La vida es sueño

“I don’t know what i want.”

“I’m a walking doubt…”

“Relationships don’t work all the time. And people get back on their feet and try to find the one that does.”

“what we had wasn’t real”

FINALLY. Now we know how to get over this bugger. Thank, GOD. The whole ordeal was kinda getting to me for a second there. What have we learned from this mistake, children? Never show your hand and keep your poker face. Else, you’re just a sucker waiting to be robbed of everything you have, including your dignity and pride.

In true fashion, I leave you an excerpt from Spanish playwright Pedro Calderón de la Barca, La vida es sueño (Life is a Dream), which, I think, is only appropriate to celebrate this joyous occasion. (And just in case you’re curious about the play, here’s a LINK to the English translation over at Project Gutenberg. Go click! It’s free! And educational!)

I dream that I am here
of these imprisonments charged,
and I dreamed that in another state
happier I saw myself.
What is life? A frenzy.
What is life? An illusion,
A shadow, a fiction,
And the greatest profit is small;
For all of life is a dream,
And dreams, are nothing but dreams.

No one can live up to a dream. And the dream is .. well .. a dream. We all need to wake up from it, however way we can and go on with life – we cry, we move, we change, we cope, we settle. I don’t want a dream. I want to have a reality that comes with lows. I want that reality that has lazy Monday blues, stressful Tuesdays, hurried Wednesdays, thirsty Thursdays, pasta/wine/movie on Fridays, football matches on Saturdays, grocery shopping on Sundays, and a whole lot of reality in between. And maybe, when the realities have become a part of life, when that dance has been perfected over time, I can see glimpses of the past dream and say to myself, “Why bother dreaming? This reality is so much better.”

*hits DELETE*

In hindsight, I think that I am grateful The Douchebag was a douchebag. I don’t think I would have survived the heartache of knowing that the person I spent six years with and contemplating a whole lifetime with would just up and leave me and my child for someone else. Granted that what he did was beyond forgiveness, I am just happy that he left me the way he did – battered, bruised, and bleeding. The immense pain had helped me detach from him and the situation far quicker than any coping mechanism ever invented. My pride had also curbed my tears and dragged my sorry ass out of bed. Getting over the breakup was, by far, the hardest thing I had to do .. until now.

Moving on from a crumbling, crushing relationship is easier than one that is perfectly fine. It’d be easier to run away from a building that was about to come down on you and kill you than fleeing one that had no problem whatsoever, except for the tiny fact that you just had to leave it. I suppose that there was greater heartache over The Unhelpful Git Saga than there was The Douchebag simply because the former was not a douchebag. Would I have prefered that he had been one? Of course not. I do not wish that men instataneously turn into assholes the moment they want to break up with someone because that would just leave us with assholes and/or cowards. It’s just a different challenge in getting over this particular breakup altogether. There are elements that make this reminiscent of previous ones, but there are also tiny details that make it totally different from everything else. There is no black and white, there is no one in the right or wrong, it’s just a whole gray area that I don’t know how to deal with. No matter how I try to scream at it, cry over it, or drink it away, in the morning, it’s still a fucking gray area.

The situation is drab, dreary, in a perpetual limbo perhaps because I let it to be. But I’ve been in limbo long enough. Eventually, my pride will, once again, have to get me up out of bed, wash my face, and send me off into the real world where my feelings do not matter .. should not matter. But as for now, I still am in that gray goop, lost in my own selfish thoughts. No, there is no need for another Intervention. I think I’m good with one intervention a lifetime.

I just need to purge.
I just need to forget.
I just need to erase.

Excuse me while I start with his phone number.

“Parang may amnesia”

“I think you should move on. I think we both should.”

AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA
HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Tangena, kung may award sa mundo para sa mga taong gago, isa na siya sa mga makakatanggap nito. Hay nako. Maraming tanga. Maraming gago. Maraming putanginag hayup sa mundong bigyan ka ba naman ng ganyang linya. Alam mo anong pwede mong gawin sa linyang yan? Saksak mo sa putanginang baga mo. Leche. Panalo ka na, okay? Winner ka na. Linya pa lang .. shet. Shet ka talaga. Pero sige, kung ganun eh di ganun. Wala na akong ibang magawa pa. Binigay ko na ang lahat-lahat. Sobra-sobra na nga eh. Oo, hindi sa kasi hinigi mo pero kusang-loob ko binigay. Siguro sabihin na lang natin na isang malaking pagkakamali ‘to. Ang galing kasi ng payo mo eh. Parang hindi ko naisip yun diba? Wow ha! Yun lang pala ang solusyon eh! Pucha. Pinahirapan ko pa sarili ko. Galing mo, mehn.

Sige, sige. Ganun na lang gagawin natin. Mahirap talaga kasi akong mahalin kasi: 1) masama akong tao, 2) masyado akong komplikado intindihin, 3) hindi ko alam ang gusto ko, o 4) lahat ng dahilan sa mundo. Sabi nga nila, kung gusto, maraming paraan at kung ayaw, maraming dahilan. Eto na po. Magmo-move on na po. Kala mo naman kagwapuhan at kabaitan na kelangan iyakan. Shet ka!

Shempre kunwari may sinabing dapat matagal nang nasabi pa pero nung pinapasabi ito ulit, papilit pa siya. Nge. Gago. O ano ngayon? Aanhin ko yung mga sinabi mo? Parang tanga. Napakalaking tanga. Ewan ko ba sa’yo. Wala akong panahon pilitin kang mag-mature. Bahala ka sa buhay mo. AT SHEMPRE KELANGAN ONE YEAR FROM TODAY DIBA?! PESTE!

Taon-taon na lang kelangan nating gawin pero wala akong magagawa. Ganun talaga ang nangyayari. Marami lang talaga akong taeng nakikilala. Pakshet. (Sana pwedeng Ingles itong isulat kasi mas marami akong murang alam sa lingguaheng yun pero hindi pwede kasi mahiyain akong tao. WAHAHAHHAHA!) Yung yakap pala ni Mrs. Lovely Bouquet ay foreshadowing na parang sabi, “Sorry ha. Mahal ka niya pero di ka ganun kamahal. ” Kumbaga sa Ingles, “He’s just not that into you.” O. Nagkaroon bigla ng English ang post ko. Putangina wala na akong pakialam. Ikanta na lang natin ito sa tono ni Avril Lavigne kasi tigasin siya palibhasa marunong siyang maglagay ng eyeliner at kulayan ang kanyang buhok. Isa pa yung parang tanga.

FORGOTTEN
by Avril Lavigne

I’m giving up on everything
Because you messed me up
Don’t know how much you
Screwed it up
You never listened
That’s just too bad
Because I’m moving on
I won’t forget
You were the one that was wrong
I know I need to step up and be strong
Don’t patronize me
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

[Chorus:]
Have you forgotten
Everything that I wanted
Do you forget it now
You never got It
Do you get it now

Gotta get away
There’s no point in thinking about yesterday
It’s too late now
It won’t ever be the same
We’re so different now
Yea yea yea yea yea

[Chorus]

I know I wanna run away
I know I wanna run away
Run away
If only I could run away
If only I could run away
Run away
I told you what i wanted I
I told you what i wanted
What I wanted
But I was forgotten
I won’t be forgotten
Never Again

Tama. May Gago sa Madrid.

I stand for the power to change

Two weeks have passed since 2009 arrived on my doorstep and I have let it beat me into a pathetic heap of tears and wine residue. In all honesty, I have never really seen the point in making a New Year’s Resolution since so many people falter with theirs mere days after making the damn things. Last year I made one or sort of – No bullshit. And I stuck to my guns as best I could. It didn’t work out perfectly, but I felt a little bit better knowing that I could do something I set my mind to. Heck, the ‘No bs’ resolution is nothing compared to when I set my mind to raising a kid, walking away from a six-year relationship, and laying my heart on the line. And here I thought I didn’t do anything last year.

Let’s step it up a notch this year and actually verbalize the change we want to see in ourselves. This is not just because I cannot stand to see my last post be about some guy who just couldn’t be bothered, but I need to know that I am strong enough to take on the rest of the world when it calls me out on my resolutions. It’s scary when you write something down for all the world to see or tell someone your innermost dreams *coughsoccermomcough*. The moment it escapes you, it’s as if it’s free to roam and be crushed by anyone. Well, guess what? The year and a half was nothing but months of painstakingly learning how to take the crush and let go of the pulverized hopes from your hands. It’s done. It’s gone. Your hands are empty, free to receive and grab newer, bigger, better things. Preferrably, 2009 by the balls.

Words are sexy too. Don’t believe me?
Ask Marina Orlova.

5. I resolve to read at least 6 books this year.
I have been struggling to read Artemesia for the longest time. I’ve allotted myself a few more weeks to finish it before I start groping and salivating for another bookshelf addition. But if you want to commend my efforts in powering through a ridiculously adjective-filled art history book, I have a few more in mind.

“You don’t run, not when you’re with us… You stand your ground and fight!”

4. Less ‘HATE’ posts.
Only at number 4 and already I’m attempting the impossible. Well, this blog is not known to be the happiest blog in the land but I need to balance the good with the bad. People say when I walk, I look like I’m off to a brawl. It’s true, my posts reflect my daily life. I just don’t want to break a neck being not hateful. That’s all I ask.

Because I have a distorted view of what I should look like.

3. Workout, diet, or purge.

This shall be the year that I will get skinnier/thinner/un-American and I have given myself three poisions options – workout, diet, or purge. Obviously there are pros and cons to each one and I am not quite sure which method I want to die to. Perhaps a combination of the three. But as Oprah is my witness, I shall be skinner not be fat this year.

Tools of The Devil

2. No more drunken (international) phone calls.
I’m tired of making an effort.

1. ROCK ON.
I have only a handful of regrets and none that rob me of my sleep at night. In that aspect, I think I’m doing okay. I’m not, by any means, content with life. I’m not, by any means, fully healed. There is still more to see and much healing to be done. I may need to travel and I may need to forget some people but if that is what it takes, then trust that I’ll be on that plane off to have great adventures and replace old memories with new ones.

*raises right hand* I promise to keep learning from my great friends who know the value of sacrifice, who is willing to wait no matter what, who sees the brighter side of things, who has the same dreams as me, and who are brave enough to love me in spite of my shortcomings.

5 resolutions and an oath. If 2009 thinks it’s got me licked, it’s got another thing comin’.

Mirage

Last night, I was hurrying along the streets on my way to meet a couple of friends. I took the underpass and emerged on the other side, breathless from the walk up. As my eyes worked their way from the steps I took to the street coming up before me, I thought I saw him. My breath stopped. Same shoes, same shirt, same hair, same swagger. I stopped mid-stride and  closed my eyes for a second. It could NEVER be him. It would NEVER be him again. I took a deep breath and without even bothering to look at the doppleganger, trudged onwards with the cold winds whipping about me.

Single Ladies

Oh dear God. What has this blog  become? Posts on weddings and coupling and baby making and such? Que horror! As far as I can knowingly count, there aren’t too many married people reading this blog. There isn’t even a couple reading this blog. Hell, I don’t think there’s ANYONE reading this blog. But for those who are (but never speak up) or are just passing through and are hopelessly single, I may be able to help you out! WOOT! Okay, not ME personally because that’d just be like asking Vinnie Jones to make souffle, but I’m reposting a little something for the single ladies out there. Achtung! I know there’s at least two of you reading this so pay close attention. God knows we need all the help we can get.

10 Ways to Get a Guy to Ask You Out

Article says: 1. Be yourself. Few things put a man off as much as artifice. So if you are talking louder or laughing or smiling more than you normally do, ease up. It may actually backfire.

Uneditedmara says: For those who know that they run on a little extra crazy juice, can we tone down the mental instability just a smidgen? But other than that, you’re WONDERFUL! You’re GREAT! You’re BEAUTIFUL!

Article says: 2. Extend this point to external appearances too. If you are uncomfortable with very short skirts, high heels and dramatic make-up stay clear of them. A natural look and one that you are comfortable with, is very attractive.

Uneditedmara says: No one expects you to look like Angelina Jolie or Alessandra friggin’ Ambrosio unless you stupidly advertised yourself to be such. Dress like a normal human being. Run a comb through your hair and make sure you pop a Smint or two before meeting the dude.

Article says: 3. Accentuate your advantages. Instead of killing your confidence by following uncomfortable fashion trends, look exquisite by just accentuating your physical advantages. Whether the most beautiful thing about you is your height, your complexion, your eyes or anything else, draw attention to it with flattering clothes and make-up.

Uneditedmara says: When you feel that there’s really nothing you can do or are too lazy to look presentable, you better be well-read. And a brilliant fucking conversationalist. If you still need help in that department, come see me. I give classes every Thursday at the local Y.

Article says: 4. Take the initiative. Shrinking coy violets rarely get noticed. So don’t wait the entire evening praying fervently that he will talk to you. Do it first. Smile or say hello to him. Your confidence will disarm him.

Uneditedmara says: Rejection is a bitch and regret is a bigger prison bull dyke. Besides, no one has yet died of actual embarrassment. Get up and talk to him.

Article says: 5. Leave small gates and windows open. After you have surmounted that initial wall, leave small gates and windows open. Respond to him physically and verbally with frequent glances and smiles, commenting on the topics and statements he makes and laughing at his jokes. He will realize that you are interested in him.

Uneditedmara says: As long as you don’t come off as a twittering idiot hanging on to his every word or not correcting him on the proper usage of “effect” and “affect”, I’m sure you’ll do fine nodding in agreement and helping carry the conversation along.

Article says: 6. Find out what he likes. Subtly find out what he likes – food, sports, cars etc and turn the direction of the group’s conversation into that direction. Sound knowledgeable and genuinely interested in those discussions.

Uneditedmara says: I can’t say this enough – be well-read. Don’t be an idiot. You may be no genius but it pays to know a little something about some shit. Do not make too much of an effort if you really have no fascination with what he’s into. Show interest but don’t kill yourself staying up at three in the morning to watch a football match that ends in a nil-nil draw. ABUSE THE INTERNET. Read. Watch TV. HAVE A GODDAMN OPINION.

Article says: 7. Position yourself cleverly. If he wants to make a funny statement or share a grin with just you, do not let others obstruct his view or access. Move around constantly so that it is easy for him to see and speak to you, without sticking to his side all evening.

Uneditedmara says: Do not attach yourself to his hip. But do not be on the other side of the room as well. Be in his line of sight and look into his eyes when talking to him. I don’t think this is rocket science, people.

Article says: 8. Have fun by yourself too. If you are with another group of friends, do not spend the entire time watching his every move like a hawk. It will spook him. Enjoy yourself with your friends, get them laughing or talking animatedly to you. This will make him wish he was with your crowd…and especially with you. If he walks over or saunters past, give him a friendly smile or welcome.

Uneditedmara says: Have fun even when he’s not there. Or even when he is, pretend he’s not. HAVE FUN REGARDLESS.

Article says: 9. Let him know you are available. Subtly indicate that you are not seeing anyone at present, particularly when you are about to leave, or see that he is. If this is too difficult, weave it into the general banter.

Uneditedmara says: Throw him a frickin’ bone, ladies. He might not realize that that ring on your finger is actually a class ring or that you’re constantly checking your phone not because of a worried boyfriend but your mother is reminding you to buy her some hair dye. Signals and hints can only go so far. Sometimes you actually need to say it. Hopefully you don’t just blurt it out like a retard.

Article says: 10. Discuss the right topics. When you are talking to each other in the group or just with each other, discuss topics that people normally discuss on first dates such as upcoming concerts, good movies, restaurants etc. Sound excited about these things without sounding eager and an invitation may just be a breath away.

Uneditedmara says: If you have something in common with him, highlight it in the conversation. Encourage him to speak up more and you better be listening on your end.

***

There. Lesson’s over, children. I’ve done the best I can to help out and advise (even against my better judgment). And if the problem is not being able to find a guy you like, well .. I can’t help you there. But if you do, you better make DAAAMN sure that you have no regrets. Life’s too short. Let’s live a little in 2009, eh?

Nothing like salt to go with old wounds

.. and a bottle of Jose, of course. Be well, my pretties, for I am not. The first week of the year has come after me and tackled me to the ground. And I, obliging 2009 it’s first blows and serving up first blood on a silver platter, shall remain on the ground wallowing in pity and misery. I don’t care if future plans don’t push through or behavioral breakthroughs beat down my door. 2008 fuckery just caught up with me even with my grim determination to leave it all behind. So I might as well do myself a favor and give it to that old time religion of PMS. And what better way to push me over the edge than PERFECTION PERSONIFIED? This is a win-win situation. You get some T&A and I get to be stubbornly depressed.

Marisa Miller for your viewing pleasure.

*hands tissue*

You’re welcome.

The End of Times

Some families gather around trees to rip open their wrapping paper and squeal excitedly at the prospect of receiving a “thing” for the holidays. My family takes out their wallets and exchanges money, counts money owed, money spent, money we just want more of, and hand each other newly printed, sequentially arranged, fresh-from-the-bank, not-even-in-an-envelope wads of cash. While other families sit down to a wonderful meal of homemade pasta, cookies, wine, eggnog, etc, my family gather around food and rip open takeout packaging and brawl over who gets the last piece of cuttlefish then down the whole “feast” with Coke ZERO. Welcome to Uneditedmara’s Christmas Hell 2008.

“You distract them with the exploding fruitcake and I’ll make a break for it through the bathroom window.”

Even weeks before Christmas Day, I was already in a foul mood from all the hoi polloi milling in the malls and my world just because they had a sudden surge of income and holiday spirits. *shudders* I needed to disinfect myself with all this pretension surrounding me. While shopping for my Secret Santa with my officemates, I swear to you, I wanted to swing my laptop bag at every fat fuck clogging the aisles, choosing between this cheap stuff or that cheap stuff. GAH.

Pedestrian traffic wasn’t the only thing that justified mass murder. Vehicular traffic was insane. I swore in six languages. And to think I only know two. Every imaginable way to murder someone crossed my mind. If people were looking to be nice during the holidays and ask God to forgive their sins blah blah blah, I was committing almost every sin in the book. I’m nice all year long, I figure God owed me a potty mouth for two weeks and perhaps a side order of gluttony. The Lola and The Stupid Sister has already picked a fight with me days before Christmas and THAT felt familiar. What would my Christmas be without domestic disputes? If I could just call The Stupid Sister an imbecile all year long without being reprimanded by the hypocrit of a Lola and call out The Lolo’s unfair treatment towards his children, that would make me the happiest little girl in the world.

Clinically Insane may have new traditions slowly replacing old ones, but the tradition that runs in my family is one that leaves you hungry on Christmas Eve and without presents or tinsel come Christmas morning. We don’t celebrate Christmas because The Lola doesn’t believe it, The Stupid Sister gets whatever she wants without having to wait until Christmas, The Lolo is always elsewhere, and I am just too goddamned tired of being blamed for this dysfunctional group of people. This year, after almost a decade of not believing, not being there, and not giving a shit about it, the whole family finally got to be at the same place, at the same time, sharing the same takeout meal. That monumental holiday gathering did not come without a little shivving and shoving here and there, ditching the padre de familia on occasions, and using a two-year old child as a scapegoat. There is nothing my family wouldn’t do just to NOT to be complete. It’s like one of those end-of-days premonition wherein the hero vainly tries to prevent the coming together of all the evil forces that, when joined together, have the capacity to send everyone to pits of depression and/or faithless existence. I am saddened to report that there is no hero in this story. Just evil roaming about in golf courses, malls, and your family parks. Run for your lives! Saves yourselves!

“I always wanted to be a Tenenbaum.”

Oh yeah, just to top the cheap, crappy melting ice cream, The Izzy was sick all holiday long. She threw up EVERY TIME she had to take her medicine, which is roughly morning, noon, and night. NICE. Nothing like the smell of vomit to cap off Christmas Eve. Imagine having The Nanny strap her down and me forcefully cut her breathing off just so she’d swallow THREE kinds of medicine before she threw them back up is one for the Christmas books, I tells ya. It’s bad enough that people make you feel like you’re The Grinch, it’s worse when you’re strangling a child while the Christmas lights softly blink on and off behind you, carolers on the other side of your door singing you angelic hymns of the birth of Christ, and the rest of the family looking on and yelling out criticisms not bothering to either lend a hand or shut their fucking mouths.

No warm fuzzies, not carols, no good tidings of great joy. Just me and The Family, doing what we always do except we’re doing it from the same Ground Zero this year around. Kindly take a step back as this is bound to get messy. Thanks much.

The Lolo’s 49th

The main man in my life celebrated his 49th on December 17th and according to Navarro traditions, there must we swearing, arguing, bloodshed, and a chicken sacrifice whenever The Family is in full attendance. And by full, I mean, all FOUR of us. We are all destined in different points of this tiny archipelago and when we get together, it’s almost always by accident. Being in my family is like being in a team. A team that eats its own young but a team nonetheless. The Stupid Sister and I cannot and MUST NOT leave the parental units alone BY ALL MEANS else the results are, but not limited to, eye-rolling, possibly gouging of said eye, lots of scoffing, and disinheritance. The Stupid Sister has to keep The Lola in check since they both have this laid-back, go-with-the-flow, no-sense-of-buddy-system attitude towards the world. Needless to say, they usually are the ones that get separated from the pack and eaten alive. The Lolo and I are forces that power through, and if called upon, MUST have the same opinion on an issue. The Stupid Sister will not, for the life of her, agree just for the sake of argument because she knows she is the favorite daughter and is willing to test this theory to the teeth. Did I mention she’s stupid? Yeah. She is. I, on the other hand, being the rebellious-daughter-turned-single-mother-because-I-disobeyed-my-parents, now have to deal with The Lolo since I (and The Iz) am partially (okay, a little more than ‘partially’) dependent on him and now have to stroke his ego. On occasions, we have seen eye-to-eye on issues such as The Douchebag and financial management but I have had to bullshit my way through grown-up stuff that he thinks I know. WTF? Grown-up stuff? Isn’t having a kid enough? I didn’t know I was supposed to have a finger on the economic temperature! I didn’t know that I was supposed to be toying with the stockmarket and dabbling in real estate! I have a 2-year old on my plate! No mas! Wait. Where was I? Oh yeah. The Lolo’s birthday.

We (The Lola, The Stupid Sister, The Nanny, The Iz, and I) headed off to The Lolo’s condominium for the traditional mananita. I have no idea where this tradition came from, if mananita is truly a word, or whothefuck thought of this early morning torture in the first place. Mananita is when you wake up really fucking early and gather the entire clan or baranggay or city to go over to the celebrants house bearing gifts and food and song. Yes, it is exactly an invasion of privacy and rude to the highest level. I cannot even begin to imagine the scenarios that could possibly play out at a 4am surprise carol. Hesitantly, I agreed to come along just to annoy The Lolo really early in the morning. They had planned a day out in Tagaytay after to which I had to decline since I had to go to work. 4am, my mother and I are already arguing, she’s already pulled out the Guilt Card (seeing as the last time the entire family got together was .. erm .. wait .. I know this .. more than two years ago), she’s giving me the silent treatment, and just generally being A MOTHER. GAWD. I could’ve strangled her even in my comatose state. I waved my white flag and agreed to come along. I had the feeling that this was going to be a loooong day.

*bickerbickerbickerPOSE!bickerbickerbicker*

Tagaytay was fun enough. There’s not many places to go to or not many things to see. It’s mostly just a city away from the big city best enjoyed with friends and family without expecting too much from the place itself. It was The Iz’s first time there so she was excited with The Tagaytay Zoo and the horse ride later that day. Though Tagaytay would not have been my first choice and Sonya’s Garden DEFINITELY not a lunch stop I was ready to make, it was tolerable since I had to chase after a toddler that had a penchant for getting lost, picking up things off the ground, and being a nuisance to other people. Hmmm .. she kinda takes after her dad in that way.

Running out of snark. Pictures to follow. *shrugs, crawls back into bed and under covers*

Booze and B’chezzz

I do not have many friends. But the little I have, I need to cherish them since no one else is willing to put up with me in a drunken state, in a pregnant state, in a heartbroken state, in a stupid state, and in a gityomuthafuckinfaceouttamymuthafuckinspace state. And so, even with the heart of a Scrooge and the attention to detail FAIL of the Grinch, the girls and I threw a Christmas party just so we could get together and watch each other fall on their drunken asses.

I got The Lolo to lend us his swanky, blast-from-the-past, leather-couched bachelor pad for our get-together. There was no dress code, no entrance fee, no pretentious socialites and was, therefore, THE BEST PARTY EVAR!!! Okay, perhaps THE BEST PARTY EVAR!!! is slightly overexaggerated. But at the time, it felt like it. *shrugs* That’s what cheap wine and pizza can do to you.

In attendance were The Bebot Angel, her plus one and my dancing buddy King Louie, Japayuki, her plus one HardGay (and his plus one Vandolph), my random guest and officemate MonTMI,  his plus one Stan the Man, Vivi, her plus one Big Mac, and surprise guest and college friend Der Furher. NOT in attendance were a couple of bitches namely Clinically Insane (who we believe to have been hooring it up in Legazpi or some shit place with her office people *sulks*), Annoying Couple, Debating Couple, and Bakla and Mr. Muscle. I want to assume that they had better things to do like make their baby into a twin but it was just plain pregnancy fatigue. BOO!!!

Me, StantheMan, MonTMI, Bebot Angel, and Japayuki

Vandolph and HardGay

Big Mac and Vivi

Der Furher, me, and King Louie

What does Uneditedmara do when it doesn’t look like much? *cups ears* Daz right – she ROCKS it, b’chezzz! I’m glad to have introduced Japanese friends (HardGay and Vandolph) to the customs of getting piss drunk and we to their beans and plum wine drinking rituals. It was a very informative and liquor-laced night. So what if only a few came? MORE BEER FOR ME! And the night had only begun. I do not claim to remember all the details. But from the few I gathered and the others I try to deduce from the camera pictures later that morning, the facts were these:

HardGay, we would like to assume that it was an attempt to ask for my forgiveness and get out of a bellydancing IOU, slid across the floor on his stomach. WITH NO WARNING. We like that randomness. A LOT. He was also the recipient of a crowd-drawing, solid-sounding face slap later that night. JUST BECAUSE.

Vandolph must have proposed three times that night. Want to get married to a financially secure Japanese man? Vandolph is for the taking, ladies! He likes taking long walks on the beach, drinking, and golf.

Japayuki, obviously smitten with HardGay (and him with her (or so we’d like to think so)), had drunk herself into a British accent YET AGAIN. But not before offering a finger to HardGay for bodyshots. Who here thinks that was hot? *raises and waves arms wildly*

Vivi and Big Mac brought Tequila Rose. That alone more than made up for their short stay. As well as Big Mac bartending and handing out JUST tequila shots to everyone in the room.

MonTMI came by for a few drinks with Stan the Man and shot the shit with everyone else. He has proven to get along with my friends, coming away with nothing but flesh wound. Well, done, boys. You get another pass to our next session.

Bebot Angel and I screamed ALL NIGHT LONG everytime HardGay and Japayuki seemed to be in deep conversation. We were already imagining our periwinkle bridesmaid cocktail dresses/coats decked in Swarovski crystals with matching Ugg boots.

King Louie and I just glomped on to every sexual innuedo flung about and tried to out-creep, out-weird, and out-gross everyone out. Guess who won?

Der Furher finally came out of hiding and, bearing a pathetic bottle of Maria Clara, was welcomed into the party like the prodigal son. When asked if he was still a virgin, he wriggled his way through the questions with phrases such as, “And why does it matter?”, “Why do you ask?”, and the most original of original qoutes, “What about love? What about morality?”

I giggled and spilled drinks like it was my first party in college. My dress, most particularly in the boobage area, had been soaked countless of times that night (due to liquor spillage and NOTHING ELSE getyourmindouttathegutter!), making my scent turn from soap and water to A Kegger Party Gone Right.

Around 5 in the morning, we cleaned up the place, just like I had promised my dad I would, threw all the cups and cans, and restocked my dad’s expensive wine cabinet with shit like Maria Clara Sangria. We’re assholes, we are. But this was our party, and just like Japayuki after too much wine, we can fucking cry if we want to.