Don’t go out, stay home. Tersely warned my horoscope.
I don’t give a rat’s ass really about my daily horoscope; I just pass through it for comic relief when I read the dailies. Oftentimes the predictions are hilarious. Plus I refuse to accept that my destiny is determined by the arrangement of the stars which may be dead by now, sucked in the blackhole in oblivion eons ago.
“Marami akong pera, daliii, gastusin natin! Kapapadala lang jowa ko”. She said as if she is on the watch list for money laundering that she’s anxious to spend all her money.
Her groveling American boyfriend whom he met loves to pamper her. He grants everything she wants, even her most whimsical, fanciful, arbitrary and capricious request (sorry for the thesaurus, I can’t help using the ‘whimsical’ word without mentioning the others. I don’t know, I think I am OC). Last time she asked for a video ipod and the next day it was delivered to her doorstep. I heard she is asking for and laptop and an air conditioner.
Starbucks, Morato. I think I was the most excited because I was the earliest bird. Paris Hilltop came next together with Tom Cruz. You see, Tom Cruz is a balikbayan from Saudi and he loves to wear his thick gold blings so that I had to wear my shades or I get blinded with his shining shimmering splendid.
A few minutes passed, we heard a familiar loud tonsil bursting shriek: “Mareeee!” It was Rectum Padila, our happy and gay friend who just came out of his/her aparador after years of hiding his/her sexuality. He was a teacher turned call center agent. This guy has all the makings a Greek Adonis: nice body, tall, dark, handsome, square jaw, curly hair, but he/she prefer to blow air kisses while dangling his/her arms like useless gloves.
Tom who just knew that he/she is out coughed a mouthful of expresso he was swilling. He sprayed our table wet including the Dolce and Gabbana dress of a girl in the nearby table. We profusely apologized.
I was embarrassed, so I announced I was starving so we could get away from the girl’s homicidal look. However, we had wait for our two girls who are chronic late comers. Yes, they love attention. Lindsay Low Hands, our group fashionista came in shiny red lips as if she has just eaten escabeche but forgot to wipe her lips (the shade according to her is, get ready for this, titillating scarlet). She wore a tiny blouse that I wonder whether she could still breathe; she matched with those useless belts girls wear. But what I was worried about was her huge chandelier ear rings that might tear her earlobes.
Britney Sibat came later with her new accessory: her 21-year-old–Aruba-waiter-boylet. I moved her aside and asked where she left her virtue and morals or her sanity because the last time I checked she is married. She assured me that, her new boyfriend knew she’s married.
We zoomed to Gerry’s Grill. I was about to call the waiter for prime ribs, sisig and crispy pata when I was halted by Lindsay and gave me a look she reserved only to those wearing 80’s shoulder pads and boston high waisted acid washed jeans.
Although I have a problem with the word ‘obliged’, I knew it was pointless to argue. They ordered a plateful of what appears to be crustaceans instead – those expensive sea creatures the prize and the size its shell is inversely proportional to stuff that you can actually eat. We talked, exchanged updates of our lives and compared our checkbooks. When the girls started to argue about pedicures and shoes, I knew it was time to leave.
Comedy bar was our next stop.
I was worried because we occupied a front table and we might be dissed and maokray-ed with malevolently glee by the homosexual performers. My worry turned out to be unfounded because most of the performers were
For some reason, while laughing, I was conscious about the manner I laughed. I was reminded of the Balitang K episode: Laughter according to a doctor can cure a number of diseases depending on the manner of laughing. For instance: a ha-ha laugh can cure heart disease and stress, Hi-hi laugh can cure stomach ache, ho-ho for head ache and hu-hu for constipation. While enjoying it, I took it as and opportunity to heal my self. So I shifted from one kind of laughter to another. My friend must have noticed it that she asked whether I was rehearsing for a Sisa audition.
“Guys meet my friend KK, she is half human, half science”, referring to surgery she went through to enhance her breasts, butt, and nose.
She gamely laughed and played along: “Actually pinaulit ko nga dede ko kasi medyo tabingi. Hawakan mo maayos na”.
At that point, she held my hand and planted my palm on her breast. It came so fast that it was too late for me to protest (I swear this is true).
It was almost creepy to touch a silicone breast… of a lesbian. I read somewhere that silicones do not burn. For some reason I kept on imagining her in the crematorium. I imagined, at the heap of her ashes are silicon lumps. I wonder how her family could fit those lumps in an urn or jar.
We were traversing
It must be the booze. The spirit of the beer must have opened the flood gate of Rectum’s subconscious that he/she unabashedly opened his/her id. He/she related all his sexual escapades with men as if it was his/her great achievement, including his trysts with Mario (our friend in
“Were you doing it with my boyfriend while we were still on?”
“Minsan!” he/she raised his penciled eyebrow in the tradition confrontational scenes in Philippine movies. I half expect that they would slap each other until they were both exhausted.
“Where!” I saw smoke coming from her nostrils.
“In the apartment. One time when you were out. Are you satisfied now?”
These guys were really best friends and they shared apartments. Apparently they shared everything including their boyfriends (though unilaterally). So...
“Ahas ka!”
“Ikaw sawa!”
“Pokpok!”
Enough said.
1 comment:
this is sooooo funny!
goodluck! lapit na results! am sure you'll make it.
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