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Camiguin and I Win Big Time!

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It’s about two months till we return to the Philippines. As excited as Janet is to see her family and home, I may be even more excited! I really like the place and can’t wait for some serious heat and humidity. I’m ready to tear my coat off, throw on some sandals, shorts and shades and soak in what’s become my second home.

Our vacation will entail three weeks in the Philippines. The last week is easy. We’ll spend it in Alcoy, Cebu, Janet’s hometown, with her family. I am looking forward to seeing them again and looking forward to seeing Alcoy again – it’s a beautiful spot. And it makes Janet happy to be there and I will get the credit – so there’s that, as well.

But what to do for the two weeks before then? We had been considering many options and had in fact asked all of you for opinions. Thanks to those who weighed in. Finally, one recent evening I suggesting to Janet that we needed to pry ourselves away from Facebook long enough to make a decision.

It wasn’t long into the discussion before Boracay came up. Now in some ways this would be a natural vacation consideration. Boracay is, after all, the best known and most popular tourist destination in the Philippines. Many lists include it among the best beaches in the world. For many Filipinos/as Boracay is a dream destination, since by Philippines standards it’s expensive and most Filipinas never get to go, unless they’re attached to a rich kano 🙂

But for Janet and I the name Boracay holds a bit more weight. You see, I’ve been to Boracay before, prior to meeting, falling in love with and marrying Janet. And most significantly, I was in Boracay with another girl.

But for Janet and I the name Boracay holds a bit more weight. You see, I’ve been to Boracay before, prior to meeting, falling in love with and marrying Janet. And most significantly, I was in Boracay with another girl.

So for us it’s not even an issue of what a nice white sand beach Bora has (it does) or whether it’s overcrowded with Chinese and Korean tourists (it is). The issue is “you took ‘her’ to Boracay.” This remark comes up perhaps every couple months and invariably I say, “I am happy to take you there if you’d like. We can go on our next visit.”

Now between you and me, here’s my honest appraisal of Boracay. The white beach is beautiful but it’s mobbed. It’s like Atlantic City when I was a kid. Bora is exciting and island hopping is fun. But I’m too damn old to need so much excitement and guys will ask you “Island hopping, Sir?” at least 10 times an hour as you walk the beach or boardwalk, until you wish they’d island hop themselves off the island or at least out of your way.

All this said, I liked Boracay, and would be happy to take Janet, but it’s not the be all and end all. It’s a fun place to go if you’re a tourist looking for fun and sun, but if you want to see the real Philippines – Boracay ain’t it.

As far as the notion that it’s expensive, it’s really not that bad. Decent hotels can be had for as low as $50/night (I’ll get to that soon) and you can eat dinner on the beach for under $10. Drinking and partying yourself silly every night might be another matter, but I’m not much of a drinker.

What is expensive about Boracay – is getting there. Cebu Pacific, my local favorite airline, has many flights a day from Cebu to Bora. They have an interesting way to market your trip. The flight to Bora is cheap, but getting off the island and back to Cebu is expensive!

Anyway, Janet and I had broken away from Facebook long enough to talk and decide to spend some time in Bora. I pulled up Agoda’s website (my fave hotel site) and we looked at many hotels. Janet’s only criteria was, “I don’t want to stay where you took her!” I readily agreed.

We did what we have done many times before; looked at prices and hotel reviews. Sometimes the price was right but the reviews sucked and other times it was the other way around. We are middle of the road travelers. Unlike our good friend, Jim, who declares as a badge of honor, “Life is too short to stay in a cheap hotel,” our motto is “Money is too tight to piss it away on a space we’re not going to spend time in.” So we want a nice bed, reasonable amenities, and aircon (April is summertime in the Philippines). And if breakfast is included that’s a big plus.

After looking at about a dozen hotels, Janet spotted one that was cheap and had a great Agoda review score.

“Let’s look at that one,” she said.

“Hmm. Maybe not, baby,” I quietly responded. “That’s the one I went to before.”

The medicine is great help for all those who are looking for safe and cost effective drug. generic india viagra or levitra works excellent in this regard. There are different methods for treating arthritis and relieving associated cialis from canadian pharmacy symptoms such as chronic pain. But the pills work in an sildenafil 50mg price hour. The sildenafil professional insurances are simply not constrained to street or work put. “It’s OK. Show me.”

Now, this is my worst nightmare come true. But I did as I was told and showed her the pics of the hotel and the reviews which are uniformly good. Most importantly, at $51/night with breakfast included, by Bora standards, the place is a steal. Plus it’s located at Station 3, which if you’ve every been to Bora, is away from the heart of the party madness.

Well, you guessed it. Janet liked the place and said, “Let’s stay there. Just not the same room,” she added giggling. I rolled my eyes, imagined the upcoming potential OA moments (OA means “over acting” for those not married to a Filipina) and agreed. “Book it now,” she said.

“No no. First I have to make sure we can get the flights, then I’ll book the hotel.”

So I left Agoda behind and proceeded to Cebu Pacific’s website. As I mentioned before, I like Cebu Pacific. I like their cheap fares, number of flights, cute orange planes, and cuter orange clad Flight Attendants. I love the games they play onboard; I even won once. But their website – that’s all Philippines. It’s convoluted and incredibly slow. The fare starts out very cheap, but as you click each page more charges are added; taxes, baggage charges, seat assignment charges, etc.

But this night was as slow as I’d ever seen the website work. Each click took about 5 minutes to get to the next page and with each page the price grew. Now I had explained many times to Janet that the airfare to Bora was expensive but here she was seeing it – and seeing it in slow motion. As minutes would go by between page refreshes she would exclaim, “OMG that’s expensive.”

“It’s OK ,” I’d respond. “We want to go. We’ll have a great time.”

Finally after 20 minutes staring at the Cebu Pacific site as it moved in Filipino time, it became clear to Janet (I already knew) that the airfare from Cebu to Boracay for two would top $500. She announced, “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to go.”

“It’s OK, baby. We can afford it.” But I could see her mind at work. I could tell she was thinking about what we could do with $500. Actually I figured she was thinking about all the clothes she could buy at Ayala Mall for $500!

“I don’t want to go there,” she announced.

“Are you sure,” I asked her several times. She was more adamant each time.

And that’s how we decided to spend five days in Camiguin. Total round trip airfare from Cebu to Camiguin for two = $160.

And if you don’t think that Camiguin is a total winner, check out this video. I already know I’m a total winner!

http://vimeo.com/110138549

 

 

Blog, Story

On old age, babies, and funerals (mine?) in the Philippines

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In a couple of days I will hit a major milestone – the age that Social Security deems I can retire early. Of course before my co-workers begin the celebration, I should say that I am not retiring now, but apparently I could if I wanted to live on the pittance that I would get from a 3/4 Social Security payment.

Once again this experience reminds me that I am an old fart living the dream, married to a slightly less elderly Filipina and that for the next few months our ages will be the exact opposite of each other (62 and 26).

Like many old farts I am in contact with my high school friends via Facebook. Since at 21 I moved as far away from my home in Philadelphia as I possibly could and still remain in the continental US, I have not seen most of these people in over 40 years.

Last night I was looking at my long list of high school Facebook “friends” and thought of a friend I hadn’t seen on FB. I did a quick search. Yep, you guessed it; he died two years ago. This is the second time in six months that I have searched for a friend that I’d wondered about for decades and the second time I found that the only viable reason someone isn’t on Facebook, is because they’re dead.

I found that the only viable reason someone isn’t on Facebook, is because they’re dead.

Janet came home from work and I told her I was a bit sad at my discovery. She knows me well enough to know that I was feeling my own mortality and reminded me I am healthy and that most importantly my otin still works and consequently we will have a baby and that between my young wife and child I will remain young for many years to come. Either that, I thought,  or they will put me in my grave quickly – but I kept that to myself.

In fact, I recently had a conversation with another high school friend on Facebook (this one is actually still alive) who is very happy that I have Janet in my life but implored me to not have children. After all, she reminded me how old I would be when a new baby hits 21.

“I may be old, but I can still do the math,” I reminded her. “The good news is I may not even live till my current kids are 21,” I declared hopefully.

I reminded her that ultimately no one knows. My mother, in great shape, died at 40 when I was 19 and my father 100 bills overweight is still alive and cantankerous at 85.

This led Janet and I to a conversation about her plans about a baby. She is confident that she can control the characteristics of said baby and so here is her plan.

Naturally, the baby will be female.

She will have my skin and nose – a given if you ask Filipinas. This is the reason they married us – our long noses and pasty skin color.

The baby will have Janet’s eyes, hair color and texture. No bald babies for us!

The baby will have Janet’s figure.

However, the baby will have my loboot (ass). Janet is constantly complaining about her loboot (personally I like it very much) and wishes that I could miraculously “give me your loboot.” I wouldn’t mind giving her 10-20 of my pounds. If anyone has any suggestions about how to make such a transplant, let me know. But in the meantime I am tasked to give the baby my big loboot.

With the baby to be’s looks being now decided (who needs an ultrasound) it was time for us both to scan Facebook for any new and  essential information of the day. We stumbled on a question about a elderly German living in the Philippines, near death and broke, and what could be done about burial costs.

Naturally this let to a conversation about my impending demise. I repeated that I preferred cremation and that Janet ought to keep it simple and not spend a bunch of money on me, since after all I will be dead.

“But where will I visit you if we cremate?” Janet asked. This is essential to a Filipina and a Catholic.

“Well I guess you can keep the urn if you want. Then you don’t have to visit me. I’ll be with you.”

“I don’t like that,” she replied. “Then your spirit will be watching me constantly.”

“Then scatter my ashes,” I replied as a reasonable Westerner.

It cialis generika http://appalachianmagazine.com/2014/02/10/februarys-must-see-location-north-carolinas-shadow-of-a-bear/ can help achieve an erection when sexual stimulation occurs. If an altered menstrual cycle does not convince best cialis price you to stop taking it, perhaps the fact that it causes oversensitivity to your genitalia will. Erectile dysfunction (ED) is nothing but the inability of performing on the bed and satisfying the partner’s cialis generico online needs. Heart disease will stay http://appalachianmagazine.com/2019/03/12/appalachian-weddings-times-of-chaos-revelry/ price tadalafil tablets unnoticed until the first symptom attacks you. “But then there will be no place to visit you.” We were back to the beginning.

“Well, bury some of the ashes under a tree.” I am nothing if not a great problem solver.

“Not the same,” she said.

“Whatever you want then. I’ll be dead. Bury me, so you can visit me.”

“This is best,” she replied. “Then people can see you in death. How many days should the viewing be?”

“What! No way.” In Jewish tradition we are much more reasonable (and sanitary). There are no open coffins and the deceased is buried within 48 hours.

“Then how will family be able to say their goodbyes. In the Philippines they pass the coffin and touch you.”

“I don’t want anyone to be touching me when I am dead!”

“Then you can get an expensive coffin with a glass cover.”

“I don’t want anyone to see me when I’m dead. I’m not that great looking alive. Let’s go back to cremation.”

“But then I can’t visit you.” We were back to the beginning again.

“But I don’t want to spend a bunch of money on a plot; it’s a waste.”

“In the Philippines you can rent the plot. 500 pesos a year.”

“That’s pretty cheap (about $12/year). Forever?”

“Oh no. Only for five years.”

“Then what?”

“They dig you up and take your bones and put them in a small box.”

So I have made a decision. You’ve heard it here first. I am not dying!

 

 

 

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“Any of You Sum B’s Call Me Grandpa – I’ll Kill Ya”

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Last Friday I arrived home and almost immediately Janet asked, “Do you have any plans tomorrow?” I had no Saturday plans other than to lay around, which as a hard working kano I deserve, and Janet had the day off as well, so a little husband-wife time seemed in order. I assumed she had something in mind and asked, “Is there something you want to do?”

“Michelle and Douglas just had their baby and I want to visit.”

“Remind me who Michelle and Douglas are,” I answered. In the last year we have made friends with many Fil-Am couples and that in conjunction with my geriatric memory (I joke that I barely remember my kids’ names) made it necessary for Janet to jog said memory. She began to describe what each looked like and I nodded my head in recognition, though truth be told I didn’t remember. Saying that he is “tall and white” and she is “short and Filipina,” didn’t exactly eliminate many possibilities.

‘Where do they live,” I asked.

“They just moved to a new home. I have the address. I think it’s close.”

“Good. I had a long week and…” I read the address. “This place is at least 45 minutes away.” Actually, according to Google Maps it was over an hour away. She looked devastated. “But you know,” I continued. “If we went just a bit out of our way, we can do a nice drive up the Gorge and go to that restaurant we like for lunch.”

Janet began chatting via Facebook with Michelle. “We can have lunch there,” she announced.

“OK, but there goes my idea,” I said. “But if they’ve invited us for lunch…”

“They didn’t invite us for lunch.”

“But you just said.”

“We should bring them lunch. After all, when I have a baby I want people to visit me too.”

“And what kind of lunch do you want to bring them?” I said, a bit of exhaustion creeping into my voice, imagining preparing lunch and then driving an hour.

“Fried chicken.”

“You mean KFC.” Janet smiled happily.

Janet loves KFC. The only thing she doesn’t like about the place is the fact that there is no white rice on the menu. This makes no sense to her and is clearly a poor management decision and the prime reason KFC is no longer one of the fast food big boys.

“Can we get Popeye’s instead?” she quietly asked. Janet had recently discovered Popeye’s and considers it a step up from KFC, since in the Philippines “crispy” is king and a Popeye’s drumstick is crispy enough to use to break up cement.

I agreed. The weather was supposed to be nice, the drive would be pleasant and there is very little that I enjoy more than seeing Janet happily speak Visayan to a fellow Pinay. Janet’s English is good but speaking it is still a strain and causes a “nose bleed.” When she speaks Visayan she laughs and screams in a way that she can’t do in English. I love watching it. So, we were set for the next day.

That night we were watching a movie. For reasons that I still cannot fathom she chose from Netflix the bio-pic “Patton.” Three hours of explosions and George C. Scott scowling and holding his ivory-handled oten substitute!

Janet was surfing on her phone. As a writer and former wannabee screenwriter I find watching a film and Facebooking at the same time to be offensive but have given up trying to make an issue of it. Janet seems to be able to multi-task, though in the middle of Patton she did stop and ask, “What is this all about?”

My answer of, “A crazy World War 2 general,” seemed to satisfy her.

Suddenly she asked, “what do you think about this name?” She started throwing out combinations of first and middle names and I absently nodded my head in approval as husbands the world over do when they are trying to concentrate on a movie.

I didn’t need to ask why she was seeking my input on names. I knew all too well why.
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After she’d come up with a couple female combinations she liked, Janet asked, “What about boy names.”

“How about George Scott?” I answered. I was bored with the movie anyway and always considered Rommel to be the more interesting General.

We went back and forth on names for about fifteen minutes until she had several options she liked. My suggestion of Jack, my grandfather’s name, as well as Nicholson’s did not make her short list.

The next day we got up, Janet made rice, we grabbed a bucket from Popeye’s drive through and headed for our friends’ home. They live in a small city or big town; from Janet’s perspective it’s the provinces. The drive was nice, the air was clean, and the beautiful view from their yard was provincial.

The baby slept most of the time, as do all newborns. I have forgotten the child’s name; it was hard enough to consistently remember Michelle and Douglas. BTW, once they opened the door I did at least remember who they were!

Both parents gamely tried to wake the baby. After all, they reasoned, if friends had driven an hour and brought crispy chicken to boot, the star had to make an appearance. Finally, she did and Janet, Michelle and the baby disappeared into a bedroom, giving Douglas and I a great excuse to watch the Ducks whip UCLA.

I knew what was happening in the bedroom. Janet was getting herself more and more amped up for a future when she would be a proud mother. At 26, if she were still in the Philippines without child she’d be bordering on aged.

It wasn’t just Janet that was feeling the loneliness of being without child. Like potential grandmothers the world over, Janet’s mom was looking forward to a grandchild. She’d already let Janet know that if we have a baby and want to come visit, we could feel free to leave the baby behind for six months or so.

Now in American culture, Janet’s mother’s suggestion would be unheard of. After all the woman had ten children; three are still living at home and going to school. Several of her other children are living within rooster-crowing distance. She has two grandchildren who she is practically raising.

There is of course also the point that in the Philippines mixed children are considered highly attractive; like winning the lottery, our progeny might become the star of the barangay. Janet’s teenage brother had already made it clear to her 2 year old niece that “when Janet and Dave have their white, long-nosed baby” that baby will be replacing the two year old as the star of the family.

There have been other incidents. A couple weeks ago out of nowhere Janet wanted to rearrange our room. I complied and we moved stuff around. There was no real need or advantage to do so, but I innately knew why we were doing it; she was getting ready.

A few days ago, Janet’s BFF suggested that she should be pregnant by January. Now that Michelle and Douglas have had their child, there is only one more pregnant woman in our Fil-Am community, and she is due about then.  That would give Janet nine months of uninterrupted community attention.

The interesting point of all this is what I have described before as the dichotomy in my life. At work I actively talk about the end and my retirement plans which are at least within sight. At home we plan for another beginning. I guess I am too am getting myself ready.

—–

My teenagers are nearly 15 and 19, meaning that I was already in my 40s when I had them. One day, over 18 years ago I carried my then baby boy into the convenience store around the corner. I was a frequent customer but the Korean store owner had never seen my newborn.  “Ah, your grandson,” he declared excitedly.

“No, he’s not my grandson!” I yelled at the man, pissed as hell.

Four years later, I carried my newborn daughter into the same store. The same store owner declared happily, “Ah, your granddaughter.”

“No, she’s not my granddaughter!” I shouted.

At this age, with the possibility of a new baby looming, I suppose the best I can hope for is to be called grandpa!

Life is good and never boring!

PS. And finally, here’s Sam Elliot telling it like it is!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phrJkFCw6so

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Lip Pointing with Manny Pacquiao vs. Ray Rice

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Here’s how our weekend went:

It was Saturday and I knew it was bound to be a crazy one. My son was going off to college as a Freshman and my emotions were mixed; between sadness about my little boy leaving home; and unbridled ecstasy about my little boy leaving home. The plan was to get up early, have breakfast, pack the car to the brim, and take off for the two hour drive to his new life.

I got up and volunteered to make breakfast so that Janet could get up and eat with us and say her goodbyes (“regards” in the Philippines). I’m a lousy cook but managed to rustle up a bunch of eggs, bacon and toast and didn’t burn any of it, which was a very good sign for the day ahead.

Janet stumbled out to breakfast. My son wasn’t nearly ready, so the two of us sat down to eat. That’s when I noticed her eye…

Let me go back a moment and tell you that Janet is a very sensitive young woman – physically. I mean if she comes within an inch of brushing the dining room table the next day there is a large bruise. She works in a store and comes home almost daily with bruises on her arms and the occasional burn. I implore her to deal with these accidents at the time they happen but I think she just knows herself well enough to blow it off.

But Saturday morning across from the breakfast table as I glanced at her normally pretty face I saw a good sized mouse under her eye. “What happened to your eye?” I asked shocked. She didn’t have a clue what I was taking about. “You have a black eye,” I exclaimed. “Did you bang your eye?”

She assured me she hadn’t but then said, “I did cry a little bit last night.” She was missing her family and some tears did fall.

“Crying should not cause a black eye,” I said still shocked at how she looked. “Does it hurt?” I asked. She shrugged, still not really comprehending my concern.

Finally she giggled. “Well, I guess I’ll have to tell everyone you hit me.”

“What! That is not what you want to say in the U.S. And the last place you want to joke about being hit is in Portland, Oregon – and certainly not this week.”

“Why not?” She genuinely appeared confused.

“Because it’s a terrible thing to do to a woman – to anyone. And this week there’s Ray Rice.” I was sure she didn’t know about that.

“You know I would never hit you, right? I have never ever hit a woman.”

It took me a few terrified minutes to explain the trouble I would be in if anyone believed such a joke. “The cops would haul me off and throw away the key.”

“I’d just tell them it was a joke,” she calmly said.

“You don’t understand. They would assume you were lying, trying to get me out. People take this sort of thing very very seriously here.” I added, “…And for very good reason,” just to emphasize that I was a liberal, good guy who would never consider hitting a woman.

“I mean Roger Goodell’s gonna lose his job over Ray Rice and he wasn’t even in the elevator.”

“I mean Roger Goodell’s gonna lose his job over Ray Rice and he wasn’t even in the elevator.”

Janet looked at me clueless but agreed that she would not mention that I’d hit her. She then asked me about who this Ray Rice was and excitedly asked if she could see the video.

Her plan in my absence was to go out with her best friend. For a moment I considered emailing the friend to assure her I had nothing to do with the eye, but before I could deal with that my son came upstairs, we packed the car and took off.
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In the afternoon, after I’d gotten back home Janet texted me asking if I’d like to meet them. I walked over in the hot afternoon sun. After we greeted each other, I asked Janet’s Filipina friend if Janet had told her about the eye. “Yes,” she said. “My husband one time rolled over in bed and kicked me hard. So it can happen.”

“I didn’t kick her and didn’t give her the black eye!” I exclaimed frustrated but finally laughing at the absurdity.

Now, this concerns me and not just for my near brush with the law. Janet is a very honest person and Filipinas often filter their conversation to save face, or at least expect you to filter what you say. While out in public she sometimes shushes me or scolds me for pointing.

But in fact she has much less of a filter than I do and there are many things she says that she does not realize you cannot say in the U.S. We may be out in public and she will get my attention and motion toward someone and say “she’s ugly,” or “he has a very long nose.” Cleanliness if very important in the Philippines and one of the worst things you can say about someone is that he/she is not clean, yet Janet has no problem motioning toward someone and indicating the person “is dirty.”

lips

Of course in the Philippines no one points to anyone like we rude Americans do. Janet raises her eyebrows or points with her lips, as is the Philippines custom. I know her well enough to know she’s motioning toward something or someone and probably not in a good way.

“You shouldn’t say she is dirty,” I will admonish.

“But she is.”

“True, but people here take such comments very seriously.”

“Then she should clean herself better.”

Janet works with the public and is well liked by her employer, so I assume she hasn’t offended any customers. But as a new husband I worry that she might cause herself troubles because of cultural misunderstandings.

“Just be careful. Someone may hear you and take offense. And you’re smaller than most American women.”

“I will kick them,” she replies and I am reminded that she’s a lot tougher than she looks.

—–

On Sunday Janet and I did our weekly grocery shopping followed by a trip to her favorite Asian store. They sell lechon on Sundays and I had promised her some. We were checking out the fish section when we saw Janet’s BFF from the day before and her husband, also there for the lechon, fish and live crabs. Next thing I knew they’d invited us to dinner and the women were organizing a feast. Janet spent the afternoon baking bread. Around 5:00 I asked, “So when are we supposed to go over there for dinner?”

“Oh, they are coming here. Our grill is better than theirs.”

“No problem,” I said by now immune to changes in plans. “But I guess I’d better go out and clean the grill.”

“You didn’t clean the grill yet?”

“No, of course not. How was I suppose to know…” I caught myself and laughed.

It’s more fun in the Philippines or in the West with a Filipina.

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How to Find a Philippines Mentor

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Humor Alert: Sorry but there isn’t much. This is a subject I’m serious about, emotional even. I’ll make up for it next time, I promise.

I see and hear about all kinds of guys who go to the Philippines and hate it. Of course tastes aren’t universal and not everyone loves 90 degree heat and 90% humidity as much as I do, so maybe I can’t blame them. White sand and cheap beer is overrated – if you’re a priest or mental case. But when they complain about the women, say they can’t find a good one, say they’re all dumb, and worse still, claim they are all unattractive – well then I scratch my head and wonder whether we visited the same country – or live on the same planet.

Not to be indelicate, but if you are a single Westerner and take an extended trip to the Philippines, or a short trip; hell, even if you do a 10-hour layover, and can’t find a youngish, sweet, bright, fun, and attractive girl to spend time with – then there is something seriously wrong with you, probably either involving mental illness or the fact that you’ve recently passed away and no one’s bothered to tell you.

…if you are a single Westerner and take an extended trip to the Philippines, or a short trip; hell, even if you do a 10-hour layover, and can’t find a youngish, sweet, bright, fun, and attractive girl to spend time with – then there is something seriously wrong with you…

While it seems very easy to me and many of my friends, since it’s not easy for everyone I searched my mind for solutions and finally realized one of the main differences between success and failure; I found a good mentor and most don’t. Here’s my mentor story and how you can find one too.

First let’s talk about why you need a true mentor in the Philippines:

Going to the Philippines and figuring you’ll run into a fellow Westerner who will give you the lay of the land is not a wise idea. Most expats living in the Philippines are either old and cranky (that is older and crankier than I am); drunks; evading the authorities, their ex-wife or their drug dealer back home; or make their living as professional whore mongers. “But Dave, you say that like it’s a bad thing,” I hear you all saying. Point being if you meet a fellow Westerner and sit down for a San Miguel and friendly chat on life in the Philippines, the guy may have no more in common with you than the average inmate in San Quentin, and may well have once resided in a comparable federal facility.

Let’s say you meet a guy (in person or online) who isn’t too bad; he’s long-nosed and white, speaks with your accent, is articulate and doesn’t appear to be a total drunk or evading the law. Does that make him a good mentor? Not necessarily.

I know a well-educated guy living in Manila, who can tell you in great detail every aspect of every girlie bar in EDSA, which is fine if you are interested in finding a bar girl in Manila (and BTW, if you need a mentor for that, you’re beyond hope) but who defines a long-term relationship as “she spent the night.” The point is, you have to find someone on the same page as you. Which means you have to genuinely know yourself well enough to know what you want. Wife, girlfriend, temporary girlfriend, very very temporary girlfriend, catcher’s mitt? Are you interested in the big cities (Manila, Cebu), smaller cities, or provinces? Are you young, middle-aged, old as me, or living in an intensive care unit? Well, you get the idea. While a guy with different goals than you might provide some valuable information, he’s not gonna be a proper mentor to you.

I found my mentor through a circuitous route. As in all modern research methodologies, several years ago I turned to the Internet to find out the best way to discover the joys of foreign women. It led me to a couple of men’s forums. There I chatted with a guy who led me to yet another forum, specifically on living and meeting women abroad. He told me, “the owner of the forum’s nuts, but there is some good information there.”

I visited said forum and found a ton of information, some even useful, and a cast of characters that would fit right in with a pornographic version of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
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In reading between the lines, there were two guys who appeared to be slightly less deranged than the forum owner and his minions. I contacted both. Turns out that one, Pete, lives a couple hours from me. We connected quickly; as I said above finding someone with similar interests is important. Pete had been married quite a while to his Filipina wife, Cathy, and came off as a very happy guy. He immediately encouraged me to join Cherry Blossoms as a paid member, as he had done years before.

He patiently answered all my questions, which looking back were mostly lame and novice, with genuine enthusiasm for the journey I was beginning. A month later he told me that he and Cathy would be coming though my city and asked if I wanted to meet for lunch. I jumped at the opportunity.

At lunch, the main thing I noticed (other than the fact that Cathy was very attractive) was that even after nearly ten years together they seemed as close as newlyweds; holding hands, cuddling next to each other. I remember having an intense feeling of envy but that feeling reinforced the fact that I was going in the right direction and wanted exactly what Pete had. Well, not exactly; Cathy was taken and Pete’s a lot bigger than me.

Pete stuck with me all the way. I made a mistake or two, which I have documented in other blog postings. But each time he’d guide me in the right direction, confident that I could do it. He was a friend, guide and cheerleader all rolled up into one.

Funny thing is that almost no one else on the forum took him up on his offer to guide them. Perhaps this is men’s nature; the “I can do it myself” male ego. Lucky I was a bit more open.

Two years later, after trials, tribulations and with great excitement, Janet arrived. Not long after, Pete and Cathy came through town and the four of us met over dinner. Janet and Cathy bonded immediately.

Due to the K-1 Visa requirements and our own excitement, our wedding was put together quickly and was to be held in the garden of our neighbor. Since Janet’s family could, of course, not attend I asked her who she might like to walk her down the aisle and without hesitation she responded, “Pete.”

Pete walking Janet

Pete – if you’re reading this – well my words of gratitude seem inadequate. Janet and I owe you so much and I hope our friendship to be a lifelong one.

So guys, if you’re searching for the right girl, find the right guide. They are out there and willing to help. Even Pete and I might lend a hand.

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Is Your Filipina Wife Costing/Saving You Money?

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The most negative stereotype about marrying a Filipina revolves around money; how much she might want, how much to help her family, and how many pairs of shoes to buy to stay happily married.

Janet’s lived here about 11 months and we’ve been married 10, which no doubt makes me an expert. 🙂 I certainly haven’t kept track of it, and she’d kill me if I did, but my guess is that Janet has actually saved us money. On our weekly grocery shopping runs, she’s even better at pinching pennies than I am, and I’m pretty damn good. And once she found out the dishwasher takes about two hours to run (with the associated electricity costs) she started hand washing the dishes most of the time “to save electricity.” No sense in my saying that as a Software Engineer, we can afford the electricity; she still hand washes.

Yes, like most women, she loves the malls, but her purchases tend to get made at H&M or Forever 21, bastions of inexpensive clothing for young women. When she sees a $25 shirt she inevitably exclaims, “OMG that’s so expensive,” and passes it by.

But recently she upped the saving money ante and decided to take on Ford Motor Company. To my shock, as a 61 year old who has never purchased a new American car (only imports), I was preparing to buy a Ford plug in hybrid (determined to spend more on electricity to make up for what we save on the dishwasher). The dealership had kindly given me a car to test for two days. I hemmed and hawed, each time getting  my payments a bit lower, until I was sold. They found the exact car I wanted in the color Janet wanted. She had no interest in the car; it could have been a ’91 Yugo, as long as it was ruby red!

Now Ford has been having a teeny tiny problem with the EPA lately. Seems their methodology of how they rate their hybrid cars’ MPG had come into question. I had been reading about this while negotiating on the car, but didn’t care. My previous car was getting 18-19 MPG using premium, so any way I looked at it, I was going to save money. Nonetheless, Ford lost with the EPA and had to revise their estimates downward. The day I was to take delivery on the car, Ford announced on their website that current owners of their hybrids would be getting a check to compensate them. I certainly didn’t expect to be included but called Ford just in case. They confirmed that the cutoff date was two weeks earlier and while they apologized profusely, I would not be getting a check.

Over dinner that night, just before I was scheduled to pick up the car, I told Janet the story. “They should give you the money,” she said. I agreed but said I understood that there had to be a cutoff date and I hadn’t even gotten the car yet. “The salesman should get you the money,” she insisted. I maturely reminded her that salesmen in the U.S. don’t have much influence on gigantic corporations. “Then cancel the car,” she said.

“What?” I laughed, assuming she was joking.

“Tell them to give you the money or cancel the car.”

Now being the thickheaded husband I am, it took Janet several repetitions of this mantra until I realized she was totally serious and not joking. By that point I wanted the car and didn’t want to cancel the deal, but I realized my wife was drawing a line in the sand and I had to respond.

“But surely you can understand that the salesman can’t…”

The tube lasts approximately four months when used as indicated relating to generic viagra soft the tube. Besides, it helps men cheap cialis brand regulate the ejaculation system. Because you can find out more canada cialis levitra most depression medications work to combat a chemical imbalance within the brain itself, individuals will have to be patient. Acai has a protein content which is higher, ounce for ounce levitra generika than that of eggs. “Tell them to give you the money or cancel the car.”

“Ok, I will talk to the dealership and ask them what they can do.”

“Just tell them you’re not buying the car if they don’t do something.”

I arrived at the dealership and my smiling salesman greeted me, confident that I’d been reeled in. I took him aside and confided that I had a “marital problem.” I told him the story and he said he could check with Ford the next day. I told him not to bother; that I had already given Ford my VIN # and my car didn’t count against the rebate.

“I can’t go home with the car, unless you do something for me. So that I can tell my wife.” The wife who’s less than half my age and no more than half my weight.

Of course the salesman gave me the typical – “we’re making very little on the deal” bullshit.

Finally he said, “I can give you a set of all-weather mats. I’m sure I can swing that but it’ll take me about a week.” The mats are about $100 and in my wet part of the country I usually buy a set of these anyway. So, I agreed and we both breathed a sigh of relief.

I brought the car home triumphantly. Janet immediately wanted to know, “What did they do for you?” I told her about the mats. “How much do they cost?” she asked.

“Not sure. I think quite a lot. It’s a good deal and they did it only because of you.”

The next week I went to pick up the mats. Janet, who had not gone with me previously for the long process of car shopping and dealing, came with me to get her mats and meet the salesman. So, now I had the new red car, the hot, fierce negotiating wife, and rubber all-weather mats. All was right with the world.

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The K-1 Visa & the 90-Day No Fault Marriage

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I get asked by my friends, relatives and perfect strangers about the process of a foreigner coming to America (what – didn’t they see the Eddie Murphy movie) and getting married. I can’t tell you how many people asked the following: “Why don’t you just fly Janet over here for a month or two so you can get to know each other better?” Shit, why didn’t I think of that!

There’s tons of information available on obtaining Visas and getting married in the land of milk and honey (OK, that’s Israel, but you get the idea) but none of that information will give you the real scoop on what happens, the hows, and the pain, joy and hysteria involved. So, I will!

As Americans we forget that one of our greatest freedoms is that little blue thing we’re issued (not Viagra – get your head out of the gutter – I mean a U.S. passport). You can go everywhere with it, other than Cuba. It’s essentially a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” (for some people literally). But most countries don’t have that sort of freedom and if you are from most of the countries on the planet, the United States is not thrilled to have you arrive here.

So, if you’re a Philippines citizen what do you do? Yes, there are educational visas and work visas but the process is lengthy, expensive and in the end rarely do you get permission. Or you can be a sibling of a naturalized American citizen, which means we’ll see you here somewhere around 2050, give or take a decade. Or say you are one of those middle class Filipinos I’ve previously discussed. Why not get a tourist visa; Americans can get one to almost any country in the world. Well, you’re not an American. In order to get a tourist Visa you have to prove beyond any doubt that you will visit the US – and leave. By the time you might get that tourist visa they’ll be filling in the Grand Canyon. In short, unless you are the rare Filipino politician or fat cat, there is no way for the average Filipino(a) citizen to get here.

But there is the fiancé or spousal visa process. No problem; fill out some paperwork, send in some money, and bang, boom in six months or so you’re here. Easy, right? Um, not exactly.

But there is the fiancé or spousal visa process. No problem; fill out some paperwork, send in some money, and bang, boom in six months or so you’re here. Easy, right? Um, not exactly.

First, there’s the paperwork process which is Draconian. Any mistake, even of the most minor nature, and the paperwork will get kicked back. Janet and I spent hours and days online scouring every line of the paperwork for any mistake. Now, I was a technical writer at the time, pretty damn good at preparing accurate documentation, but the stress of trying to get everything perfect got to me. And even if it’s perfect, the USCIS has the occasional habit of simply losing one of the dozens of documents you submitted – and then blaming you.

How about money? I’m a software engineer with a good income (far more than I’m worth); so I figured, no problem. Wrong. By the time you’re all done, it will put a serious strain on most budgets. Speaking of money, you have to prove to the USCIS that you, the petitioner, make 125% of the current U.S. poverty line. So make sure you don’t lose your job during the process or it might be a do-over. For that matter, many self-employed men who make very good money, don’t qualify because, how should I put this, their true income is not reflected on their tax returns. Their sweet, naïve fiancé, travels to Manila for the grueling embassy interview and finds out her fiancé does not make enough to qualify for the Visa. It happens every day.

Oh and speaking of Manila, once your initial paperwork is approved, you are able to schedule your embassy interview in Manila. And prior to that you must take a medical exam. Now that doesn’t mean you go to your local doctor and have him listen to your heart or cough a couple times. It means you go to St. Lukes Hospital in Manila (the only accepted facility in the entire country) for a two day (yes, you heard that right) two day exam. And if they find anything wrong with your young fiancé, let’s say a shadow on the lung, she gets to spend another glorious six months in beautiful downtown Manila for TB treatment and a re-testing. Janet had never had any serious or even semi-serious illness in her life, but was terrified by the medical exam, as well as the half dozen shots she needed. And let’s not forget that to even get said examination, you must arrive early at St. Lukes and take a number; Janet arrived at 2:30 AM. Is this all still sounding easy?

But wait there’s more: the Philippines requires the prospective émigré to take a class and get interviewed by the CFO. This interview is often tougher than the embassy interview. After all, the U.S. embassy mostly wants to ensure that everything is legal and on the up and up. The CFO tells the girls about all the terrible things that can happen abroad and the interviewer questions why the girl wants to go. In our case, after the CFO interview, Janet contacted me panicked because she hadn’t yet been approved. The CFO Officer had doubts and wanted to see Janet again. Why? Because Janet was young and pretty and marrying old codger, Dave. How to prove to the officer that our relationship was legitimate? Janet left her tons of photos of the two of us together, email and text correspondence and was simply told to come back and the officer would decide.

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In the end Janet got through the Visa process! I promised I would fly in and take her home with me. What I hadn’t considered was, would the actual physical Visa be ready by the time we were ready to fly out. Janet arranged for the Visa to be shipped to a To Go location, sort of like Fed-Ex in the Philippines. Unfortunately, they failed to contact her when the visa arrived and it sat for days. Finally they contacted her and told her that if she didn’t pick it up by the next day it would be sent back to Manila. So Janet and her sister hopped on a bus for the leisurely, fun-filled 3 hour bus ride from Alcoy to Cebu, got the Visa and returned by bus to Alcoy. Easy and stress free – right?

But now comes the truly easy part – we’ve finally arrived in the U.S. for 90 days of fun and sun. There’s even a reality show currently running, “90 Day Visa,” all about the thrilling escapades of these wacky couples. The show, like most reality TV, is entertaining bullshit.

Now I tend to be a planner; I’m older and allegedly mature. Before Janet arrived, I tried to project a budget for everything I could think of; the wedding; clothes she would need (no fleece jackets are needed in the Philippines); and just daily life changes.

Here’s what Janet (with my assistance) had to do in those 90 days: get used to a brand new city; check out the malls, public transportation (yes, of course, all Filipinos know how to use light rail); grocery shopping; finding the best local Asian stores; finding lechon; finding a Filipino restaurant; getting used to a new, and badly organized house; getting used to an old, and badly aging husband to be. Also, those 90 days gave me the opportunity to leisurely explain to Janet how everything works in the United States. And let’s not forget language. Despite the fact that Janet’s English is very good, speaking American English 24-hours a day is exhausting and her nose was bleeding constantly.

Which reminds me – I wanted to find her friends. So, before she arrived I hooked up with a Fil-Am group whose events we began to attend, which not only helped her make friends, it gave us a support system for the wedding.

Oh, that’s right – the wedding. That has to happen in those 90 days too. I had planned to have it in our backyard, which is a good sized space. Before Janet arrived I spent weeks cleaning out the yard and trying to get things semi-ready. It was a losing proposition. Finally, one day my neighbor (who has the showplace yard of the neighborhood) leaned over our fence and asked me how the wedding preparations were going – and most importantly, “Hey, would you like to use our yard for the wedding?” I couldn’t say yes fast enough.

Also, understand that women are women all over the world, which meant that when Janet arrived she needed to choose rings, flowers, food, a cake, decorate the house, etc. The day of our outdoor wedding, September 22nd, it rained. Hell, it’s Oregon; of course it rained. But Janet was determined. We got a ten minute break in the weather and did the wedding then. Afterwards, the reception, which was also supposed to be outdoors, was crammed into our home.

In the end it all happened, it all worked, and Janet and I survived it. It’s a story to tell – well maybe not to the grandkids – but to all of you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat – with Janet that is.

Easy peasy, right?

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The Bad Seed or How I Went from the Outhouse to the Penthouse

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OK, I’ve gushed about Janet often enough that you can tell that I like her pretty well and think she’s a great wife. But lest you think that all Filipinas are like Janet – well “it ain’t necessarily so.”

Janet wasn’t the first girl I met in the Philippines. Actually she flat out wouldn’t meet me when I first planned visiting the country. “I’m not interested in being part of your collect and select,” she declared when I suggested that we could meet in Cebu, where I was planning on meeting a couple of other candidates. No problem, I thought. There are plenty of the proverbial fish in the lush seas in and around the Philippines.

Naive guys go to the Philippines thinking getting around ought to be as easy as renting a car and taking off. But again, “it ain’t necessarily so.” The country’s made up of 7107 islands; the biggest ones are reached by ferry, not car. And if you are a brave enough soul to rent a car and drive in the Philippines, just let me know and we’ll alert the ambulance services and morgue, though not necessarily in that order.

I had scheduled a flight from Manila to Cebu and booked a hotel for a few days. One very compelling girl I was chatting with lived in Mindanao. I looked it up on the map. Only one island over from Cebu – how far could it be? She lived in the southern portion of the island. I didn’t know or care at the time that that was a dangerous area, filled with rebels – allegedly. All I knew was that there was a cute girl there who wanted to meet me – how dangerous could it be? The next thing I knew we decided to meet in Davao (she took a long bus ride to get there which impressed me) for a day and then fly to Cebu the next day.

The three days went by in a blur, a pretty hot blur I have to admit. After parting, I traveled a bit more around Manila and then spent a week in Vietnam, before returning to the U.S. We chatted every day online and by the time I returned I was pretty hooked.

While in Cebu, Kathy (name changed to protect the guilty) asked, “When are you coming back?” I hadn’t thought about that at all but instinctively said, “Spring break – April.”

The four months whizzed by. We chatted online every day. It was fun, exciting, sexy; just like relationships with most Filipinas. I decided to go all in so to speak, so in April I took her for a week to Boracay. Now for those who don’t know, Boracay is the most famous tourist destination in the Philippines. The long, white sand beach is spectacular. Parties happen up and down the beach. Each night tables magically appear for dinner on the beach. It’s fun, sexy and romantic – and hot as hell in April.

The place is filled with tourists from the U.S., Europe, China and Korea. Less so Filipinas (except for the staff) for whom it’s generally too expensive. Cebu Pacific Airlines flies to Boracay but the normally inexpensive commuter airline is for some odd reason damn expensive if you want to go to Boracay. Add the costs of upscale hotels and meals and it’s just not a place the average Filipina has visited, without a “rich kano” boyfriend or husband.

Personal Note of Guilt: I haven’t yet taken Janet to Boracay and it is – well, a bit of an issue 🙂 Don’t worry baby – it’s gonna happen!

The week was exciting, sweet and sexy and by the end we decided to officially be in a relationship, meaning we declared it on Facebook, which has replaced the silly formality of a wedding as the only modern way to make relationships official. My friends were excited for me; that is those that weren’t appalled. Her friends friended me and chatted online, happy to meet Kathy’s boyfriend.

The week was exciting, sweet and sexy and by the end we decided to officially be in a relationship, meaning we declared it on Facebook, which has replaced the silly formality of a wedding as the only way nowadays to make relationships official.

Yet despite all the excitement, I remained cautious. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled enough that I told myself and her that I would visit the Philippines a few more times, before I got really serious. She agreed entirely, not wanting to rush into marriage. That in and of itself should have been a red flag.

A month later, chatting and talking started happening a bit less; the excuses made sense, but nevertheless I worried. Eventually she laid the boom on me. Her father was seriously against our relationship and wanted her to cut it off. She and her dad weren’t speaking but they were fighting. I wrote her dad a serious and impassioned note and asked her to give it to him. She assured me it wouldn’t  matter – that his mind was made up – but I was equally insistent that she try.

Why was he against the relationship? Because I was a foreigner, much older than Kathy, and because I was not a Mormon. Oh, yes, I failed to mention that Kathy was not the standard Catholic Filipina; she was Mormon. At one point I had spoken to Kathy’s brother and he asked me if I understood just how important it was for a Mormon to marry in the temple and this would be impossible if Kathy were not marrying another Mormon. I began to investigate the ins and outs of Mormon and non-Mormon relationships and assured Kathy that I would in no way interfere with her religious beliefs.

Another week passed and Kathy sadly informed me that her father was adamant and that in the Philippines not obeying the wishes of her father regarding marriage, particularly as a Mormon, was impossible; so sadly we would not be able to see each other again.

It seemed so ironic. Here I was nearly 60 years old and for the first time in my life the parents didn’t like me. In the past the parents, particularly the mothers, always liked me. It was their daughters who were a bit less enthusiastic.

By then I had already booked my next trip to the Philippines which we had been planning. What should I do? I licked my wounds but wasn’t down for long. I had discovered that I liked the Philippines very much and Filipinas even more. Perhaps there was another one out there for me; Kathy had been magnanimous enough to encourage me to go find another.

Of course I had been chatting with Janet for about a year and she was the person I wanted to meet (and that bit of drama will get written up eventually). I had been telling her of the struggles with “my girlfriend” and Janet was sympathetic though disinterested when the subject of said girlfriend came up. Truth be told, Janet was pissed as hell that I had “chosen” another girl. But something was to happen first to change everything.

A week went by after our forced break up. We made it official – by removing the “in a relationship” status on Facebook, via a sad click of the mouse. Then, one Saturday morning I was checking FB. I was still friends with several of Kathy’s friends. And there posted on one of her friends walls were pictures of Kathy in white wedding dress. A full blown set of wedding pictures, party and all followed.

I was incensed! The guy was another American, and while not as ancient as me, he was no spring chicken either. For all I knew he wasn’t even a Mormon!
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I wrote Kathy a furious email telling her in no uncertain terms that I didn’t give a damn that she had another boyfriend who she decided to marry, but that at the very least she should have told me the truth instead of the fairy tale about her dad not approving.

Two days after the wedding Kathy and I were back chatting on Facebook and she told me the whole truth – finally. Seems that the man in question was a friend of the family and had supported the family (aka given money). She told me she didn’t love him and loved me but “I am obligated.”

Worse yet, the man was ill, terminally ill with cancer. I remarked that he “looked pretty damn healthy to me.” He traveled with his nurse, she replied. His dying wish was to marry her and between the man and her family, she felt stuck.

“I love you,” she said. “Not him. But I will do my best to be a good wife.”

Back on my end of the chat, nervous laughter became hysterical laughter at the depth and lunacy of the whopper I was being told. I calmly reminded her that with the lengthy Visa process there was little chance that she would be able to enter the United States before her poor husband passed away. “He has connections to speed it up,” she said. She had a line for everything; damn, she was good.

Fortunately, the depth and nuttiness of the lies made it easy for me to move on and to move on up.

A couple months later, unexpectedly, I heard from Kathy again. “Are you still planning to come to the Philippines in October?” she asked. By this time Janet and I had decided to meet.

“I’ll be in Cebu,” I said and I told her the date.

“I will be in Cebu then too,” she replied, “getting my passport.”

“Are you implying that we meet?” I asked, stunned at her gall.

“No, no, of course not. I am sure by now you have a new girlfriend,” she sneered.

“And I am sure you are still married, right? By the way, how is your husband doing. Must be hard not being with him in his dying days.” I threw in an “lol,” one of the rare times it seemed totally appropriate.

“He is fine. I will take care of him. Maybe he will get well, God willing.”

I heard from her one more time. I was packing on the October morning I was going to fly to Cebu to meet Janet. She obviously remembered the date and thought she’d needle me one more time and hint that we ought to meet, except she knew that I was “already taken.”

Over the months I had received a few bits and pieces of information from friends of Kathy’s. The new husband had asked her to marry him several weeks before I met her in April and she’d accepted, meaning that entire trip I was sleeping with an engaged woman. I’m such a slut!

Her parents had not known of my existence, but at some point prior to the wedding her father found out. A religious man, her father hit the ceiling at the notion of his engaged daughter playing around with another guy and forbade her from contacting me. So I suppose in a weird way her story about his opposition did have a kernel of truth. I truly believe that in her twisted mind she figured she would get married and while the Visa process was happening meet me in October for fun, games and prizes.

So what’s the point here, other than to tell a funny story at my own expense?  What did I learn? I went halfway around the world to the Philippines and got f-ed over, but good. But I must admit I sure as hell enjoyed the f-ing.

This is my cautionary tale – we all must be careful when it comes to any type of relationship – but by learning and remaining confident and true to my goal, I ended up a hell of a lot better off, going from the outhouse to the penthouse.

 

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Cam Boy – rated PG-13 ;)

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Through a series of happy coincidences, mostly driven by male post-menopausal horniness, I ended up on Yahoo Messenger, video chatting with a series of young, attractive women on a popular dating site, strictly specializing in Asian women. No, not Asian-American women, or tiny Caucasians pretending to be Asian women; rather Asian as in from Asia, the real thing, the full pot sticker deal, and most seemed to come from the only hotbed of hotties available to the average middle-aged American schlub – The Philippines.

Now video chatting with impossibly young and incredibly beautiful Asian women is nothing short of sensational and revelatory. Suddenly I found myself in my element; an environment in which my writing skills, the ability to speak English better than my third world chatmates, and my blazing typing speed, allowing me to chat with three girls at a time, could finally shine.

As advertised, Asian women are incredibly feminine and a bit deferential to men. Many of the women I had been video chatting with managed to call me “handsome” or “guapo” within the course of the first chat. It’s not a word I am used to hearing and hearing it a dozen times within the first week was pretty damn enthralling. I frankly am too old and delusional to care if “handsome” is spoken truthfully, in jest, or in reference to a horse-drawn cab. I haven’t been called handsome this often since accidentally cruising “The Castro” after college. OK, “cruising’s” probably not the best descriptive verb to use.

I haven’t been called handsome this often since accidentally cruising “The Castro” after college. OK, “cruising’s” probably not the best descriptive verb to use.

When I signed up for the website I had no idea what to expect. Within an hour of signing up I was slammed with emails and “smiles”. Many were sent by impossibly young and breathtakingly beautiful women. By the end of the first day, I had received about one hundred emails from women all over The Philippines.

Video chats ensued and of the nearly one thousand women who contacted me that first month (yes, you read that right), I video chatted addictively with well over fifty, often until 2:00 in the morning. I was a very busy boy.

Despite the stereotypical notion of passive Asian women, I found the women to be assertive in their wants and happy to talk about what they would do to me if I were to choose them. I didn’t discourage their ardor. Woman after woman complimented me, fawned all over me, proposed marriage, love and all the sex and rice I could handle?

And despite the girls’ demure  profiles that proclaimed their desire for a respectful man and general dislike of sex talk, with dire warnings toward men who might propose nude cam sessions, the women invariably wanted to bring up the subject. Their fears seemed to last a chat session or two and then melted like ice-cream on a hot Cebu day. Once they trusted me a bit, they seemed happy to tell me what they liked in bed and what they wanted to do to me, and were equally happy to know what I wished to do to them and how often.

Clearly many of the women were not only highly libidinous but their conservative culture meant many seemed a bit frustrated. A young woman who lived at home and said she’d only had one boyfriend in her life, was quite hot to talk about the sex she wished to have with her future husband (and she hoped that would be me). This comes as no surprise, I suppose; like the Catholic School girl who turns all “girls gone wild” after leaving that cloistered environment, these girls were raring to go. But what was most surprising was their apparent desire to come out of the proverbial closet – with me.

On the other hand, the Philippines is a religiously conservative culture and I chatted with several girls who said they were virgins and would not have sex before marriage. But even these girls were happy to talk about what they hoped to have once they were married. I had one other girl apologize to me because she was no longer a virgin, and I patiently had to explain that this was not a bad thing.

I asked many women the same question. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for someone like you?” They all answered with the same “age is just a number” cliché and often found the question itself to be curious. I will say, regarding the age thing that many of the girls wanted to see my face on webcam as much as I wanted to see theirs, and I assumed they wanted to make sure I didn’t look like the Crypt Keeper. One girl even giggled and bluntly asked if I was “still sexually active.” I responded, “Do you mean can I still do it?” and that was what she actually wanted to know. Such questions usually lead to conversations of what I wanted and how frequently I could want it. The girls playfully teased that since they were young, they probably had more energy than I did.

Not only did scores of women express interest in me, but many did so employing a white hot jealousy heretofore unknown in my life. Girls, subtly or not so subtly, asked me how many chatmates I had and there was one instance where a girl I had chatted with a lot (and liked) got furious with me and broke off contact, because she knew I was chatting with others. Another girl went completely postal for an innocent comment I made, cut off contact and later begged for forgiveness. After I said, “OK, I forgive you,” she went right back to “planning the wedding.”

______

Her name was Eunice (ok, not really) and unlike the other Filipina women I was chatting up, who were often of the shy, respectful and god-fearing variety, she smiled and laughed often and libidinously, though she covered her face in mock embarrassment when laughing. Over two evenings, we’d spent hours chatting and it was delightful. She came off as demure, yet lusty. By the second night it was clear that should I ever show up in The Philippines, we’d be lovers, and that in all likelihood no gratuity would be required.

By the third chat she asked if I’d like to see some extra pictures of her. “Sure, if you want,” I said, naive moron that I am. A moment later in the discrete environs of my email inbox I was reveling in a series of naked pictures, revealing a lovely, smiling, laughing and openly sexual woman. She looked beautiful and I told her so.

“Do you have any pictures you can send me?” she asked.

“Not like these,” I said. “I mean I have a few nude pics, but those were taken during a weight lifting program I did. You know just to record a before and after. Not that there was much difference.”

“I want,” she said.

I was embarrassed. “Really, why?”

“Send them.”

“Well, I’ve lost twenty pounds since then. So really they are not the greatest…”

“Send them,” she demanded.
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I did.

“Nice muscles,” she remarked.

“Thanks,” I giggled.

“I wanna see cock,” she proclaimed.

“What!”

Now, no one’s demanded to see my goodies since the Clinton administration, and then not through electronic means.

“Well, I might have a picture…” I mumbled, starting to madly rifle though my Mac’s picture files. “I have it here somewhere.”

“Do it on the cam,” she stated.

“What! I can’t…”

“I wanna see it! Now!” She laughed at my embarrassment.

“If I show you mine over the cam, you have to show me yours,” I justified.

“My cock?” she giggled. “Don’t have.”

“OK. I’ll show you mine if you show me – something.”

“I can’t. I’m in the Internet cafe.”

“Good excuse.”

I thought about her demands for a moment. When, I wondered, had a hot, young women, demanded to see my – well anything? Never – not even when I was young and the girls were drunk – or married to me.

So…what the hell. I stood up, shuffled nervously, positioned myself in front of the cam so that my entire body was visible – and in one swift motion pulled down my pants. On my computer monitor, I watched her laugh and scream. I took my organ in my hand and “wiggled the bean,” as they used to described it in the Old West. She screamed and laughed more.

A bit later in the chat, brimming with newfound sexual confidence, I demanded, “Show me your boobs.” She quickly flashed me in the un-private confines of the Internet Cafe and then, tit for tat so to speak, I drop my pants again, did a little dance, wiggled my bean and she laughed hysterically.

I’ve often said that there is no greater pleasure in my life than making a beautiful woman laugh. It was a highly pleasurable moment.

———-

While in college, I studied film making, editing and screenwriting, though I never got anywhere professionally with it. Apparently I had it all backwards. Behind the camera wasn’t my calling. In front of the camera – naked in front of the camera, was.

Blog, Story

Uneducated and Dumb Filipinos – Really?

48 Comments

OK, I got your attention with the title – good!

I am on several Philippines expat forums and one thing that seems common is the disdain by some expats for the intelligence and poor education of Filipinos. Americans, Brits and Aussies alike tell story after story of the stupid people they encounter on the streets, in stores, and among their wives’ family members.  Interestingly, they rarely mention their wives’ intelligence – that would make them stupid. Guys even quote worldwide IQ statistics. I am often appalled and it pisses me off.

I could easily think that in a developing nation like the Philippines, everyone is not gonna be a rocket scientist with a fistful of college degrees. Yet my experience is that most people I meet are reasonably intelligent and educated.

I could easily think that in a developing nation like the Philippines, everyone is not gonna be a rocket scientist with a fistful of college degrees. Yet my experience is that most people I meet are reasonably intelligent and educated.

I recently got the chance to test Philippines education up close and personal. Janet and I were in Alcoy for our wedding party. After the entire neighborhood had their bellies filled with lechon and general eats, it was time for fun and games. The games were the type of outdoor activities you’d be unlikely to ever see any more in the U.S., where playing is by definition an electronic indoor activity.

In my household, once electronics took hold, going outside ended. I have a large backyard and the biggest oak tree in our neighborhood but when I would suggest to my kids that they go play outside, their horrified comment was “there are bugs back there.” I fenced the yard and added a patio and grill. “Let’s eat out back tonight,” I’d suggest.

“You barbecue dad, and bring the food inside. There are bugs back there,” would be the reply.

So, just the fact that Filipino kids actually play outside is a plus in my book and shows very good sense. The games at the party consisted of a piñata-like game with little kids bashing for candy, a challenging game climbing an oiled bamboo pole, etc. A girls dance group performed. At each activity candies and prizes were generously given out. There must have been 40-50 kids, from toddler to middle school age.

Dash for Candy
Dash for Candy

The entire neighborhood took part in the activities. The men set up a sound system for music and a mic for the MC, Janet’s sister Jonna, to run the activities. Finally the mic was handed to me. “What should I do?” I asked Janet.
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“Do the game Show Me This,” she advised. A simple game, I asked for the kids to show me a common object or piece of clothing and the first to produce it got a piece of candy. I spent what seemed like an eternity going through every clothing item I could think of, as well as items you might find in a pocket or on a child’s person. The kids were loving it – not just the candy – but the fact that the foreigner was running the game. I ran out of ideas and yelled to Janet, “What should I do now?”

“Test them,” she ordered.

OK, I thought. This should be interesting. I started out slowly with simple addition and subtraction. Remember, I was quizzing them in a non-native language. I quickly went to more complex addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. I couldn’t fool them. I tried square roots. Nothing phased them.

So, if math doesn’t do it, I’ll move on, I thought. Geography, world leaders, a bit of history. Nothing stumped these kids. Question after question and I couldn’t beat them. It was frustrating. These were children from a poor neighborhood and I am an educated first worlder; surely I should be able to fool them.

On one of my forums a debate raged that Filipinos did not even know how many centavos make up a peso. The answer, just like pennies to dollar is 100, except you have to realize that as useless as we consider a penny, a centavo is equivalent to 1/44th of a penny – so they ain’t used often in the real world. Yet some expats considered it a sign of stupidity that some Filipinos didn’t know the answer. So, I smugly asked the kids, “How many centavos in a peso?” thinking I had them fooled. “One hundred,” they screamed back.

Exhausted, I ended the session with a question I knew they would all answer, “Who’s the greatest boxer in the world?” “Manny Pacquiao!,” they screamed and we threw handfuls of candy at them.

————

The other day Janet was on the phone with her family. Seems that her youngest sister got a small fish bone caught in her throat. It was Sunday and with no clinic opened in Alcoy, Janet insisted that her mother take her sister to the doctor first thing Monday. Her young sister was resistant. Was it because she was afraid of the doctor? Nope. It was because as a fourth grader she had never missed a day of school and had no intention of doing so now.

It may not be a scientific survey, but in my experience Filipino people value education and knowledge quite highly!