In line with the upcoming book signing at Fully Booked on November 22 (Saturday) or if you are interested to purchase a copy of “Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me”, I am reprinting my Philippine Star article from December 26, 2007 which has several excerpts from the book.

If you wish to order the book online, you can pick up a copy from National Bookstore’s online store over here: http://www.nationalbookstore.com/shop/categs.asp?categ=95&mode=2&compact=1&page=6

Or you can also order the book online from Anvil Publishing at: http://www.anvilpublishing.com/bookdetails.php?id=2007000105

Thanks for the support! Namaste

I have an obsessive-compulsive disorder which yanks me out of bed thirteen times to relieve myself in three-second durations until I can finally go to sleep.  I resemble an elephant that has gone into a seizure when I attempt to play basketball. I walk with a hobbling gait that looks like I was jailed in a Saudi prison in my adolescent years. I pranced half-naked regularly in a late night comedy show in an effort to drum up controversy and resuscitate my dismal showbiz career (yet I can’t even guest appearance on Jojo A All The Way. After all the times I’ve plugged him in this column, hmp). And during one of those lazy Sunday afternoons when Lolit Solis was not dropping any bombshells, I was mortified to discover that one of my boys hung lower than the other (although after checking in with my neighborhood manghihilot, I was relieved to find out that this was perfectly normal). 

As you can see, shame has pretty much become a theoretical concept as far as I am concerned. But one of the revelations that I have blurted out in this column that has sent many a female reader scrambling to give the cellphone number of their psychiatrist is: Does he really have a yaya?

Does his yaya edit his work before he sends it into the Philippine Star?  Does his yaya even know that she is writing about her?  Does his yaya get royalties?  What does his yaya think of his fiancée?  Will his yaya be a bridesmaid in their wedding?  Will his yaya serve as a natural form of birth control and sleep in between them when they are married? 

And will my first book, ‘Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me, RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Whine and Women’ answer any of these questions. 

Hardly. 

But hey, it does make my yaya beam with pride when her name appears beside mine in documents other than police blotters.  I have purposely kept her image and likeness away from the prying eyes of the showbiz press until we finally get Marian Rivera to play her in the next Metro Manila filmfest.

And for those of you who would like to laugh at something other than the administration and are still wondering where you should fritter away your Christmas bonus on, I have asked my yaya’s permission to reprint some excerpts from the book. 

Lies about Boys’ Night Out:

‘What truly amazes me about my species is how we are able to rise above our mental capacity as slugs to prevail upon our significant others to visit a motel (and I say this in the most theoretical way possible).  I mean, don’t we already struggle with asking permission from our girlfriends to join the boys for a “night out.”?

In their more complex minds, women mistakenly equate “boys’ night out” with cheap beer, voluptuous women, and really lousy singing.  They’re wrong you know – the beer is hardly cheap. 

But with the impending threat of being reduced to self-love for the rest of the relationship, men ‘voluntarily’ choose to incarcerate themselves at home and watch the Maging Sino Ka Man Book One DVD with their women, when they could otherwise be enjoying really expensive beer.  ‘

Lies about Karaoke:

‘Far worse than our addiction to Sunday tsismis shows (You’re da best Kuya Boy) is the Pinoy’s inexplicable desire to sing truly sappy, romantic songs.  Admit it, my three female readers: during lull moments in the bathroom, your favorite pastime while staring at yourself butt nekkid in front of the full length mirror is to belt out a random cheesy song while singing into an imaginary microphone (my personal favorite is “Let the Love Begin.”)

Much like botched coup attempts, Pinoys have gained a level of immunity to cheesiness that would normally put other nationalities into a catatonic stupor. Think about it: We have kept Side A’s career afloat beyond an acceptable life span.  As a result, we often need a stronger shot of cheese to elicit any form of reaction. So we got Keith Martin to stay in the country for good.

However, I believe Pinoy men have merely rediscovered what our harana-warbling forefathers discovered a long time ago: truly mushy love songs have the ability to clog up the pathways to rational thinking AND cause hallucinogenic effects on both sexes (much like sniffing rugby or watching news on the government-owned stations).  If a man croons exceptionally well, despite his pockmarked and butt-ugly face, he envisions himself to be the spitting image of Piolo Pascual.  And if a woman thinks that he croons well, she then tends to reinforce the delusion.’

Lies about Comedians:

‘A May 2005 survey of more than 1,600 adults from the US conducted by Match.com, an online dating service, revealed that 70 percent of singles believe that they are most likely to fall in love with someone who could make them laugh.

In fact, it was sense of humor – not expertise in color coordinating one’s belt with one’s shoes nor building up one’s pecs so that they can use it crush castanas – that women cited as the No. 1 romantically attractive trait.

Now I know that God is just.

Because for every Marc Nelson and Will Devaughn and Derek Ramsey who have been cursed with sun-kissed skin, penetrating eyes, porcelain white teeth, rock-hard abs, and product endorsements that could pay off the national debt, there are the Vic Sottos,  the Michael Vs, the Vhong Navarros, and even – God help us – the RJ Ledesmas of this world who score with women who have recently collected beauty titles and high school degrees.  The average Pinoy must be doing anatomically improbable things, like kicking himself in the groin, asking himself how RJ had the gall to include himself in the list. Besides being awash with money, cars, and fame – save for RJ – what else do these funny men have going for them?

Apparently, “funny men” have the ability to boost the endorphin levels in women.  Endorphins are biologically produced chemicals that are probably the best way to achieve a natural high.  Endorphins produce four key effects on the body: they enhance the immune system, they relieve pain, they reduce stress and they postpone the aging process.  Endorphin levels increase when people laugh really hard or when they have scandal-video worthy sex – because of these experiences leave the person with a ‘blissful’ feeling. 

Endorphin production can increase to 200 percent from the beginning to the end of your sexual activity.  Since increased endorphin levels occur when you have sex and when you laugh, “funny men” hope to leave women temporarily confused and have them thinking that they are still laughing when they are already actually having sex.

But if you think about it, sex with “funny men” could actually be good for your health.  If he can make you laugh during sex, you might be able quadruple your endorphin production and end up becoming enlightened and immortal.’

Lies about Speed Dating:

The rules of speed-dating were fairly simple: Singles gather at a café or other venues where they will not be subject to much public humiliation.  Armed with a nametag, a “scorecard”, well-rehearsed answers to possible questions, pick up lines downloaded from the internet and a sparkling personality, the couples are paired off on their “first date”.  They are allowed to discuss anything except for their fetishes and whether or not they have been in long-term relationships with domesticated animals.

After three minutes of conversation, a bell is rung, and the coordinators tell the participants to move on to their next date or else they will be flogged until they have gone through twenty-four dates.  Think of this as fast-food dating. And the best thing about speed dating is that, unlike a vasectomy, you can always rejoin speed dating events as many times as your budget allows unless the organizers ban you for aesthetic reasons. 

Like prophylactics, the organizers assert that speed dating is safe dating because there are standards that must be upheld.  Women demand that the men participating in speed-dating are certifiably single, have a credit limit beyond P5,000 and have no criminal records. Men demand that the women have a pulse. 

Lies about Dealing with an angry woman:

‘Whenever my girlfriend gets angry with me, the image that comes to my mind is that of the Hindu goddess Kali.

In the Hindu mythological text Markanderya Purana, Kali springs forth from the forehead of the goddess Durga when Durga is in a fit of divine feminine anger.  The goddess Kali sports a frightening countenance.  She is dripping with blood and encircled with snakes while a necklace of human skulls carelessly dangles around her neck. She has a gaping mouth, a lolling tongue, pendulous breasts, and she looks just about ready to make this world her appetizer.  In this aspect, Kali is known as Bhairavi, “The Terrible”.  Thus, whenever my girlfriend gets terribly, divinely angry with me, it takes a supreme effort on my part not to soil my underwear and avoid making comments about pendulous breasts.

For my fellow males who do not want to become part of a necklace, there are certain rules that you must obey when confronted by female anger.  There are de facto rules that I discovered as I went through seventeen brief lives as a cockroach stain on my girlfriend’s floor.

The first rule is that she has the divine right to get angry at you about anything because it is entirely your fault.  Her problems at work, her lack of sleep, her constipation, her wrong shade of lipstick, her future wedding plans and her PMS – all these can and will be traced back to you. 

Complementary to the first rule, because your karma being born a man, the second rule is that you don’t have the luxury of getting angry right back at her (and she will remind you of this as she dangles her necklace of human skulls in front of your face).  Instead, you can just have the luxury of an aneurysm.’

I was planning to copy my book in verbatim and perpetuate disinformation for free, but my yaya made me kurot in my singit.  ‘Huy, mawawala yung aking commission.’    

But in the meantime, my yaya has allowed me to share some of the germs of wisdom that she imparted to me as a chubby,  pomade-wearing, baby cologne-drenched, khaki shorts-clad boy of twenty-one that would put Robert Fulghum to shame:

Do not touch yourself in public or else it might come loose and fly away.  Do not leave school until I pick you up or else a DOM might pick you up.  Avoid watching bomba movies or else you will lose your hair.  Always carry a panyo in your pants pocket. Always bring your ‘good morning’ towel if you are going to get pawis.  Always wash with soap and water after you make doodoo (If there is no soap, then you can use Wet Ones).  And, most importantly, whenever you leave the house always make sure your your t-shirt is tucked into your panty.