Over the boiling coffee of McCafe with a slight wind caused by a mild drizzle . . . I smiled. The dark clouds covering the afternoon sky was definitely in contrast to my "Sunny Sunday Morning" feeling. I could've felt like a colegiala being tickled in the clitoris for the first time.
It was a weird smile, I must admit. Suddenly, my monster of a production assistant looked at me and asked if I'm okay.
"I'm more than okay," I replied.
Then I started to compose my text message for HIM.
We have been planning for a meet-up (or date, or whatever you wanna call it) for weeks and our schedules wouldn't agree with each other. Me, being a slave of the entertainment and the events industry . . . on-call 24/7 . . . and him being . . . a . . oh well . . . . a callcenter boy. There had been a lot of re-scheduling and a lot of cancellations . . . it was like fixing the sched of Cher in her 4th Farewell concert and Barbra's ressurection in her current US tour.
Anyway, that very afternoon, the inevitable happened.
I told him where exactly I was and that I was supposed to meet with a client but after two and half hours, there was still no sign of any client. I could've made use of that wasted time bringing my rollers and blow-dry and fixing myself a Farrah Faucet hair, it was such a waste of time not until . . . . he told me that he'll drop by.
Suddenly, I felt that most of my blood left my head and went to God knows which part of my body. I don't know if it's because I was ecstatic that I would be finally meeting him again and that I would be able to cast my eyes on those beautiful eyes, well-accentuated jaws, the five-o'clock shadow and not to mention that "kutis-kamagong skin" or if it's because of the fact that I haven't had a decent sleep for the past 48 hours and that it would be a total understatement if I said that I looked like shit.
Anyway, there was no turning back . . . . it's either face the fact that I looked like shit and I had the guts to meet him or I had the guts to meet him and I looked like shit.
After a couple of minutes . . . . I guess that was the longest fifteen-minute wait of my entire life, I saw him from afar. I waved at him, I stood up and headed to the entrance of McCafe to greet him. I was just able to make a few steps when I heard the high-pitched voice of my client blaring at me like a wild goose whose feathers are being plucked at that instant. I just smiled and whispered to Bing, my monster of a production assistant to accommodate our gargantuan client for a while and that since she's late, I have to attend to a high-priority appointment.
I left the two monsters at peace for a while as I approached him and shook and his hand. My god! I haven't seen that face for a long time and I could've sworn to God that that face fucking haunted me in my (wet)dreams for years.
We went out of McCafe and began to walk. It was those kinds of walks that could've seemed senseless at first because of not having any directions at all but in the end, it was a kind of walk . . . . that . . . pardon me for sounding so Mandy Moorish . . . is worth remembering.
We went around Greenbelt in that dark afternoon and talked about a lot of stuff. There were a lot of catching up and a lot of clarifications because of us having a not-so-verbal relationship in the past.
And we walked and walked . . . . .
In ordinary days, I could curse that walk . . . but in that special day . . . those meters (or kilometers) are worth the walk.
I really do not know why I'm writing so much about a fucking walk but anyway, I really couldn't hide the fact that I enjoyed that very short time with him.
And then, we both decided to see each other again.
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My life has become an emotional rollercoaster for the past few months, that is also one of the reasons why I haven't really attended to this blog of mine for quite a while. Being a brother, a son . . . working your fucking ass night and day . . . having friends who sometimes drag you to their misery . . . . having a fucking boytoy who actually thought that he could milk you like a cow . . . is not so much of an easy task to do.
And sometimes, when we feel down . . . and when we feel that there's no one else left in this world aside from your-self-pitying-crybaby-suicidal-self . . . we look for a little spark of hope somewhere out there beneath the pale moon light, as James Ingram and Linda Rondstadt once said.
And then, you hold on to something immaterial . . . . to a faith you've lost long ago (or you decided to throw away).
I no longer know what I'm saying here. But I need to do my segue already or this will bore the shit out of you guys . . . . .
As our dear supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Mary Poppins once said . . . . a spoonful of sugar helps the medicince go down . . . however bitter life is . . . . however painful the last night fuck is . . . . we could still look at the brighter side of things.
If you feel REJECTION staring at you in the face . . . . . no worries . . . . we can all get hold of OLAY + . . . to battle the seven signs of aging! At least . . REJECTION can stare on a seemingly not-aging beautiful face.
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Another year will be added to my lifeline this coming November 11. I am hosting a party that very same date . . . . . . I want you guys to show your love and be with me on SATURDAY !!!!!
It will be a mini-event with a mini-walk-off of some of the most sought-after models in the industry. And also . . . a "Thank You Party" of one of my very special friends who left the "house" a couple of weeks ago.
This invitation is open to everyone . . . . big or small . . . gay, straight, or straight-pretending to be gay just for the fun of it or gay-pretending-to-be-straight-for-no-reason-at-all or whatever . . . . .
If you're coming, just shoot me an email so that I could send the invitation to you!
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