I feel guilty for not being able to update my blog as I would have wanted to. However, it was necessity that prevented me from making my usual 2-posts-a-week updates of what’s down with me. Being stricken by sickness, in addition to the piling tasks of my academic studies, and a healthy dose of laziness that unfortunately kicked in during these past few weeks have stunted my fabulously prolific – albeit subpar, content-wise – blogging.
With regard to being sick, it was only a matter of time before my body caught up me. Apparently, charging through life at breakneck speed with a can-do-everything candor and the delusion that I have tiger’s blood has left me bedridden for days. It’s a tough pill to swallow, having your plans derailed by a measly flu and compromising you from your commitments. With that said, I took a different approach with how I work things out in order to prevent from contracting the shivers. So far, taking it easy on my work while appearing to focus on my studies is working out fine, at least, for now.
February was a stinky month for me, but I was able to come up smelling roses at the last minute when I celebrated my third anniversary with girlfriend. Since there was no 29 for February of this year, I had to compensate by spending the anniversary on the last day of February and the first of March.
My first gift was a big-ass scrapbook, which is perhaps the manliest thing you could give to your loved one. I let my unbridled creativity loose during the hours working on that darned beauty of a thing, but something humorous happened during the artistic process. While extending my back to paste glittery stuff for my scrapbook, I felt a sharp pain on my lower back for a split second, the kind of pain that haunts people in their sleep, and let out a squeamish scream that would make Boy George proud. Imagine a 36-storey building knocked down when hundreds of trucks ran through the first floor. Now, replace the building with a spinal cord and the trucks with a phantom hand that triggered the pain. I think that’s what happens when your back “gives out” or something.
So it’s official: I’m old. Again. But that’s not what irks me. It’s the fact that my back gave out the first time not by playing sports, defending myself against crooks, or playing scrabble at a tender age of 42. Noooooo. It had to be this pretty image.
The next evening, a simple celebration was in order: namely, a penthouse dinner at my sister’s apartment, with Pochero that I helped cooked as our main course, followed by a hearty serving of fruit salad and a glass of sparkling grape juice. We capped the night off by watching Morning Glory starring Rachel McAdams, Harrison Ford, and Diane Keaton (fluffy film but great performances by the lead stars) back at her place.
Again, seems like an ordinary evening from a regular couple acknowledging their love for each other. It’s not a weekend trip to a retreat house or a belly bursting buffet at a swanky restaurant, but I’d rather let the lasting relationship we have built throughout the years speak for itself. Now, I may not be much of a person, but I truly and definitely love her. Our relationship has been a life-changing experience that took me to hell and back to her arms. It was a blessed hellride of sorts, but this is no mere attraction rides – this is forever. And as with attraction rides, you never want them to stop. You’d want the loops, swerves, curves, flips, dips, turns, to go on and on and on until your brains blow out. I’d ride our love even without my seatbelt on and I will definitely spend eternity and beyond with her by my side.
My absence from the blogosphere has prompted me to spend more time with people whom I haven’t seen for quite a while due to conflicting schedules. My girlfriend and I have spent a number of occasions with this man, who I shall refer to as EPIC MAN, a former co-worker from previous companies. Our random encounters actually started off years ago when girlfriend and I saw Jennifer’s Body at the cinemas and wanted to get rid of the acrid taste of the film that clung on our palette by spending a bottle or two with people from our phone book. Upon contacting our choice people to no avail, we were left with no choice but to contact EPIC MAN in hopes of helping us forget everything about Jennifer. After a couple of drinking rounds with Sir EPIC at Padi’s Point in Cubao, the wee hours of the night actually turned out pretty well and ended on a positive note as we talked how we settled with him after numerous people turned us down for a drink, thus prompting my girlfriend and I to call him “second choice” guy, among other silliness.
Not until another year and a half that we met again. However, this time, no movies were to be extolled from our memories – just songs to be sung at a trashy yet convenient videoke bar (in Cubao, no less) after drinking our souls off at this ridonkulous bar at Pioneer called Central. (Sidenote: chocolate + vodka = Soco = Charlie Sheen = Winning.) Of course, known for his amazing singing prowess, EPIC MAN blasted through the greatest of great hits, all while taking a video of himself in his heartwarming, gut-wrenching, and stomach-churning rendition of Aerosmith’s Amazing.
So what of Lord EPIC? Let this serve as a tribute for all his accomplishments: for his courage in facing off difficult song choices at videoke bars, travelling the face of the earth to beckon the call of alcohol, and for delivering a smashing good time without the sex and drugs. Definitely NOT the sex. Cheers!