Finally got my hands on that elusive domain.

http://www.thebitchgoddess.com

Change your feeds, dahlings.

Priorities and world views changed. I suddenly find myself juggling four different jobs. Financial security aside, I wanted to throw myself into something mundane, even if it means I churn words for a living everyday. I am tired, bored even, but I’d rather be busy than be depressed.

So this is what I’ve been doing.

And I will be moving soon.

Growing up boy-crazy, I’ve received a few love letters here and there, and some tickled me pink and allowed me to dream about the writer and let the words drift into my head as I stare into nothingness, wondering about the future. Of course there are those letters which you just want to bury as deep as the drawer can get, but you’re keeping them anyway because oh, I don’t know, you want some ego stroking when you need it.

But, there will always be that one particular letter which you hold so dear, its pages carefully tucked and folded, so fragile that you barely hold it with your fingertips when you read it. This particular letter of mine never fails to make me cry every time; I barely open it and I start leaking like a faucet.

I was in college in UPLB when I had a fight with this man. He tried calling me for days and I just ignored his calls, and because he was in Davao, he really couldn’t do much. Everything was my fault, as usual, and I was just too guilty to pick up the phone and dreaded hearing his deep baritone, all stern and angry. Then, one day, I was chatting on the phone by my dorm’s balcony when I saw him come up the stairs. He flew over just to talk to me. I was impressed. Now that’s what I call a real man. He really pursued his lady, case in point: Me. But before that surprise visit, he sent me this beautiful letter, which really set the bar for me in terms of love letters from men.

This is perhaps, THE greatest love letter I have ever received.

August 26, 1999

My Dearest,

There always comes a time in our lives when we need to take stock of ourselves ask ourselves the quintessential question – QUO VADIS? or where am I going?

I have asked this question many, many times especially during those moments when I feel quite lost and bewildered and always as constant as the sun, the answer has remained the same: seek the Lord and the search for peace and joy suddenly ends there. The thirst for fulfillment is at once quenched at the realization that only God is the answer.

Believe you me, my dearest one, I have searched far and wide for that elusive feeling of contentment and no earthly honor nor material gain nor human conquest has ever given me the satisfaction. I have been a proud and defiant man and I was never so humbled as when I was confronted that the enemy was within me. And to conquer oneself, I needed a most powerful ally and friend who was always there to lift my yoke and made my burden light. The Lord never fails us. It is proud people like us who fail to call on Him.

Darling prodigal daughter of mine, this is not meant to be a homily to bore you. Please give yourself a chance by getting the right connection – the real one, the only one that no cellphone or computer or friends or lovers can deliver. Try it soon enough before time passes you by.

We pray for your success and happiness every minute of the day. You are always a part of us and we profoundly care for you.

– Your PAPA who is crazy about you

Oh God, I terribly miss him.

Normally, I’m a very composed person. With my training in PR, I’ve handled all sorts of situations and to be graceful under pressure. I never crack. I can tell people anything, no matter how devastating or funny, with a straight face. I have to be detached from the situation and just tell it as it is. My take on grieving is to do it privately. Suck it in, live with it. I am the poster child of calm.

But this is dad. My own Tevye. I don’t feel like talking to all these people, repeating everything over and over again from the President to the lowly janitor. It’s completely draining whatever I have left inside me.

And to have him gone all too quickly, without having the chance to really tell him what I wanted to say, resolve all my daddy issues, I have become such a wreck. I took time for granted. He was such a magnanimous person that one would think he would live forever.

I just want to sit by the coffin and look at him, and please, allow me to bawl like a baby no matter how scandalous I think it is (and probably scold myself later on).

So, yeah. Fuck me senseless and let me bury my head under the sheets.

I have yet to write a eulogy and I’ll be facing the media later.

And all I could think about is what to wear in front of the cameras.

I am one fucked up girl. 

I don’t know how long this has been posted, but I saw this on YouTube today.

So, this girl is so game and eager to give you the best blow job experience ever.

Blow job, anyone?

S: Have you had sex in public places? 

TBG: Erm, I’m not much of an exhibitionist, I think. Inside a car, probably. What about you?

S: Well, I had once, in the comfort room of a coffee shop.

TBG: Oh, that’s not so public. I mean, you’re still behind closed doors. If that’s the definition you go by, then yes, I’ve done it in a bar’s VIP CR a couple of times. But it’s not my thing, I guess.

S: Yeah? So what’s your thing then? Tell me.

TBG: Weeelllll, I believe in privacy. Doing it behind closed doors no matter how cramped. It’s your chance to connect with another person, nevermind that s/he’s just a one night stand. It gets distracting if you are mindful of getting caught or of people passing by. You lose your chance of making sex good for each other.

S: I had sex along the stairs of our apartment. It was exciting.

TBG: I guess it works for you. I mean, I understand the whole excitement bit, but I’m more concerned of making it really good. And I hate having to hurry because of fear of getting caught. I like to take my time. I like to tease. I love to talk and build up the anticipation. Talking and tracing my fingers across his body. Caressing. Mindfuck.

S: Is it worth it? What if the need is unbearable and you have to do it right then and there and it doesn’t matter where you are? Isn’t that exciting?

TBG: Well, you might as well be dogs.

So, what’s your thing?

WordPress has this integrated Tag Surfer feature (exclusive to WordPress.com hosted blogs) which drove tons of readers to this site who used the “sex” tag.

So, the Tag Surfer feature + word search equals:
(and this has been on my dashboard consistently ever since I moved to WordPress)

Interesting.

I muse over the fact there are indeed millions of people out there who are really in dire need of cunnilingus education.

I guess I should write more on the topic soon.

For those not in the know, Inday* is a common Filipino household name, usually given to maids (whose names you don’t want to keep track of), lasses from the provinces, eldest daughters, market vendors. It could also be used to call a girl/woman if you don’t know her name.

Thus, to our amusement, this new Inday surfaced out of nowhere, the brainchild of someone who must want to give the stereotype a makeover.

Inday is intelligent, overbearingly witty, sometimes highfaluting, and most of all, hilarious. Not your typical maid from the provinces.

And she has a lover, Dodong**, who is equally witty.

And they came up with a blog! YES! Read here.

I have a new guilty pleasure, I believe.

*My definition may seem derogatory to some, but this is how I know the typical Inday. I will stand corrected if anyone can offer a better definition.

**Dodong, like Inday, is a typical Filipino household name, and is equivalent to Inday’s male counterparts.

1. Thou shall not mess with The Bitch Goddess

Strawberry ice cream and other guilty pleasures aside, whenever somebody disappoints me and I end up hurting, I become a walking disaster. I end up doing evil, cruel, unthought-of things, and I do them secretly.

I feel remorse after a while, though. And I hate myself for that. Why should I be remorseful? I got hurt in the first place.

I just wish I had a personal butler that would remind me of my mantra that I used to preach to my girls:

Never allow anyone to hurt you without your permission.

Anyone up for it? I seriously need a loudspeaker on my ear.