Birthdays, for most, are a time for debauchery and celebration. On a normal, non-working birthday holiday, I would have shared the dip plop drinking sentiment, but this year I face a trunkload of paperwork to shred (yes I am leaving, it’s about time Clementine), suitcases of clothes (borrowed) for styling to return without forfeiting the time clause, and an assembly line of writing and design debts that require my undivided attention and Tender Loving Creativity.
So this year instead of throwing one supernova bash, I’m keeping to small isolated explosions, each one made memorable by these groups of fabulous people who have shared birthdays past and will share geriatric soirees with future crumbling bones and calcium-deficient me.
T’was the Eve
As most know, I am a sucker for traditions, especially when - out of nowhere - the stars conspire and produce alignments that cause extraordinary events to happen. Or the stars create catastrophes that make me thankful for my knack for keeping a straight face at the most absurd situations.
The first Eve tradition is something we call, Coal Mine Overtime.
Seems as if I am required by the karma gods to render twenty four hours of manual labor just before I turn a year older. Two Februaries ago, I was frantically tanning Treisha’s bum, fighting over the airtime for Nicole
’s straw hat, and scouring the set for the cutest sunglasses for Karen B
-- all for the Sandwich Sunburn
music video. The year before that, I was makeup artist-cum-pornographer when I did a commissioned nude shoot with a ‘model’. It was one helluva memorable February 8 for me -- imagine taking guerilla nudes in the cubicles of Manila Penn, composing ‘tasteful’ topless shots by the bay lit only by headlights, and wrestling with the model’s seven-year old monster as he was, my goodness, hanging out with the crew. That one incident made me seriously reconsider my budding career in carnal photography, and I never did venture in these tepid waters since. Anyhow, for my 2008 birthday eve, I was in wag-po country showing shy women how to appreciate their own beauty (Thanks for the thumbs up Cher). This was the first part of my series of lectures on corporate makeup, a thinly-veiled workshop on confidence building using makeup. Not to debase all my other birthday eve activities, but this one made such a tremendous impact on my thirty newfound girlfriends that it set the mood for a new, inspiring year ahead.
The second tradition involves wine, dinner and song with Aurelio
. This started a six blue moons ago, when we defied all parental instruction manuals and instead, went lamppost hopping until 4am, ending the night with a little waltz around the Matahimik apartment to the beats of Mr. Marley. We’ve been jitterbugging since, but this year I made it even more special by adding a pillow-dive to my bed. I was simply too tired to eat, drink, or even take my stilettos off. Hence we postponed the festivities for another night. ( Day 1 - February 9Collapse )
And so the night turned to day, and I woke up with a feeling of distress. My article for Manila Bulletin should have been sent last night! (Sorry Kitten
!) And so I huffed and hummed the last minute editing of the Discovery Shores
feature for WE Destinations (this beauty will be out in a matter of days), debating with Lee Lee over diction and minor locutions that make writing (and editing) together a trigger for instant MMA bouts via Skype.
Upon submission of the much delayed article, Aurelio dragged me to the pick his gift. Aurelio is getting me a cat!
I’ve always dreamed of having one, but sadly, I was not fortunate enough to be born into a family that liked felines. Instead we have 10 dogs, one turtle, and a Mister Green Chameleon my brother keeps in the fourth floor. On our way to Tiendesitas, we were greeted with a stern warning: fluffy Chinese dog MJ chased a hapless street cat up a bayabas tree.
Now I have this one big flaw. I am horribly, awfully, terribly, indecisive. So imagine the stress I had to endure while figuring out which creature I really wanted. Kitten or puppy; toy dog or guard dog (I was eyeing the chowchow); Persian or Siamese; dame or stud; pomeranian or shi tzu -- the possibilities were no only endless, they were exhausting. So before all the stores closed for the night, I choose the first pet I saw that night -- and I took the naughtiest chihuahua I’ve ever seen. Everyone, meet Don Vito.
I spent the rest of the night with my family, and well, playing with Vito. He's absolutely adorable!
Thanks Love! <3 <3