As I write this post I suck on some strawberry Strepsils and sip more water. I should be sleeping already. Like it's quarter to two in the morning on a Saturday but I am still up. And it's not because I have been in a party. No parties for me, no margaritas, no boys, or girls for that matter. I decided to stay home after bringing some chocofudge cheesecake to my foster parents' place. 

But I'm still up and listening to Gnarls Barkley, a gift from Mr. Gigolo, with a scratchy throat and wishing and hoping I don't get sick because hello, I'm Unemployed. I have to pick up my friend who will be staying with me over the weekend. Since the ship is arriving at 6 AM I decided to sleep early because I could never wake up at 5 in the morning even if I set an alarm. But this waiting is making me more sick.

Me and my friend haven't seen each other for years and while I like to hang out, I am feeling grumpy and bitchy because I just want to stay in bed and get better. The thought of having to entertain and be cheerful is giving me a foul mood. I want to stay in bed. I. Am. Sick. Leave. Me. Alone.

The past few days I've been going to bed and waking up sicker than the previous day and this is troubling because I remember feeling a scratch in my throat the day before I flew to Cebu. And the fact that I don't want to spend my money buying medicine or seeing the doctor goes to show how broke I am. 

And I know I should stop smoking while I clear myself from this possible cough and cold and sniffles. And I am disappointed at myself for not having the discipline to not light a stick. Maybe I can try not to light up this whole weekend. Or maybe I should go back to sleep to get better and let my friend wait until 10 AM.

~o~o~o~o~

Update: I didn't make my friend wait. I was prompt and was at the pier at 6 AM :-) I think my Strepsils are helping but a nagging feeling is telling me it's more my happy pills that is making me feel better... Anyhoo, all's well, I never realized how much I missed her til I saw her and got to laugh with her again.

I heard his name said a lot of times even before we met. Usually it came from women. Sexy, chubby, confident, shy, long haired, short haired, even lesbians. All these women say and act the same way when his name gets mentioned, “Do I know Neil?!“ eyes would widen with excitement and a smile would break their face then they would say “Yes, I know him“ and in a tone lower they would whisper “He's so cute“ and then a giggle would enthuse. 

They said he had boyish features like a freshman and nerdy glasses that made him cuter and his forever tousled bedhead made all my female colleagues want to get closer to him and get his number. When he smiles at snappy clients they quiet down and relax. This made me curious, I wanted to meet him. But I've learned to rein my curiosity already and not to ask for any introductions. A few weeks later my boss said that I will be working with him for a year. Cool. 

My boss introduced us and as I smiled at him and looked at his face, his eyes conveyed curiosity and doubt. I on the other hand agreed with the rumors but (yes there is a BUT) he was not my type. Something was off, I can't put a finger on it, but I knew that something is different about him. As we both stared at each other with cautious smiles and a firm handshake we both wondered what kind of relationship lies ahead of us. 

We became a good team, better than most. His charisma was able to increase clientele. My cut throat attitude and decisive nature ensured delivery. Together we had the customers all smiles and coming back over and over as new customers became regulars too. He balanced my temperament with his good natured laugh. I handled emergencies and roadblocks as he watched helpless. It was one hell of a tandem. It was a match made in BusinessManagementLand. People got curious. And then the rumors of an office affair started. When Neil and I heard of it we laughed and work more like conspirators on a big cover up. All along, I had the feeling that I was not his type too. That meant peace.

And like all good things, the year was over. I said goodbye to the industry to start fresh somewhere else while he stayed and decided to become more competitive. There was no formal goodbyes, no exchanging of number, no false promises of emailing each other. 

That was five years ago. Today, out of the blue, I decided to see him. I knew where he worked all these years but I was too busy to visit. 

He was smiling when he looked at me as he stepped out the office. I invited him for lunch and we tried catching up to each others deeds and misdeeds all the time laughing at each other's fiasco. He still looked the same even if he has no bedhead anymore... cute, boyish, sweet. I was looking down on my fish when he asked “So do you have a boyfriend?“ I paused for a second and tried not too look too focus on my fish but at the same time wished I would be able to pick a bone out this fillet tuna so that I could change the subject make him forget he asked and move along to a safer topic. 

The opposite sex doesn't ask if one has a beau without any intention behind the question. And the intention was something I wasn't prepared for. And I could not find a single bone on the fish. Damn. Just eat the fish and try not to teeter over his questions, Darla.

Me: “No I don't have a boyfriend.“ 

Neilski: “What!? No boyfriend?!? You!?!“ 

Me: *groan* “I don't“

Neilski: *still looking shocked and in disbelief*

Me: “Okay, I had one. We broke up. We're still friends. But it's over.“ *bracing my shoulder*

Neilski: “Why did you break up?“

Me: “He was getting started to do things that I want to retire from already. I respected his choices. I love him but I love myself more.“

Neilski: *looking quite solemn* “What are did he wanted to start?“

Me: “Be a gigolo.“

Neilski: “Like being paid or just the regular playboy?“

Me: “I didn't ask him that. Maybe the latter.“ 

Neilski:*extends his arm and holds my left hand* “I'm sorry“

Me: *grinning but my mind was climbing up my defense wall* “I'm not sorry. It was sad but it's better now.“

Neilski: *nods and let my hand go*

Me: *sighed because my mind was being prodded by a societal taser* “Well, do you have a girlfriend?“ *chews a forkful of fish, it tasted bland*

Neilski: “No girlfriend...“

Me: *looked at him and waited* *my mind hoping he would say anything besides getting on my pants or shredding my clothes, he's not my type, he's not my soul mate*

Neilski: “I went out“

Me: *poking on my fish* “Mmhmm“ *did I hear him say he went out?*

Neilski: “I went out“ *saying it a little slower*

Me: *looked at him* “Okay“ *did he mean out like I think he meant out?*

Neilski: *pulls at his phone and starts clicking then passed it to me* 

Me: *looked at the screen and then smiles*

Neilski: “He's my boyfriend. I went out.“

Me: *looked up grinning* “I think I knew all these years.“

We planned to get drinks later tonight and meet his boyfriend. I felt suddenly ridiculous for worrying, foolish of my presumptions and relieved to hear the confessions. As I said goodbye, he kissed my cheek and I felt safe. He said he will call me later so he can pick me up but I couldn't concentrate because I can feel his hand on my butt.

I was meaning to blog about the challenges of eating (the Darla way) as soon as I opened my computer but something distracted me as I logged in to Friendster.

My mind gave a silent gasp when I saw the number under “Who's Viewed Me?“. 97 times since 3/1/2008. Don't get me wrong, I am self-absorbed as any person in the same block and enjoy the attention. It wasn't the number of views that got me distracted, it was the faces behind the number. Okay, not really faces. Lest I hurt the people I love and adore. It was only A FACE. Just one person who got me distracted and opened up emotions that are still raw and painful. Seeing her face made me want to obliterate her. Seriously. 

I started pep talking myself.  No need to go to a corner and rock back and forth while my blood boils. It's not right to hate that bovine bitch. Even if until now, months after, I can still feel the knife at my back. Even if she bragged to her subordinates that she has no weakness BUT her greatest accomplishment in the Corporation was having “removed a manager“. Oh wow! What a feat indeed. That would cause a hullabaloo in a résumé. It's all water under the bridge, bitch.

There's only one problem: hi, I'm Darla and even if I have love wedged somewhere in my name, I can hate. Exceedingly. Hate.

I figured a good dose of walking and shoe hunting would do the trick. Ayala was just 2 blocks away. That should clear my head.

So I got primped and glossed. I'd never know who I could come across so I gotta be ready. But even if I didn't meet anyone familiar I was with an arm candy and I sure want to be able to match him. 

Me and my arm candy were talking about where to get our super delayed lunch and we decided Japanese   because of my eating preferences (yes, I have preferences now. Darla the Wrester's diet is dead) as we climbed the stairs from the basement parking.

When we turned to walk to the escalator, I got distracted again and my mind uttered a single word.

"Bitch!!!"

Oh not that bovine bitch that I saw in “Who's Viewed Me?“ but another bitch. A knocked up bitch. I guess she's now formerly knocked up. But who really cares.

I should commend her because she looked at me directly and smiled. She smiled like we are friends. She smiled like she was glad to see me. What the fuck?!?

If Mr. Gigolo hears me he'd cluck at my potty mouth. 

I felt my facial muscles tense and for a good second I stared down at her which made her look away. Yeah right bitch. We're not friends. We used to be but the knife you stuck on my back is actually longer than the knife stuck by the bovine bitch. I remember you said before, “I forgive but I don't forget“.

Here's a newsflash for you, I don't forgive when I won't forget. And what you and other bitches did is something unforgettable. You will always be in the top five of my hate list.

So don't smile at me. Don't small talk to me. Don't make me one of your references. If by happenstance you and the other bitches stumble on me online or offline, shut your pie hole and leave. I made my amends a long time ago and I have no guilt.

~o~o~o~o~

On a positive note, I did ask my arm candy (who was a silent witness when I was ambushed by back stabbers) why I have so much hate. He smiled and said he doesn't know. But he added, “Maybe coz you're Darla.“ How comforting.

~o~o~o~o~

On a more positive note, Bitter Bastard (BB) chatted me that I should have made small talk with the (formerly) knocked up bitch and said, “Will you take the knife from my back? You'll probably need it again.“

Traveling is still something that I have yet to master. That's too broad. Packing for traveling is still something that I have yet to master. Either I am too scatter brained or I need lists for me not to forget something when I pack for a trip. I always leave something behind. And it's something that I would need. 

Take for example my previous trip to Boracay. I packed hours in advance while I was still sober just to make sure I don't leave anything behind. I was pretty positive I brought everything and was enjoying this success of finally being able to take with me everything that I brought to Boracay only to receive a text message from Tanduay Babe that I left my favorite bikini. 

I was able to retrieve it when I came back but I badly missed that bikini.  Right now I'm waiting to board my plane to Manila and I realized I left 3 things: my hair brush, my cold medicine, and my shades. How can I possibly leave my hair brush? My hair will be all over and it would tangle up. Thinking of borrowing The Colonel's comb is making me groan. I suppose I can do without my cold medicine but my shades... I'm going to the beach and this is not going to be fun at all. 

I have now started a mental list of places to go so I can get shades but reality hit me...All shops are closed on Good Friday. This is giving me an unshakeable sadness. I try convincing myself that it won't matter but it doesn't really comfort me. I need my happy pills...if I can just find it.