Why we (nearly) deserve a reality tv show production made out of our lives as housemates

Why we (nearly) deserve a reality tv show production made out of our lives as housemates

My housemates and I have the most interesting conversations almost every night.

Here’s a smidgen of an introduction. M has ADHD and treats medications as her BFFs. She is attracted to bouncer-type men. She is a great cook, and her bath regimen takes one hour minimum. G has a high pitched voice, sings well, and has a strict mom. She is attracted to true-blue hot gays and has had her heart broken by a couple of ’em. She’s sporty having taken up capoeira and dragon boat racing sessions. V is a mommy’s girl, is devoted to her friends from another tv network, and will kill to have a baby of her own stat. Her mom is this very classy lady who might as well grace the pages of Philippine Tatler’s society section, and V is the ‘prodigal’ daughter who tries and succeeds in acting as jologs as possible. She is also a great cook and can beat ambulance drivers in mean road rage driving. And the fourth is yours truly.

It’s not as if we’re mightily best friends. From time to time, there is discord mostly sown by me, perpetrated by me, and walked out on by me. (Yes, I only learned to use the useless act of walking out on my housemates) At other times, we talk about mundane stuff, mostly about the cats in our house, mostly about ugly people (Yes, because the last time we checked ourselves in the mirror, we looked like the polished cast of The Bling Ring), at other times about what two out of four of us should cook for dinner (during which M would launch into her cooking show persona giving cooking instructions to an invisible studio audience), at other times about our stupid neighbors.

We’ve shared a lot of ups and downs with the ups having a couple of ‘highs’ there, the downs seeing us crawling on walls and reeking of Red Horse beer). We’ve gone through scarring travails of dieting and exercising only to realize that we will never ever going to look like our idols (me as Natali Portman-slash-Keira Knightley-slash-Andi Eigenmann; G as Cristine Reyes; V as Sam Pinto; M as Nigella Lawson).

One particular night, the saga (or should I say the season or episode?) played on. M asked what our song was for her if we could encapsulate her in a song. I told her that she’s Seal’s Kiss from a Rose. G is M2M’s ohmyprettyprettyboy song (I forget the title), V is Olivia Newton-John’s Let’s Get Physical.

And because this blog is mine, here are their songs for me as relayed via SMS (Yes, because those slowpokes needed the night to think it over)

M: Ok ang kanta ni G sayo is Maneater hahaha at ang kanta ko sa yo ay I Wanna Settle Down by Kimbra hahaha and since you’re (insert condition here) dapat dalawa so yung isa ay dixie chicks landslide….

Me: Well technically landslide isn’t Dixie Chicks’, it’s Fleetwood Mac’s. Wehehe. My OC side wants a song for itself. You owe her daw.
Wait and whose Maneater are we talking about? Hall and Oates or Nelly F.’s? #OC

M: Hall and Oates

Me: Really? Kimbra? Why?

M: Kasi you like doing chores. Song ko for myself is One Headlight.

Me: Oh, but the Kimbra lyrics malayo sa chores, haha! I’m claiming Muzzle and Down by the Water and Black Sheep as mine.

M: At saka Talk Show Host ako.
At other times, we just lounge around on the couch and needle one another. Or poke fun at Wonton the black cat by cuddling him and passing him from one housemate to the next for a round of cuddles and the occasional uber tight squeezing. My cat, Timon, always gives us this look implying that we are crazy old animals, turns her back on us, and walks away to look for any possible exit out of this frenzied animal house.


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