Category Archives: Relationships

[VIDEO] MDJ & Zee Find Fame & Shame on Jessica Soho’s Twitter Feature

So my Zee and I got invited to be part of a tiny little segment on “Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho,” which we immediately said yes to.

Not being much of TV nuts, we assumed not a lot of people watched it.

Turns out it’s consistently in the Top 10 of TV programs nationwide. Eep. But we did it, with the slant of “People who found love on Twitter.”

So here’s a bootleg video of mine & Zee’s 1-min of fame on Jessica Soho. Some production notes:

(1) It is not true the camera adds 10-lbs. It adds 40. FYI, I have abs in real life. 9 of them.
(2) They cut a lot of our cute chroma shots, i.e. kilitian, subuan ng ice cream, habulan sa bukid, etc.
(3) The pillow in front of my tummy was strategic – I want to be seen as a sex symbol on TV.
(4) Zee’s cheekbones are KILLER on TV.

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A Friendster Testimonial For My Zee

Once I upon a time, I like to think I was a cool, suave, sophisticatedly macho piece of man-meat, all swagger and fireworks and baby oil.

That was until I met my Zee. She transformed me. I’d like to think it’s for the better, but I will say this: All of my machismo points have gone flying out the window like a plate of rancid sodium-free margarine. Instead, I’ve transformed into a mushy puddle of googly-wah.

But you know what? I don’t mind. She melts me, and I adore her. More than I’ve ever adored anyone in my life.

She makes me so happy. I have a tendency to take myself (and life) too seriously, and being with her helps me see the joy in simple things. We’re like two silly little kids when we’re together; even after five months things are still so fresh and new and magical.

Our weekend adventures are legendary, like this one time we tried to cook crabs we’d bought at Salcedo Market…

It’s hard to enumerate the things I like best about her. There are too many.

And so I got to thinking – I wish we’d known each other back in the Friendster days. I wish we could have left each other testimonials. I don’t know what she would have said about me back then (“ZOMGZ I loooove your undercut!! Looks AMAZING with your Hawaiian shirt!”), but here’s what I would say to her after five magical, wonderful months with her.

*****

My Zee is the bestest girlfriend in the world. She’s gorgeous, funny, sweet, thoughtful, and her tummy makes the nicest fluffiest pillow and she gives the bestest hugs. But more than that, she inspires me to be a better man. Her strength, courage, and resilience were the first things I knew about her, and remind me that I need to be all these things for her too.

She takes the best care of the people that she treasures, with no pain, with no limits. She cooks the best lechon paksiw, cheese omelettes, bacon, and garlic rice (even though her crepes need a bit more work), and gives the nicest backrubs I’ve ever known. Seeing her smile is enough to turn around all the heartache of a crappy day, and hearing her laugh reminds me that there is still so much beauty in the world to live for. I could gaze into her eyes forever.

And she never asks for anything in return – for someone who gives so much of herself, she is so unselfish in what she wants back. This teaches me to be unselfish too, to give all that I have to give, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

She makes me believe in myself. She makes me hope. She makes me believe in forever.

She only knows one way to love – completely, sincerely, and unconditionally. And I hope she knows that I love her the same way too.

*****

I love you, my peanut. Happy 5th monthsary.

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The Beauty Queen & The Action Star

A couple pic taken at a pole-dancing event the other week.

Zee looks pretty. I look like a B-movie action star, only a few rungs down from the likes of Jestoni Alarcon.

Zee is the best girlfriend ever. She takes me to scope out hot poledancers spreading their legs and cavorting around steel poles while dressed in tight leather outfits. The only trade-off is that I need to take her to the Cosmo Bachelor Bash next year.

I love her. If I need to take her to scope out hot veiny men in ripped denim, then I will.

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Part Two: The Invasion of the Underage Frilly Fashion Diva Princesses

Click here for Part One of MDJ Superstar’s thrilling, purely fictional Manly Man Manifesto adventures as he stood face to face with the unholy army of the Bieber-Gaga cult of teenybopper pop culture!

*****

MDJ Superstar was trapped. He knew there was no escape. He could either help art-direct the fashion pictorial of the freshly-dolled up Fashion Diva Princesses on the gardens facing Bonifacio High Street’s local hell-hole of pink glitter, Club Princess, or he could burn in eternal damnation on the fiery altar of the Cult of Gaga.

“You leave me no choice, foul princesses,” he muttered, as a single perfect tear welled up in his glistening ochre eyes. “With the help of my assistant models, Trixie and Ara, I will elevate you to fashion immortality.”

Off scampered the Fashion Diva Princesses, with MDJ Superstar trudging sadly in their wake. They lined up in the ever-extending ebony shadow of Club Princess, squealing and giggling with nervous eagerness.

The foul pink soldiers of Gaga forming their demonic ranks, with the assistance of professional models Trixie & Ara.

“Alright girls!” exclaimed MDJ Superstar, his fear now swallowed and digested into a more manageable lump of fortitude, “At the count of three, everyone smile, pose, and shout, DIVA!!!”

The girls tossed their be-glittered hair in the wind, with feathered boas whipping ferociously around them like dragon-snakes searching ravenously for their next victim. A pall of anticipation befell them.

MDJ Superstar gathered his breath. In the distance, the shrill call of a lone wolf echoed through a morose sky.

“ONE… TWO… THREE… DIVA!!!”

The assembled ranks of the Underage Frilly Fashion Diva Princesses.

Will you spare me?” MDJ Superstar intoned, his voice rasping slightly. “Will you allow me to go off to do Appropriately Manly Things such as having my car detailed or downloading scintillating pornography at Flesh Asia Daily 3.0?”

“We shall do no such thing,” squealed the horde of Fashion Diva Princesses. “We shall invite you to partake in some chocolate cake, and possibly even chicken fingers with us at TGIFriday’s, and watch us as we do our fashion walk-off on the High Holy Catwalk of Gaga!”

And so off they dashed to the nearby restaurant, filling the bar area with a throng of pink glitter and giggles.

Zarah is shocked at the ferocious torrent of Fashion Diva Princesses who filled the room with their demonic glitter-gear..

Within, a tall, sombre figure of imposing height towered above the crowd of 7-year old’s, her impassive stare reading into the very nooks and crannies of each of their souls. She was Carisse Escueta, and she knew what it meant to be a Fashion Diva Princess too.

Taking charge: Carisse, the High Holy Priestess of Gaga holds court over the Fashion Diva Princesses.

“Alright Fashion Diva Princesses,” she exclaimed, “Everybody line up on stage and get ready to vamp down the red carpet!”

Getting ready to own the catwalk.

A wild cheer emanated from the assembled ranks of the Diva Fashion Princesses. Catwalks and red carpets were completely familiar territory to them. They had, after all, absorbed every single episode of the last 18 seasons of America’s Next Top Model.

And off they vamped. They ramped, and they stamped. The red carpet was their dominion, and each other’s cheers and giggles were their fire.

“All right Divas,” thundered Carisse once the 19-strong contingent had completed its parade. “Let’s get the birthday girl Bea on stage, and we can have her blow out her candles!”

Getting ready to put out the Fashion Flames burning steadily on the Barbie birthday cake.

An uneven chorus of “Happy Birthday To You” broke out, serenading little Bea with love and appreciation. “Happy birthday, dear Bea… Happy birthday to you!”

And like a gracious duchess bidding thanks to a delegation of nobles, Bea mounted the stage with her beautiful, extremely curvaceous mother, and expressed her heart-felt emotions to her fellow Fashion Diva Princesses.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she purred. “I had so much fun, and hope you all did too!”

And swift as a lightning bolt, it was all over, a shower of warm applause washing over the birthday girl as laser-lights traced constellations around her.

“It was all worth it,” thought MDJ Superstar to himself, nodding with a fresh wave of understanding. “These girls live to diva. Viva la diva!”

Far above him, a single, flawless white dove took flight into the air.

Slowly, it sailed higher and higher into the sky, finally vanishing into a sparkling lake of molten gold as the sun beamed serenely down upon 19 newly-minted Fashion Diva Princesses.

World peace, muttered MDJ Superstar to nobody in particular. It was all about world peace.

The Birthday Girl.


*****

This epic two-part extravaganza is dedicated to two of the most perfect, wonderful, beautiful women in my life – the lovely, talented, and extremely voluptuous Zarah Hernaez, and her wonderfully charming little girl, Bea.

Madonna & Child.

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[VIDEO BLOG] The Curious Case of the Crustacean Murders (A Typical Date For MDJ & Zee)

They were brave warriors, noble and true.

They bore tough, resilient armors, hardy enough to resist the most ferocious battering from oceans of misfortune, yet light and pliable enough to allow them to gaze up at the stars every night, dreaming, wondering, “Life.. what does it hold for us?”

They had hopes. They had dreams. They had ambitions and visions, aspirations and goals.

But above all, they had each other.

Their names were Tiffany and Amber, and they were two beautiful young crabs in love.

They swore to each other, with claws intertwined after one particularly lusty, sweaty evening of fierce lovemaking, that they would always be true to each other. They would strive to be better crustaceans together. They would take care of each other, and they would live for each other.

Little did they know that in addition to this, they would die together as well.

Join us on this brief documentary celebrating how the one brief, glorious blaze of love shared by young Tiffany and Amber was tragically snuffed out by the voracious appetites of two incredibly good-looking, adorable, slightly nutty yet staggeringly sweet Superstars likewise in love, MDJ & Zee.

Shed a tear for the end of the love shared by Tiffany & Amber.

Yet forget not to celebrate the courage with which they faced death together.

If only we, as humans, could learn to be as brave.

* Production notes: (1) Real crab experts would have spotted right from the start that the crabs in question were, in fact, male, and should not have been named “Tiffany” and “Amber,” but “Timothy” and “Andrew.” (2) All footage is entirely unscripted, and is representative of the general silliness that goes on during the dates of the very-much-twitterpated MDJ & Zee, (3) If you enjoyed this video, kindly share us your appreciation by depositing a very large gratuity in our PayPal accounts, preferably in increments of $1,000.

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Wonderfully Distracted

I get so distracted by you. In a wonderful way.

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The Girl With The Eyes of Liquid Smoke

Once upon a time, there lived a little Superstar.

He was not a particularly handsome or talented or wealthy Superstar. In fact, as far as Superstars go, he probably fell on the lower end of the spectrum – cute enough but not heart-stoppingly so, amusing enough but not outright funny, pleasant enough but not distinguishedly sweet. He was an intersection of kind-of’s and sort-of’s, a nondescript middle ground halfway down the highway to superlative.

He was gifted with one special gift though: an ego as robust and swollen as a ripe watermelon slightly past its prime. He carried himself with a swagger, determined to achieve through sheer force of character what he could not achieve through more overt physical charms. That was all he had, after all, but it was something he carried in spades: a shamelessly invincible sense of self-worth that allowed him to steamroll people into believing he was, in fact, Super.

What people did not realize though was that hidden behind the bluster and bravado of his Superstar nom-de-plume, was the soul of a tiny, scared, insecure little boy, closer to the emotional fortitude of a 6-year-old than his 29 year-old physique, with strapping 18-inch biceps and scruffy biker’s goatee, would suggest.

He was scared.

He was fake.

And he was lonely.

And then, one day, this Superstar met a Girl.

This girl had eyes that seemed to be woven of liquid smoke, deeply entrancing and heavy with both mystery and promise. She had a way of gazing into the eyes of the Superstar, and stripping away the layers of swagger and bluster he had painstakingly forged for himself through years of shame and insecurity.

“Be true to yourself, Superstar,” she would whisper. “Be the man you know yourself to sincerely be.”

And just like that, she stirred a yearning within the trembling fraud Superstar. “I will be honest,” he whispered back. “For you, I will be true.”

And into the sunlight, the Superstar stepped forth. “It’s better to be true-per than Super,” he chuckled to himself, shaking his head slyly over his clumsy pun. Away came the swagger. Away dropped the fraud. Away fell the desire to impress with facade.

And the Superstar swore to the Girl With The Eyes of Liquid Smoke that he would no longer be selfish and self-centered and aloof and withdrawn. He would look outwards with her, accept the beauty of a world embroidered with love, and embrace a life of Spice Girls-inspired “2 Become 1”-ness.

And he knew that beside her was where he wanted to be. Beside her was where he was the happiest. Beside her was where he could learn to be brave and strong and true.

Beside her was where he was made to be.

Beside the Girl With The Eyes of Liquid Smoke.

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I’m Better By Accident Than On Purpose

One of the most crushing things about this weekend was the realization that when it comes to taking DSLR photos, I completely, utterly suck.

Just how bad?

The single decent shot I took came completely by accident, when I hit the shutter button while attempting to discreetly pick my nose, before I even got to aim. Irritating! The resultant shot looked like something chic and posh and very urban.. like the 2011 Spring/Summer catalog of Bunny Jeans, or quite possible the latest print spread by Freego in Women’s Home Companion magazine..

I did, however, manage to reassure myself that I possess a singularly awesome talent that remains unrivaled in at least 48 American states, and 83% of Northern Luzon precincts – I can weigh an ungodly 230-lbs, yet put on a horizontally-striped shirt and still look as sleek and svelte and agile as if I weighed just 218..

Yes. I truly am a Superstar..

*****

All shots taken at Oh My Gulay, 5/F La Azotea Building, Session Road, Baguio City. All clothing and accessories, unless otherwise indicated, are models’ own, and are assuredly obscenely expensive.

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Honesty, Oversharing & The Adventures of Captain Backfire

My fatal flaw is that I have no filter. Acquaintances I barely know, people I have only met in passing, will light up when I run into them in the mall – “Oh, I love your tweets! Your blog entries! Your status updates,” they’ll say. “You’re hilarious! You’re crazy!”

I guess this is the offshoot of me being such a socially-inept, awkward nerd. I’m an affirmation whore, with an incredible need to be accepted, and the simplest, fastest way I think I can get people to like me is by making them laugh with crude crassness.

Hence the torrents of outrageous oversharing that used to populate my Twitter and Facebook accounts – what kind of underwear I’m wearing for the day, how I like to multi-task by shaving my head and smoking while taking a dump, the new sex tape scandal I’ve downloaded, etc. Things designed to fall askew of conventional social decorum, and provoke a reaction from the reader.

Well, somebody call John Mayer, cos I think I’m the latest, greatest incarnation of the legendary Captain Backfire..

Above all things, I value openness, honesty, and sincerity. I can’t filter myself, because I’m such an emotional person – a classic INFP, by Myers-Briggs standards. I navigate the world by how I feel, by intuition, by how I perceive things. And closing myself off emotionally would mean I couldn’t connect to the world in that way.

And I suppose I’m leaving myself open to getting hurt when I do that. That’s the sort of thing that happens when you lay yourself out so honestly and openly to people – especially the ones you choose to love. You’re always just a little bit more vulnerable to getting your heart broken in those cases, mainly because it isn’t really inside your chest anymore – it’s in their hands, unprotected, and theirs to either cradle or crush.

But you know what?

I would choose to feel that pain one million times, over even trying to live a life without love.

There are some things that are worth being hurt for.

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77% of Filipinas Wish Their Men Were More Unpredictable (Or, Why I’m Lucky To Have Gotten To First Base)

I was never “that guy” growing up.

I suppose that’s one of the things that hits you when you’ve lived your life as a fat, sweaty, socially-inept boy – you’re never comfortable enough in your own skin to go out and hunt down the girl of your dreams. I swear to God I did not speak to a girl my age until I was in second year high school, and even then I wasn’t exactly the Sultan of Sexy.

I worked hard on my body, like hell I did, and even though I was sculpted like an only-slightly-porky Samoan Adonis, I still didn’t know how to sucker woo girls enough to be into me.

Here’s how awkward I was in trying to make conversation – before making a phone call, I needed to draft out a list on yellow pad of several possible topics to pepper the dialogue with: Are you going to the soph night? What do you think of the new Peter Andre CD? Which branch of Blowing Bubbles is your favourite? Which Backstreet Boy gets you wetter, Kevin or Nick?

And on and on and on.

As you can probably imagine, I was not a spectacular hit with the ladies. We’d often hang up after ten minutes. There’s only so much you can do when your responses amount exclusively to “Umm, hehe, cool,” and “Err, haha, yeah.” I think that’s why I found porn so magical. It never rejected me, and only occasionally made me feel bad about myself.

I came across this interesting survey by Axe Body Spray recently. One ginormous headline jumped out at me:

77% of Filipinas wish their men were more unpredictable.

Great, I thought to myself. I’m Mr. I-Script-Out-Every-Conversation. My idea of unpredictable is wearing gray Y-fronts on a date instead of the usual bacon-gartered tighty-whities. I like routine. I like being comfortable, and I like knowing what comes next. That’s probably why I can’t take watching competitive sports live; I hate the suspense of not knowing how things will turn out, and will only watch WWE pro wrestling because I know it’s scripted.

I suppose I do need to rattle my own cage once in a while, and surprise my lady friends a little more often. That’s probably why I love the concept behind the new Axe Twist Deodorant Body Spray – it’s the first ever man-scent that actually evolves the way it smells as the night goes on. In an exclusive one-on-0ne interview that may or may not have occurred between MDJ Superstar and Alexandre Freile, a French perfumer and Axe Twist collaborator, I was told that “[it] bears a scent of fresh citrus and gradually changes to the smell of sandalwood.”

I can smell like both calamansi and sandals in one night? I exclaimed to myself. That’s even better having a library with many books, and an apartment that smells of rich mahogany! Sign me up for that stank, and some sweaty-hot monkey sex!

I found the TV commercial on YouTube. It’s very clever, like all Axe commercials are.

I’m sure you all think Axe is very plebeian. Well, MDJ Superstar hates to brag, but I actually got a flock of nubile underage Cebuana professional models to not only make eye contact with me, but actually stand within an 8-foot radius…

New Axe Twist. It gets you laid, and occasionally even paid.

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