Men Should Act Like Men–How?

8 01 2009

The first time I caught a glimpse of the Colt45 ad, I did a double take.  A woman in a two-piece swimsuit is admired by the guys in the beach but one of their friends say she would’ve looked better had she chosen different colors or something like that.  And then his friends look at him funny and a big beer bottle lands on him from nowhere and I guess it’s safe to assume that he gets buried in the sand.

My niece, who saw my reaction and understood what I was thinking, told me there’s another one from Colt45, and that one was worse.  Indeed!

Four (not sure if there’s 4 of them) men are watching a game on TV when one of the guys’ phone rings, he goes out to take it and says he missed whoever is calling in a cooing manner.  And then the big beer bottle does its thing again.

Ok, let me think it over.  Who the hell came up with the concept?  Who, in this age of sexual revolution, gender sensitivity and call for equality, came up with an ad that makes people take a 360-degree turn? I know all about classical conditioning and the power of the media.  It may sound frivolous but it’s very powerful.  Reminds me so much of the Marlboro Man.  You know how its subtle depiction of a man–a cowboy romanticized–has influenced the smoking habits of millions of people?  I mean, it’s subtle but it’s there.  You can’t miss it.  And now this?

I have a close friend who is a kick-ass graphics guy.  He knows magenta, teal, burgundy, mauve and those other colors in between.  He can name them all better than I can.  And he can be the worst critic in the land when it comes to hairstyles, clothes and makeup.  I have news for you, he’s no softie.  But does that mean he’s not acting the way real men should?

As a woman, I would always want a guy who can say he loves me any time and be all cheesy every now and then.  I’m sure all women could relate to that “want”.  I’m not one of those who like to torment their men by asking them to say i-love-yous over the phone loud enough for their friends and family to hear to test if they’re “proud” of the feeling or if they honestly love them.  No, that’s overboard.  That’s so juvenile.

Colt45, the beer, is strong.  Well, for me, at least.  It’s the kind of beer that you can drink a lot of when nothing else is on stock, on one of those drinking sessions with friends, and get a really bad hangover the morning after.  I mean, I’m speaking for myself but I know quite a few who feel the same.

If it wants to sport a macho look, I get it.  But they could’ve done something better.  Why go this low?

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Sick Speak

19 06 2008

I wanted to smother him with a pillow. My fingers were itching to grab one and push him down with it until he breathes no more. His anguished and most of the time angry screams have fueled that murderous rage in me.

But I couldn’t.

He, in his condition, managed to get drunk and hurled expletives my way because I had the nerve to throw away what was left of the local rhum.  He went on to say that I studied in UP only to achieve nothing in life.  He said I do not have greatness, something that UP people are thought to achieve as they go head on with the world.  And in my sleepless state with one client backing out on me when the bills are piling up, I gripped the corners of the bed mattress opposite his angrily.  I kept telling myself that it was the alcohol and the illness talking but he got to me.  In that very instance, I wished he would die an instantaneous death.  But there were no thunderbolts and he was still morosely glaring at me albeit in silence now.  So I pictured grabbing the pillow that reeked of dried urine so I could kill him with it.

But I didn’t.  I couldn’t.

Regardless of how frustrated I was or how extremely helpless I felt, I couldn’t bear to kill him. What was there to lose? It’s not like he still earns a living. He doesn’t feed me. He is no fun anymore. He can’t even be a great soundboard. And no he no longer gives his solid opinion on things. But I can’t. Couldn’t.  Wouldn’t.

Because despite everything, he’s still my father. He may not be a perfect dad there is and his shortcomings pretty much eat up all the good things that he etched in his life’s record book, he still biologically makes up a huge part of me, and well, politically, socially, emotionally and spiritually too, I suppose.

My father suffered from a major cerebrovascular accident three years ago. We lowly lifeforms call it a stroke. It paralyzed the right side of his body and severely affected his speech. I know of a lot of people who got over something like this. There are others who even taught their functioning body parts to do most of the job. Some practically rose from the ashes to become newer and better versions of themselves.

But not my Pa, my sweetpeas. Nah-uh.

Like most men, my father took this turning point of his life lying down, literally. If three years ago he cursed at his Creator, the world, everybody else and whoever was in the room, or cried and lamented at how this new chapter of his lifebook took a turn, I would have understood. But he didn’t. He took it with an eerily complete submission that those who know him pre-stroke would swear that it is an absolute 180-degree pivot. I wasn’t surprised though.  Delayed reaction, it may seem, but I can’t help but suspect that this is just an act of a scheming con artist because a year or so ago,  the old Pa seems to have resurfaced sans the mobility and the paralysis-free physique—the result was an  irreverent sick old man whose angst came in completely asshole proportions. The old cunning bastard is back—screaming and kicking, if only humanly possible for him.  Manipulative as hell, an emotional blackmailer extraordinaire. It’s hard to explain but despite all these, there’s something about Pa’s ways that still makes him difficult to unlove, to me at least.

Years before D-Day, he became somebody different. You see, my father used to be the typical macho, brusque, rugged, sly, shrewd, man-of-the-streets kind of guy. He’s the rebel without a cause poster boy. Well, it’s never always a case of “without a cause.” He comes from rather extremely complicated family not that it’s fair to blame it all on the family all the time but for lack of something better to justify it with, let’s just take that. Also, his childhood was a textbook case for shrinks.

I’m only human and while I don’t want to use it as an excuse, there are simply things that sometimes I don’t get to take the wheel of. I get pissed off when he screams in seemingly perfectly scheduled unholy hours past midnight. I get that murderous urge when he calls on residents of hell to take him out of his misery and whatever else unthinkable. But at the end of the day, he’s still my father. He played a huge part in my childhood, some of it really bad but some were actually happy moments and quite preparatory for when I had to face the real world (like, right now?). As I always tell my nephew every time we have one of those aunt-to-nephew heart to heart talks that only those who have an awesome aunt-to-nephew closeness like we have can ever have, one can only blame his/her parents for whatever rough-ups he/she has had in his/her lifetime for so long. Despite all the Freudian analyses about how our parents are the root of all evil (and then some) in our lives, I believe we have that thinking and discerning capacity that eventually lets us decide which route to take as we get a bit older.

So my father isn’t the model dad.  I’m no model daughter either.  I do love Papa not only because there’s so much about me that I can only thank him for but because not everything about him is his undoing and if I take it all out in him, my children, if I ever get to have my own kids somehow, might do the same to me and I don’t want that Not that one or the other matters because in this life, regardless of the kind of relationship that we have, he’s another human being and no matter how awful some people might have been in their lifetime, no one deserves to be disrespected.

I guess I can only pray.  For acceptance, for strength, for faith.  For my Ma to be stronger.  For her to live longer because I sure can’t face this alone.  It’s one of those moments when being unmarried is a curse—gives me no excuse to opt out.  I don’t go to church anymore for reasons that I have yet to precisely point a stubby finger on, but I do talk to God, and bless him, I believe he knows where I’m at where he’s concerned.  I guess in times like this, it helps to have something to cling on to.  Something.  Someone.





Pacman Bags It AGAIN!

16 03 2008

Manny Pacquiao is the new WBC super featherweight title holder.  According to him, “the business is over.”  The fight that was four years in the making was awesome.  It was a close call.  I thought the best case scenario was a draw because I’ve always been bad with Math but hey, it’s another reason to celebrate again! 

Pacman’s fight has always stopped the clock for the Filipinos.  No rally, no traffic jam, almost zero crime rate, a ceasefire between the rebel groups and the armed forces.  Celebrities flock to Vegas.  Phenomenal.  Even the politicians don’t mind looking like fools trying to raise whatever part of Manny’s body in the ring for photo op!  And they cross party lines for that.  God knows how much campaign money they earned from that bout.  I’m sure it was more than enough to ensure a win since Juan Manuel’s Marquez’s great strategy and play made bets soar to unthinkable proportions. 

Way to go, Pacman! 

After this welcome respite from all the woes that life has to offer, we can get back to business.  It’s only Pacman’s business with Marquez that’s over.  Not ours.  For now, let’s get ready to PARTY!





Is Romulo Neri Gay?

19 02 2008

God knows how many gay people I have in my posse.  Needless to say, I have always had high respect for people who have gotten out of the closet to be true to themselves and to others.  But I can only sympathize with those who find it hard to come to terms with their sexuality.  The Philippines is laden with misguided moralists and homophobes who blame whatever misfortune that befall on their families on their gay family members.  Talk about miseducation. 

As my college history professor said, the hardest thing to change in people is the mentality.  The American Psychiatric Association removed homosexuality from its list of mental disorders while the World Health Organization reclassified it from being a mental illness to ego-dystonic homosexuality.  But people still pray that gay guys and girls will get well!!! Why, one actress even gave a testimony in her church about how their family was happy when her cousin recovered from homosexuality!  And this lady graduated from UP for crying out loud.  Well, I do know a lot of chauvinist and homophobic UP alumni.

Anyway, the senate hearings have hinted that there is (was?) a special friendship between former NEDA chair Romulo Neri and former Philforest president and ZTE scandal whistleblower Rodolfo Noel Lozada Jr.  Former COMELEC Chair Benjamin Abalos also speculated on what kind of relationship the two had.  Now Senator Jamby Madrigal threatened to expose Neri’s personal secrets.  Could there be a homosexual undertone in all these? 

Regardless of whether Neri’s gay or not, no one has the right to condemn him or even maliciously high-hat him because of it.  Whatever happened to human rights?  Are they a special provision for extrajudicial killing victims?  Why am I not surprised?  This world, after all, is heavily tinted with the glass of double standards. 

Which leads me to wonder, could this be Malacañang’s hold over Neri? When there’s smoke, there’s fire but please spare me the drama. Spare the Filipinos the theatrics and the hystrionics that this gut-wrenching soap opera has spewed on a daily basis. We need to know the truth but can’t we have another Clarissa Ocampo or Emma Lim? And please, don’t let one’s sexual orientation and preference get the spotlight.





Gordon for President

17 02 2008

Is it too early to campaign for the next president?  Yes?  Yeah, right!

There have been soooo many of them who have already been giving feelers here and there.  Some of them have even verbalized their “dreams” of leading this downtrodden land.  So why can’t I make my own declaration? I’m not the one running anyway. 

In a previous post, I have shortlisted my presidentiables.  I have already mentioned Richard “Dick” Gordon.  I also said that he will not win.  Why?  He’s not the typical KBL politician (Kasal or Weddings, Binyag or Baptisms and Dedications, Libing or Burial/Funerals).  He may be energetic but he’s not charismatic and patronizing.  But he’s one guy who delivers and whose tail doesn’t go between his legs when his decisions cross party lines.  For that, he’s on my good side.  Well, I think Subic speaks for him. 

Bayani Fernando, on the other hand, is my other living bet.  But I strongly believe that he’s better off as an operative.  While listening to the last episode of Hwang Jin-i (my back was to the TV set because I was beating a deadline), I heard the head Kisaeng say that the committee of dance teachers from all across old Korea chose the other dancer because she’s not as good as the lead of the story but because she sees and acknowledges another person’s talents and that the better dancer is needed by the country to continue dancing because she’s good at it.  Fernando is like that.  The country needs more people like him.  He may not be popular because of the effects of his actions on the surface but because of the longer-term effects of those actions, he has nailed it for me. 

So why Gordon?  Why not Mar Roxas?  Why not Kabayang Noli De Castro?  Why not JDV?  Why not Manny Villar?

Mar Roxas looks really good on paper.  His résumé is awesome.  Why, when he was just starting to make the waves in the Philippines back in the 90s, I was already been a fan!  In fact, when I chaired an event in our dorm in UP, I made it a point to really have him as our guest speaker.  He graciously accepted our invitation, I was ecstatic.  Now that I think about it, I hate it that digicams weren’t that popular then.  I remember that he smelled and looked really good!  He came late because he came from a session in the Congress that wrapped up really late.  Oh, and as a giggly college girl who had a huge crush on the guy, I blushed to my roots when he kissed me on the cheek.  Yeah!  It was just one of those besos that people exchange instead of handshakes but it sent me to cloud 9.  So Korina, my dear, una syang naging akin!  LOL.  But I will not vote for him.  Why?  He’s too politically motivated.  He has changed big time.  I’m pretty sure he’s a good person and that he has really good intentions for the country but the people around him are too strong for him.  I’m not discounting his ability to think for himself but let’s just say that with so many strong people around you, you can’t help but be swayed into doing things that you may not personally like without actually realizing that you’re doing it.  It’s too early for him too.  Perhaps, by the next presidential election after 2010, he’ll be ripe enough.  And perhaps by then, I’ll vote for him. 

Kabayang Noli is not a presidentiable.  I’m sorry but I really do think the shoes are too big for him. 

Why not JDV?  Well, in the 1998 presidential election, I was a NAMFREL volunteer.  The strongest contenders then were House Speaker Jose De Venecia, the late Raul Roco, and then Vice President Joseph Estrada.  I was not qualified to vote during that time because I turned 18 June of that year so there was really no chance that I could vote.  So what I did before that was get myself all-informed about who’s who in the race.  And I started my NAMFREL tradition.  I started volunteering on elections back in the 1995 elections when I was still in high school.  It was VOTECARE then.  It’s PPCRV now.  In 1998, it was NAMFREL for me and before our “shift” we were told to make sure that our flashlights were working and to be on our toes at all times as there were rumors that JDV was going to cause some power interruption to do some last minute “adjustments” and well, it didn’t happen and Erap won hands down.  I remember crying upon seeing the huge whiteboard outside the hall where we were stationed at in Ateneo.  JDV has never been someone that I liked.  I liked Ramon Mitra better when he was still the Speaker of the House and I liked him when he was running for presidency and even before that.  Marcelo Fernan was my favorite politico then.  Alongside Roco, Serge Osmeña and many others.  Recently, JDV has given me more reasons never to vote for him. 

How about Villar?  I must admit, he is possibly one of those who’s got almost everything needed to win a presidential election.  He’s got the money, the machinery and the popularity.  But does he have the balls to run this country, let alone the ability to dance decently?  I don’t think so.  Lest orange becomes a national color, I don’t think we want this guy.  I do love orange but well, I’m not sure about it becoming a good national color.  How about a coat of arms in orange?  Nah!!!

In this time of turmoil and unrest, perhaps, it’s best if we think of what we want in a leader and who out there deserves the key to the golden door that we call our country.  We don’t need someone who has the charisma to make ladies swoon and men bow.  We don’t need someone who can dole out all the time to the beggars that dear Philippines never seems to run out of.  We need someone who can govern conscientiously, be firm, be a good statesman, maintain decent foreign relations and steal just a little without getting caught.  Believe you me, no one will NOT steal.  So let’s hope for someone who will steal just a little and not truckloads of our nation’s treasure chest. 

I’ve made my pick.  That’s Richard Gordon.  He’s not winnable.  He’s an elitist.  But for now, I think I’ve found my man.  Dick’s my pick!





Giggles and Flirtation

2 12 2007

I used to actively chat via mIRC when I started out in college.  I guess it was around the time when the now extremely popular IRC client took its babysteps too.  Then came ICQ (an oronym for I seek you) but I never really liked it for some reason.  It was around that time when I first created my Yahoomail and Eudoramail accounts.  Looking back, I can never really believe how far everything has gone.  During that time, sending SMS was limited to the rich kids.  But later on, mobile phones have become almost an extention to our body parts.  Even the families who could barely eat three square meals have at least one. 

When my father’s aide asked permission to buy a cellphone, I had a long talk with him.  I told him that while I don’t have anything to do with whatever he does with his life and his money, we definitely hope that buying a gadget that would test his priorities, would not affect his priorities.  He came here from a far-flung barrio where his father would beat him up if he couldn’t hand over a few coins to buy booze.  He came here because we need him as much as he needs us.  My father is paralyzed and because old men are the most hard-headed patients in the world, he has never recovered from his stroke.  He has become totally dependent to the not-so-young boy for even the simplest of things—from scratching his back to feeding him—to the messiest of them all, like wiping him clean after defecating, sponge-bathing him, and doing covert ops just so he could eat ice cream in the middle of the night when my mom specifically told him not to and so many other things.  My dad, even when he was in tiptop shape, has always been a handful.  That’s where I got most of my traits, I guess—his gene pool.  So anyway, we all know how it felt like when we first had our first ever mobile phone with SMS capabilities.  I kinda expected the changing of ringing tones, message alert tones, the horrendous volume, the non-stop-I’ll-trip-over-but-I-dont-care-just-so-long-as-i-can-finish-this-message thing, etc.  Because I am nocturnal, I get really hot-headed in the morning a few minutes before I sleep or when my sleep is interrupted during the day.  And because he had his message alert tone changed to some pop tune, the darn phone pumps up the volume non stop after lunch when everybody in the house is asleep for siesta, including him.  And because I’m a light sleeper–that depends actually on the kind of noise–I always get to be the one who hears the alert.  After three consecutive messages, I rush downstairs and try to find the darn phone and lo! and behold! it’s right near the landline phone in the living room.  So I looked for the owner of the loud phone.  And my, oh, my, the good boy is in deep slumber, with his mouth wide open as if waiting for manna from heaven to fall.  So there I was, fully awake after around just 3 hours of sleep after almost 36 hours of working.  In a very bad mood.  I make it a point never to do anything when I’m all angry and pissed.  And so I tried desperately to go back to sleep.  So sleep I did until around 7PM which made my head hurt real bad.  I don’t like sleeping till around that time because it always makes my head hurt like hell.  I went back to work and downed a whole pint of vanilla ice cream.  God, that was heavenly.

And so one day, I called him and asked him to sit down for another one of my attempts at diplomacy.  So I said…I understand how it is to have a new phone and to be new in the SMS arena but if could just put his phone in silent mode when he’s in Papa’s room, that would really be great.  Or he could leave his cellphone in his room so it won’t disturb anyone if he doesn’t want to change the alert tone. 

A few hours later, I heard the phone screaming mercilessly.  So I called him and asked him what’s going on.  He had the volume set to 5 so he could hear it even from Papa’s room.  Now, isn’t he wise!

So anyway, our houseboy has expanded his vocabulary, thanks to text education, to a few more English words.  He has also acted like a male dog in heat.  He has since become (and became) the boyfriend of almost all the housemaids in the subdivision and in the nearby bakery. 

Much to my mom’s utter disgust, of course.  But I try to tell her that I understand.  It’s so easy to flirt over the phone, online and even over the good old snail mail—pen pals anyone?  We all have different worlds and for people who do not have to think of anything else other than waking up and serving his bosses, I think he deserves whatever surge of lust or something like it that he’s been indulging to these days.  SO LONG AS IT DOES NOT AFFECT HIS WORK.  Well, there have been lapses but I think things have been addressed pretty clearly and I am keeping my fingers crossed that nothing bad will happen.  What is a little concession like that for days of peace and order!  If it makes him happy, then it causes a chain reaction.  Happy employees are more effectively productive and that means happier employer.

So, now, let’s go back to moi.  I once had a two-year relationship with a guy I met online way back in college.  Well, make that three.  The other two were merely sinfully wonderful and memorable flings so they don’t really count as relationships but just for the sake of statistics, let’s count them in.  There’s something about exchanging naughty and teasing comments with someone who’s not physically near you that makes things a whole lot more, er, tingly. 

When the cameras were integrated into mobile phones, my then boyfriend asked me to send him “sexy” pix and he returned the favor.  Since I was in a semi-long distance relationships, the ooohs and aaaahs over texts and later phone calls sufficed.  Then with the advent of more modern tech, um, simultaneous indulgence of self-help developed cult-like support online.  Sad to say, it has degenerated the nature of flirting and harmless chatting with strangers. 

I traverse the long and winding information superhighway every day and because of that people constantly ask me what cybersex is, or if I’ve met someone online who will whisk me off poverty in the Philippines to some sugar-coated gingerbread house in the land of milk and honey or somewhere far from this Pearl of the Orient.  Well, I can explain in a very clinical and academic way what cybersex is and how it is done but in terms of chatting with someone who will eventually become a special part of my life, the answer is a resounding, eeeeeenkkkkk! 

NO.  As a single (Asian) female, I do get into those moods when I feel like I really want to be with someone.  My former landlady tells me I’m on NPO for now—medical practitioners, go figure—and for someone who had been not on NPO for a collective and straight seven or so years, it’s quite hard.  They say you don’t crave for something that you haven’t really tried.  Well, I have and so I crave.  But despite being a cosmo girl who understood Carrie’s consternation at the prospect of losing her Manolos to a “shoe-napper”, I think my quick tumble in the hay days are over.  I am not into that anymore.  Well, if the opportunity presents itself, why not?  But I have made my circle so small that even I could not turn around that easily.  So what opportunity are we talking about?  I’m not complaining, mind you.  But the thing is, I meet people online.  From work, through blogs, through wherever.  And while I am a natural tease and flirt, being asked for a cam view and for something to start a few minutes after you even say hi, is a tad too weird for me.  After a long hiatus from chatting, I tried getting into one of those chatrooms in Yahoo and jeeez, people seem to talk in one language and all they ask and talk about is sex, cams and cums!  Whatever happened to friendship and getting to know you while we flirt occasionally without really meaning anything much?  It’s just me getting all cheeky and clenched butt. 

I remember one masseuse who’s a friend of my mom.  She’s quite talkative—a trait that I really do not appreciate while getting a massage.  But when conversations turn green, even in my half-awake, half-asleep state, my ears still perk up.  So anyway, she just got widowed and so she’s been the brunt of jokes about looking for an “American” (the word is enclosed in quotation marks because sometimes we have this penchant of calling all foreigners American) husband.  She said she tried chatting but she gets uncomfy when the guy that she chats up with shows his dick right out and asks her to show her boobs or slit in return.  So she makes up excuses about not having a cam and all that jazz while she and her relatives watch while the “American” on the other side of the internet touches himself till everything limps down and the guy excused himself so he can “dry off” and “clean up” that usually means going to the bathroom or grabbing a roll of toilet paper for some. 

While I do not want to sound prissy, this simply does not turn me on.  I don’t know.  I get turned on by witty conversations that are peppered with flirtations and naughty innuendos but being other than that, I can always get into the part and just type some “motivational” lines for the other party. 

Needless to say, I’m not on a serious quest to find someone who’ll treat me like a princess and not for anything else.  When I’m 30 and I’m still not “in a relationship” as Friendster puts it, I will panic.  But only for a moment.  I think I have a healthy enough self-esteem to know that it’s not being in a relationship that matters—it’s in having fun while we can in a way that we will have fun indeed.  Perhaps, I still have unresolved personal issues to take care of and I think I will not make a good partner until I iron out whatever ugly wrinkles there are in my shirt. 

I have recently been getting proofs how big a liar my ex-boyfriend is and his audacity of continuously denying so many things even when I know what the real score is have been such huge downers lately.  Well, there’s work.  It gets me down but not emotionally so occasional online flirtations with people that I don’t really know, help big time.  Well, I’m choosy.  I don’t like wimps and younger guys.  And I have very little time.  So when I do get into that kind of mood, I’ll go for knights (or badass chicks!) in rusty armors while I wear my French maid’s costume.  Don’t get me started on how to use the feather duster!  LOL. 

But well, I miss blogging and even if I’m not making any sense, I am quite happy that I have blabbered a thought too many somehow. 

Oh, and I’m not in THAT mood right now, with over 70 web pages to revise, I don’t think I can afford to let out even a lusty sigh.  So, a piu tardi! Molto grazie! Ciao! 





Free Fallin’

22 10 2007

A pingback today brought me back to good ‘ol dormdays in UP.  There’s this band, The Bridge, whose members (there were just three of them then, I’m not really sure if they’ve added a few more to their team) are the type who would make any “girl” giggle—brooding look, silent, very talented, seemingly shy, lanky, unshaven, in jeans, husky, husky voice!—you get the picture, girls!  Well, they didn’t have that much of a following but in our dorm and theirs, they were already celebs in their own right.  One of my closest friends had a huge crush on one of their lead vocalist that there were moments when we really stalked the guy! Then I developed a huge crush on his cousin, who was also a major role player in their band.  In UP Fair ’98, they gave an undies-snapping rendition of Change the World by Eric Clapton.  They figured in so many other gigs in UP and in the small but popular bars near UP (70s Bistro, Freedom Cafe, Ora Cafe–those were their names then).  Their favorite song, or so we thought, because they used to sing it a lot, was Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Free Fallin’ and man, what a song.  I mean we, women, are drawn to bad guys who are full of angst and a soft spot somewhere.  So, check this out:

“Free Fallin'”
Free Fallin

By Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne
Copyright © 1989 Gone Gator Music (ASCAP)/ SBK April Music Inc. (ASCAP)
All rights reserved. Used by permission.

She’s a good girl, loves her mama
loves Jesus and America too
She’s a good girl, crazy ’bout Elvis
loves horses and her boyfriend too

It’s a long day livin’ in Reseda
there’s a freeway runnin’ through the yard
and I’m a bad boy, ’cause I don’t even miss her
I’m a bad boy for breakin’ her heart

Chorus
And I’m free, I’m free fallin’

All the vampires walkin’ through the valley
move west down Ventura Blvd.
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts

(Repeat Chorus)

I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
I wanna free fall out into nothin’
Gonna leave this world for awhile

(Repeat Chorus)