Now Look At That Face, It's So Old

Oh, the pain in my arms!
Oh, the pain in my legs!
Oh, my shiftless body.
- Morrissey

This entry is going to take a lot of work, given all the wild developments that have appeared in the last month or so. On the 20th of November, for example, I was walking up the stairs to our apartment, feeling as though the evening was so nameless and ordinary as to deserve being cut short by immediate sleep, when a cursory glance at one of the steps caused me to stop in my tracks, saucer-eyed and open-mouthed.

What I saw then was, by far, the most arresting thing I had ever seen in my entire life. Some activity could be detected inside a crack on the step, and closer inspection revealed that an entire family of miniature people was dancing the salsa right there, complete with costumes and music! I swear to god I saw this. I mean, thumb-sized people just gyrating there, and a lot of them were wearing nice little feather boas and slugging back a lot of miniaturized Pale Pilsens. I am not fabricating this, I swear to god. Then the lillitputians all began dancing around my feet, and we shared beer and exchanged phone numbers, although I do not intend to be friends with them.

So let's move on from that event and go on to the rest of the past month's most exciting parts, or, as Filipinos like to call them, happenings. I am unsure whether this is a Filipino quirk or not, although I am quite certain that happenings, as a word, does not exist. Do correct me if I'm wrong.

But yes, where were we. HAPPENINGS! First to come up was my birthday, on which I inexorably turned 25. This age has always been a continent floating far away from where I was – until this year, that is. 25 was not a possibility in my book, and it was ranged alongside other fictitious entities, such as Perseus and Bigfoot and Ben Affleck's acting prowess. We are thus talking about an age that I had never imagined myself crossing into, except that the impossible happened on the 5th of November this year, and I am now under the mercy of liver spots and wrinkles and arthritic limbs.

HAHA, I'M KIDDING! I'm still as spry and flexible as ever, so much so that I can still contort myself into an improbable position where one of my feet ends up right above my head. I am not kidding. It's a simple matter, executed only when I am seated. The procedure involves the act of grasping my leg, pushing thigh against belly, and finally positioning my foot overhead. Please do not attempt this in haste, because only a huge amount of natural skill will enable you to do this, and I am clearly a talented person. I can also squeeze my entire fist into my mouth.

So I turned 25, and Jose and I celebrated (!) this fact over rare steaks at House of Minis. This was the first time I had ever had my steak rare, and while the whole experience was novel and ridiculously delicious, nothing catapults me beyond the delineations of pleasure than a medium-rare steak can. Wait, no, sex does that, too. You are probably wishing that you didn't read that, but I can't recant the statement, sorry.

Jose and I, pre-steak.

I also humiliated myself that night by weeping in the restaurant, mostly because Jose's gift to me was the best present I have ever received in my entire life. He gave me his eternal love, the mention of which should be accompanied by an appropriate song like "Endless Love" by Diana Ross and Lionel Richie. HAHAHA! That was just for comic relief. In truth, he did give me the best presents that night, including a Tefal frying pan, personalized magazine covers, and the piece de resistance (which is French for "resistant piece"), an overnight trip to Corregidor.

My favorite pseudo-magazine covers

The frying pan was something I'd regularly fantasized about because I was getting sick of working with our present frying pan; it was beginning to develop an unhealthy obsession with any sort of food I smacked down on it. See, each time I tried frying anything with the damn pan, it would never surrender the food to me, and I would end up wrangling with it until it gave up and spat out whatever I was cooking. In the end, anything I fried looked pitiful, similar in appearance to sea cucumbers that had been mangled beyond recognition.

No more ugly pancakes, HAH!

The Tefal frying pan was therefore a blessing, but my birthday crying fit was actually prompted by the Corregidor trip. I had always wanted to visit that island, largely because I have a thing for ruins and places steeped in tragic histories. Jose had planned it all behind my back, which worries me now, since that obviously exemplifies his capacity for subterfuge. Iiiiii'm kidding!

Corregidor's famed ruins.

At this juncture, I would like to start talking about the Corregidor trip, but I will have to reserve that for subsequent entries, because I am too tired at this point. Unknown to you, I have been contorting all this time just to prove to myself that I can shove one foot over my head, and all that exertion has taken its toll on me. It's tough being a geriatric. Hand me that bottle of Omega liniment, please, and bring me a couple of Dr. P adult diapers. Thank you.