Panthera Tigris

Well, yesterday was quite an adventure.

Me, Amanda, Jolynn, and Lindsey went to Subic Zoobic Adventures for the day (we started out at 9 am and didnt get back until 4 PM, long day) and had dinner at Texas Joes (no apostrophe key on this computer, sorry!).

We met up at Mini Stop and took off for Subic, which is about an hour and a half away. Jolynn emerged as the clear leader, having been in girl scouts, she whipped out a map and ULTRA powered bug spray (it was 95% DEET- she advised us to wash it off or else it would give us nightmares if we left it on too long---eek.) and helped the shy, 20ish driver steer us around Subic. (He almost got a ticket for being an *obstruction* for trying to find the turnoff at one point- but he got out of it, and we got him dinner later, which after ordering the cheapest, smallest thing on the menu, he ate, blushing dusky rose the whole time.)

We loitered in the broiling sun, once arriving, watching babies torture the *For sale* guinea pigs, hamsters, and teddy bear hamsters, for quite a while, waiting for the other members of our party, Nick and his bestie, a local called Anthony, Anthonys wife and their three children under 5. Great.

Nick is Lindseys ex, so Ill gloss over the details of my scathing observations of him (suffice to say my own taste in men is, shall we say, checkered), but he brings Chris Farley, minus the genial mania, to mind. He had a habit, that, had I had less burning hatred for the way he used and abused my girl, might have been amusing, of lowering himself mentally to the level of the 5 year old boy in the party and having a rolicking, beer- fumed good time. His shouts of pidgen Tagalog and inarticulate screams rent the stifling air at regular intervals and we couldnt lose him. Oh, anything for my girls, but STILL!

We were corralled into a holding area (one of many that we would wait in, swinging our legs and chatting, me miserably noting the total lack of cute guys to replace the recently departed) to take pictures with one of only two artic tigers in the Phil, both of whom were sleepy and had the empty, long suffering stare of zoo animals.

Thus began my mental war. On one hand, the zoo is only way that most people can see these guys, and honestly, anything to get away from the trudgery of daily life over here. On the other, it is pure torture for me to see the thousand yard stare of these animals. Maybe Im giving these 600 pound killing machines (which they are, and you REALLY feel their immense wildness and unsurpassed, ancient power up close) too much sympathy, but it really, really hurts.

Anyway, we went to the *Bird Thrill* area, which was, uh, okay. We toddled through several other areas, missing the serpetarium (sorry mike!) but hitting *Rodent World*, which was pretty cool. It was so hot that I reached what I call maximum saturation level and just spent the rest of the day dreaming about wind/ pool/ daiquiris.

We shuffled between the tram, which had leather (!!!) seats and smelled vaguely of the locker room aura of thousands of sweaty people crammed into the seats, and various attractions that would have been way cooler without some rug rats head nudging my knee and some arthritic grandpa stumping along in front of me.

One of the awesome parts was the breeding grounds, which are open. Pot bellied pigs share with ostriches, and this is the verbatim from the tour guide: *This is our breeding ground. We require you to stay in the tram since some of our ostriches are quite aggressive.*

They are so otherwordly, with their amazing ugly faces held as high as the head of a crowned beauty queen, and that Vegas showgirl plume of feathers around them, waving in the wind created by the tram. They stared angrily at us, as we whizzed by clicking photos, they were only thing scarier than the Tigers.

The tigers.

The highlight of the trip was the Tiger Safari, where you get in a caged Jeepney and buy a raw chicken to feed the tigers, who roam wild and have learned that the Jeepney means food.

They leap up to the window were an underpaid teenage kid opens the window and calls *Hey, Daddy*, and feeds the tiger with his BARE HANDS COVERED IN CHICKEN GUTS. The kid whistles and throws some chicken on the roof and as easily as you would hop onto the kerb this beast jumps on the ROOF of the jeepney and rides it down the hills, eating chicken, swaying gracefully with the movement of the Jeepney, the king of all he surveys. Everything every written about the power, majesty, and glory of these animals is visible in these moments. The first time you see a live tiger five feet away from you leap cinematically onto the roof of a World War II Jeepney is one that robs you of adjectives, and the feeling when you realize that your rickety Jeepney is next is one that is akin to only one feeling Ive ever had- a kind of torpor in which you are both inside and outside your body, seeing and feeling everything, but as if in a dream.

Being here has changed the way I experience things a bit- it has made me MORE jaded (as when I was eating the breakfast buffet at Mango Park Hotel in Cebu with Ives and thinking a bit languidly how many millions of these damn things Ive been to, and suddenly realizing that this was probably a really unusual event for him) and less jaded, as when I saw the New Years fireworks from my balcony and felt like the luckiest cat in the Phil.

Anyway, the upshot is that when I saw the face of the Tiger leaning down to look at us through the scarred Plexi glass of the jeepney roof I was again blessed with an emotion that Ive never felt, and still cant describe- a kind of juvenile innocent fear, mixed with pity for the animal and its handlers, awe, thankfulness... and more, too many more to name.

Awesome, in the true meaning of the word.

AM- boy!

About two months ago, naturally just a day or two before my scheduled first date with someone who we won't name here, I had a run in with someone I called "JPMC". I was waiting for the 5 Am shuttle when a tall, stocky like a football player, very handsome Filipino guy saunters up to the crowd and starts asking questions in English, to a very frosty reception by everyone but me.

Everyone else; "FUQQQQ- UUUU, stranger, who do you think you ARE with that Filipino speaking English to ME?!"

Me: "Hellooooo beautiful!"

So I helped him figure out the shuttle schedule, giving him FAR more advice on where to find an ATM, etc, than strictly necessary, trying not to seem like someone who's found a Dior dress at a Salvation Army. He was "Dean Cain" hot, the kind of handsome that makes you feel like a giggly schoolgirl based on principle alone.

Something about the way he held himself, his perfect English, and most especially the two poker chips he was turning around and around in his hand, Iceman-style while he talked made me think "he's either Fil-AM or balikabayan (went away for a job and came back to the 'hood made good)".

I groaned to my friends: "I just met the HOTTEST guy who speaks perfect English, and of COURSE I'm already starting somethin' else! Damn, could the world have WORSE timing?"

On a technical level, this guy was not really my type- all American- football- players- with- tons- of- swagga really aren't my bag, but you know what? I'll make an exception once in a while.

Anyway, I would see this guy EVERYWHERE for the next few weeks, while I was getting more and more serious (or should I say "snowed"?) by the guy I was seeing, and he (JPMC- called that after the initals of the program he works on at my job) would always go out of his way to say hi, making me feel so cool.

He even told me (awesome quote i ) "I was gonna ask you to borrow the money I needed but I didn't really know you, ya know?"

I told Ant later that I was like mentally "And I would have TOTALLY loaned it to, you big lug of hot."

He has a sleepy sensuality about him (as well he should- more on that later), the kind of guy who slouches on your couch, just diffusing attraction around him as a matter of nature, not really trying hard, just being his idolic self.

ANYWAY, cut to the now, where I'm single and walking out of McDo on MacArthur and I run into him on the street.

"JPMC!" (he has a name and I know it but those initials just trip off the tongue) I hail him and we walk to the corner, where he says he's getting some clothes from one of his two crash pads.

The first of many *awesome* quotes comes out: "I don't know how to do my own laundry. Someone always does it for me." There was no twinkle when he said this, he was Stash freakin' Obileski. Just pure swag. God's favored child. I immediately thought: "Note to self: this guy is *friends ONLY* material." Knowing your enemy is half the battle, children.

So I invite him to Holiday Inn pool with me, he cleverly slips in a reference to the wife and kid (that's fine, I'm not on the market, he's not for me, and I wasn't trying to flirt anyway) and we exchange numbers so we can meet up later. And, furthering my feeling that he was balikabayan, he actually texted ME "are we still going?" about a hour later. Wow, someone who said yes and meant it! One for the record books.

A side note is that he's actually runner up for the post of "Mr. [Company Name]"! His pleasantly bland, slightly spacey face was on a banner for about two weeks, causing me to think "is that JPMC or am I losing my mind?" It was him.

Quote two: "I really choked on the question and answer section. I really did. Just choked OUT."

Anyway, one stifling cab ride later we're there. I, having learned my lesson, am quizzing him like a district attorney, and he's leaning all over the back of the car taking up so much space I was momentarily put off until he told me he moved to the states (Utah!!) when he was 11 and is now back after 20 years to take care of his ailing grandmother. Gotcha. So he's ethnically a Pinoy, mentally and culturally an American.

As we decided what beer to order at the cabana bar, I was wearing a bikini with no coverup or anything, and just draping myself over the bar, elbows on the counter, with my weight on one leg, dark caramel and feeling totally comfortable, and when we agreed on a Corona, something you can't get anywhere else, the army dude next to us changed his order to one as well.

He was from Hawaii and briefly engaged us in a conversation about how different things were here and how he couldn't wait to get home.
Later on his way out he asked me "where you from?" I told him, and he said "really? Not Hawaii? You make it look so natural, I would have guessed you live there." I think what he meant was my relaxed, loose body as I waited for a beer knowing or feeling like I knew exactly what to expect from the person I was with, feeling at home even far from home.

Talking with an American was like drinking the best Gin Rickey you've ever had followed by chocolate laced with chili, and a massage. In other words, heaven. Even if he was no Einstein, and he was NOT, it was so nice to be able to understand what his body and mouth were both saying.

The next two hours are spent with me asking him everything I can think about and him stretched out like a lion in the veldt, lazy and half awake, but bringing the scandal, me getting darker, him shading himself so he stays the color he is now. "I'm dark enough, thanks."

Some choice bits of conversation:

He used to be in a gang, as a teenager. In Utah. An Asian gang. "It was mixed Asians. There weren't enough of one kind to go around, you know?"

He's running a little side operation loaning money and *charging a vig* of 10%, making 2000p a week on this. When asked how he collects on people who don't pay "I don't worry about that. I mean, I know where they work, I have their number. I mean, I don't loan money to people who don't have a job. That would be madness. I mean I didn't go to B school for nothing!"

He doesn't need a job because his baby mama supports him "I treat her good. I mean, if I think about it, I do keep meeting these women who want to take care of me, though."

He doesn't get the whole Field Avenue thing: "Americans just love Filipinas, don't they? That's not for me, though. Not for me. Can't see it." (He was married to "a white chick" and is now shacked up with baby-mama two, an American born Honduran)

You may be asking yourself: From what planet did this guy fall?

Answer: He's one of two or three people I know besides myself who've read the books of Robert Greene. Get your mitts on them *immediately* people. You will learn how to harness your natural self to great advantage, as this guy, who's peers (he's really peerless, but who's contemporaries) call "Amboy".

Proof that hybrids can be among the most powerful of any creature.

youtube links for the "you are there' experience

Here's some links for Youtube videos that you may enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3m3MRg7y2cs- introducing and giving shout outs to the work teams at our four year anniv party

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbnQDqlMb8U- trike ride through Angeles

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nb6AZW61HZg- a computer montage put together by work

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWKPHLYwFxI- co worker sings "I will survive", is upstaged by the dramatic entrance of second coworker.

Movie Rewiews, Part III

movie reviews!

Black Swan:


I almost don't know where to start with this movie. Many reviews focused on the character of Nina, the director's other flicks (including the super- trippy "The Fountain"), or "female rivalry", which I feel was very misguided. The film is a genre- straddling something or other that is very compelling, but, in my opinion, flawed by the very tail ending (I'll get to that later, and I'll give you a spoiler alert, don't worry).

The genre mix is "dance movie" and "melodrama" with a bit of "psychological horror flick" built in. There are some VERY scary moments, made more scary by the structure of the plot (which revolves around "is she crazy or is it real, and how much of each?"). Yes, there's a girl on girl love scene (well, i should stop beating around the bush and say "sex scene") that I feel was for once, not gratuitous. Why no? My argument would be that it shows both a) Nina's attempts to find herself and b) how pliable and how lost Nina is, to the point where she's not even sure if she's straight or what.
Natalie Portman, who's always driven me nuts with her "vegan, Harvard, overly intense I'm dating a busker ways", is perfect for this role. She IS that girl in class that you want to slap upside the head and feed a sandwich to at the same time. Her frailness, her "crazy eyes" and her intensity really work for this movie. (the only movie I've found her likeable in other than "Brothers").
The movie centers on the character's quest to achieve independence and sexual maturity so she can convincingly play both the white and black swan roles- ironically, she must fall apart mentally and lose her grip on perfection so that she can "achieve perfection" in the form of getting the role.
Also, it's the third movie in a sort of crazy triptych about sacrificing your body and your mind for something you love/ are obsessed with (Wrestler, Black Swan, and Fountain. Actually, let's throw "PI" in there too, but that guy starts OUT f-ed). It's a melodramatic and campy meditation on the sacred rite of self destruction as religion, which I would argue is the artists' "story"--the subject of most or all of his art.

The much ballyhooed (AHEM ELLE MAGAZINE) "female rivalry" theme is a serious misreading of the film. Is Nina in "competition" with the free spirited Lily for the role of black and white swan- yes, technically. But she also forms a real friendship (and even is intimate with) Lily. Competition at a ballet company is not a radical idea, nor are these woman "frenemies" as the magazine article I've read is so breathless to prove any more than every woman is "competitive" with someone who is the opposite type.

They could have argued that free spirited Lily is "competitive" with cool, thinner, more elegant Nina, who has the respect and sexual interest of the director just as easily.

The mag article posits that there hasn't been a movie like this since Single White female!! Excuse me, have you watched Lifetime, like ,ever? New Best friend, perhaps? (a total stinker with "Jenny" from L word in it) How about "Cruel Intentions?" How about the FREAKING MOVIE I REVIEWED LIKE A MONTH AGO IN THIS VERY BLOG "You again" How about "the women"? and that's just off the top of my head.

Now, the magazine article does specify "no romantic triangles". Uh, mag? The two women aren't just fighting over who's thinner and more perfect for "posterity". They want the HUNKY DIRECTOR.

Anyway, the movie swings from low key thriller, along the lines of "Premenition" with a few geninue scares, to "dance movie" including showing the dancer breaking in her toe shoes (can't think of a more cliched scene except for-- wait for it!), the dancer goin' wild at a after hours club, and long, lingering loving shots of her perfectly toned body (what your BF agreed to go for.). Then at the very end of the movie, Nina (SPOILER ALERT-don't scroll down if you don't want to know!!)


having achieved her goal at the cost of her sanity and her health (maybe even her life, the movie implies, since she has a major, life threatening injury) falls onto a stage mattress from her final jump and lands in slow mo. "I'm finally perfect" she last-words it, a beatific smile on her face.
GROAN! ( I *could* be mentally adding the "finally" part)

When I told my sister about that, she was like 'well, hon, not every one "gets" that part, the filmmakers had to add it in". Heh.
rating: 3.5 out of 4 stars. 4 if the DVD comes out with rad extra features. Just don't watch it when you're feeling antsy and have a lot of hangnails.


The roommate:

An oddly puffy, upbeat psychological thriller about an unbalanced woman (Blair Waldorf from Gossip Girl- Leighton Meister) who becomes obsessed with her roommate (Minka Kelly). When I saw the previews I was like "eh, good for 100 p". And that's exactly what it was.

Oddly tame, as if it were being edited for the WB already, the movie *barely* needs a PG-13 rating. Not that I was looking for buckets of gore or battalions of boobs, but it IS set at a college. A good bikini clad damsel in distress scene wouldn't have been out of place in this by- the- numbers thriller. There IS a shower scene though. This movie is SO predictable that as SOON as minor characters would appear (including the fluffy kitten, Cuddles) I would think "bye, Cuddles. Wonder how she'll kill you.
Bye ex boyfriend who's still calling. Wonder how she'll kill ya.
Bye creepy teacher played by a scraping- the- bottom- of- the- barrel Billy Zane. Wonder how she'll kill ya."

Anyway, the soundtrack is fun, the clothes are cute, the pacing is breakneck (we don't even SEE the dinner that Minka and Random Hunk go on that establishes them as a couple) the sex scene, such as it is, is foofy and vague, there's a gratuitous girls make out with girls scene, the heroine dangles from a window ledge, etc.

At the end of the movie, having killed her stalker in a climactic battle, the movie bounces back to "shuffle party mode" and tinkling, upbeat "B- roll- LA- establishing- shots" music plays, while Minka and Random Hunk have a twinkly- eyed, pop- culture- reference- strewn laugh about her KILLER ROOMMATE WHO' S NOW IN THE MORGUE and then they symbolically move her extra bed out of her dorm room. Har, har, Rebecca, who's having the last laugh now, ya BITCH!! And, roll credits!

Let's see...that's it for now!

scattered showers, thunderstorms likely

Ever have one of those moments when you realize that you're kind of living in one of those "Year One" movies where a novice is discovered to have incredible powers, if only they could learn to CONTROL them....

That's me all over the place.

Well, I promised y'all that I would be "uncensored" so prepare yourselves for a little trip...

When I first laid eyes on Ives, I thought "I have to have that". I concentrated *real hard* on having him as a boyfriend, ("Johnny Angeloovvvee.....Johnnyyyy Angelloovveee") which I did get, only to find out that getting what you want is not quite the same as HAVING what you want.

Yeah, I had to break it off.

Long story, here's the bullet points:

after a month and a bit of perfectly dreamy dating, apparently the belladonna wore off and after we got back from vacation, things started goin' off.

It was about a week later when I woke up one day and realized that it had TEN DAYS since I had either 1) gotten a text from him or 2) received a reply. (People here don't call to chat since it's so expensive, they usually just text, in fact the Phil leads the world in texting)

Hmmm. Add to this the generally "put upon" demeanor he exhibited when I would come up to him and say hi at work and I started to smell the brimstone.

I gave it a few days, he was sick, we saw each other every day at work, what was the big deal, then I asked him, uh, WTF, baby?

He sort of tried to act like I hadn't asked him anything at all, and when I pressed it, he claimed he was too broke to put money on his phone. Okayyy, I'll let that go once, but as Lea pointed out, it's 20p for unlimited texts from Globe to Globe, which we both are. That's 50 cents, people.

I have more peso on my kitchen floor right now.

An escalating series of dick moves then started to make a pattern: cold at work, not answering texts, breaking dates, and, most tellingly, his friends were complaining about him not being himself. There were a few breaks in the clouds- he outright told me he hadn't been himself for about ten days since being sick, he did come to see me even when he was sick, but...not quite enough.

This past week he was a no call no show for plans we had and that was enough for me. I'm no tyro at the love game, and as much as I wanted to give him a pass, I asked myself "Would Joan Holloway tolerate this? No? Thought so." I sent him a frosty, yet professional break up email that significantly left out the fact that it felt like someone had taken a staple gun to my heart.

The one (evilly) gratifying thing: the next day he looked like five miles of bad road, red rimmed eyes, totally quiet, looking for all the world like someone had dropped him from a plane into the jungle with only a machete.

The worst part of all this is I really don't know what happened and it's unlikely that I ever will. Does it "matter"-- ultimately, no. But as we know, going through a breakup while you still like the f*cker and not really knowing where the lovin' feeling went is HELL.

Anyway, the upshot of this little tale is that I vividly remember wanting this man for myself even before I knew him, which is always a sign that you're dipping into the stash---you're building your own little idol and surprisingly, most humans will respond to the firepower of witchery for a least a short time, but sooner or later they recover their free will and flee to the forest, leaving behind only the scent of clean laundry behind.

Now you may be asking yourself, but Na, how can you be so sure of your own powers? Well, little ones, this is the part two:

I also told Ives, in regards to my North American friend Lindsay "I'm hoping she meets a Pinoy, falls madly in love and gets married so she has to stay here, that's my master plan." In fact I had two picked out for her, Chichi, another assistant manager at work, and actually, Roro, who I was hoping would appeal to her love of bad boys (and they would do the Angelina and Billy Bob Crazy in Love thing--hey, all I cared about was having another white girlfriend here to stay, not the QUALITY of the relationship...sensing a pattern, anyone? hee.)

Three weeks ago she started dating "Mr. [work]" someone voted the cutest guy at work, and....

Text message I got from her yesterday:

"We have three weeks to plan a wedding. You're the maid of Honor."

Apparently I should have been concentrating a *little* harder on my OWN love live, but, live and learn.

The force is strong in this one....

going wide with it

I've put this blog on the following website:

DAZZLE!!! or wait, totally not.

Where to begin....

Naomi Ikehorn Orsini paused at the doorway of the formal event she had only very reluctantly agreed to attend. Very few people would have the panache, the pure Irish spirit to come to an event where everyone else was 5'0" and 90 pounds and tanned to a burnished peanut brown, but this was no ordinary woman. This was "Inky", who from birth had burst into the world and started exploring it almost as soon as she could toddle. The world was her Kelly bag, her Tiffany key pendant, her Balenciaga egg coat, and she had only to rest her lambent, serious eyes on something and it would be hers for the taking, or the leaving.

Dressed in an fitted 1960's inspired sheath of Yves Klein blue with a subtle arabesque design in black, her endless, lightly tanned legs ending in killer strappy heels with serious silver mirror Cuban heels, her Titian locks wavy and loose, she looked the kind of woman you catch a glimpse of in the hallway and promptly knock over a tray of champagne glasses while trying to get another look. The kind of Gilda, Rosalind Russell "dame" who didn't flirt with waiters, just gave them that look from those changeable sea green eyes.

Despite the 90 degree heat, the late start, and the company- enforced no drinking policy, the famously charismatic and shockingly wealthy iron and oil heiress was determined to have a good time.

Of course, it was a monumental hassle that her boyfriend, the beautiful, mercurial technical expert/ private plane pilot- he of the sharpest cheekbones and most kissable mouth East of the Bay of Bengal-- had been felled like a tree to a logger by a very severe cold just last week and was spending the day chewing on the bitter kalamansi fruit (the sure-fire cold remedy here in the colony) and sleeping, so she was going to have to champ it out solo.

Oh, wait, that's the Judith Krantz novel I brought to the Holiday Inn poolside bar. Heh. Uh, where was I?

Yes, babies, I had to go to company anniversary part sans date. Fine. And it was in the middle of the day. Fine. And the food was rice, cauliflower, peas, carrots, and broccoli, and sauce with chicken and roast beef. Fine. And there was no drinking allowed. Fine. (I recently cut the drinking WAY back to almost nothing anyway, no big deal, but if there was one event I'd like a glass of wine, this would be it). Let me just set the scene for y'all shall I?

I arrived on time, to a wedding like setting of daffodil chairs, lazer beams, pounding 70's music, a wide variety of "formal wear" (more on THAT later) already schvitzing like a schmuck and dying for water. The organizer, a tiny fey little thing we call "she" (at his request) called "Peachy" rustled up- would I please present the awards with Shah? (My guess is a combination of English skills and height---I'm the only one close to Shah's height that wouldn't be weird- an agent would be just too weird---colored his choice, so I said yes).

I wandered around, getting my picture taken with various people who barely cleared my shoulder, and when I sat down realizing I should have tested my dress in the dressing room. I mean, I recently lost quite a bit of weight and have a deep caramel tan, but still! The dress was *barely* clearing the runway, if you know what I mean.

A photo booth was set up and people were getting their photos taken. I sat down with Mike, one of my original friends, and tried to talk turkey, however, Filipinos, god bless them, are constitutionally incapable of gossip (at least in English, with an American), and it's not Mike's nature to "dish", so he was a pleasant but not totally Joan Collins firecracker table companion.

The clothes: the invitation specified "formal wear" which was supposed to be for men was dinner jackets in dark colors and for women full length gowns- movie premier stuff.

Well, children, the clothing ran the gamut from a breezy knee length sleeveless sundress and espedrills (Gemma) to what I would call "Barbie dresses"- short very poufy layered cupcake dresses in gauzy bright colors (that looked terrific on tiny little dark Asian ladies, would have looked like I stole it from a villager if I wore it) to a short sleeved plaid shirt and black jeans (Duey, one of my favorite agents) to gorgeous Amit and gorgeous Fitz fully kitted out in three piece dark suits and Windsor knotted ties to a white shirt and khakis and "good" sneakers (Nikki) to a black shirt, a domino mask, bolo tie and fedora (the tiny, impeccable Mark, one of those men who look like they're wearing guyliner even when they're not, they're just one of Nature's favored ones).

Roro rolled up late wearing a loose but spotless white shirt and dark jeans and aviator sunglasses, looking like he slept on a train, for all the world like a particularly glamorous castaway in that way some people have, the sleepy look that covers over the preternaturally alert stance of a seasoned gambler.

The first chance people had they changed into tee shirt and jeans that they had brought with them, clever dogs, and me, Nikki, and Anne were stuck in our formal wear. Oh wait, Nikki and Anne were wearing backyard barbeque clothing and I was stuck in full on Gossip Girl wear. Now, I did look hotttt but I also had to move verrrryyy carefully.

There were a few songs, (karaoke) and an AWESOME dance program by two male members of the retention team (LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, OUR ACCOUNT MANAGEMENTTEAM!!) to Justin Timberlake's "My Love" that managed to be sweet, odd, and as endearing as a 4th grade ballet recital. The support team (sme's and supes sang, very off key and sounding drunk despite being 100% sober) "Do you remember" by I think the Jackson Five?

Of course there were awards and all that, and a computer presentation that defies description. See my youtube account, naokelify, for vids that MUST be seen to be believed. However, don't tag them, please, I don't want to "out" people. (thanks, loyal ones)

About halfway through the program (before the food) I was outside trying to form a cabal (epic fail- everyone is sweet as they frantically edge away from me, desperate to get back to the Tagalog table- THE REASON I DIDN'T WANT TO GO, but whatever....) to afterparty somewhere (and not even really "party"-just grab a beer and some chat!) and when I came back inside there was a huge commotion of some kind- the male half of the presenters got on the mike and announced:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, due to the bubble machine, our hostess has slipped and fallen and hit her head, but she's okay! We're taking her to get checked out, but please continue the program!"

I *immediately* was struck with THE WORST case of the "church giggles"[when you can't stop yourself from giggling even though you really, really shouldn't be] TM that I've EVER had. I had to walk out and call Lindz gasping for air and wiping my eyes and tell her the deal. I mean, really it was not a laughing matter but "due to the bubble machine"? I mean, HAVE MERCY. I finally got it under control and joined the group but it did sort of put the finishing note of madness on the day.

Anyway, the day limped along until Niks got there, thank god, and gave me the first compliment of the day (well, aside from people jostling to get a picture with me) "I like what you're wearing!" He nodded at the outfit. As he's naturally gracious yet reserved, this is a high compliment from Niks, and I was happy. Anne finally rolled in, and we champed it out, then we had a beer at the bar after the event wrapped up.

Night finally dropped, as the guest straggled out and it was just us three at a table, under the fan and Roro, Jai and Mark at the bar draped over barstools with loosened ties, unbuttoned shirts, and lightly gleaming faces from the heat. I couldn't have PAID those guys to join us. That's the one thorn in my side from the whole night. It was a twisted rent in the fabric of the heart to know that even if Ives had been there and I had been at that table with him and his friends, I would have still been watching and listening, not understanding anything, as everyone joked and laughed, while I sat, the fleeing Diana turned to a tree.