To my surprise, though, I did end up enjoying myself, after all—though not to the point of swooning and screaming like a wounded horse whenever the five Boys tapped their chests and pointed at the crowd. I was just happy to be out on a Friday night with my love. Call me a sap, but after almost five years in a relationship with the same woman, I realize that there isn’t much I can’t enjoy as long as I’m with her. Okay, maybe not overdue dental appointments, noontime variety shows or Pinoy Big Brother, but still. Whether it’s boy bands, EDSA traffic or bad movies, our happiness in each other’s company can see us through a lot. Good thing too—because since we’re both writers by trade, we’re going to have to go through a lot to reach our mutual goals of worldwide renown and head-spinning wealth.

Which reminds me of another Friday night, years ago, around the time I first got together with my love. I was out with the guys. We were at our favorite grill place, as usual, knocking back cold beers (or in some cases, cold sodas) and stuffing ourselves with sizzling sisig, which is not so much a food as the most efficient way to consume a hundred times your RDA of fat and grease. We were talking about the usual stuff: current events, past idiocies, then-brand-new technological toys ("Check out my iPaq." "Whoa!"), work, and, of course, women.

They actually gave me a little grief about the fact that I’m in love with a fellow writer. "Man, your hypothetical future children are going to starve," my friend C said. "Writers shouldn’t get together with other writers," another friend, J, said. "Writers should get together with rich people who will provide for them while they write their novels or whatever." While his logic was flawed, his statement did spark a question in my brain. So I asked them: would you go out with a woman in the same profession as you?

"Yes," said my friend E, without hesitation; he’s a doctor. "Primarily because I wouldn’t expect a girl of a different profession to understand the demands of my work. Late nights at the hospital, sudden emergency calls in the middle of the night. Sundays—family days—spent working." Would you actively seek another doctor? I asked him. "Yes, or at least someone in the medical profession. It’s a matter of finding someone willing to accept what you are and that what you do is important."

"I wouldn’t necessarily look for someone in my field," said K, another friend, "but I wouldn’t hold it against someone." K is a filmmaker who currently specializes in documentaries. "Say I’m gone for two, three months to shoot the mating habits of the Malaysian tsetse fly, or whatever. She’d understand it—but of course, you’d have to understand her, too. Crazy schedules, and deadline-related mood swings."

"I wouldn’t want a woman who worked, period," C said—he’s the brand manager of a brand that shall remain unnamed. We all stared at him. "I’m serious. I want it to be, like, I come home and all the domestic stuff has been taken care of. I’ll work, I’ll make enough money for us to be comfortable, and she’ll make sure she runs the household smoothly. Raises the kids. Keeps things clean. You know?" It suddenly dawned on us why he was the only one in our group who was not dating anyone at the time.

"That’s stupid," said J, who does design work for a video company. "I’d like it if it were the other way around, actually. I’d love to date some corporate babe who drives a BMW and foots the bill."

"That’s if this ideal corporate woman of yours will have you," I said. J, who has a strong belief in his own personal charm that borders on the self-delusional, said, "Oh yeah? Why not?" I told them about the previous Saturday, when I met up with M, a mutual female friend of ours, for lunch. M is steadily climbing her way up the corporate ladder of a multinational company. She may be getting promoted even as you read this.

"M was telling me about her ‘non-negotiables’ when it comes to dating. One of those is that the guy has to make more money than they do." My friends were surprised. They’re used to that kind of notion coming from guys, but not from an obviously independent woman. "She said that it’s a problem for guys, when they’re making less. And it becomes a problem for her, too, eventually. All that footing the bill can wear down your esteem of someone."

"What if the guy has absolutely no problem with her making more money?" J asked. "In that case," I said, "M claimed that she would feel that the guy lacked ambition." We were silent, for a moment. Here we had been holding up women to our own standards of dating, our own ‘non-negotiables,’ so to speak, and thinking nothing of it. It was quite interesting to have the tables turned, to be judged and perhaps found wanting. Of course the moment passed in a flash, and another round of drinks and sisig swept us off and away into other topics.

I heard recently that M is getting married; I wonder if she finally found the ambition-fuelled, top-earning exec of her dreams—or ended up realizing, as I have, that it doesn’t matter what your significant other’s line of work is, as long as he or she is someone you would gladly risk boredom and broken eardrums for, any day.