My World is Spinning Too Fast

A PRETTY RARE HAPPINESS

I’ll be hitting a pause in this blog for a couple of days. My mythical pet giraffe demands that I stop blathering here and focus on offline things, like writing, catching up with old friends and meeting new people. Plus, saving the world, one coffee cup at a time. It also said maybe I should lay off on social media for a bit, while I’m at it. I can probably give up Snapchat and Instagram, but Twitter? TWITTER? How dare you, mythical pet giraffe. Twitter is, like, my very own playground. I get a lot of entertainment and brain food there. IT’S SACRED.

Now let’s switch the channel. Turn the knob once, twice, thrice, and we arrive here:

Maybe two is better than one
But there’s so much time to figure out the rest of my life
And you’ve already got me coming undone

I don’t know what it is about him, exactly. Words don’t do justice when it comes to him. Maybe that’s why I can’t be clearer or more coherent about it. All I know is that whatever it is that he has going on, it’s the good kind. Good enough to make me feel better about myself. Good enough to make me see some of the things in life differently. Good enough to make me see that broken hearts don’t always mean the end. Good enough to see the good in him. THANK YOU.

Take my hand, let’s see where we wake up tomorrow
Best laid plans sometimes are just a one night stand
I’ll be damned, Cupid’s demanding back his arrow

It’s too bad I had the timing wrong. Or maybe I didn’t know. Maybe I never knew what to do with you, until it was too late. All right, Cupid, here’s your arrow. You wanted it back, right? Go on. Consider it relinquished.

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That One Time with Coffee & a Crazy Friend

one crazy friend and coffee

I have this friend who, upon hearing days and days ago about my pay raise, decided to make it one of his life’s missions to demand a coffee treat and promptly launch a countdown. For days, his text messages hounded my cell phone. My phone received relentless reminders like, “15 days! Hahaha!” and “14 days!” and so on.

This post is for everyone here who has at least that one crazy friend who pulls stunts like that one I just mentioned. You ever wonder why you even put up with them? Why you don’t just do both yourself and your friend a favor and admit them a to psychiatric facility? A nice psychiatric facility, of course. And preferably one with cute employees, so your visit would be hitting two birds with one stone: You get to visit your friend AND there’s always eye candy.

So my friend and I met yesterday. And because my phone is new, I decided to test its video for Snapchat. Only, our video never made it to Snapchat. It was both our first time to create one. I manned (manned!) the filming (filming! My words are killing me.) and because I rarely indulge in this sort of… sorcery? Hat trick? Sleight of hand? The point is that I am not used to taking a photo of myself, let alone a video. So it took me a couple of tries. The first few times, I realized I wasn’t even recording AT ALL. The other times, my friend refused to publish it and told me to delete them because he didn’t “look good.” (His words, not mine.) I ended up with two videos which weren’t in Snapchat because the internet connection was just terrible, awful. I managed to upload them in my Instagram account, though. Disclaimer: If you watch the videos, I am in no way responsible for your nightmares. Also? You’ll hear my voice. In which case, I AM VERY SORRY.

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A Funeral, A Mascot, and the Bathrobe Photo

SO HE COULD HAVE BEEN MY GOOD LUCK

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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