Just when I thought I was beyond surprises…

…the Universe launches a preemptive strike.

Just when I can feel my fangs growing and my horns emerging from the back of my head… God brings forth salvation and stops me from crying “kvetch, kvetch, kvetch!”

Borrowing from Carlos Celdran, that is.

Wednesday evening, I was on the verge of another melancholic moment. I was sick (literally, at that), I was tired from work and I was missing Boyfriend’s kulit-mode and embrace.

I was having the ultimate bad trip.

I was about to launch a Bitch attack, armed with my laptop, sipping cranberry juice and slumped on my chocolate brown couch, I was typing away angst-ridden thoughts.

At the strike of midnight, I heard knocking on my door.

Irritably, I went for it, thinking – maintenance guy doing midnight rounds?

When I opened the door, there he was…

My knight in shining blue plaid Tommy shirt.

He wasn’t due back in Manila.

And this was a two-in-a-row surprise visit in a span of two weeks.

Now tell me if I still have a reason to bitch.

I have to give it to Mike.

Life… is definitely good.

Work my Magic

Straight from my Inbox, a dear friend from the US wrote:

“I’m a constant lurker in your blog. You're happier these days. I loved you more when you were darker. Bitchier. What ever happened to the Bitch? Bring the Bitch back, please!

You’re effin’ too sugar n’ spice, I cannot believe you’re still the one writing. I don’t love you less, but I know you’re keepin’ a lot. Spill the fuckin’ beans!”

Have I been, really?

Sugar n’ spice, everythin’ nice, I mean?

The Ex-Boyfriend’s skin would have crawled by now if he heard this.

Three years ago --- nice --- is not a word to describe me.

I have not turned my back away from the Fight Club.

No, I never did.

I just decided to bite my tongue a bit longer.

And bite my tongue I did. To the point of almost bleeding and bludgeoning myself to death.

Shall I bite any longer?

Half-evil, half-angel. Partly jaded, partly grounded.

Sinner, saint.

The reality is, I will always bear this dichotomy with me.

I’m not the only one guilty of murder by sheer imagination.

The Bitch shall rise once provoked.

Thou… shall… not… tempt… me.

Thirty-ness

… is a term coined during my best friend Ian’s birthday.

And this post, came way ahead of my birthday.

On the average, most of the girlfriends I grew up with and hang out with are either nearing 30 or a few years past it.

All of my high school girlfriends (including myself) are celebrating and toasting to “thirty-ness” this year.

With this landmark in the age department, it’s not strange for women to feel panic and yell “quarter life crisis.”

It doesn’t quite help when guy friends cajole and tease girls who don’t have boyfriends or aren’t married yet – that they are nearly in their last trip.

What the hell do you mean about last trip?

I can’t help but feel my ears go red and my heart pound with fury whenever I hear this.

Although I wouldn’t want to expend a lot of my effort tracing where this fallacy came from and who in their right minds ever propagated this belief, I’m certainly not pleased.

Women are not like milk stamped with expiration dates.

And 30 --- is definitely not the end of the line.

I have seen women who only got more beautiful and fabulous beyond this mark.

Two years back, I looked at B.’s girl friends in awe and marvel at how drop-dead gorgeous most of them are. I met Lyn when she was 34 and she looked like she was only 25! Marose doesn’t look a day older than 30 and my jaw dropped when I found out she was beyond 37. Zoe’s wisecracks and bubbliness makes her seem like we’re of the same age.

B. is not bad herself – at 35 (happy birthday, B!), she looks astoundingly cute in her androgyny and ever so charming with her sense of humor.

And these women, may I add, are having the time of their lives.

Time spent with them was never a bore. They know how to have sensible fun and the sense of humor is witty, sly, sarcastic even. But everyone definitely knows how to laugh.

And yes, these women are moneyed honeys who can pay for everything on their own. Shopping, wining and dining - crucify me for the cliche', but sky is the limit.

Some women feel depressed during this time and age. I cannot blame them, what with the proliferating lies and misconceptions about being 30… or beyond.

I can even humbly admit that I, too, was afraid that I would feel the same because other people (SPELL: relatives, guy friends, married friends) make you feel that you have to panic at this time.

That you, single girl, should get your act together and try to get married.

Whoever said married women have cleaned up all their acts (although this is another issue altogether)?

I am happy for my girlfriends who have found happiness in marital bliss.

But I’m also making a toast to 30-something friends who are basking in the glory of their careers and single-blessedness. Boyfriend or no boyfriend, they’re all fab.

To the guy friends who still subscribe to the stigma that 30 has, BEAT IT. You’re just as scared as the women you are bullying. We’re not the ones who worry about receding hairlines. And not being needed anymore by women who can make it on their own.

To my fantabulous 30ish girlfriends, as how my high school girls put it, cheers to thirtyness!

Happy 30^th birthday, Janneth, Che, Elisa, Sherry and Owy --- my high school posse’ who stuck for more than 10 years now.

30…is the new 20.