hobbitual dates

Getting back from CDO just to work on your Friday shift, just to make the management happy, just to stay employed means not being in Chito’s wedding on Monday, not seeing Chinese Jesus. In short, what a bitch.

I got back and fell right instantly on the dating scene again. This time his name was Carlo and it’s the first time I’m writing down real names since there are hundreds of Carlos in ‘Pinas. He is soooo adorable. Again on my 3-inch stilettos we are almost standing at the same height he could put his elbow on my shoulder instead of putting his arm around it. Which is bad… These things are not necessarily indicative of a larger trend, right? Cause I’d stop dating from now on faster that you can say ingsihurharbaollooololchurbvaekekals. Insigida. First , the basketball players. Second, the hobbits! Waah. ‘Lang kwenta.

Plus plus plus, he is cute. Totoy cute. Not my type but according to Mitz, pasa ang mga totoy kay maoy ampay ni Ate! (Please pass on the totoy boys because those are the men I prefer)) Hahah! Carlo has a silver loop on his right ear as if trying hard to be tough but coming up kengkoy. Another expiration dater cause the boi is just in Cebu for the entire holiday week until January.

We went to go see the new  CICC and yes, asthmatic. Breathtaking.

He thought CICC was wholesome so next was Bean Spot in A.S. Fortuna for Espressos. He thought AS Fortuna was the most un-wholesome street that’s why he made the biglang liko which left me stunned. No, I didn’t sleep with him which disappointed Mitz (“Libre na sana ko lunch!”) and relieved my wallet. Why? Red Alert. Tsk tsk. Carlo was disappointed but told me he still wants to see me again. Awww.. pingis ang show.

Saturday was our team’s party at my teammate Ciara’s hause in Sto. Niño. Medrep called and told me he’ll be picking me up at 11. Come 11, he asked if 12 is okay. I politely declined to friends who wanted to bring me to Vudu themselves because someone’s picking me up. That someone didn’t call until 1am leaving me p’od so much I didn’t talk to him in the car all the way to the short ride going to Crossroads leaving me pissed more because I could have prolonged the drama if it was all the way to Dumaguete. The argument culminated in the parking lot after 5 minutes of silence and steely glares.

“Sensya na, sweet. My boss wouldn’t let me go.”
“I don’t care. You could have texted. I had to decline offers to take me here.”
“Why didn’t you? Then i will pick you up here if you went.”
“BECAUSE YOU TOLD ME TO WAIT. Never mind. I’m going inside.”
“No, I’m taking you home.”
“Since when did you start telling me what to do?”
“Umm…”

Then I got off and slammed the door for much added effect. He was staring at my back the whole time I can feel it burning a hole thru my bra. My teammate Chris was outside when I got into Vudu and saw how angry I was. I instantly told him about my crazy date and he offered to drive me home. Thanks Gandalf, let Frodo go home by himself.

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Seduce-able

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going back home the next time

Whereever spot in the world you came from, you always, always, come back to it. Even if you are a 45 year old hotshot living in this big hot shot city that gives you every KFC hotshot you need, you still cannot help but buy plane tickets back home. Just because.

It’s not just the idea of seeing what has become of the city. It is not the thought of seeing the people that make up the city – especially also it is not about comparing whoever has the best job, who has the most money, and who has hooked up with who. It just never occurred to me that going back to the city means visiting also the dead and wishing them to rest in peace. The trip back home was sad, melancholic, bitter. It was a reminder that not all rides back home always end up with a camera full of smiling .jpegs and stories of frivolities. It is going to make you dread what is it going to be .. the next time you go home.

My mom had my room cleaned recently. Before I could defend myself on the x rated dvds she must have found or the long litany of how much I used to hate her written in volume II in my diary, she beat me to it by saying, “…Just in case you ever decide to come back home.”

Maybe what mom wanted to say was, “It’s dangerous out there. I don’t want you ensconced in a casket the next time you are back home.”

Had it been ever safe anywhere?

Poor mom. Poor Mau’s mom. Poor all parents in the world who worry all the time for their children. It must be the toughest job in the world – worrying all the time for your kids and dreading THE call from people telling them that they no longer are coming back home.

Maybe. Maybe. It is almost days before Christmas.

To everyone who is going back home, please go back in one piece. I know you cannot help it but that is the best gift any parent has ever received in his or her life.

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