18.10.03; Single and Shopping on Saturday; 22:12
Days after the desired regularization: 17. No. of published articles out of my brief existence: 1. Yippee! Yahoo! Yehey! No. of articles submitted on time for the next issue: 1. This month’s vaginal event: The arrival of Joan and the subsequent logging in my virgin forest. Impact: Signal # 2; stronger than last month but weaker than my previous periods. Joke of the Week: The disappointing misrouting of everyone’s (at work) attempts to reach Friendster to our HR’s site. This week’s overplayed and overrated song (or is it a vehicle?): Britney Spears featuring Madonna in “Me Against the Music“. Extent: It made Martin Nievera’s “Buddy Language” as music to my dying soul. Days before the 2nd highlight of October 2003: 3. This week’s greatest compliment: Being compared to Juliette Binoche for my high taste for films, literature and music. He‘s the same virtual co-habitant who called me the first half of the film guru twins. (Not that I don’t appreciate female friends who sent their taps in the back through text upon learning I have a published article before I end my first two decades. Sometimes we need to hear something new from someone new.)
After 2 solid weeks of being a full-pledged frugal fashionista, I actually embarked on another shopping expedition with Mami. Scratch that. I gave in to the temptation to join the shopping spree. I was only supposed to help select the formal wear best suited for the achiever I will escort that fateful night, but heck, forget the premonition of being a broke belle for the succeeding week, let’s prioritize my sickening urge to possess new clothes to flaunt at work. Forget the fact that HR went power tripping with the dress code implementation. I just need to throw money.
The best thing about this is the expected but effortless deep talks. We went discussing our celibacy inside the Redemptionist Church, looking back on broken relationships and mistakes committed, lessons learned, and the promising future. We quoted Hollywood bimbos, she segued to our transportation arrangement come Tuesday, I inserted jokes reeking of sexual frustration. That’s what I call conversation. And this led to the strategically located kingdom of McDonald’s. For the second time this afternoon.
Oversleeping is a rare disease when I’m in the comfort of my own abode. Irony is, I have no preventive measure to fall victim to its curse when I’m on my way home. This afternoon, I woke up a hundred steps away from my destination and hearing the full blast announcement that the American president has reached the local shores. I had to detour by foot since typically hospitable Filipinos allotted a lane for the visitors. Believe me, I wasn’t surprised to see hordes of masa jumping up and down as the presidential limousine passed by them. Neither was I shocked to hear all radio stations tuned in to the blow-by-blow account of the eight-hour visit. Oh God. I miss Kris and Joey.
It is funny how an immature individual berates another immature youngster. The convinction in every winged word is too much. The need to levitate oneself is no struggle. I’m just glad I know better. I feel great I belong to this generation. But I feel bad to be underestimated. Damn this Peter Pan Complex-inviting lifestyle.