Skirts and Pants

 It’s Apollo’s first anniversary today.

The thrill of having my car is still in me. It’s still fresh in my memory when I’d stay up until 4 in the morning to have driving lessons, inconsiderate of my instructor’s sleeping time.

I remember spending 600 bucks a week just to gas Apollo up and venture every place in the Metro. It was like Alice traveled in wonderland with a 4-wheeled transportation. So modern.

At that time, my hands love the steering wheel.

There was a connection between them brought up by my passion. When I was a student driver, I heard horns blowing left and right so all I wanted to be was a skilled one. Maybe, it’s also because of the stereotype that women are bad drivers. I wanted to prove them wrong.

I had to go through a lot just to have Apollo but the bottom line is – it really was an exhausting day (the details will bore you, believe me). And yet a relief. It was like having to eat meat after Holy week.

Excitement, joy, pride – all at the same time. I didn’t feel even the slightest insecurity driving it given my gender.

Anyway, my car has been named after a Greek god. I wanted to give him the name Adonis, at first, but I’ve been told that it would sound like a place visited by cougars and homos. So, there, I came up with Apollo.

That’s why I have always loved the SPICE GIRLS. Their popularized cheer “Girl Power” makes every woman to go-go. And as a disclaimer, I am not a Mary Wollstonecraft who will struggle for women’s rights. I just wonder why men are always thought of as the great drivers and generally, the dominant gender.

Honestly, I had my fair share of betraying my gender. I like men in a funny, friendly, platonic kind of way. I can say that I’m comfortable being friends with them than that of my kind. It’s because of the reason that, men are fun, simple and sometimes stupid. Women are smart, yet boring and most of the time, fake.

Men are goofy. What seems to be “wow” to them is “eewww” to the women.

I feel more attached to men because they love inside jokes. Smirking. Greeting each other with their stunting hands. You can tell them anything and everything without having to worry of judgment. They can appreciate humor in ways more than one – green, idiotic, dumb, funny, and nasty and even the sarcastic ones. If you even wore the same shirt color, they’ll probably just laugh it off. They won’t mind eating a bunch and they’ re like kids whom you’d just bribe with video games, ice cream or fish balls to do you a favor.

Women, however, are different.

You tell women something about your dark past and the next thing you know, they’re all out when you, two, declare war – that is, if she hasn’t blackmailed you yet. We greet each other with a pair of kisses on the cheek. You’ll be in a humdrum talking about getting As in class or having a pedicure or dating the prettiest guy in school. And if you get so lucky, you’ll be analyzing yourselves in an open forum and talk about your life’s misery. Plus, you’ll have to buy a sized 7 – 8 Jimmy Choos or boxes of Ferrero Rocher for her to forgive you… if she isn’t on a diet trying to look like Kate Moss. No Fun.

But, and there’s always a but, women are empaths. Try to open up a love problem and the guys would just tell you the cheesy line: “If he really loves you, then he’ll have to accept you for who you are”. (Same, old, exact excuse they give for themselves.

And yet, women dissect. Are inquisitive. And are detailed. They usually like solving the puzzle – and not in a mathematical kind of way. Most women hate Math. Just like how any window shopping goes – they visit from one boutique to another and don’t buy right away.

I mean, Albert Einstein, as said to be the most intellectual person to date, had won a Nobel Prize but hadn’t Marie Curie won one, too – and even earlier? Not that I don’t appreciate Romeo and Juliet but Pride and Prejudice is more hopeful. And Bill Clinton’s sexual relationship with Monica Lewinsky circused America but Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s “Hello Garci” scandal made a rant even more.

Well, why? It’s for the reason that even though we have women’s month, mothers’ day and sorts, the world is too used to womanizing men but so disgraced with slutty women. So unfair.

What is the essence of a man, really? Has anyone answered this question? Apparently, it’s more amazing watching women flaunt their curved bodies than men’s muscles in beauty pageants. The harsh reality is, we don’t give a damn about Arnold Schwarzenegger and his Mr. Universe thingy.

Watching Clueless is a hundred more times watching than The terminator because it’s cuter to say “As if” than “Hasta La Vista, Baby”.

I talked to one of my exes recently. Since I, still, am a drama queen – cherishing and lingering the pain from two months ago. I just wanted a breather, and maybe, someone who’ll tell me that I am not a masochist, after all -- I’m really starting to believe I am one and it freaks the hell out of me.

He told me” What’s meant to be’s meant to be. I know I eff up a lot in relationships but that’s it? No wisdom. No Sympathy. No heart. Isn’t it ironic when reality seems to be crappy and the only things you want to hear are illusioned, reel and hopeful for your dying lovelife?

If I knew all along that that was what he’d say, I wish I had talked to one of my girlfriends, instead. She’ll probably want me to check my horoscope out because the rotation of the moon and the planets have something to do with my life… now, that’s more light and more fun!

Well, one thing that separates us from the male species? We are believers. There’s fate, destiny, time and the heavenly bodies. We watch too many movies so definitely we believe in happy endings.