Don't pee on my parade

To my three female readers, allow me to indulge in some shameless plugging for this week (at least more shameless than usual).

To all the No Girlfriends Since Birth (NGSB), pick-up artists and the DOMs who read this column, it is time to break out champagne glasses and the ladies drinks! I am very privileged to announce that my third book Is It Hot in Here Or Is It Me?: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Flirting, Body Language and Pick-Up Artists is a finalist in the leisure category of the National Book Development Board’s and Manila Critics Circle (I knew that there were people who were critical of my book) 30th National Book Awards.

Yes, really. 

(Personally, I think it was my supine pose on the cover with my flora shirt unbuttoned all the way to my rainbow-colored belt that was the clincher.) It looks like all the prayers, the begging and pleading and the virgin chicken sacrifices were worth it after all. The awarding ceremonies will be this coming Saturday at the National Museum, so please keep those virgin chicken sacrifices.

Nonetheless, in true beauty queen fashion, I would like to say that it is an honor just to be a finalist in the National Book Awards (which I say through a plastered smile and gritted teeth).

Similar to my previous books, Is It Hot in Here Or Is It Me? is a collection of selected columns that I have had the privilege to write for The Philippine STAR since winning the 2005 Lifestyle Journalism Awards. So I am very thankful to Lifestyle editor Millet Mananquil for letting me keep writing my column in the STAR’s M section and to Anvil Publishing’s Karina Bolasco, Ani Habulan, Gwenn Galvez and Joyce Versales for publishing my books in spite of their better judgment.

Speaking of collections, here’s another spot of good news that will make your wallet a whole light lighter for the holidays: my first two collections — Lies My Yaya Should Have Told Me: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide To Whine and Women and I Do Or I Die: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Getting Married and Other Man-Made Disasters — along with other selected Anvil Publishing titles will be available at discounted prices of up to 25 percent at National Bookstore, Powerbooks and Best Sellers nationwide. This promotion continues until Dec. 10, 2011. 

(This promotion is also an ideal opportunity for my mom to buy several hundred copies of the books for her friends who will probably use my book as a paperweight.)

And speaking of paperweight, here is the bestest news of all for the holidays: my fourth book collection, It Only Hurts When I Pee: RJ Ledesma’s Imaginary Guide to Bodily Gases, Hair Loss and Pink Parts will also be published by Anvil and will be available in bookstores during the first week of December! (Shrieks of glee from RJ’s yaya.) Please buy multiple copies of my book! Not only will it make a great Christmas gift but it will also help pay for my daughter’s Holiday Barbie Charm School collection.   

However, here is the bad news.

I have stalked fellow STAR columnist and ruler of the universe Jessica Zafra for several years with the hope that she would write the foreword to any of my books. And despite the temporary restraining order, I still persisted in asking her to write the foreword to my fourth book.

And despite the prayers, despite the begging and pleading, despite the virgin chicken sacrifices, Jessica still refused to write the foreword. Attached herewith is her letter.

Not A Foreword

By Jessica Zafra

Dear R.J. Ledesma,

Thank you for asking us to write the foreword to your new book. How many books is that in total? That’s amazing. Anyone who says that publishing is dead has clearly not seen your masterworks flying off bookstore shelves. Or seen them.

And surely there is no truth to the persistent rumor that you were lurking behind the shelves, tossing copies of your books into the bags of unsuspecting shoppers. Who soon found themselves having to explain why the security alarm went off as they attempted to exit the store (“But I’ve never seen that book before in my life!”).

Seeing your byline in the paper gives us a sense of historical vertigo, which is the pretentious way of saying that we cannot look upon you without thinking of orange-flavored carbonated beverages. Not so long ago you were insinuating yourself into our television habit; now you have insinuated yourself into our reading routine — and in the same newspaper our column appears in. Had we the slightest doubt in the integrity and good sense of your yaya, we would think that you were stalking us. Ha ha ha! No, really.

Which brings us to the real purpose of this letter. We regret to inform you that we must decline your request. We cannot write the foreword to your new book. To do so would be to admit culpability in your writing career.   

It is distressing enough that you cite us in connection with your decision to write. Why must you mention us at all? Why can’t you blame Danton Remoto or Dr. Isagani Cruz, whose guilt is easy to establish since they were actually your teachers?

Of course a fair amount of collateral damage is to be expected when one aims for the complete and utter subjugation of the universe, but we cannot be held responsible for your misdemeanors against humanity.

We do not refer to your epic research on farts and the theological speculation on whether the atmosphere of hell is composed of same. Nor are we unduly disturbed by your thorough investigation into why farts make sounds, though the equation T (tightness of the sphincter muscle) x V (velocity of the gas being expelled)/r (radius of the anal embouchure) is not likely to pass the early rounds of the Nobel committee screenings.

However, we object to the images that creep into our minds when we read your work — images which you gleefully and unconscionably put there. Foreskins used for Chinese garter. Boogers extracted and consumed as dietary supplements. Earwax collected for the same purpose.

R.J. Ledesma, why do we know that one of your testicles is larger than the other? This is information that we could happily live without, but now it is enshrined in our memories along with the parts of the periodic table that were discussed when we didn’t cut class, and the lyrics to I’ve Never Been To Me by Charlene.

Thus you have made it impossible for us to be associated with your book in any way, shape or form.

Please do not attempt to contact us as we are guarded by attack cats who collect retractable body parts. Do give your yaya our best regards.

Yours truly,

Jessica Zafra

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For comments, suggestions, or advanced signed copies (with a kiss and a hug pa) of It Only Hurts When I Pee, e-mail ledesma.rj@gmail.com or visit www.rjledesma.net. Follow rjled on Twitter.