Run for your underwear!

Went out for a nice evening jog, when suddenly the skies conveniently opened up and decided to drench me and my underwear half a kilometer from the nearest shelter. So I ran as fast as I could, my heart racing with every footfall, struggling to gulp down the heavy, damp air, all for the sake of keeping my undies dry. I didn't time my run for shelter, but I bet it wasn't impressive to say the least, as I saw grandpa and grandma zoom past me in their walkers.

You see, this particular jogging trail was a long ways from home, and I forgot to bring extra underwear and shorts. If I didn't keep my shorts dry somehow, there was a huge possibility that my friend, whose car I hitched in on, would disown me and literally leave me "out to dry". I've jogged in the rain before, it's a great feeling, but I'll bet walking the whole 15 kilometers home soaking wet after jogging at night isn't a good idea.

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This morning, still lazy to get up from bed, I started reading. That didn't last for very long, because though I love the author, I can't stand reading him, it felt weird. The author in question is (ahem) myself, and I was reading a collection of posts from this very blog, a birthday gift from a close friend (Thanks again, Jean!)

Why it felt weird, I have no idea. Maybe because reading back you see each and every grammar and spelling mistake that you made, or because it felt vain, or perhaps it was some literary form of incest. I try to picture some authors reading their own work, I conjured up an image of Mr. Hemingway, seated in a cafe somewhere in Paris, reading his own book, isn't that just wrong?

Back when we were kids, my sisters and I loved recording our voices on tape and grabbed every chance to belt out our favorite Sesame Street chorus or the occasional Menudo or Spandau Ballet track. It was fun, sure, until mom found the tapes and played it for the amusement of other grown ups. It was petrifying, listening to your own voice squawking "Rubber Ducky" (Ernie) or "Explosion" (Menudo) or "The Rainbow Connection" (Kermit) and hearing these adults laugh their guts out. We'd squeal our objections, throwing tantrums while were at it, anything just to make the torture end. In the same way, reading my own stuff gives me goose bumps, wondering if the people reading it were laughing with me or at me.

I took the time to find the "delete" button for this blog... you know, just in case.

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Went people-watching (translation: ogling hot girls) while having dinner at a mini-mall. Interestingly, the adjacent table, four girls, were people-watching as well (translation: ogling men). So I multi-tasked, people-watching while eavesdropping.

Turns out, there's a world of difference as to how men and women people-watch. When men do it, it's only about looks and sex-appeal. Women, meanwhile, seem to be reading a curriculum vitae and a bank statement when they watch other people. For instance, shoes are apparently a major category from which women base their opinion of guys. While any man would relish owning Kobe's Nike basketball shoes, it's just a normal rubber-soled shoe for the ladyfolk, which indicate a guy's immaturity. Same goes for wearing basketball jerseys, baseball caps, baggy pants, and unkept hair. The women favor leather shoes, or those expensive sneakers, because according to them, it's classy. (Huh?) Man-purses are okay as well, as long as they aren't waist-bags (which are dorky, fyi). Lugging around a small three-fold umbrella and/or a backpack? Not a good sign, golf umbrellas are the way to go, because it's terribly hard to fit those parasols on the bus or jeepney, and you won't carry around that backpack if you had the convenience of a passenger's seat or trunk.

For guys, a girl could wear wooden clogs, elephant pants, a feather in a cap and a really large bag for all we care, as long as she's hot and flirty-looking. Just seeing a hot chick throw a wink our way, we'd be re-enacting the great flood with our drool. And her wallet won't matter too much because, well, no one likes girls who are high-maintenance anyway.

Oh, if you happen to be a guy who loves shirts from Spoofs Unlimited, you're probably going to land pretty low on the totem pole. And wearing that shirt from "the Ateneo" or DLSU isn't going to get you higher either unless you look like you're at least distantly related to either Chris Tiu or Simon Atkins. (I'm currently burning my green and white shirt as I type this)

Another interesting insight, girls judge both guys and girls. Guys, on the other hand, see only girls. We manage to block other guys out of our line of sight, along with mangy dogs, shopping carts and trash bins. Oh, and we also don't see the shorts that girls wear under their skirts, we try to see past them, pretending we caught a glimpse of their undies.

On this note, I'd conclude that girls (at least those four) are more evil than men. Sure, we eye women as we would our steak (medium rare, please!), but at least we don't judge them based on their material possessions and social status.

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The differences between men and women people-watching might probably be a direct result of typical Darwinian selection. Girls could be more inclined to choose partners with the ability to sustain them and their future brood, while men need only partners who make them want to, uh, "breed" more often.