A Funeral, A Mascot, and the Bathrobe Photo


MASCOT(noun) a person, animal, or object used as a symbol to represent a group (such as a sports team) and to bring good luck

The other Thursday and Friday were days that consisted of many emotions and occurrences. How odd is it that at one day, my dad was buried and then the next, I was getting hit on? By a mascot. I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in. Got hit on. By a mascot.

I had been laughing about that mascot bit then, and I am laughing about it now. There I was, sitting on one end of the resto bar’s table when the mascot appeared and started dancing. We all laughed, me and my family. Suddenly, the mascot grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. He gestured for me to dance with him. I was emotionally exhausted from what just happened that same week, but I could still appreciate how funny that moment was. The other waitresses and waiters were cheering us on. Even my family joined in on it. The mascot was still burning up the floor with his (admittedly good) dance moves. Heads from the other tables turned to look at us, I kid you not. I was laughing, the mascot still clutching my hand. In my head, I was thinking, “Gawd, why do things like this keep happening to me?” I always try to stick to the sidelines, practically kissing the figurative wall so that no one will take notice of me. But then something like that scene happens. It was funny, though. Laughing, I told the mascot that no, I am not going to dance. To which he responded by twerking. To which I responded by laughing even harder. A twerking mascot. Now that’s something you don’t see everyday. I finally sat down after that. I gobbled some of the food laid out on our table. Only to have the mascot back at our table again. And again. And again. I lost count of how many times he grabbed and held my hand as he danced. But I was impressed: He was never with the same dance move each time he stopped by. (My sister showed me a video of one of those moments. Let’s just say there is no way I am posting it in social media.)

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No Title Yet. How Original.


It is Monday afternoon. I sit in front of my work desk, put on my maroon hat/scarf thing, which is so weird because it’s really hot outside. But when I get inside our office, the air-con fan hits the top of my head like a heat-seeking missile. Hence, the hat/scarf thing. I have just come back from a four-day weekend and while the coffee is good today, I am still in a daze.

One event after another, I kid you not. I am almost afraid to find out what’s going to happen next. The good news (yay!) is that somewhere along the way, I have learned some life lessons. Most times I am the participant. Sometimes I observe. A few times I get sucked into other people’s dramas and that pretty much feels like someone showing up on your doorstep, inviting you to somewhere “wonderful.” And because you have nothing better to do, you eagerly go. Only to find yourself in the middle of a bonfire, wondering what the hell you’re doing as those around you sing along to “Kumbaya.” And you want to slip away and then run like mad, be as far away as possible, except… EXCEPT that they are keeping an eye on you. And they already know you in Facebook. They know what you post. Or at least, they think they know (but they really don’t so sshh…) and before you know it, BAM! Mountains out of molehills.

Now here are those aforementioned lessons. They are numbered but are not in any way in chronological order. (Did that make sense? *pause* Yeah, I thought so, too.)

Continue reading “No Title Yet. How Original.”

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