateful morning on that restaurant three years ago. The fish was badly cooked so I threw it on the ground and let them eat it without using their hands. I've unleashed the evil diva in me and I had them to taste their own medicine. They cried for mercy and I had none.

I woke up disgusted with my dream.

I wonder if true divas eat stingray.

Rubbing alcohol

You might have noticed that I have not been blogging religiously lately. Well, it's because after the Ibiza trip, I feel like I have nothing to blog about my life or somebody else's life at all. My life is a complete bore at the moment and it's get really cloudy nowadays in the costa del crime (it's suppose to be as hot as the Sahara desert this time) which makes everything more uninteresting. I tried to write about a lost friend but decided to phone him yesterday and he answered the phone and said that he is still alive and kicking. I was ready to bash and give a good go at him for not calling, texting or emailing me for a whole month but good thing I didn't post it here because it turned out, he's one of my loyal readers.

Work is even unspeakable. I won't even mention anything about it. My only consolation with work is the fact that I am entertained by guessing what time my (female) officemate will turn up with her never ending, colorful (though most of the times drunk) tales of excuses for tardiness. I am thinking of doing a bet with the others. 20 euros for right guess whether she is arriving, or not, or what time, but I don't think even the gods will ever win this game.

My other (male) officemate is a basket case. He turns up to work alright though Mondays for him is still part of the weekend. He goes to work hammered. I kid you not, 90 fucking percent of the time, he is pissed! His smell is mortifying. Sometimes I think "Am I really going to work, or to an AA meeting?"

Problem with these colleague of mine, I think they are alcoholics though they said they're not which is a sign that they are indeed alcoholics because alcoholics do not admit that they are indeed what they are. Am I making any sense at all? I sit between these two in the office. Sometimes, the hang over vibe in the room is just so overwhelming, I feel like passing out or throwing up endlessly.


I think they feel they are still on a long vacation. They work, get paid, then get pissed everyday. I can't blame them. I mean getting out of Britain is like getting out of prison after a decade and obviously they want to get the most out of the weather, the beautiful surroundings and the cheaper booze.


Anyway, even if they are chronic drinkers and pathological latecomers, I like them both (except the smell of course). They are quite younger than me but they have wicked sense of humour and we have a camaraderie which makes us in some way or another not only officemates but also friends.
Like right now, I should be working but no, I'm blogging. He is chatting on MSN and she's checking out the latest Britney story in the Sun online (she was caught before so the admin had to lock other Internet sites so she can't surf, but hey, she's a clever girl).



A whiff of alcohol is in the air. It's time for lunch, and we're having wine down the local café . Adios.




Island fever

So I am back to reality. The Malaga wind is much cooler than Ibiza's though it is the same fiercesome sun the burns my now ever glowing skin. the Avarca sandals I bought in Ibiza is killing my feet though the woman in the shop said it is but normal. The leather should adjust to my feet and my feet should adjust to the leather, just like everything, it's a matter of waiting.

The day after I came home, I woke up slightly schizophrenic--I got used to the 7 day rituals I had during my vacation, I badly wanted a big English breakfast on the table though I had to settle disapprovingly to my normal omelette, coffee and a thousand fags. I wanted to hear the boisterous laughs of the tourists..to see the wild crowd roaming to and fro the streets of San Antonio; the hustling in the tiendas..to hear the weird Ibicencan language of the locals and the smell of saline in the early island mornings. yes, I live on the coast but this is different. This is the Mediterranean and I am an island boy and will always be.

I used to hate the beach but after the trip, I was converted to a pseudo sun worshipper. This weekend, I spent my time lying on the beach for hours soaked with SPF 30 . It was a different feeling. I was liberated. The water is much cooler than in IBIZA but it didn't stop me to enjoy being submerged into its depths... alone and free.

Thinking of the sea, home came to my mind. I wonder if the waters of my island is still as clear as I last saw it three years ago.

Suddenly, I missed home.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep. This too, shall pass.

Priceless.

I know you're sick already of waiting to hear what happened to me in my IBIZA vacation. If you are one of my friends in my address book, you probably have received the link to my entire photo album and have seen my fabulous legs for a million times. So, let's cut to the chase since it is painstaking to remember what happened to me in IBIZA day by day especially when I was basically wine-drunk the whole effing time.

So, instead of giving you a daily account of my trip, I'll give you the highlights instead.
As you know, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, IBIZA is not just about clubs, clubs, clubs. The real magic of the island lies in its immaculate beaches, the crystal clear waters and the culture so unique, you feel you are transported to another dimension. There is something for everyone. IBIZA is a freedom island where one can experience total liberty provided that you have enough time and money. Yes, money. Before you set foot in this island, destroy your obese piggy bank or tell your bank manager he wouldn't be a happy bunny when he sees your account for the next six months or so. Everything in the island is outrageously priced. However, it's a once in a lifetime holiday and even if you leave with your hands empty, I'm sure you will take home memories of travelling the road most travelled--your own priceless version.

Here's my travellers tips for IBIZA.


Food: Let's start with something I would want to hate but never get around to because I just love eating!
The island boasts of amazing restaurants--that is if you know where to go. It is like finding the holy grail but once you've cracked the code, you're in for a feast. Best thing to do? Ask the locals or surf the net for IBIZA forums where travellers can tell you proper places to have a meal and not the ones where tourists stuff their mouths with burgers and preposterous pizza all day.

Lovely places to check out include:
Es Rebost de Can Prats : c/ cervantes n4 San Antonio--971 34 62 52 (authentic Ibicencan Cuisine)

Es Ventall : C/ 7 Cervantes 22 San Antonio --971 34 17 29 (perfect for lunch. Spanish/Mediterranean/Ibecencan)


Sa Prensa: Marino Riquer 9, General Prim, 6 ---971 34 16 70 (seafood)
Rias Baixas--C/ de Ignacio Riquer, 4--971 34 04 80 (Gallic cuisine)
Can Paris--Progreso, 34 - Sant Antoni - 971 34 00 18 (seafood, rice)

There is also a rooftop restaurant inside the walled city overlooking the the whole town of Ibiza which is fab for a romantic dinner. I forgot the name 'coz I passed out while waiting for the food( Read: slow service). However, the food was brilliant so I forgave them all and would spare them of my verbal diarrhea. ok?

Dining in Ibiza is not cheap at all. Prepare at least a hundred euros for two including a bottle of wine. Service, just as the rest of the country is slow however, if you are assertive enough and tell them you work for a magazine (like I did), they will be on their feet ready to be your guardian angels for a day. Parking is a nightmare. be ready to go for dinner at 6pm (though Spanish dinnertime is 9pm) so that you have ample time to find a parking space. There are municipal parking spaces; first come, first serve basis and paid parking everywhere--- everywhere is nowhere so be early and be sharp in looking for a spot.
Beaches: the real star of the island. Although there are loads of places you can choose from, The beaches of Santa Eulalia tops my list, Portinatx, second. Clear waters, away from the maddening crowd and little cafés where you can just hang out and relax with the locals. These are family beaches so forget the glistening muscles, bulges, Dolce and Gabanna posers, and anorexic posterboys and girls. You can get those in the discotheques anyway. For the ultimate gay beach, Go for the Playa in Las Salinas where you can find Chiringay--the official gay chiringuito (beach bar) of the island. Before you can reach this, you will have to pass a long stretch of a mix nudist beach (self-explanatory) so watch out for sagging skin...sagging everything! There were a few surprises though when I was there so don't lose hope. The Italians fill the island so they save the eyes to unpleasant things, really. For some cruising actions, the dunes are perfect for that must have 10 minute quickie. Careful with the olive trees though...they can be nasty sometimes, leaving you lashes like you've been whipped by a merciless dominatrix.

Best to go to Formentera if you have a day to spare. Stunning beaches...emerald blue waters and gorgeous Italians. I was really wondering why Ibiza and Formentera is full of Italians until I looked again on the map and voila. It is because of the distance. From somewhere in Italy , they can actually travel by ship to Ibiza in less than 6 hours.

Getting Around: This is important. You have to have a car to navigate IBIZA. The towns are far from each other and even though it is a fairly small island, you wouldn't want to be stuck in one place the whole time just because you don't want to shell-out a couple hundred euros for a handy piece of Ford or Volks. Best views can be seen from the highway or from a steep hill. You don't wanna miss these things, would you? Renting a car would cost you about 250-300 euros for 7 days.
The island of Formentera, however, is plagued with scooters and bicycles. Do some exercise. Pedal.
Getting Drunk: If you are NOT one of the filthy rich people on earth, then you should think twice in spending your hard earned money on booze. Beer costs 10 euros---that's almost 13 US dollars for a beer! Imagine vodka tonic or a bottle of Crystal. Best way to get high...get drunk in your hotel room before going out, or end up on the streets sober and skint. Bad.
Clubbing: Now we're talking. As a general knowledge, IBIZA is a clubbing paradise. Get your most trendy sunglasses, your most fitted shirt and pants and gyrate the night away with the best party music in the planet! Again, you can never go clubbing every night in IBIZA unless you are Paris Hilton as the entrance fee is sky high. I went to PACHA on a Thursday night and it cost me 48 euros to get excluding drinks! Mind you, the ticket I had was already discounted since I bought it from our hotel but if you buy it from the gates, it would be a whopping 60 - 80 euros depending on the party/event at that particular day. It was all worth it though. The first rays of light blazing from the disco balls would get you down and dirty, leaving you transfixed and transported to another world of your own. Just close your eyes and feel the energy sinking through every bit of your pores and it will get you high...better than crack.
Your must have destinations: Space, Amnesia, El Divino, Pacha and Bar M.
For chill out sessions, go to the iconic Cafe Del Mar and get drunk with their music. Of course, spend an afternoon to watch the sunset NOT in the café because it is too expensive (2 drinks for twenty euros!) but on the rocks /shore in front of it. I was quite disappointed with CDM though. I think the interior is quite tacky. What do you think?
Shopping.--- Prada, Gucci, Chanel...name it, the island has it. From the most obscure pieces of souvenirs (like an incense puffing dragon in the Hippy Market) to the most outlandish, designer clothing you can think of, IBIZA is a paradise for shopaholics. I bought a PACHA shirt, really normal one with the iconic cherries on it, for 26 euros; shirts for my folks and souvenir garbage like keyholders, ref magnet and pens (hahahaha. I'm sooo tourist, aint I?) for friends and foes. If you want the chaos of the bargainworld or mercadillo (flea market), go to Es Cana for the Hippie Market every Wednesday. Loads of stuff and rubbish. Hold tight to your bags though as it is literally crowded in there. You wouldn't want your fake LV wallet to be stolen at all, would you?




Getting Laid: The opportunity for a mind blowing sex or a holiday romance is everywhere. As a general rule, when one is on a holiday, he loses all inhibitions and is ready for some naughty actions when situation presents itself. Flash a huge smile and say hello---this is how everything starts, usually. Be safe though. You wouldn't want to bring home some diseases or get pregnant by some tattooed hippie whose name you can't even remember. Important: the only type of crab you should get your hands into is the red, delightful one that you ordered from the crustacean restaurant and definitely not the one you exterminate with specialized shampoo, OK?

So there you go...my IBIZA trip this year. A once in a lifetime experience I wouldn't trade for anything else. (hmmm..A Rolex would probably change my mind on that. Hehehehe).



A two-way ticket to IBIZA? 200 euros. Living your dream for 7 days? Priceless.

Till then..Ciao!

Ibiza: Living the Dream (Part 3)



Monday Flashbacks






Monday was for the beach. We visited two playas for the day. First was in Santa Eularia and the second was in Portinotx was is on the uppermost tip of the island.



Ahhh...sun..sand..and sea...




Santa Eularia: The best beach in Ibiza, if you would ask me. Crystal Clear waters, away from the mad tourists. Perfect for the family and posers with their fake D&G sunglasses.


Portinatx: situated in the northern part of the island, the Portinatx beach is actually a bahia (cove). Breathtaking with a lovely contrast of the sea and the Mediterranean pine trees surrounding it. It is very popular for family outings so be sure to be there as early as you can to get a space on the vast sandy shore.





The journey towards Portinatx is spellbinding. You will be amazed by towering pine trees, luscious greens and sea views you think would only be seen in a Discovery Channel or the National Geographic episode.



With millions of tourists coming to the Island every year, I am just glad that Ibiza's natural resources is being conserved and protected. Ibiza is not all about clubbing and it's world famous nightlife. For me, it is more about getting acquainted with nature and it's bounties again...being one with nature and away from the stress of everyday living.



I was rejuvenated.

Ibiza: Living the Dream (Day2)

We woke up to the sound of a drum and a shrieking from a woman who seemed like she was having her 5th orgasm for the day (it was just seven o'clock in the morning). When I looked down our window, I saw this: A hippie playing his drum while the woman (also a hippie) was dancing with his beats that accompanied the loud flamenco chillout coming from their van.



It was absolutely mad. At seven o'clock, the whole world was still tucked in bed or has just started to and they were creating this (nice) noise that woke up every veins in one's body.We immediately had shower and escaped the hotel to find a better one. Criteria: Must have a lift, an Aircon, a swimming pool, and most important of all, it has to be quiet.

After breakfast, we walked around San Antonio and voila! we found a rather nice hotel Called OROSOL with all the criteria we were looking for.

As for the pool, we had to go to their sister hotel, Tropicana. Since it was (and still is) the peak of the summer season, we had to pay a hundred euros per day for the accommodation but that's ok since the room that we got was on the penthouse overlooking the city (not a breathtaking site but manageable) and we didn't have any neighbors so it was so rightfully so, serene.
After we sorted out our stuff--which means going back to the previous hotel, dragging down our suitcase down from the 4th floor then go to Orosol, check in, unpack again, etc.---we hunted down hotel Tropicana for a quick dip in the pool. Obviously, it was quite difficult for us to know where it was however, the locals are nice people and I mean it. They are very helpful, always ready to flash a smile and tried their best to speak in Castellano (they speak Ibecencan, much like their own mix of local dialect and Catalan). Four turns in rather same streets, we found the hotel and the pool, finally. The pool is impossible to use if you are above 18 years old, we discovered. It was flocked with 18 and belows with music that even the next isle can hear...and actually feel.


So, Since it was about 2pm already, we decided to have lunch and asked the hotel receptionist for the nicest restaurant in the area free from the tourists but something that is the locals' favorite. Voila! We were pointed to Es Ventall (The Fan) . This place is probably the best for lunch. Cozy with a nice garden and superb camarero (waiter) who knew a lot about his wine. Quite a feat for a rather 20-ish year old guy.

baked calabacin on curry sauce topped with crunchy bacon strips.Main Course: Grilled Blue Marlin with Seafood sauce and vegetables. (It was their fish of the day)



It was a sumptuous meal though a little bit expensive for lunch (90 euros for two).

I had to see an old Malaga friend that afternoon in Ibiza town so with a full belly, we drove to the capital to see Jessie. I've known this guy since I came to Spain and he just moved to Ibiza with his relatives to start anew. After 30 minutes of catching up with each other's news, I bid goodbye as we have to go still to San Carlos for the inauguration party of my blog-pal's boutique.

This is Hannah. She runs a blogsite called My Life In Ibiza and she just put up her own boutique. Her collection is a mixture of elegance and fun. See it for yourself.

She was quite busy with her guests so we didn't have much time to talk. We drove to Ibiza Town after a couple of minutes since it was already getting dark and we didn't have a complete grasp of the roads yet.


It was too late to find a decent place to eat and everything is full so we ended up in one of the many Italian restaurants in town. The chef was Italian, the waiters were Italian, the clients were Italian, even the street musician was Italian. Must be an authentic place, I thought. The food was a disappointment for an authentic place though. Bad. I don't even want to mention it here.

Too hammered to do anything, we had a quick walk to around the city and while this loca was begging for attention (and money I guess), we ran to the car and sped off.


Ibiza: Living The Dream (Day 1)

It was a gruesome task to be in the airport at 6 am for our 8 am flight. That meant waking up at four and do the last minute luggage check to see if I've forgotten my bottle of sunscreen or if it was enough for a 7 day trip or if my Louis Vuitton bag is appropriate for a beach holiday. I freaked out to see that my contact lenses were nowhere in sight so I had to unpack everything before finally finding them. It has been three years since I last flew. My heart thumped like an ape in a cage.

After an hour and twenty minutes of being on air, we finally reached the island and as the warm island wind hit my face, I felt at home. I am an island boy and I felt like a fish being thrown back to the water after three long years of gasping for air on the terrains of Spain.

We then headed to the car rental place to get our Volkswagen Polo. The island might be small but one could navigate it better with your own car. The queue was long and I thought we were lining up for a Madonna concert or something. It turned out that only two staff are in for the day against all the tourist that come every hour. After an hour and half of waiting under the blazing Balearic sun, we got the car and we're off to San Antonio where our hotel was.

Then hotel, as it turned out was not as pretty as the pictures we saw online. It was in a street full of souvenirs and boisterous crowd. It didn't even have an elevator, for crying out loud so we had to drag our 20 kilo suitcase till the fourth floor. It was a tedious job, equivalent of a day's workout in the gym. After a quick rest, we went directly to Eivissa (Ibiza) town for a tour of the capital. The town is breathtaking. It is a prefect mix of of old and new. The buildings dating back to the 18th century and the massive clubs that it is known for. Parking is a problem in the town. A major problem so after what probably was three whole turns to the city, we spotted one and swiftly got the space. We then started our trip to the centre where the main plaza is.Cozy cafes under a canopy of leaves from the well preserved trees where one can spend the whole afternoon chatting away over a glass of Rioja.
Monument---strict reminder that you are still in Europe.
Century old apartments still standing with prideWe moved on to go to the port. The port is, as expected, heavy with tourists. This is one of the more beautiful cafes in the area.
Luxurious yachts for the rich and famous...What's inside is a postcard view of what Ibiza has been. Narrow streets laid with cobble stones and tiny terrazas. It's an eerie feeling being in these streets . Not scary eerie but a lovely eerie feeling. I wondered how life has been for the people who lived here hundreds of years ago. Must have been difficult without electricity or very little supply of water but I'm sure it was a life filled with beauty and free from the pressure of the consumerist world.Views from the walled city

After an hour of sightseeing in side the famous walls, we decided to head back to the port for a quick drink before we go back to San Antonio for dinner.

The beach of San Antonio is one of the three unlucky ones which was affected by oil leak from a sunken ship just a month ago. They've cleaned everything now but still, I had my hesitations on going into waters and besides, it was about 7pm already and the wind was beginning to get chilly.

The biggest problem that night was where to eat. We didn't want to go where all the tourists go for obvious reasons so we did the wisest way to get to the places where the locals go---ask the locals themselves. Fortunately enough, we've asked someone who had taste for good food and we ended up with a local Catalan restaurant called Es Rebost de Can Prats. They serve traditional Ibecencan cuisine however, the restaurant deserve it's own review in this blogsite so I won't say anything at the moment.

After a bottle of a Rioja wine, I was just so sleepy and tired to even think about going out or go clubbing. It was Saturday and the whole island was pulsating with beats, rhythm and action but it had been a long day and I didn't think I had the energy to even do a cookoo chicken dance or anything. Even the thought of a sweaty, scandinavian stud gyrating lustfully on the dancefloor smiling at me didn't excite me at all. An immaculate soft bed and a pillow to cuddle was what I was yearning for.

The Hed Kandi party was on that night and as I hear Peyton's ¨I´ll Rise¨ from somewhere...I dozed off...

End of Day 1
(Watch out for parts 2-7)

Ibiza Girl

I am here in Ibiza getting a tan. This is a major vacation, so I leave you for a week dear friends.

Just a little idea of what I got my self into ( I arrived this morning and still a little bit dizzy from the plane ride. It was super cloudy and air turbulence was forever): Too much men..sooo many ...just so many...demasiadooooooooo!!! Super beautiful people, ladies and gentlemen. Just amazing! And don't get me started with the beach.It's nice but Boracay is still the best.

Anyway, I have to get some rest before going out tonight. So little time, so many men...and I still yet to have shave my legs.

See you in a week!

Love you all,
Jeno

America, meet your match: Victoria Beckham

Ok guys, so after the trouble with my not-so-recreational drug of the century, I decided to treat myself a little bit. Last Saturday, I hit the not-so-very-high-street (maybe the pills still got an effect on em. What's with the dashes?) of Torremolinos and got loca with the sale season. I promised, I was with such adrenalin rush that I didn't need any solid or liquid intake since I got up till about 5 in the afternoon. I was so excited with comprar,comprar,comprar, I was ready to pull hair and kill for the items that someone might just be too fast to snatch from my view. It was a much needed shopping though for my super duper major Ibiza holiday which by the way is this Saturday. Anyway, that's another story altogether.

So I went to Zarah, Lefties, Massimo Dutti and the rest of the Indetex group's shops and just look and pick and then with my meager money, buy. Shopping's always like that isn't it, for us mortals, anyway? 80 percent look, 15 percent touch, 3 percent smell,1.5 percent think and then...0.5 percent buy. For the Hiltons and the Beckhams, though it's 10 percent look,touch, smell and think and 90 percent buy.

Speaking of Becks (let's forget about my shopping madness. Just look at the pretty things I bought, drool over them then move on), I don't know about you guys but here in Europe where the air fresh and you can actually drink water direct from the faucet without boiling it, everyone's getting a fever with anticipation on how the Beckham's will fare with their new life in America. Day after day, there's news on the development of their mudanza and of course, Miss Victoria Beckham has gone one step forward leaving her family behind for a couple of weeks to set up their new home in LA , etc. or I'm sure you already know (or have seen) that she has a new reality show entitled: Victoria Beckham, Coming to America.photo: perezhilton.com
Like influenza or measles, or tuberculosis, I finally succumbed to the hype and the fuzz that surrounds this moving to America thinggie which was suprising because I am not really a posh spice fan. I was Ginger Spice in our group of gay friends in college and I always thought Geri was the fierce one. I wanted desperately to watch it but ho and behold, there's always something that gets in the way when you really want one thing to happen right? I had to change the shoes in ZARA because it was kinda big so I had to go the shop after work then have dinner with a friend in a Chinese restaurant (everything fake comes from China, I even doubt the authenticity of their cuisine these days) in the not-so-high-streets of Torremolinos.

Anyway, when I got home, the show was over. Thank God for the invention of Youtube, I had to chance to see the show though low quality and all but hey, I saw what the fuzz was all about!

And I promise you, Victoria Beckham is my new Ugly Betty! Gosh, I don't know about you guys but I think Miss Beckham should be given a Golden Globe, an Emmy or even an Oscar for best comedic performance. She's just naturally funny! Now I know why David " rocks his world" (as he once said in an interview). She can be totally glamorous, no doubt about that, but also, she is just a brilliant comedian. She's got this innate dry British humor mixed with her catty, bitchy, gay personality. I so, heart Victoria.

In a country where in its airports, one must fill up a form where one of the questions is, "are you a terrorist?" (which basically explains everything about the country really), isn't it quite perversely exciting to see how someone like Victoria with all her hilarity and idiosyncrasies can get her way and make fun of them without being attacked and be cut into pieces? I think it is fabulous how she represents what America is all about except for the fact that is actually British. Has Paris met finally met her match? Has America finally met her match? See for yourself. This is, and to quote her herself, MAJOR.



Here's some of her hilarious lines:
On arrival: "Okay, so I guess they're expecting me Or they thought there's someone else on the plane. Maybe they thought like Madonna is coming into town or something".

On the rental house: " It looks like a giant dusty ice cube".



Assistant: I am ever get to be personally assisting David?
Vicky: No, Why, would you want to?
Assitant: no..but..yeah..but..
Vicky: DO you find him attractive?
Assistant: No, well he's not ugly.
Vicky: (the face)
Assistant: Sorry I'm just really nervous...

Hahahaha. If I were that assistant, I will be damn nervous as well....meeting david of course. hahaha.

On being busted driving: I am so devastated because I was wearing flat shoes.
---I didn't know whether to pose or get arrested.
hahahaha!
On cheating on her driving exam:
Bill: Victoria, I'm watching you
Vicky: I'm watching you too Bill.

And the picture taking. Hilariousssss!!!!

Man, I'm just so tired of typing now. Just watch it here. I told you this is major.

I think it was a good idea for Vicky to move to America from Spain. I mean here, everybody hates her because she doesn't smile and she once said (and this is why the Spanish press hate her, she didn't get much publicity here) Madrid smells of garlic. Hahaha.

Hmmm, I wonder how LA smells.

There's one thing I am sure of though...for me, Ibiza's smell is in the air.

Outta Rehab


I was fucked up by pill. I swear to the two people who fervently read my blog that you should never...ever...not even think about taking those goddamn Zhen de fucking Shou pills. I have been away from blogging for a couple of days to regain my sanity. Everyday, I was shaking literally and I can feel my blood circulating...rushing like some rapids where you can go kayaking. I was feeling so hot inside and I felt my head was being cut into halves.

I stopped taking them last Sunday after 5 impossible days. Withdrawal symptoms were bad and the third day after quitting was the worst. I was in panic and had a hard self-assessment night, with intra-personal communication and all after watching re-run of *My Bestfriend's Wedding* on ITV1. Shit. That how bad it was.


Let me just get this thing straight: I do not intend to destroy the name or reputation (if there is any) of this slimming pill brand. I am simply narrating my experience during the five days that I lived my life with them. For people out there, think twice before taking any slimming pills without prescription or proper medical consultations.

Right now, I am a little bit sober. Thank God.

My officemates (who love recreational drugs) are fighting over the pills. They are salivating to have them. I was thinking, a sexual favor would be fun. But one of them is a woman and the other one (male) rarely takes a bath.

I am selling them for five euros.

Mark Ronson--Mi Sueño Mojado

I Loveeeeeeee Mark Ronson!

Mark Who? Mark Ronson. He's this cute brit guy who sickly alters tunes and make them sound fresh, new and totally his. He never sing but he's the leader (obviously) of his band and has collaborated with artists like Robbie Williams, Amy Winehouse and Lilly Allen among others. The band uses loads of drums and trumpets to achieve a kick ass sound very reminiscent of the 50's or the Motown days.

Of course, I love My dahlin' Lily Allen. I just hope she stops reading gossip magazines and blogsites so she won't get depressed from news about herself. I can't wait for her to do a duet with Amy Winehouse. That would be absolutely mad, wouldn't you think so?

Anyway, check out this Mark Ronson-Lily Allen tune, Oh My God, an original by The Kaiser Chiefs.
Kaiser Who?
Shut up and watch. (Take note of the brilliant lads! Love their facial expressions. My, oh my, where the f* is this pub??? I need a pint and a BUKKAKE now!)

Zhen de Shou


I'm on the pills once again. This time, it's a Chinese slimming pills called Zhen de Shou and was given to me by my friends who came to visit me just recently. Apparently, it is very popular in the fabulous third world where I came from. It's making waves for its rapid effect which is notable after the 5th day of taking it. Also, what's good about it is that, there are no real side effects at all since it is supposed to be ¨herbal¨.

It's my 3rd day of taking the pill and I can tell you you that I feel like I've taken 10 cups of coffee already because I am soooooo high!. I can feel my body's really excited and awake. I remember, I had the same reactions from taking Bangkok Pills in the 90's. I felt so light, strong and fast that I did the whole week's laundry in an hour or so. No kidding, it was a lot.

Antonio warned me about putting stuff in mouth that I don't really know about and the only assurance I had was my friends' testimonials so I got paranoid and searched in Google for this magic pills.

Voila! Hundreds of testimonials from the third world cesspit! I was so impressed with what I read and saw so I think I should go on taking it. However, I don't think I feel the effects that I SHOULD be feeling as the websites and the testimonials say.
I feel that I haven't lost my appetite. What the hell is happening??? It supposed to lose your cravings, right? Well, I still feel hungry and have to eat at dinnertime!
Anyway, let's see what happens after the 5th day. I should have a fairer, smoother skin aside from , of course, losing some pounds at that time.
Anyone who have tried Zhen de Shou yet? Is it really effective? I'm having palpitations...is that normal?

Tell me your stories about Zhen de Shou here in this site or email me at asiansushi@gmail.com



fresh!


It's summertime fellas! so I decided to give my blogsite a facelift. Enough with the dark background. I want a burst of colors...happy! fun! exciting! uplifting! fresh!
You like the colors?
More Jeno-isms to come. Summer style.

Amnesia is Back!

Just when I thought I would miss the creme de la creme of dance clubs in Ibiza when I hit the island on July 21st, I was ecstatic to receive an email yesterday that AMNESIA is back with a vengeance! The club along with Bora-Bora and another one (I can't remember what) have been closed months ago due to drug problems. I don't know if Bora-Bora has been opened again or if it will ever be but I'm sure party people around the globe is happy that the club has risen from death.

Yipeee!

This is Me.

Monday night, I found myself crying over this film. Before Sunset is the sequel to Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's Before Sunrise, which I am a great fan of, if not the biggest fan.

This is (her) me talking about my personal opinions about love and relationship. I am baring myself to you , my lovely minions.




Romanticism is a thing of the past, and I am lost.


Nine years have passed since Jesse and Celine met in Vienna and walked all over the city, talking as if there would be no tomorrow, and then promising to meet again in six months. "Were you there in Vienna, in December?" she asks him. Nine years have passed, and they have met again in Paris. Jesse wrote a novel about their long night together, and at a book signing he looked up, and there she was. They begin to talk again, in a rush, before he must leave to catch his flight back to America.

To read Roger Ebert's full review on Before Sunset, HERE.

Back from Wanderland (Europride 2007)

I am sooo tired. So tired I feel like having a day off and just sleep the whole day!

Last week was whirlwind for me and I just don't have much energy anymore. I felt like I was gangbanged by a troop of firemen or a horde of construction workers. whew! Anyway, enough of acts of lasciviousness. I had too much of that (and more) at the last EuroPride celebration in Madrid. Yup! The virgin's awakening to the wonderful world of gay gathering. This time, it was massive. 1.5 million attended the event. Madrid was totally went MAD this time! Gosh, I swear. It was the first time I've seen such amount of people and I don't want to see any of those for the next year or two.


Hahaha. Don't I just look like a cheap Romanian whore on the streets of mad, mad, Madrid, eh? Love it. I spent the whole day (Friday) looking for the perfect wig but everything looked awful to me. So, we went to a Chinese shop around cuatro caminos and saw this diabolical gold one which was so hot on the head! Miss M. I hope you are not furious. I know you warned me before not wear a blond wig but this one's the cheapest and besides,the black one was just setting my head on flames on a 35 degree Celsius day!

The hardest part of everything was SHAVING. I had to shave everything and I mean, everything! First time I shaved my legs and it was hardwork. I can understand now why women spend so much time before going out for a night out or something. It was just ludacris to shave the legs without leaving it bloody and cut! My friend Meldy taught me how to do it but being a heardheaded boy that I am, I just scrubbed the razor to my skin like I was exfoliating it. Alas! I looked like an S&M slave being lashed by her master over and over again. Good thing I brought my L'Oreal moisturizing cream with calming effects which soothes and tones the skin after shaving (the face).

As expected, I had my 30 minutes of fame in the parade. After mixing with the lesbian group and the deaf and mute group, I had my own 2 metres (there was a huge gap between groups in the rally) and I just posed and posed and posed to death. People were shouting off the top of their lungs...guapa!!!!!!!! guapaaaaa!!!!!!! foto!!!!!!!!!! foto!!!!!!!!!!! so I didn't have a choice to but be a camwhore for the day. Love it.

We didn't go for a nightout though. It was just too much with all the botellon and crazy heteros around pretending to be gays just to steal kiss, a hug, or a handbag. Jeeez.

I was waiting for my face to be all over the 9 o'clock news but in vain. There were thousands of other fabulously costumed fags and lesbians who made it to the videos and I, on the other hand must be in thousand of digital cameras of people around Europe by now; subject of a sad night's self-pleasure activities.

Oh, well at least I didn't give my mom a heart attack.

For more drag-tastic pictures of me and the Europride 2007 in Madrid, Click HERE

Confessions of a Cola Addict

I am a Cola addict. I have been an addict for 18 years now. My brand of drug is Coca-Cola Light. I can consume two cans a day and a liter in 3 days. I am a cola addict and I'm sure I am not the only one with this kind of addiction.
I started out when I was 10 years old. Before that, I only drink Coke when there are parties, picnics and sort of special occasions. However, little by little, my taste bud got accustomed to the taste and I didn't feel my day was complete if I didn't have a glass of fizzy drink. Then it became a habit. In school, I use to drink fruit juices or water during recess time but with my new found addiction, I had to skip the meal and drink Coke instead. Coke alone. The feeling was great. I felt full and the necessity to eat woul be gone. In high school, the addiction grew stronger. During weekends, my family would have about 2 liters of coke and they will all be gone at the end of the day. Even my family got into the habit!.
Continue here...

Q&A for Ian McEwan


Time Magazine let the fans had a chance to ask their questions to my favorite novelist Ian Mcewan recently in connection with his recent work, On Chesil Beach.

Some of the questions were quite boring but I love how he answers this one:

What's your take on there being fewer literary reviews in newspapers and magazines? Genevieve Powers, BROOKLINE, MASS.

The problem is really a small part of a larger one, which is the decline of newspapers. Publishers seem to be very keyed up to embrace the Internet, but I don't have much time for the kind of site where readers do all the reviewing. Reviewing takes expertise, wisdom and judgment. I am not much fond of the notion that anyone's view is as good as anyone else's.
Decline of newspapers? I say death of newspapers. The only truth on newspapers nowadays is the DATE.

And I don't know HOW this little typo error has escaped the meticulous eyes of TIMES proofreaders. look:



I'ts Edgar ALLAN Poe not ALLEN Poe! Maybe i could apply for them as a grammar/spelling bitch.
Anyway, if I have a question to ask him, it would be: Mr. McEwan, would you sleep with me so I can bear your children?
I know the what the answer would be but hey, just trying my luck. hehehe.
For the complete article, Click here:


Coca-Cola Anonymous

Just when I thought my Coca-Cola anonymous is a mad idea, this guy has his own anonymous group for a weird kind of addiction---lip balm. Yes, for people out there who can't last a minute without applying a tad of Chap Sticks or Vaseline on their lips, this is for you.
From Yahoo news:

For nearly a dozen years, Kevin Crossman has done everything he can to raise awareness about the "industry of addiction" found in lip balm. Yes, lip balm. Blistex, Carmex, Vaseline Lip Therapy. You name it, he's indexed it on Lip Balm Anonymous. There, he catalogs the Chapstick cravings, posts statements from angry pro-balmers, and shares testimony from those who struggled with breaking free from a daily application of gloss. More on Lip Balm Addiction...

Actually, I saw in MTV once that Nelly (the rapper) pays about two thousand dollars for his make up artists and he doesn't even wear make up at all. It's just to apply lip balm on him every now and then. Whew! A glossy way to spend money, isn't it?

I really should be getting serious with this Coca Cola Anonymous thinggie before someone steals my idea. You see, I have shared an idea for an adult entertainment/relaxation type of magazine with my former manager here in the Coast and Voila! months after he resigned, the magazine is widely distributed everywhere. I am not sure though if has a direct participation with this publication but my present boss said that he (my former boss) is ¨friends¨with the publishers of the said magazine. Cheeky!!!! I should put a copyright with all my ideas from now on AND I should keep my mouth shut especially with people like him.

SO, for people who cannot live a day without a can of ice cold Coca-Cola or any carbonated drinks, let's join hands together and seek for a way to combat this addiction. Send me your experiences and health problems you think you might have developed due to carbonated drinks at asiansushi@gmail.com or simply go to www.colaaddicts.blogspot.com I will publish them.