The Week I Turned 30

It finally came, the day that, in many ways, I have both dreaded and anticipated. I initially planned on celebrating my 30th birthday for an entire week, but due to financial restraints, I changed my mind about it. Looking back on the week that I turned 30, I apparently still managed to have a week-long celebration of sorts.

To those who don't know, the day I turn 30 was supposed to be the day I die. It's why I made it a point to accomplish everything I wanted to do in life before hitting that particular age. But, as evidenced by me still blogging about it, my supposedly inevitable demise did not take place. At least, not in the literal sense.

Starting the Year With Style.

One of the advantages of having a birthday in the first week of the year is that one still feels the "new year, new start" vibe that the first day of the year usually delivers. On the first day of this particular year, I woke up in the afternoon (after that night at Jo's I wrote about last week) with a slight buzz and a stifled laugh (the first text message I read upon waking up was one from Erin, which seemed to be an unnecessary reminder that I stood no chance). After finally getting coffee in my system, I got dressed and went to see my boys. The Critic, the Big Man, and Mr. Guerrero were all there, ready to down more than a few drinks.

Apparently, it's been quite some time since any one of us had done it, and with Mr. Guerrero (whose birthday was incidentally a few days before mine) and the Big Man and I "persuaded" him to use his birthday money to indulge in a few… gentlemanly pleasures. That's right, the boys were back on the strip club scene! On the start of the new year! Fuck yeah! Unfortunately, the actual events of the night did not deserve a "fuck yeah!" on any level.

I learned two things from that day. 1.) There are very few things more awkward than running into a former student of yours at a strip club and 2.) a strip club without any strippers (they have yet to come back from holiday it seemed) is nothing but a place with over-priced booze. And it was a little gay, all four of us, sitting in silence like that. Yeah, we ended up in one of those 24 hour burger joints, a true sign of loser-dom. Don't get me wrong, it was all fun for me. The whole day was just… strange. But, strange is good.

Let's Try That Again.

The next night, much to my sincere surprise, the Big Man and I once again found ourselves in that very same strip club. I dropped by the Big man's place looking for something to do and a little assistance with certain things I failed to take into consideration, and we ended up smack dab in the middle of the club widely renowned for a stabbing incident or two. There are things that remain constant in such establishments, one particular thing is how their services tend to get shoved down one's throat (so to speak). We went in, sat down, ordered drinks, and long story short, I was the unwilling (seriously) recipient of a lap dance from a bottomless menstruating stripper. (True story.)

Yes, I am aging gracefully.

Minor Obstacles.

The following nights were spent with the Breakfast Club, specifically, in the house of Mr. Team Player of the Year. It was during these nights that I faced a couple of obstacles blocking me from my goal of celebrating my 30th in a manner that I wanted. First, it dawned on me that I was teetering once again on being broke. With the production of the family project pushed back (and possibly shelved) the payday I was expecting obviously did not come through, and given the nature of my day job, it was unlikely I would be paid handsomely for sitting on my ass and drinking for the past few weeks. The second problem was far more pressing, as the possibility that the Scoobies would not be available for the set date presented a likelihood that the whole shindig would be cancelled. That second one affected me more, and led to a long walk in the park that led into me getting drunk once more.

While those problems loomed, I did still those nights with the team. I even had a couple of meaningful conversations (in the midst of all the swearing and dick jokes). The money problem got settled eventually, and the thing with the Scoobies, well… that one was sorted out in a very impressive manner.

The Day Before The Big Third Decade.

On the eve of my 30th, I went to Makati for three reasons: to spend my last day as a twenty-something in the most important place of my personal decade, to meet up with Marvi to plan something for the weekend, and to meet up with her husband to discuss possible projects in the future.

My favorite bar was closed, and though that was a tad disappointing, I couldn't help but appreciate the symbolism. That time of my life, when I'd spend Friday nights and/or Sunday nights at the Grill getting absolutely "ridonkulous" with my best people need to be put behind me. I had a ton of memories in that place, from my high school days, up to my college days and the better part of my 20s. It was time to find a new home, the way the characters from St. Elmo's Fire did at the end of the movie.

The prospects of working with Marvi's husband seemed promising, and I am excited to get on board, but the highlight of the night was Marvi. She reminded me exactly why I've admired her for nearly a decade now. She wanted us to go out for my birthday, and she just wouldn't take no for an answer. As we drank, she was on the phone contacting various resorts and other possible venues, she was drawing up a workable budget and balancing timeframes that wool eliminate both time and financial constraints on everyone's part. At the end of the night, the party was back on, and it was more cost effective. She made my 30th birthday party happen, and I will forever be grateful for that.

Surprise Shindig from The Breakfast Club.

I was already on a high from Marvi's efforts that I was set to call it a night. But, on my way back South, the Breakfast Club summoned me to the apartment that I would be sharing with them starting this month. Turns out that had planned this surpass party thingy. Now, I don't normally dig surprises. In fact, I fucking hate being caught off-guard. However, in all my years and in all the groups I've belonged to, I've never had anyone give me a surprise party. And considering that everyone is in the same financial boat (one that's about to sink) I have to admit, that shit touched me. We had beer and other liquor, games and brownies once midnight arrived and I was officially a 30 year old.

I left early in the morning, once everyone, aside from Carlo, was tired and passed out. (Seeing Jill drunk again was an amazing birthday present, btw.) I rode the van teary eyed, I'm not ashamed to admit, and smiling. I was teary eyed not just because of the massive acid reflux, and the crippling stomach pain that came with it, I've developed drinking constantly over the holidays, but also because despite all my planning and anticipation, it would be an unexpected gesture that made this transition of mine complete. I would have been content with the turn out of my 30th right then and there, but the day was just starting.

Turning 30 The Proper Way.

The big event finally arrived, and I was joined by the Scoobies, the Big Man, and The Critic (as well as the several children my grownup friends have) as we made our way to the familiar South to spend a night swimming and other stupid things people. The resort was merely a stone's throw away from the old college campus, which was perfect for reminiscing and shit like that. There was lots of food courtesy of Marvi's fantastic cooking (Marvi, incidentally, is now a caterer, and I will use this blog, as well as my other mediums of public expression, to pimp her services out). There were lots of beer, of course, and with the Critic bringing his own party favors, we had ourselves an amazing time.

It was an amazing contrast. The Scoobies are the group that I usually regard as my "grownup friends". Mixing them together with my boys, with whom I've had nothing but juvenile adventures with led to some pretty funny and, at times, emotionally fulfilling moments. We started the day by having a healthy conversation reminiscing about the old times, and ended it with me, the Big Man, and The Critic getting super smashed and running around the room, trying to keep one another from getting the last of the adobo. One moment that stick out in my mind was when I was in the pool, the highest one in that multi-level complex of pools that featured water of varying icky-ness, with a beer in hand and the full moon right above me, and the past decade literally flashed before my eyes. Of course, this significant personal moment was followed by more gibberish as the uncontrollable laughter came once we were back in the room.

The trip home was much quieter, but it was nice. It was peaceful. I rarely say this, but in that moment, I was happy.

Party's Over.

Alright, so now I'm 30. Like I said before, I'm supposed to be dead now. It's a long story, and if you guys really want to know more, ask me about it when you see me and I will disclose the sordid details. With an accomplished bucket list, I'm left to struggle with pondering the next step. I mentioned before that one way or another, 30 is the year that I die, and I have decided to make it so, in a far less morbid way. See, the past decade, my existence has been defined by my lifestyle. The majority of my most significant moments have been in a bar, or by doing something radically risky. (Another huge aspect of my life revolves around me and my quest for true love which, not surprisingly, often leads to more nights at the bar.) With that in mind, I am retiring that old persona and reverting to something far more boring. That time of my life is over. I'm Superboy no more. I won't be doing "indestructible" for the time being. While I figure out what I'm going to do next, I'll be partaking in the simpler, more boring things that "normal" people have been accustomed to, and hopefully, in sobriety, and downright lameness, I find a new definition that I'm comfy with.

New deadline TBD.

Ending the Year Appropriately

I bid goodbye to 2011, and I did so with both flying colors and style. (That's from an old running "gag" between me and some of my friends and consistent blog readers.) The final days of the year have been relatively more quiet, but quite alcohol-fueled (for various reasons) and they were about as memorable as most of the year.

The good thing about the final days of the year is that the most of it have been unplanned, and involved people that most likely I'll be seeing a lot of in the coming year.

Christmas Day.

I had quite a Christmas Eve. being a guy who's on the move 98% of the time, I welcomed the isolation and the silence that only Christmas eve could provide. Since the family does not traditionally celebrate the overrated holiday, I loved myself up in my room and for the first time in a long time, I slept. (After having a ludicrous amount of drinks with The Big Man, of course.) The following day, Christmas day itself, I had a surprise visit from the Island Girl. We had another one of those talks, one wherein I never could quite express myself properly. (I've always had that problem. I could wise crack anyone until the cows went home, when it comes to verbally expressing my emotions, I stutter like some retard on meth.)

Still, it was peaceful, and after she went home, I went to see the Big Man and the Critic (who were reportedly drinking at the time), hopefully to get my holiday buzz on and get some dimsum while i was at it. They were already passed out when I got there, so I took a long walk, glad that the fucking holidays were over.

The Day After Christmas with The Scoobies.

The following night was spent with The Scoobies (or some of them). I have come to realize that my days without the Scoobies have become more and more rare. Still, it was a good night as usual. We drank, ate, laughed and shared ghost stories. There was also a bunch of extras from that Asiong Salonga movie there, and hearing the anecdotes were amusing. There's something about hanging out with the Scoobies that relaxes me, even though most of the time nothing noteworthy occurs. I'm guessing it's a feeling of contentment I don't sully get with others, plus the fact that I've always regarded them as grown ups, even back in college, the expectations of a good night are different. Not lower or higher, but different. Whatever it is, being without he Scoobies feels right, which is one of the many reasons I'm celebrating my 30th with them.

Marbles once more.

I actually went to the office after Christmas, hoping that there was something to do. (And of course, to try and get to spend some time with Erin, which, unsurprisingly, I didn't get to do.) What was supposed to be a productive night turned into a night at marbles as a teammate, bored out of her gourd, wanted to go out drinking. The night was especially revealing. We talked about our sex lives and past relationships, as well as future plans of degeneracy. I'm looking forward to it, personally, and getting to have Mind erasers at Marbles before the year ended seemed like the right thing to do.

Another Road Trip with The Breakfast Club.

Incidentally, one of the last days of the year also was the last day of employment for a beloved teammate of ours. In fact, the team's unofficial name was based off of his person's nickname (one we made up, of course). So, it was off to Laguna with the Breakfast Club for an event many were pessimistic would actually take place. But there we were, playing billiards, drinking tequila, cracking jokes and for some reason sharing ghost stories. The way I see it, that initial trip to Tagaytay turned us into a team, that team incentive competition thingy turned us into peers, the events surrounding the Christmas party turned us into friends, and that night in Laguna turned us into some dysfunctional family unit. On our way back home, we parted ways one by one, and I'm hoping that every single one of them feels as optimistic about the bond as I am. From this point on, regardless of what happens (even if I get fired, which is a certainty I face every two months) I'm sticking around this bunch.

Lighting the Sky on Fire.

Much like Christmas Eve, I had planned on sleeping in during New Year's Eve. However, in typical fashion, Jo F'n Regis put me in a position to shift my plans. And I was glad to do so. He, like me, was spending the holidays alone, and he wanted to company. So I showed up, and the year ended with us at the balcony of their three story home in Sucat, with a clear of the sky as it lit up, signaling the end of the year. From our vantage point, we saw fireworks as far as The Fort, and for thirty minutes we gazed at that spectacle, each lost in thought. I was going over the events of the past year, and Jo, well, I'm guessing he was just happy he's starting the new year back together with The Therapist. She even called him, and hearing Jo say the words "It's going to be our year" to the woman he loves was the perfect thing to go with the fireworks. Once the fireworks died down, we geeked out, drinking Bailey's and watching a couple of scary movies like the bro-geeks that we were.

Of course, those activities led to my first official stupid act of the year: urinating from the third floor balcony down to the vacant lot behind their home. As I peed, I swear to god, I was stating the words I've found myself stating time and time again form the moment I met the guy: "Damn you Jo Regis."

The Best and Worst of 2011

2011, as I have mentioned several times before, is the year wherein the proverbial slate has been wiped clean. It's also my final year in my 20s, and if there's one thing I know how to do, it's to maximize every second of life, especially before the dreaded 3 and oh. Every thing is quite different now, especially since most of the old faces have been replaced with eerily familiar new ones.

Starting off with a bang.

One of the things I've always been proud of is that I've accomplished everything in my bucket list before I hit 30, and the year started off with the last thing on my said list: attending Li's wedding. I initially didn't want to go, but things kinda just happened. Lost a job just to host the damn reception, but I guess, in the long run, it was worth it.

The Stage.

The one aspect of my life that had taken top position when it comes to personal importance is stand up comedy. I started doing stand up late 2010, and 2011 is technically my first year as a comic. In that respect, 2011 was a big year, from popping my comedic cherry at Votre, bombing at Merk's, getting my reality checked at Gossip, warmed up better comedians at Kebab Bob, even earned a couple of TV stints, including doing a set at the country's premier stand up comedy show (which isn't actually as cool as it sounds, but it was an honor nonetheless). Of course, the culmination of that was getting to perform on an international level. Competing in HK's Takeout Comedy Club for their annual comedy festival is undoubtedly the highlight of my year, despite how much I abhor traveling. I've taken a short break from stand up, but I will be back in full swing come 2012.

Crazy Moments.

Despite the therapeutic benefits that come with being able to make a roomful of people laugh, 2011 also saw my supposed mental problems go into full swing. The anxiety, the depersonalization and at times the depression got so bad that it had affected my work, the one avenue of my life that was never affected by any personal matters that ever got to me. I saw it coming from the start of the year, but the early part of the year showed that I was also lacking in a strong support system. Eventually l, with the help of Jo F'n Regis, The Salesman, the Therapist, The Girl Who Saved My Life, The BIg Man and, most recently, The Breakfast Club (unbeknownst to them of course) I survived another year without seeking the professional help everyone thinks I need but don't really want.

Love matters and loose ends.

Everyone has weaknesses, and if one would ask my closest friends, my biggest weakness has always been the fairer sex. The year started out with me in what seemed to be finally a long term relationship that, surprising no one, turned sour. The break up occurred through text, while I was in the office on a Sunday, having another anxiety attack. It was around June or May, and truthfully, with my escalating personal problems, I never had a chance to mourn that particular break up. In fact, while writing this, it's the first time I actually gave a lengthy thought to the events of the break up. If it wasn't for the people present at the office at the time of the break up, I'm guessing I would've handled things differently. I no longer had strength at that point, but they, shall we say, lent me theirs.

Shortly after the breakup, I had some very confusing feelings for a long time friend of mine, but that didn't last, thanks to the Life Coach's insistence that it shouldn't. (This was also the year I decided to start listening to other people, hence the Life Coach and the Therapist).

The year also marked the return of the Island Girl, with whom I had a relationship that wreaked havoc in our respective lives back in 2009, but somehow has provided some form of bittersweet solace from time to time in 2011. Her return reminded me of a lot of things, particularly of things that I have lost and wish to regain in the coming year, provided I don't die.

Other faces from the past have sprung up from time to time. Ex-girlfriends and former potential lovers who I never had a chance to speak with one on one reappeared to establish the end of our time together.

Yes, I have loved and lost several times. More so than most people, according to a work colleague of mine. But the thing is, as the Salesman reminded me, I should not stop pursuing the ideal just because certain opportunities didn't pan out. Truth is, after the break up, I was supposed to stop dating, but in the Salesman's exact words at San Mig, "so number 13 didn't work. Time to look for number 14, or 15, or even give someone a second chance. Point is, you should never stop looking for happiness, because you deserve it". I needed someone to tell me those words for a change.

Fortresses new and old.

Another year, another set of addresses. I tend to move around a lot. This year saw me with only two glaring dwellings. The year started off with me moving into an apartment that I needed the Cheerleader, another ex girlfriend, to acquire. It was ideal for me. It was like a smaller version of my Fortress of Solitude back in 2009: big, empty, and detached from the outside world. Shortly before the Hong Kong trip, I had to move back into the mother's house, as per her request. She had purchased her own home, and left me the old one to share with the brother (who rarely stays there since I moved back in) for reasons, at the time, were unknown to me. Now, I obviously now, and it has been a great source of both excitement and stress, as I was requested to rejoin the family to "take over" the family business. That's still up in the air, and a matter for the coming year.

Disassembled.

The Big Man also made strides in his profession, becoming a manager and acquiring the services of yours truly, along with a few others. It didn't last, and while I could list several reasons why I didn't, I'd rather dwell on some of the good that came out of it. I have proven that I still, despite the failing physical and mental health, had the ability to juggle three different lives at once. Working with the Big Man, regardless of the circumstances, was fun. And of course, like with any endeavor, successful or otherwise, it was an avenue for growth, another "battle scar" to tell the grandkids about.

The Think Tank.

This year also marks the first time, in all my years as a freelancer, I have found a company I'm comfortable enough to plat my roots in. I applied to the Think Tank in February, and at that time, I also had the chance to work for a former company I had worked in. That other company promised a bigger salary, and the proximity to where my girlfriend was at the time. Usually, that kind of decision would be a no-brainer, but there was something about the Think Tank that drew me in. I love where the location, the flexible hours, and just recently, the people.

I never got the chance to bond with a lot of the people of the Think Tank in my earlier months, initially, due to the girlfriend, and eventually due to my time working on the BIg Man's project (it took up my nights). After the office was renovated in the middle of the year, and after the trip to Hong Kong, and the dissolution of the Big Man's project, I became witness to the formation of the team I like to refer to as the Breakfast Club (or at times,The Expandables, given the average waist line of the team). This particular story is just beginning (or, as Whoopi mentioned, the first season has just ended). Any TV fanboy knows the second season is usually the best season in any series.

Match Making at its best.

While my love life remains an atrocity, I have managed to get to couples started in 2011. One, out of admitted selfishness. The other, out of hope that I regain some measure of the dreamer I once was.

The first one was The Gadgeteer and the Cheerleader. He just got out of a relationship (a wild, short one with someone I also introduced him too). Once it was over, the Gadgeteer, it hurts me to say it, has been a tad clingy, showing up at my house and inviting me to drink even during my anxiety attacks or bouts with hypertension. I've always had the inability to say no to friends, so this had become something of a problem for me. The Cheerleader herself had become overly friendly with me, and as I mentioned, helped me get the apartment I've lived in for several months. I didn't mind hanging out with her from time to time, but the climax of this tale went down on the very day I moved into the apartment. She called me up, asking if we could get back together. I had a girlfriend at the time, and the solution seemed simple. I set them up, and they've been together. I'm not exactly proud of that, but it all worked out for the best. (I think.)

The second one was with The Salesman and his longtime friend. They've been in love for ages, and just needed a nudge in the right direction. That nudge came in the form of a six foot, borderline alcoholic comedian, and after losing a ton of money (the Salesman did, I've ever had enough money to justify calling it a ton) at the casino, we drove over to the girl where he professed his love and intention to commit while I ate fried chicken. (True story.) Being introduced to people as the "guy who saved my life" is always a reason to smile. I wish them luck and I hope they grow old together.

The year, in so many words.

All in all, while it wasn't a "perfect year", it was all in all a good one. When the year started, I wanted to ensure that I didn't have a single bad day for the entire year, and I did that. A lot of bad shit happened, but I never went to bed before I could do something that cancels out the bad shit. I broke new ground, and the number of people in my life has been cut down to a more manageable size. I had the usual crazy nights that had been the norm since I was 16, and I have managed to survive without compromise or apologies. Now, I belong to a new circle of friends while still retaining some of the more important old ones, working the yin yang jobs (one job I hate, but love the company, another job I love but loathe the people I work with), pretty much in love once again (yes, the elusive "Erin Hannon") and I made the most of my final year in my twenties. I'm proud to say I'm almost home. Not quite there yet, but getting there in my own way.

The Season to be Jolly

I never thought I'd be in a position in life wherein attending a company Christmas party is actually a big deal, but that damn party has been the center of everyone's focus for the past couple of weeks. I've been working for several years now, and have moved from one workplace to the other and I have been able to avoid being part of something (in my opinion) but an annoying way to wreck a perfectly good night. I guess things really are different now.

The events of that night, as well as the days surrounding that night, have been an apt way to end my year. Status quo has been shattered, both externally and internally.

Questions in the Dark.

Before the chaos, I was asked by someone from my past about love, and if there will ever be someone that would truly love me as much as she did back in the day. I just smiled, but there were a lot of thoughts that ran through my mind after that conversation. I knew the answer. Unfortunately. This was a thought that would stay with me for the rest of the following two weeks, and mostly likely go well beyond the remaining days of the year.

Drinking Before The Party.

At the start of the work week, the rest of the Breakfast Club weren't really the well oiled working machines that we usually are. Most likely, it was because we had dumped everything we had in the previous week's "competition". Or maybe it was just me. But the point was, I wanted to go out drinking, and, as is usually the case, I bugged the rest of the team to find some bar so we could get our booze on. It was then that I disclosed certain personal plans for the party. (I get a little open when I drink, as most people know by now.)

Still, it was a very unproductive night, but it was exactly what I needed at that point in time. I'm just glad to have people that would up and indulge me whenever needed.

A Throwback to The Empire.

The day before the party, I was doing a bunch of things related to the "family business", when I received a text message from the friendly-former-almost-neighbor. While I had a bunch of shit to do, I'm a sucker for a person in need, and being someone who also once was a part of the Evil Empire, I know she needs an ear more than most people.

It was a very pleasant afternoon. She seemed like she lost a smile or two, and that's something that's completely understandable. That soul sucking abyss has that effect on people. Sad though, as she was always one of those people who,despite her problems, used to make that place brighter that it was supposed to be. Among other things, that meeting of ours made me appreciate where I am now, too. I'm still trying to convince her to join the Think Tank, and hopefully, I'll be successful.

The Night Before the Party.

After I met with the former-almost-neighbor, I dropped by the Think Tank to see the goings on with the rest of the Breakfast club, as they had plans on really making a huge impression on the party. Again, it wasn't exactly my scene, but since they asked me to join them in their preparations (they let me write as they worked, claiming that all they just wanted me to hang around). So, off we went to the team's Batcave, and as they crafted this box from which one of the teammates would pop out and, in theory, wow everyone with her Barbie costume, I went to write a sequence treatment for an entire movie hours before it was due. They rocked the box, I rocked the story, and honestly, while I'm sure they could've done a great job on the box with or without me, I don't think I could've finished my story without them.

Honestly though, these bastards were amazing. Staying up all night for something that, to me, didn't really matter much shows a level of passion and unity that I haven't seen since the Scoobies. The people in Purgatory never gave a shit for anything beyond getting smashed (one of the many reasons I felt really at home with them). The Angels were happy with just hanging out. But these guys? Shit. They eat together, they work together, they know about each other's personal lives like a motherfucker. It nothing short of amazing. That night, the night before the party, has to be the definitive moment for this group.

The Party in Question.

And so came the all important night of the party. I don't know what the rest of the Breakfast Club did, but I went home, emailed my story, showered, changed, and headed out again for my meeting. The meeting was long, but at least it was productive. I got to screen an audition (in a fucking mall), discuss specific details of the project, and basically everything that would keep me awake. Most people don't know, or refuse to acknowledge, this, but I'm a workaholic. I don't like idle moments, and as long as there's something to be done, I keep doing. Once the meeting was done and over with, I bought a big ass burger for dinner and ate it on the way to the supposed party.

A lot of things went down in the party, but I'll stick to the shit that happened to me, to save space.

I arrived and saw everyone's attention focused on some trivia game. At that point, I've been completely awake for two days, and I was a six foot three ball of stress. They were going to need a bunch of Green Berets to get me away from the bar. The night progressed from silly games to dancing and of course, the booze. Gifts were given, and the only holiday spirits I was feeling were the ones I imbibed. Once the festivities died down, it was time to proceed with my plan.

I was fucking smashed, but enough to be able to speak with Erin. A few weeks ago, I told her how I felt. (I'm not too sure on whether or not I was clear about it, since I'm pretty bad at serious conversation. One of the reasons I became a stand up comic.) My main point then was that I genuinely liked her in "that" manner, but I had shit to get together first, so I wouldn't be actively pursuing her just yet. All that shit has yet to be worked out, but I told her during the party that I'm ready to you know, be Mr. Suitor or whatever. Our long, mostly one sided and hopefully still coherent conversation was cut short when one of the people from the party started breaking down and crying. (I learned it was like a yearly tradition for her.) So I helped take her home, and I left the party without a clear idea of how my talk with Erin went. (She has been clear about her lack of interest though, that was made obvious even before.)

I tucked the drunken girl in her couch, hitched a ride back to meet the rest of the Breakfast Club, and had met up with them when I realized I left my bag (laptop and all) at the drunken girl's place. At that point, the fatigue, the alcohol and the emotions finally took their toll and I passed out. I woke up at the team's Batcave.

Yeah, it was awesome. Awesome-ish, at least.

The Days After.

The days following that surprisingly eventful night (not just for me, but apparently for everyone) were composed almost entirely of me trying to juggle my jobs and overcoming my holiday anxiety. The days were mostly devoted to spending time without he team and futilely trying to get some time with Erin. There was drinking, of course, and on more than one occasion, those drinking sessions that involved the appearance of a person from Purgatory. One rather interesting encounter was with a drunken Purgatory dude who, outspoken as ever, approached our table and gave a couple of members of the Breakfast Club a unique perspective to my long history of romantic attempts. Now people at the Think Tank refer to me as a man-whore. (Or, on special days, a He-Slut.)

I even travelled to Tagaytay once to help out a teammate who was helping out his friends secure a church for their wedding. It was fun, I guess.I mean, I always liked helping couples out, and seeing that place where I sued to have retreats as a college student really kicked ass.

As I mentioned, the following days were also spent with my romantic endeavor, something that doesn't really seem to be going well. I knew going in that it was going to be not just difficult, but highly unlikely, and definitely not painless, but, like before, I'd rather fail at something that I truly want than succeed at something I don't give two shits about. (Again, another reason why I decided to be a comedian, despite the obvious lack of talent.) At this point, I just want her happy, and if anything I do contributes to that happiness then I've done my job.

There was also talk about sending me to Singapore for work, but that's something I'll tackle in a bit.

The Longest Day Ever.

The highlight of the post-party depression was perhaps the longest, worst day of the latter half of the year that ended surprisingly well. I did not even see it coming. I spent the night at the Think Tank, as per usual, and had to step out once the Big Man arrived. To those with short memories, The Big Man and I worked on a project recently, one that dissolved the moment I got back from Hong Kong. I honestly felt that I was abruptly set aside, so I kept my distance from the Big Man, my oldest friend, until I get the proper face time. It is, after all, the professional thing to do. We haven't spoken in months, the longest amount of time we were out of each other's lives since I disappeared for eight months after his sister and I broke up. So he stopped by and we talked over a few bottles of booze from the nearest liquor store. We shot the shit, and cleared up certain matters. He also updated me on the goings on back South. Apparently he's been through as much, or even more, shit as I have been. But, all hat has been settled, and I thought that was the extent of the drama I was going to go through on that day.

So, doing the usual thing I do, I went home, showered and changed for that night's hosting gig, and left early for the pre-production meeting. I haven't slept, so it goes without saying that I wasn't in the best of moods. We went to the location, and then went to some burger place to do the production meeting. I have been vocal before about how slowly things were going. This small project should not be taking more than a month to do pre-production for. This guy who wrote and directed this potential piece of shit was going on another one of his endless stories about his life that had nothing to do with the agenda for that day's meeting, and was trying to teach his crew a thing or two about the job. He spoke about how principal photography has once again been pushed back, and spoke about patience. "If you are not patient, you will not be a good filmmaker." That's when I walked out. Hearing those words from a guy who rushed writing a script (a script that has a plot with holes bigger than a pornstar's anus), went off to Singapore for nine days, tried to get an actress who already vehemently expressed disinterest in working with him and constantly wastes a good chunk of our meetings trying to pass the buck on stuff he was responsible for set me off. One, you take time to develop a good script, not shit one out and then take your sweet time in pre-production. Two, being impatient and recognizing inefficiency are two different things. Three, any real filmmaker knows that there is nothing more important than the project. Not the fucking holidays, not any stupid business trips, not any attempt to bang an actress the director clearly has the hots for. Nothing matters but finishing the project. "Family business" be damned. No Singapore for me. (Wow, I went on a full rant.)

The unfortunate meeting took place in some far flung burger place in the North, and I had to race to get to my hosting thing for the teachers at the School for the Deaf. it was a gig that Iw as looking forward to, for various reasons. But, thanks to the rambling of a poser and everyone else's holiday mania, (add the miscommunication between me and the contact) I didn't get to the gig on time, and got bumped off the program.

So, to sum up, I kept my distance from my oldest friend because of some professional principles and I discover he's been through some really rough shit, causing me to feel like a crappy dude, I spent an afternoon in a meeting that accomplished nothing aside from show me exactly why the family business isn't exactly booming, and I missed a gig that I actually want to do (and promised a good friend I'd do) because of that same meeting. Add the facts that I'm turing 30 in a couple of weeks, I'm deeply into a girl that would never go for me, my health failing, my holiday anxiety hitting its peak and I'm pretty sure hair is falling, and my day was the pits. I decided to go to the office instead after wandering aimlessly for a bit.

The sight that greeted me the moment I stepped through those glass doors was the team that I belonged to, the one I endearingly refer to as The Breakfast Club, dancing and singing. I took a second to digest that sight, and it was the first time I smiled on that day. Not surprisingly, we ended up in Tagaytay, and whatever shit I was carrying earlier that day, and whatever came after, all vanished. They did what they do best… they kept me relatively sane. The holidays would have been rougher if it weren't for them. It doesn't matter if it's binge eating, drinking, or overly pointless road trips, I've come to a point that I know there's at least a small group of people that could make me smile when I run out of reasons to.

Tourist no more.

I've been watching "Parks and Recreation", and there's this character there named Justin, someone a character referred to as a "tourist". He was someone who would travel through people's lives, taking pictures and stories, and then leaving. I've been a tourist all my life. The past couple of weeks have caused me to rethink that. Though I'm sure that whatever this phenomenon that's causing me to be attached to the team and the rest of the Think Tank would pass, I know that it's time for me to stop collecting shit for my scrapbook, and it's time for me to sit down and actually look through it. Right now, I don't know what to do with the family business or with Erin or the other shit that's on my plate. I just know that even though the answers to those questions in the dark aren't exactly in my favor, I can learn to live with them.

"I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over
If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further
This ain't lust, I know this is love

But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough
'Cause it was not said to you
And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you

Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements
Even if it leads nowhere?"- Adele, "Chasing Pavements"

Through the Wringer and Back

I'm in a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere, and I like it. I've been through the wringer the past couple of weeks, and indulging in a little isolation that a small caffeine peddling establishment could provide seems to be the single most sensible thing I've done. Everyone's on full Holiday mode, and I can't seem to shake the usual blues. They're even getting a tad worse as the days progress, and working non-stop has been nothing but an effective distraction. In the little snippets of free time that manage to sneak through my web of labor, all I have is another opportunity to break down.

Still, right now, with my mind set on getting shit done, I'm holding steady. I will never stop working again.

Conversations about the Future. I spent a few nights crashing in on a teammate's apartment a couple of weeks back. In the midst of all the worthless nonsense, a talk about the future surprisingly took place. I don't know if it was brought upon by a lack of topics to discuss, or if it was a sincere curiosity, or heaven forbid, another attempt to put me on the "right path", but I had a sinking suspicion that no matter what I told him, he was just going to blabber away anyways, so I told him the truth. (Most of it, anyway.)

Fact is, the concept of a future is a little strange for someone who had, until recently, set up a schedule to die at the age of 30. Because of that, everything I've ever really wanted to do, I've done. So, because of that little talk, well… let's just say I sunk into added shit to think about.

The Movie Business. I have semi-officially started in the family business, and I still have mixed emotions about it. On one hand, I do like making movies. On the other hand, this is the opposite side of the glamorous movie industry… where the dream is so dead that even any pretense of art has been buried. It's brutal, it's honest, and frankly, it's enough to drive one completely insane.

However, I think that this may be mutually beneficial. For me, of course, there's the money thing as well as the opportunity to practice a craft that I will always love (Though I've never really wanted to use as a livelihood). For the company, I may just be the guy it needs. (Not talent-wise, since there are a lot of talented people out there, but "good intentions-wise".)

I just found it funny that when I was introduced to the crew, my name was preceded by "he is a very creative guy that's done some amazing underground work", referring to the ten to fifteen minute dick jokes that compose my film making "career".

Indulgence. In the middle of everything that's been going on, The Breakfast Club still managed to celebrate like the gluttons that we are. We went to this place where you literally can eat until its closing time. Seriously, I commit at least two of the seven deadly sins on a daily basis.

Prior to the foodfest, I met up with another friend who happens to be an ex. She wants me to host the Christmas party at this school she teaches in, a school for the deaf, so I guess on a strictly Karmic scale, I'm all balanced out.

Unforeseen Events. The day after the team and I went all Viking and shit, Jo F'n Regis works his wonders once more, waking me up with a phone call and surprises me with a drastic favor. At the last minute, he asks me to pull off a seminar for him. So, I got up, got dressed and assembled whatever I could on the topic, only to find out that there was no need as the speaker showed up after all.

So, I was asked to do a set instead. Regis, you tricky bastard. Still, it was an amazing day, and hanging out with Jo is always fun. Little did I know that it was the beginning of a 40 hour marathon for me. It was a good thing too, since I needed to get back on my semi-workaholic ways. (Plus, I was broke, so getting a little something-something was nice too.)

The Crunch. Immediately after the event, I went to the Think Tank to do the day job. Model employee that I am, I didn't read the email that stated that there was a team incentive competition thingy that was going on. Frankly, the details of that little contest is still sketchy in my mind right now, but all I understood was that every single member of the Breakfast Club was asked to step up. Normally, I wouldn't have cared about any amount of individual incentives they presented, but this one was for the entire team. The Breakfast Club has been more than decent to me over the past few weeks, (unbeknownst to them, they've been helping with my holiday anxiety) so I decided to, for at least two days, give them the best of me.

It was grueling to say the least. People were dropping like flies. It was like the battle of Helm's Deep, only much lamer. In the middle of the two day stamina test, one of the legitimately good people at the Think Tank suffered from the effects of the tasking job, and had to be rushed to the hospital (he was taken to two different hospitals before I accompanied him home, actually). There I was, helping out a friend and trying to be a good member of the team at the same time. All of this went on as I, like several members of the Think Tank, was unwashed, sleepless, and high on energy drinks.

As the midnight deadline approached, my blood pressure soared. I was seeing spots, I was dizzy as fuck, but I already gave my word, and if it was any other team I'd bail. Once the competition ended at the stroke of midnight, the team was happy, and the friend who was sick was fine. It was worth it. It was bad for my weak heart, but good for my starving soul.

The Payoff. We were all tired, and I personally have been awake for forty straight hours, and on the move since Jo woke me up a couple of days before (Really, Jo, thanks. Haha.) A normal group of people would just go home and rest, satisfied without he events. But apparently, we were't the least bit sensible, and we were off to Tagaytay once more to eat overly unhealthy food. I was even "allowed" to drink a couple of celebratory beers, I think I earned it.

After being brought home, I slept with a smile on my face. For 12 fucking hours.

I therefore conclude... The weekend was spent with various people. There was game night with Caleb and his friends, and yeah, I'm glad to be doing tabletop RPGs again. I miss those D and D days that allowed me to practice my mind as well as completely escape reality in a more wholesome way. (Geek alert!) Of course, that was followed up by spending another night at the teammate's apartment getting all sorts of fucked up. The day after saw another appearance from the Island Girl, who helped me deal with that day's anxiety attack.

Looking at those past couple of weeks, one that started off with the question of the future, I can only recognize the trend that has been established. I still walk multiple paths now, there's my quest for personal fulfillment and comfort (the comedy, the geek stuff), there's my version of familial relations (working for the mother's company) and then there's my newly established normal life (the Think Tank). I don't see any deviations from this trend, and the only thing that's lacking is a healthy romantic relationship (more on that next post).

2011's almost over, the game-changer year. The next one doesn't seem to hold any promise of excitement, but after the past decade I've had, I'm not really lacking in that department. Just glad to be right on schedule. As I have alluded to before, one way or another, I kill myself once I hit 30.

Running Mojo-less

Before I get started with the drama, I'd like to get something off my chest. I've heard, in the span of one work week, at least three people who have pointed out that I should proofread my blog. Now, while I appreciate the honesty and whatnot, considering that I'v e said this before, it's starting to get annoying. So, for the last time, I do not proofread my posts, and furthermore, I will not proofread my posts. I type it, I post it. Done. I don't write a blog to showcase my life to people. I do it cause this is an avenue for me to express myself without inhibition. (And, what with the slippery memory I have after all the drinking and other equally mind numbing activities, documentation.) If it's getting too hard to read, no one's twisting your arm to read the damn thing. I rarely advertise the blog, and whenever I do, usually it's to update specific people that I haven't seen in a while so I wouldn't have to talk about my life at length. Telling me to proofread my posts is like telling me how to dress in public. If you don't like anything I do or say, you can simply divert your attention elsewhere and we can all live in peace without getting into each other's business. (I'm not starting any fights, here. I just thought an explanation would be far more mature than responding to these people with "blow me".)

With that out of the way, I'mma get my rant on.

The Early Onset. There aren't many people who have been unlucky enough to experience this in my presence (and to those that think they are, you're wrong), but every December my "episodes" get worse in terms of intensity and frequency. It's not something I'm proud of in any way, but it's a part of me and it's not going away. On certain years, they tend to start earlier, and such is the case for this year.

As the latter part of November rolled around, I increasingly have been handicapped by anxiety attacks and depression and all of the wonderful things that come along with the package. In the past couple of years, I've managed to get by with the simple act of getting drunk every day, a luxury that I don't have this year thanks to my job and recent exodus from my spheres. This year's annual blues tend to be a tad more challenging, considering the amount of time I spend at the Think Tank and the number of people I interact with. All the changes that have been circling around hasn't helped at all.

One instance was when I had to buy food from the nearby mall. (On a somewhat related note, it's called fast-food, not take-your-sweet-fucking-time-food. Dicks.) So I got there, and I sat for two hours, staring into space, feeling my left arm tingle and my heart race for no good reason. I felt detached to the point that I nearly panicked, and I found myself clutching this lucky charm I usually carry around with me. I started clawing at that spot in my arm in hopes of snapping out of it. Once it normalized, I went and bought the medicine one of my teammates required and the doughnuts another colleague asked for and went back to the office like nothing happened.

I've been running on low energy and spirits for weeks now, and so far I think I've done a good job of hiding it from my colleagues. Now that December has started, I'm just hoping I am going to be okay enough once my birthday rolls around. I don't think this year's crazy days phase would be worse than last year's, since I've managed to separate myself from many triggers of last year's hubbub, but then again, I think I've uttered those same words before.

I'm just glad the office is open on the holidays.

Breakfast of Champions. In an act of complete self-indulgence, I joined the rest of the Breakfast Club to Manila to eat the biggest burger I have had the pleasure of (mostly) enjoying. I've had a lot of people point out that the majority of my friends are on the umm… "heavier" side. It's true. I never really felt all that much comfortable with people who exhibit self restraint on things and activities that they liked so much. (Having two exes who have uttered the words "I'd rather be miserable as long as I'm thin" strongly reinforced that preference.) It's no surprise that I'm enjoying being a part of a team composed of heavyweights.

Back to the burger breakfast… we had what they referred to as the Tombstone Burger. It was a two pound burger composed of four half pound patties, each with a slice of cheese, slathered in cheese sauce. It also came with a shit load of fries and iced tea.

None of us managed to finish our meal, and we went back to the office and worked with an extra two pounds in our system.

This Year's Rock Pile. On the third weekend of November, I was to go to the beach and read poetry with the rest of the OWLers. I was hesitant at first, but considering I really needed a trip tot he beach, and here's one that's offered that I didn't have to pay for, I thought I said yes. I even agreed to do it for free. As I left the office on a Saturday morning to go to the shuttle that was taking me and the others to Coco Beach, I figured this would be a nice weekend shared with fellow artists and I was more than willing to be as hipster-iffic as they are. Just this once.

None of the other poets showed up. Motherfucker. The whole spoken word part of the program got nixed.

However, the time alone did me a lot of good. I had the opportunity to do the rock pile thing I annually do at the beach. Since I never got the chance to hit the beach last year, I figured my rock pile was going to be bigger, so I went with smaller stones. I mentioned this activity I do before, but for the sake of those who just tuned in, I'm going to go over the basics. Every stone represents a shitty thing that happened. I bury the stone. I leave it behind. A year passes, I go back to the beach (not necessarily the same beach.) with a new set of rocks to bury. It's a personal tradition. The quiet time did me a lot of god, as with each rock I pick I had the opportunity to really reflect on whether or not that particular thing the rock represents is indeed something I should leave buried. For example, the girl that I fell in love with the day after my ex and I broke up. I eventually decided against pursuing her, initially because some people of questionable judgment told me to go for it, but eventually because I realized that in the long run, if I did truly love this girl, I would serve her in the best capacity I could: as her friend. She was not part of this year's rock pile.

The sun set, and I had drinks with the person who invited me to this shindig. She is an old friend and an ex, and this was the only time we got to hang out alone after we broke up back in college. She's doing well. Remarkably well, in fact, and I am proud of what she's striving for. She's someone who gets it, and I'm glad to discover there's someone I can call for when the weight of the unnecessarily complicated world we live in takes its toll.

Another Birthday Party. I went home from the beach the following day, and by home, I don't mean a comfortable place where one can truly ponder the direction with which life is going under a familiar and relaxing setting. I mean I went straight back to the Think Tank, where the majority of the Breakfast Club was there to get some work done before celebrating a team mate's birthday.

It was everything one can expect. An old guy like me sees things here, and an old guy like me knows to not say things about it until the time is right. I have shut my mouth on a lot of goings on in the office, and I have made it a point to play the part of the fool for the vast majority of the people of the Think Tank. There isn't a single person there that knows where I've been and what I've been through, and most especially, what I'm capable of. It's refreshing and interesting for me, what with everyone not really keeping their guards up when I'm around. They see one facet of who I am, and for now, that's enough. (I'll probably get into detail in my next post.)

I left the party in the morning, as most of them were stirring, and my thoughts were geared towards anything but work or comedy or poetry. It's hard to be productive, or funny or poetic when you're having another attack.

Thanksgiving Weekend. The work week was kinda slow, what with the lack of students due to Thanksgiving. The weekend came and I found myself having one of my worse attacks. I left the house despite the fact that there wasn't any work to be done, and dropped by the office. There were a few souls there, mostly the new managers and Erin, so I left after my brief appearance to wait for confirmation for this foodfest thingy that I agreed to go to with the rest of the team.

Wandering around Alabang did not do any good, as I found myself on the receiving end of another attack from my physical and mental condition. I went home in the vain attempt to find some peace. It wasn't until the day after, when the Island Girl dropped by for a visit, that things got a little better. There were crazy thoughts here and there, but I guess since I was around the right person, not having to deal with the extra strain of putting up a mostly okay facade I normally do at the office, it went well.

Faith. The day after, I worked at the Think Tank and even met up with the mother's boyfriend to talk about the upcoming job. I honestly nearly walked out when I found out that it was his recommendation that I was put in line for the position, not my mother's. She apparently believed that I couldn't do it, even refused to put me on the payroll for the next project, thinking I would have to prove myself.

Let's look at the facts here. Despite the bad shit that may have happened to me over the years, I've been living alone and doing fine all by myself. In fact, I've been looking out for myself ever since college, and once I graduated, I worked towards complete independence. I have done everything that i set out to do and I did so in a manner that didn't compromise my ideals, my principles or my decision to not ask for any of her assistance. I've been a teacher, worked for crazy politicians, religious organizations, TV networks, managed to work four jobs at the same time to a specific level of quality, (all of which I landed through my own hard work and, admittedly, lack of shame) dealt with both physical and psychological issues and most recently traveled overseas cause I was good enough to perform. More importantly, I never answered to anyone, and while that may have put me in dire straits before, and would definitely put me in trouble again, I've never wasted a second doing things in any way other than my way. And now, I learn that I have to prove myself to get a job that I didn't want and ask for in the first place? Shit, the only reason I'm living in her house (which is actually costing me mow money than when I was in an apartment ten fucking minutes away from the office) is because she asked. I was fine all by myself.

But, I will be the nice guy here. I plan to treat it like any other job (or relationship, har!) I've had. Provide my best, and then leave when it's no longer ideal. Again, it's a damn good thing I have work on the holidays.

"Now, for ten years we've been on our own

And moss grows fat on a rolling stone But, that's not how it used to be When the jester sang for the king and queen In a coat he borrowed from James Dean And a voice that came from you and me" - Don McLean, American Pie

Blowing Kisses and Making Wishes

Writing this on a bus on the way to the boat that will take me to the beach. (More on that on the next post.) Aside from the cameos and the brief domestic dispute, the past couple of weeks have been mostly an exhibition of how my life revolves around the relatively tiny office I work in now. I've decided to take a break from doing comedy and other shit, since my mind has been riddled by questions of the future.

The office, all on its own, has presented a myriad of experiences that would make for a rather passable screenplay, as my comparison of the office towards school has been surprisingly accurate. I have yet to meet a single completely balanced person in that place, and that's exactly how I like my work place.

Starting November Right. When November 1 rolled around, I was at the office still working at an unusually slow pace. Halloween is my favorite holiday, and I've gone on record to mention that it's my Christmas. So despite the fact that I was in a workplace that I liked a lot, I was still bummed about the whole missing out on Halloween thing. It was a good thing I wasn't the only one, as three other regular night toilers decided to drop everything and go out drinking. So there I was, on Halloween, in a bar that I know so well, surrounded by waiters and waitresses in costume, and I was happy. So happy that I could sing. And I did… on stage, alongside with a teammate who, over the past couple of weeks, I've gotten to know and learned I like a lot.

As egotistical as it may sound, he reminds me of me when I was his age. Young, living alone, putting on the happy face while glimpses of a level of despair and even anger shine through from time to time. My first impulse when I sensed this parallelism was to speak to him, share my own experiences and shit like that, but if I'm accurate in my assumption about him, he wouldn't have any of it. Hell, I wouldn't have any part of that when I was his age. I could write a fucking book on the stupid advice I've gotten from people over the years. Words of optimism from people who've never had problems, financial and career advice from people who were born with everything handed to them, relationship advice from people who've either had exclusively shitty relationships or no relationships at all, all that bugged the living hell out of me back then (and even as recently as six months ago)because of how similar I think me and this brash young man may be, I know on good authority that the best thing to do is to just be there. That's what people like him and me really need, people just being there.

Fire! Unbeknownst to me at the time, the day after Halloween, I nearly died. Someone left a candle burning while I slept, alone in my, I guess, new Fortress. It was outside the house, and it was big enough that the neighbors had to call certain relatives to put it out. elite my keen observation skills, all of this went unnoticed. I woke up, showered, got dressed and went to work. I found out the day later.

Fuck. Dying ahead of schedule would be a real bummer.

The Breakfast Club. Aside from the young me, I've gotten to know the rest of the team, who seem to have made team breakfasts their own signature move. There's an interesting dichotomy here, and in my humble opinion, I'm fortunate to be a part of the only team in the company that actually looks like a team. Most of everyone gets along in a manner wherein there's a level of honesty there that transcends professional relationships. I'd like to think of them as friends, though I'm sure there's still quite a ways to go before the whole friends thing comes into fruition. I, for one, am willing to wait for that day.

The Audition and the Reunion. Since that little epiphany from the fire-gone-unnoticed, I went and answered a casting call for a thesis film despite the fact that I haven't slept yet that weekend; it's hella faraway; and I don't like doing student projects. (It was alright when I was a student too, but I think hanging out with college kids and not as their teacher at this point of my life is a tad wasteful.) Still, no day but today, right? So I went, got lost, finally found the place, only to discover that they were students of a teacher I thoroughly hated back in college. Hence, the logical solution was obvious: audition while drunk.

After the audition, I wanted to unwind, and since I was in the Island Girl's neck of the woods, we hung out. We finally got to talk about some of the things from the past in greater detail, and it does feel good to have certain things out in the open like that. I still wanted to talk about the other effects of what happened, effects that I never really told anyone, effects that manifested itself in following relationships. But, there will be a time and place for that, I guess.

Still, all's good from where I sit.

Erin and I. Oh, I told the office crush that she was the office crush. You know, fire and all. For details of her feedback, watch that scene from Empire Strikes Back, before Han gets frozen in carbonate.

Domestic Problems. For almost every week, I've been given a reason to regret the fact that I did what my mother wanted and moved into her old house. First there was the haircut inducing inanity, then there's that fire I mentioned. A week passes and lo and behold, I get the privilege to watch some unnecessary drama unfold at 9 in the morning, after I've had a mere two and a half hours of sleep. Seriously, this is the exact same bullshit that made me move out repeatedly for years. How bad was it? Well, it was so bad that I, the guy who never shows up for work before lunch time, got up, showered, got dressed, and headed to the office as fast as I could. By 10:30 AM, people were already asking what was wrong with me.

Most people would say that the mature thing to do is to be understanding and be the bigger person and to remember that these things normally happen. The thing is, another mature thing to do is to point out how much of a waste of time bitching to each other truly is. I swear, a couple more episodes of this, and I'm packing my bags again.

Here Comes Trouble. I think people in the office aren't used to be being in such a foul mood, as a number of people actually checked on how I was doing. It was a bit strange, what with me being used to dealing with shit alone, but it was definitely welcome. Some people even took it to a higher level by, at my behest, got smashed with me that night. I won't name names and provide details, but let's just say that it was so bad, we got an e-mail from the boss that threatened action in the event that our little adventure gets in the way of work.

It was exactly what I needed.

Pool party! Come weekend, another office-mate, part of the Life Coach's sorority had a birthday party and of course, I went, since spending 90% of the week with these people doesn't seem to be enough time together. Seriously though, it was fun. Me and younger me had a sing off wherein the loser wears booty shorts at the office, and of course, there were drinks, more moments with the Life Coach and that dude she's dating, and a bunch of other people at the office and a few who I didn't know.

It was refreshing, and it made me realize that even though my world has extremely narrowed down to just this one sphere, I don't I mind. Not yet at least. I've been moving around constantly for so long, meeting up with one group after the other from day to day, that it's good to have some sense of stability.

Plus, you know, free booze.

The Future. While of that has been going on, I've been dealing with what I was going to do regarding the mother and her boyfriend's company, and the offer (the request actually) to run it. After two weeks of deliberation, I finally sent an e-mail reply that consisted of four words: "Okay, I'll do it."

So now, what with the heart thingy feeling like it's getting worse, and the growing frustration I have on the domestic front, and my thoughts about cutting ties with people from the past (I'll get into the details about that once it seems necessary) I might have to leave the one aspect of my life that resembles anything normal to do… that. See, while the irony of the prodigal son becoming heir apparent is not lost on me, and there's nothing I hate more than carrying on someone else's work, with the way that the job was offered to me, there really wasn't any choice in the matter. (Another fact that's pissing me off.) It seems like ti was a planned thing, from getting me to come home and then this. Still, I already said yes, and I think I have two to six months to prepare anyways, so I'll cross (or burn) that bridge when necessary.

God, I feel like one of those jackass kids from my generation who I've been secretly criticizing over the years for just waiting for their parent's hand me downs. Hah.