Je prends ce que je trouve...

"I'll take what I can get."

Since I'm nowhere near Roppongi's Gaspanic bar full of low-life J-girls on the prowl for any blue-eyed gaijin, I have to degrade myself with low-life Philippinas I meet on the street or online. Mommy's horrified.

That's how I met Tess. Another Philippina who still lived with her parents. She wasn't even 5 ft tall but like the other cockroach (Dad) she threw herself at me too. As usual, she contacted me first - "You're hot!" I couldn't respond in kind so I just called her "sexy." I didn't find her too intelligent and thought she was boring (as I told that psycho) - another party girl from over the hill. When we met at the Getty Center that Sunday all I could think about was lunch. Nothing to email Maman about - not educated, intelligent, fun, extremely kind... but she was horny and available and flattered me endlessly. That's all that counts, anyway, and as usual I had no other options. There were several weeks of teasing and making plans, even though I was already hanging out with Marianna regularly. I told Tess "I don't want to be just another horny guy!" LOL

Damn those pretty girls with a career and their own living arrangements! Plus Marianna was could be a bitch about my constant pussy trolling during and after work. I could have tried to work things out but that requires effort- screw that! I just needed someone to be "nice" to me, if not nice to look at. Besides, it's easy to throw away the ugly ones. I don't even have to tell Maman or my friends about her.

We finally did the deed when I returned from Morocco (Marianna picked me up from the airport but she was being grouchy - not cool). I drove to Tess's parents' house where we made out a little, though unsuccessfully (I'm too big), in her car. A few days later, she came to my place. Luckily nobody saw her. I tried to wash off her scent after sex but she grabbed me in the shower too! After that it was just sporadic emails, nothing to make me want to see her again (plus the psycho could be nice sometimes). I didn't see her again until 6 months later when I needed company (stopped seeing the psycho) and flopped after several other dates, as usual. But when my birthday came around, I celebrated only with Marianna. She's the most fun and engaging- with that brilliant idea for a Naruto birthday cake- when she's not blowing her top over my hoe's.

A few months later, after I stopped seeing the bitch, Tess emailed me out of the blue through myspace. She asked me how my wrist was holding up and what was going on in my life. I told her that I just ended a bad relationship. She asked me "What did you do wrong?" I couldn't reply to that! June? Just ended a bad relationship, though I saw her only a couple of months before? Busted!

I called her a friend to piss off Marianna (she knew better but I don't like to admit that she's right), but like everyone else she's gone now, too. I'm not missing her, either. If she emails me I'll reply, of course! It's the nice thing to do. Who knows- maybe I'll get some free pussy out of it?

Nov 2004, Mar 2005


Romualda Diaz was my first oompa loompa. Can you see why I promised my mommy that she won't have any philippino babies?

Back to the beginning.

Tea for one

She used to slather Bains du Marais oil after a bath. Scent of tea.

Why couldn't she just wear that cheap Victoria's Secret stuff like Marie?



Back to the beginning.

Au contraire, mon frère

My little brother, le moyen Yssef, is universally acknowledged as the black sheep of my family (pay attention, all you casual friends & penpals ignorant about my life!).

But at his age, he's not only more successful than me in his career - youngest Hotel Director in the country - he's always been a hit with the ladies. He's engaged to a girl my mommy called a "monster." (My dad thinks both of us date cafards- cockroaches- because we're afraid of pretty girls. Maybe. See previous posts.)

He never listened to our advice and warnings; he would get insulted. He followed his own path. He's crazy, sexy, wild (like I always write in my profiles about myself). Insouciant charm. Garrulous and ebullient. He's not even as good-looking as me- he's a brunet! The bad Yssef.

But unlike me, he's happy. His fiancee is wildly imperfect but spunky (unlike my ideal dull-witted, big boobed "hot" dates). She cares about him and he accepts her as she is- modest background, troubled teeth, lack of height, career and sophistication, etc. He's touched by her. On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. And he sees that. I can't see past big boobs or bad teeth.

He's so wrong! In a few years, he'll really regret not being married to a perfect girl. I'm gonna find my perfect girl, no matter what it takes. It's my destiny. in the meantime, I'll still take the Philippina hobbits and trolls, Vegas trailer trash, lame teenyboppers and big-boobed no-personality girls who throw themselves at me (gotta have sex at least twice a year, right?). I won't get serious with them but I'll annoy them with talk about my perfect girl. My destiny.

Back to the beginnng.

Trophy Girl

Manouschka serves drinks at a club for a living. She played a zombie in a hip-hop horror film whose name I've already forgotten (and so have the casting directors, poor thing).

This striking and buxom blowhard prided herself on knowing words like "elder" and "inexplicable." Those are big words for a junior college dropout! According to Quizilla on her myspace page (500 friends!) her linguistic knowledge is very high, despite some quite obvious and cringe-worthy vocabulary goofs in her writing that no truly literate or intelligent person would make. LOL She professed a passion for Rumi and Alduous Huxley to separate herself from the pack - not that I know who they are. A self-proclaimed geek, she thought we'd get along famously- me with my animation and she with her... uh, shoes. Did we have any conversations about Ptolemy and zoetropes and The Sinking of the Lusitania??? Did we oooh and aaah over the the Belkin Pre-N wireless router's blazing speed??? Did she even know the video game I was working on??? NOPE! Who cares- she had big boobs. Wooaaaah.

But this is LA- you can be whatever you want to be. :-p

American identity politics being what it is, she claimed in her match.com profile to have royal blood in her veins, in addition to being brilliant (her model friends told her so!), and was having trouble meeting guys with the cojones to last with her. (Like me, she's not too blame for her single status.) Though Haitian, she claimed to speak standard French, plus Spanish. I realized quickly on the first date that she lied about being a polyglot, and was really only monolingual, like most of my dates, but I didn't mind. (With those boobs???) She was exceptionally chatty, like someone long deprived of male company, very eager to show off vocabulary words that she just learned, desperate to prove that she wasn't just a pretty face. (Lucky for her I'm too retarded to notice the truth and see past her boobs.) I told my mommy that she dressed too much like a model and wore too much makeup. (But that's what one does on dates- accentuate what you have and exaggerate or make up the rest, right???) She seemed to be into me -Hallelujah! - and had double DDs too (though fake; see photo). She wasn't even offended that I asked a million questions about her boob job and couldn't take my eyes off them. Now that's a quality girl! Why can't all girls be that confident (or so hard up for attention to overlook such crassness)??? She even went to the trouble of googling me (such a rare skill, you know).

We went to The Geisha House- a sleek, laughably inauthentic, über-trendy Japanese restaurant in Hollywood. Strictly a beginner's Japanese joint, it served everything- sushi, tempura, yakitori, little plates - brought to you by Caucasians wearing fisherman outfits and girls in geisha costumes - a veritable Nihon-Disney! But the numerous video monitors showing porn, game shows and anime were cool, too! I was happy to go because I had a date who was into me, plus I love sushi. Sushi- we have so much in common! She ordered shrimp poppers. I'm glad she enjoyed the food- her choice, like all high-maintenance girls- because it was way overpriced. $150 for mediocre food and the privilege of watching fake boobs all night (it was a mecca for starlets, porn stars, and the "beautiful" people). I told Marianna that it was a "nice" restaurant when she spied the souvenir matchbook on my coffee table. I always pretend to enjoy the activities of a girl who gives me attention, because it happens so rarely.

(Later in a myspace blog I bitched about this - the overpriced, trendy restaurants with no soul. That psycho eventually saw it and pointed out correctly in an unexpected comment, "Branché mais vide (trendy but empty), just like your date- and you said you liked it!" Uh-oh, this hypocrite was busted! So I quickly deleted it. Don't want any of my casual or absent "friends" to notice that.)

Things were so hot that we made out on out first date. I thought I was going to marry her! (I always think this when the first date goes well.) I even told my mommy. I showed her my demo reel from college- because she asked and I was too much of a pussy to say 'no,' not because she was my girlfriend or someone close to me or someone I could talk shop with. Besides, maybe I could have had some nookie out of this potentially bonding moment. Alas, the pretty girls don't give it up too quickly. :-( I didn't find anything wrong with her until she became too uncomfortable with me still chummying around with Marianna. "But she's a cool girl, not too many like her," I protested several times, "I can't just let her go. " But it got to be too much for her. Narcissism reared its ugly head and slammed into yet another insecure actor. After another night working hard for those tips, she told me the next day that we couldn't go any further- not with someone who can't let go of an ex (who easily overshadows her). Plus after reading foul and caustic comments about her on Marianna's myspace blog, she was afraid of her. Nobody likes to be exposed for the pretentious dolt she really is! "Can't let go of an ex" - what the @#$%^&* was she talking about???

Later that night I called Marianna to ask her to come over and watch a movie with me.

Manouschka didn't like to be called a Trophy Girl. She wanted to be appreciated for her.. ahem.. mind. Kinda like me. Hence the literary name dropping on her profiles (me, too). She was looking for a cerebral guy, so why was she so interested in me? Because she was desperate for some action after a biblical dry spell, too! So much in common, tsk tsk tsk... I would never have been able to fulfill her Sex and The City delusions.

In my excitement over a real Trophy Girl, I thought about marrying her. (I'm obsessed with marriage and my mommy had just given me a big push before she left a couple of months earlier. I was on a mission!) But had I stayed with her, she would have no doubt seen me in one of my vicious black moods in which I criticize everything she says and does and forget any shred of kindness previously shown to me: "Why don't you know French? Why can't you speak Japanese and Romanian like ____? Why don't you know these French songs like my parents used to sing to me? Why didn't you finish school? Why couldn't you have gone to a good school? Do you actually read? Why can't we have sparkling conversations like I did with Marianna? Don't you know what real Japanese food is? Why do you always go to these trendy restaurants? The clubs you go to suck. Your waist is too big. Your boobs are fake - they don't turn me on anymore. You didn't slice the chilis correctly. I'm not gonna spend any money on you- what makes you think you're so special?" She's an actress- she's used to criticism, right?

Several months later I assured my anxious mommy that she wouldn't have any Black or Philippina babies.



Back to the beginning.

Kani-nabe.. nan dattebayo?!

"Kani-nabe may be tasty, but there is nothing primal about it. Cool ingredients become hot. Green things wilt. The broth, a simple tincture of water and kombu seaweed, darkens and becomes infused with the punchy aroma of boiled crab shells. Glass noodles soften, slither and collapse into themselves. The broth is whisked away to the kitchen at the end of the meal, thickened with cooked rice, and returned to the table as a loose, fragrant porridge into which the waiter beats a single raw egg."

My own little terrorist rambled on about that one day after showering. She loves food and is proud of her tastes and knowledge.

These days all I get is Orianna asking me if I want to have "sooooup" with her. :-( Good thing it wasn't mechoui - "BBQ"!?

Or another date dismissing Sakura House - Caro's favorite restaurant here - as "interesting." :-(



Back to the beginning.

Homo Disorientatis

How does a Caucasian-looking guy like me find himself with so many Asian women? Ask me, and you'll see how clueless I am!


I don't go out of my way to date mémères - old biddies - from those exotic locations that are an assault on your senses, an overwhelming explosion of sights, sounds, tastes, smells and strange colonic movements.. tropical beaches and 24-hour foot massages... but sometimes you have to widen your net to catch anything. This one bit. Finally! (Too many single dates at that point.) Another Asian, a barely 5 ft. tall Thai divorcee with kids and huge boobs- wooaaahh!

Upon hearing about her my perfect mommy proclaimed "that's no better" (than my regular lot of dumpy or midget working-class philippinas).

Cherisse has a Yahoo album with several dozen "professional" photos of her in various poses with barbells and household furniture. As you can see, her seduction wardrobe comes straight out of the clearance section of Frederick's of Hollywood. Must take this online dating thing seriously to go to that trouble!

She chose Il Fornaio for our first date, a bland surburban California-Italian restaurant in Pasadena. I should have taken it as a sign, but was just happy that someone was finally even remotely interested in me, even if she didn't reach my hip bone. What an entrance we made- she, the nearly 5 feet tall Thai lady and me, the nearly 6 feet tall ladyboy. Unfortunately with the tepid menu I couldn't impress her with what I picked up in Thai Town on a midnight run for sticky rice desserts with that psycho: "Houy nam mai, po! (No spicy- me foreigner!)" whilst pointing to my bottom.

The next day over lamb carpaccio with manchego shavings at a Franco-Japanese restaurant I told Marianna that she was "intriguing." (Don't ask me what it means.) I even added that I might fall in love with her! On our second date, a Saturday, I spent nearly the whole day with her. It was as exciting as a 40-yr-old's day could be. Interminable rounds of golf. Felt like an Escher nightmare, running up and down the stairs at her condo. Ate some healthy grains and tempeh. Made out a little (yesss!). When I returned home I called Marianna to see if she wanted to go with me to Le Petit Four with me the next morning, the day's muscle-building pursuits far from my mind.

As for "intriguing".. well, I wasn't dying to see her a third time. Three days after our second date I weepily admitted to that nutcase that she never had anything cool to say over the phone and that our times together were nice, that's all. When Cherisse called the next week I made up some excuse to avoid her Wednesday (yeah, we already planned to date regularly by that point) and also added that my Saturday was booked. Had to see a film with some "buddies." Besides, I was still on a high from my mommy's encouragement in finding zee perfect woman, who was just waiting for me, somewhere.

A few weeks later I tried to explain my abrupt change of heart by blurting out that in the throes in passion I realized that I wasn't able to give her all that she wanted and insisted that I wasn't good enough for her. Chicks usually believe that.

So she suggested that we remain friends. I could only agree. Do we talk these days? Haha, no way! (Such an explicit attempt at friendship never works. Someone told me that.)

It was all a bit disappointing and blah. I didn't even get a foot massage! As usual, I was left with a friendship in name only.



Back to the beginning.

Big Boss de l'Amerique

is what my some of my relatives like to call me.

Little do they understand, however, that I'm still a small man on the totem pole here at Sony. When we started God of War 2, they hired an outside person to be the Cinematics Lead- can you believe that bullshit??? Jackie hardly ever works, anyway. I'm the main Maya monkey. Not the one who goes to top-level meetings or travels to conferences (with my people skills??); not the ideas guy, the big picture dude, the designer. I give direction to entry-level animators. Peons. I'm the most talented one here- I deserve more than this.

During Christmas I interviewed for a job at Ubisoft in Montreal that I expected them to just drop in my lap - like the perfect woman - and was insulted that they wanted me to start immediately! Couldn't they accommodate my schedule??? Didn't they know I'd have to quit Sony first? How the hell am I supposed to negotiate that? I'm too much of a pussy to tell them. Why can't I just get the job that I want when I want (like the perfect woman)???

As my family tells me, I'm too special to be slugging away with les petits mortels - these little people - forever. I should have my own company by now but I'm still toiling with people less talented than me. And the only way I rewind is to look for tanned booty on DatingDynasty.com at 3:00 in the morning. If I'm not "Mister Big" at work, at least I can be online. :-p



Back to the beginning.

"Caballero, yo te conozco- tu no tienes corazon"

Another psycho rant from my little terrorist when we had The Troubles. I put down her cooking - some unknown dish I could neither pronounce nor spell- or mentioned another "quality girl." I forget now. Her eyes enlarged to take in the object of her scorn. She bared her dragon teeth and fixed her Medusa gaze on me. Though, unlike Medusa, she yelled. Eloquently. Then she would unleash her fury on me like a Gremlin.

One time, though, instead of hurling epithets, she simply started to sing a little song, like she always did when she didn't want to just spell things out and make things easy for me - "That's for troglodytes," she would say.

Soy un egoísta, soy un infeliz
Y no me importa nadie mas que yo.
Soy maravilloso, soy encantador
Y no sé por qué yo nunca soy tu centro de atracción.

Soy un presumido, soy un ganador,
Soy lo que le falta al mundo para ser mejor.

No comparto no convido, no presto no invito,
Que no entiendes lo que digo...

No tengo amigos...
No tengo amigos...
Y nadie quiere estar conmigo.

Pregunta lo que quieras, yo te responderé.
Yo nunca me equivoco, porque todo yo lo sé.

Y yo soy superior, y yo lo tengo todo,
Y con todo lo que tengo a mi lado estarás.

No comparto no convido, no presto no invito,
Que no entiendes lo que digo...

I'm selfish, I'm unhappy
And I don't care about anyone more than myself
I'm wonderful, I'm enchanting
I don't know why I'm never in the middle of your fun

I'm a poser, a user
I'm what the world needs to become better

I don't share, invite, loan, or treat
I hope you don't understand what I'm saying

I have no friends
I have no friends
And nobody wants to be with me

Ask whatever you want, I will respond
I'm never wrong, I know everything.

And I'm better, I have everything
And with all that I have you will be by my side

I don't share, invite, loan, or treat
I hope you don't understand what I'm saying...


And then she stuck out her grisly tongue and stomped home. Well, that's nothing compared to those god-awful ranchera songs she would sing in the shower sometimes! No more drama queens for me. I'm looking for the girl-next-door who can communicate plainly in English or French, who'll watch one of my animations and simply say "You're awesome, Mehdi! Please fuck me." No more going off on tangents about Ptolemy and zoetropes and The Sinking of the Lusitania. I'm sure life will be much easier with a nice chick. I'd be much happier. Now if only one of them would answer my IMs on myspace!

snatch.com

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

"Misterbigg"

I wish I could tell girls that I'm as big as this.










In reality, I look like this. (Uzura is pretty yummy, btw.)










I keep stressing over not being married yet but I should be more worried about not producing enough sperm! My baby bollocks have to work twice as hard.

(Psssst! My casual and absent friends don't know this, and a lot of other things, too.)

Klinefelter Syndrome? "One extra X chromosome -> low level of testosterone, sparse body hair, small testes... and inability to produce children." On top of that my near-disastrous forceps delivery makes me say "woaaahhh" too many times! Merci, papa. :-p

So why doesn't NPR play my favorite songs???



Back to the beginning.