HOW BIZARRE, HOW BIZARRE

Monday again.

Got less than two weeks before a major deadline.

I wonder why I procrastinate so much. Is it genetic? Is it because I live far away, and when you're far from the hustle and bustle time moves a bit differently? Is it because the people around me (i.e. family) never (and I mean never) feel a sense of urgency?

Ah, the point of my thesis exactly. Hay.

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Last Thursday, I went to school for thesis consultation. I, being myself, didn't have an umbrella and had to be content with a cute, little, useless jacket. I was walking hurriedly along E. Jacinto when

Guy: Miss--
Me: (What? What was that sound behind me?)
Guy: Miss..

I turn around and see a somewhat normal-looking guy beside a vehicle parked on the street with flashing lights. Er, was he in trouble? Did he just run out of gas?

Me: Uh, yes?
Guy: Hi. I was wondering if I could get your number.
Me: (Huwaaat?!) What?
Guy: (repeat)
Me: Huh? Why? (okay right here I could have said no, but I didn't realize what the proper response was for this kind of bizarre encounter)
Guy: I just think you're nice.
Me: (WTF??) And how (pray tell) did you know that?
Guy: Well, I saw you walking a while ago and I just thought you seemed nice. So I parked the car and waited for you to get here. I just want to get to know you.

GOOD GRIEF. Of all the pick-up lines, man...I wanted to say sorry, I'm taken, and have it done with. But that wasn't really the point. There is no instance in my life, given any civil status, wherein I would actually give out personal information to possibly crazy people like the one in front of me. What a relief that I was just several steps away from our building. Besides, he could've made a jackass retort along the lines of "I wasn't looking to be your boyfriend I just want to get to know you so you needn't be so praning or prissy," which would have enraged me, thereby lengthening our pointless conversation in the middle of the street, which would get me even more wet because hell, it was raining. If he thought I was so nice he should have given me a friggin umbrella. So

Me: Sorry, I don't give my number to strangers.
Guy: (I can't seem to get your drift coz maybe I'm just that stupid). Please...blahblahblah
Me: Sorry. And I really need to go now. Hay. (Can't you see the exasperation level rising?? And is that really an expectant look in your eyes? Are you one of those psychopaths who would you turn dark and dangerous if I don't oblige? Yikes. I decide to do some steering. Hopefully not into a trap.) Hmm. Malay mo pag nakita mo uli ako mamaya, somewhere in the university (okay start praying for a non-serendipitous afternoon. Waaah!)
Guy: Well, I know we won't see each other anymore today (Yahoo! He ain't that dense after all!), so if you won't give me your number, I'll just give you mine.
Me: (Oh. Boink.)

He proceeds to scribble his number on the back of a Mcdo coupon. He gives it to me and I shove it into my back pocket.

Walk away girl, run, fast!

Fritz/Bong: Where are you going? Gusto mo hatid na kita?

Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh! As if I would climb into the car of some freakazoid whose name could be Fritz or Bong or, in his case, both. Do I really look that vulnerable? Is it the blank yet slightly pained look on my face? That's not kidnap-me-innocence mister, that's thesis-induced confusion.

Me: No, thanks.

He gets into his car then cruises beside me while I scurry as fast as I can.

Fritz/Bong: Are you sure?
Me: Yes!
Fritz/Bong: Okay.

And it was with irritation and amusement that I went to my consultation.

But I wonder now, if I had been in a bar, single, dancing and drinking with my girlfriends, presumably looking fabulous (or fabulously drunk), and someone approached me to ask for my number, would I have given it? Would it be less...disgusting and strange? Would that kind of behavior pass, given that context?

Ah, the point of my thesis exactly. Although I can't really test that little hypothesis on myself. Haven't been to a bar in ages. AGES. I'm neither fabulous nor drunk. Just, well, nice, according to Fritz/Bong. Harhar. And I have a boyfriend who (thinks he) is Supahman.;)

Speaking of...Hey bebebe! Happy 7th! Mmmmwwwaaaaah! Sayang yung Mcdo coupon. BigMac ata yun. Kainin natin hehe. Mwah!

Moon River

Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style someday
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going, I'm going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end
Waiting 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend
moon river and me

http://www.reelclassics.com/Audio_Video/Music7q/tiffanys_moonriver.mp3

In the year 2006 I resolve to: Become one with my inner sociopath. Get your resolution here

WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE (Journey into the Wonderful World of Psychedelic Colors and Eternal Happiness, Part One)

Has anyone seen that animated film Yellow Submarine? Where the Beatles travel to Pepperland (and they go through so much trouble along the way)? I love Pepperland. It's a colorful place full of happy people, and all you really need to save the day is good music and love.

***

We woke up very early that morning to bring Ivan to the airport. He had to end his vacation prematurely so he could go home and catch a bus to Bicol to attend a wedding. Anyway, on our way back to the punong (fishpond in Ilonggo. Yes, our house in the province is in the middle of a giant fishpond. Childhood summers were spent eating bangus and crabs, fishing using our hands only and falling clumsily into those little homemade dams that control the water in the ponds.), we passed by a relative's house to have coffee. I was sleepy and when I closed the car door I slammed it right into my hip. Strike one. I knew it was not going to be a good day.

We made another stopover to check the bus schedules and make sure we won't be late, because Papa is a stickler for punctuality and I really didn't want to witness another spat between him and Mama. We went back home, showered, changed and set out to leave again. The bus pulls out at 1045, Papa said. But as soon as we arrived at the bus station, the bus started to leave. But it was only 1020! Papa approached the dispatcher and demanded to know why the bus left earlier than scheduled. The dispatcher insisted that the schedule was 1015, not 1045. No, Papa said, it's 1045, you wrote it down on a piece of paper and gave it to me earlier this morning (he said this in Ilonggo). Lara where's that piece of paper? Show it to him. Oh yes, that. I scrambled for it in my bag and hurriedly handed it over to them, giving full proof that indeed, the bus was set to leave at...1015.

Oookay. Major meltdown. Mama and I started to laugh at the mix-up (was that really bad? It was funny!). I guess that triggered someting in the dispatcher, and he started to lash out. Then he threw his folder and walked out. Hmm, he probably thought he could get back at us by pushing his I-am-the-dispatcher-here-you-have-no-right-to-question-me weight. And that made Papa angry all over again. "I have have been in public service for more than 20 years and I have never behaved the way you did just now, even with the most irate people who come to me. We acknowledged our mistake already. No matter how irrational people get, you should never respond that way, especially in this kind of job." Then he walked out and called the owner of the busline, who turns out is a friend of his.

Ayayay.

We finally got on the bus that leaves at 1145. I took the window seat. Thought it was a nice comfortable seat, until the little cockroachES came out from little nooks and crannies beside me. Yes, they are little creatures I could swat with the sole of my shoe or my tita's water bottle, but I am deathly afraid of cockroaches. Strike three.

I changed seats and we went chugging along the winding road to Aklan. Two hours into our trip I heard once more the already familiar sound of stones crunching beneath the bus tires, but this time I had the sense that something was wrong. I am not kidding. Seconds later and rank smell filled the bus, and we called the attention of the driver. The kunduktor turned of he airconditioning and opened some of the windows. We pulled over and they checked. Torn fanbelt. Strike four.

We arrived in Aklan all dusty and tired. We had to wait until they fixed the fanbelt or found another bus for us. They did, 30 minutes later, and we hurried to it. Much better bus actually, except that there were already people inside and we had to sit way in the back, which Mama hates. And it smelled like fish. Oh, and before that we nearly lost our bags during the bus transfer. Somebody mistook it for his own and dragged it away. Good thing he returned it to the station, where my tita was growing gradually hysterical by the minute.

Anyway, we sat for another one and a half hours, watching the rainclouds form ominously in the sky (why did we have to go in December, anyway??) and the waves rising and crashing into giants rocks below. Oy, the Jewish would say.

The wind was high in Caticlan, as expected. We made a run for the nearest ferry. It was COLD, and my already battered shawl (thanks Len!) was limp with defeat and resignation. And then, while we were waiting in line, boom! The lights went out. Blackout in Caticlan. Oh go ahead, spite us even more. Strike whatever, we're out of the game.

Boracay has got to be worth all this shit.

***

It's like Pepperland, only with prettier, sexier people. As soon as we got off the ferry boat and dug our slippers in the not-so-white sand, we knew: Bawal ang pangit sa Boracay.

***

Welcome to the land of bikinis and hot underage chicks sipping Singapore Sling in the arms of their equally hot men-props. Forget about work, forget about time, forget about absoutely everything and think happy, sexy thoughts. Happy, sexy thoughts...

***

We were billetted in a small hotel owned by Papa's college kabarkada. While the place directly fronted a 3-storey grocery and its adjadcent palengke, it was just a 3-minute walk to the Station 2 beach. Snaps for proximity. We stashed our things, exchanged niceties with the hotel owner and went to the beach via D*Mall. I have no idea why they made up such a jologs name, but it was a well-lit plaza full of restaurants and little shops and even a small ferris wheel. Weird. They couldn't decide where to eat; Papa wanted to eat at a Chinese resto, and this was unacceptable because one, I'm not fond of Chinese food and two, you don't go to Boracay to eat at Mongkok Noodles or whatever place that was, of which there are dozens of outlets in Metro Manila.

I left them and went straight to the beach. Aha. Nice. I convinced them to eat at Aria, this place right on the sand. The restaurant lays out banigs on the sand, places a low table in the middle, throws large, khaki cushions all around, lights a candle and voila, dinner by the beach. Neighboring restaurants all along that strip have similar strategies, but Aria has a lighter ambience. You can lie on the sand if you want and stare up at the coconut trees, or watch a peformance by some flame-twirlers (I don't know what to call them. They dip ropes gasoline, light them up and swirl them around in cirsle. It was fun for the first 15 minutes.). Plus I was intrigued by the fact that it's owned by that guy Elizalde who's the boyfriend of Bianca Araneta (and the cause of her currently bulging tummy). Wala lang, chismosa lang ako.

In fairness, Aria serves up yummy Italian food at reasonable prices. Good eats. I thought, hey, the night just might end well, after all.

***