Al Jean’s birthday party. We went to the spa, sweated and chatted in the sauna, got a well deserved uber-relaxing Swedish massage, ate dinner, had coffee, shopped for booze then sat
at the round table with our moodlighting ambience, clutching our drinks as we waited for her to turn 26 at the stroke of midnight. The other girls arrived and we drank and chatted, drank and chatted…this time about some really sentimental things like what we regret in the past year, what we loved about the past year, what we wish for the next year and what moment in our lives we would relive if life had a remote control and we could push the rewind and pause button (my, my, we really are getting old). We also talked about the usual topics like men, relationships, sex, marriage, the heavy feeling on your chest when you’re hurting so badly (which Thiella interprets and graphically describes as many tiny dogs gnawing hungrily on your bloody heart). Al Jean made a wish and blew out the candles on her Starbucks chocolate cake. Inja got drunk and dunked a week’s worth of toilet paper in the bowl. The birthday girl wanted to cry so we screamed out the meanest and most cruel things we can say about her life (uh-huh we’re certified sick-ohs) but nope, she just laughed at us like a robot void of tear glands with a heart made of granite. It was Thiella who ended up bawling her eyes out for the nth time (damn you Erwin, you f-in a) as we all looked on, blinking away our own tears and giving her words of encouragement and all our love while looking around ready to protect her from tiny-heart-gnawing-dogs that might apparate out of thin air. Since misery loves company, we had a pity contest (ala “wala yan sa lolo ko”) wherein we tried to beat each other by highlighting how pathetic our lives are. I forget who won the Ms. Wretched award though. We also made Tequila Rose shakes, which we gulped down like Slurpees and had a condom-blowing contest which Eve won. Those who got tipsy drunk stripped down to their shirt and undies til we all sobered up and realized that it was already light outside. We cleaned up and got ready for bed at 5 am, woke up, had breakfast and lounged around and watched dvds like dirty cats (wishing we could just lick ourselves clean since we were too tamad to go shower). It was a great night and a great party. I have weird but really great girl friends. Like I said, same feathers. Lent. Bonding with family and with God. Spent the long weekend with my sisters, mom, dad and brother-in-law. My sisters and I went to Fort where Diche Kytes practiced her newly acquired driving skills. We went to Starbucks for cake and coffee where they bickered
lovingly about driving do’s and don’ts. We stayed home and lounged around and girl-talked like friends til dawn. We went to Church, reflected and prayed, watched religious films on TV and talked about prophets and prophecies. Diche Kytes and I set up our mini-office on the first floor where we worked on our backlogs. We shopped like the material girls that we are then rummaged around Ate Karen’s balikbayan boxes for junk she doesn’t want to bring to the States (they’re migrating to LA on May 9. sniff). We looked at our pictures from London and reminisced about our pubbing and clubbing nights there, particularly the night at the Liquid Lounge pub where I got drunk and I was dancing and screaming “I don’t care, I’m not gonna see them anymore” over and over again. Then I threw up on the street, (on all fours) while she scolded and said that I was going to get deported. Then we planned more nigh-outs here in Manila including Embassy Hiphop Nights and El Cheapo g’s at Metrowalk. I also bonded with my mom, opened up about my love life and she gave me advice and assured me that the legendary hula that one of us will follow in our Tita’s old maid footsteps won’t come true (but I could see her smiling at the possibility that I’d grow old and husbandless with her and my Dad). I asked her, jokingly of course, if it was okay for me to become a single mom. My jaw dropped when she said yes. Haha, that’s my mother. She asks me to button up my blouse and wear my Scapular all the time then gives me permission to bear children without a marriage certificate. A walking contradiction just like me. I’m definitely my mother’s daughter. 
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