Mornings With Maruja
This morning, my sister entered my dad's room where my brother and I sleep while he's in the US. She barraged the half-asleep me with a list of to-do's before she leaves for her hotel training.
"Uncle Robert will arrive at 9am. Give him the money I'm supposed to give him, okay?"
With my eyes half-open, I mumbled "okay, okay" from time to time, as if telling her that I'm still asleep and wanted to be asleep in the hours to come. But, being the concerned sister/ mother of the house that she is, she had to remind me continuously.
"Don't forget to feed my babies. And leave some money before you go to work so little brother will buy food for them later, okay?"
"When are we gonna pay the water bill? Shall we use the latest bill that the babies shred to bits?"
Once she ended her litany, she was about to leave the room.
"Oh and by the way, Dad called a while ago."
I stretched a little, my eyes still closed. "What did he say?"
"He said Mom bought you a new cellphone."
I got up just like that and pretended not to be excited as I began to fix the beddings.
"So does it look like?"
"It's a 'flip' phone, just like you," she hurriedly left afterwards.
Wow, what a great way to describe it.
I went straight to the kitchen, scooped some food to bowls. Brought the bowls outside as I dragged the cage where my sister's two babies were beginning to get restless for their breakfast. I opened the cage gate and out went the pug "Kano" (which means American) and the pug-lasso alpo named "Intsik" (Chinese).
I'm not a morning person. I prefer to get lazy and watch cable TV, drink lukewarm coffee and eat instant pancit. So for the next two hours while waiting for sister's godfather, whom she calls Uncle, just like how many Filipinos affectionately call their godfathers, I just sat on the wooden chair, raised my legs up, watch TV and do nothing.
I can't wait for the evening to come. Tonight, my ex-boss's modeling competition will be having its bar tours until tomorrow. Ooh, I can't wait. I haven't been in a bar since October last year after getting a TV job in an office located away from the nightspots. Whenever I'm in a bar, I like to take Blow Jobs.
No, stupid, it's a shot drink.
I take every hard drink imaginable. Mudslide, Jagers, Long Island Ice Tea, Cosmopolitan, name it, my gut can handle it. But just like Superman, your Empress has a weakness: beer. Ridiculous as it may sound, beer gets me drunk quicker than a casual quickee. And I mean really really drunk and wasted. So in a beer-obssessed society, my preference for the more expensive hard drinks are weird by their standards, but I don't care. Why should I conform? Why should I drink beer for the sake of fitting in? Why don't THEY try to take a sip of a fabulous cosmopolitan, and eat the cherry afterwards? Doesn't take make you look sexy? Beer makes you like a brute, a prude brute, not a sexy beast like what wine or Irish creams can do...
Then Intsik began to bark in her high-pitched angry whelps. Someone was at the gate. I looked at the clock and it was 9am.