GIGI GOES GAGA

CHECKING OUT

For a Virgo (albeit on the cusp of Leo), I'm pretty laid back. Few things upset me and I rarely get angry, but I think I just made myself this way. Both my parents have explosive tempers and I suspect I inherited the gene, but thankfully also the tenacity to control it.

I'm not the kind of person who likes to count favors given or owed; if you've dropped by here once or twice you probably already know that math and I don't mix and I don't like to count anything, period. So let's say you and I share a meal and I pay more than my share (or even pay for you) this time, rest assured I'm not going to remember how much you need to pay next time to even things out. It's all good, you see, between friends and family -- giving is better than receiving. And I happen to think it always works out in the end.

But despite my having just said this, one of my worst pet peeves is sharing a restaurant meal with a large group of people, including several I barely (or don't) know, only to get stuck with having to pay a monster share of the bill because a bunch of boneheads couldn't figure out the math of adding tax and tip to calculate what they owe. Perhaps they merely thought these "extras" were optional. Or maybe because they've already had too much to drink and have conveniently forgotten that they did at all.

THEY LOOKED FAMILIAR

I had dinner with a few friends last night to celebrate A's birthday. Joining us were some really nice guys whose faces and voices were quite familiar to me although I'd never met them before; they just happen to be the lead singers of a phenomenally talented band named South Border, an R&B/pop band from the Philippines now performing regularly throughout the US.

My many years of managing retail stores where celebrities like to shop has suppressed every bit of the fan in me; I've learned that most folks who are considered public property really appreciate it when they can be normal people for a change (especially if they're going to be naked inside a fitting room and have to ask you to get something in their size). Another thing I've discovered is that it's usually those who are most insecure about the fragile status of their fame or celebrity who demand to be served hand and foot (these are also the same kind of folk who like to bellow at you point-blank, "Do you KNOW who I am?").

The truth is I'm not really good at spotting famous people anyway, which is something that never worried or concerned me because any good salesperson should know how to deal with everyone as if they were all special in the first place. And really, this guideline shouldn't be limited to the realm of business; I've always believed we should all treat people well and with respect, no matter who they (or who we) are. And I try not to worry about the jerks who find glee in running over or taking advantage of other people -- I often find that when they get to the finish line first, there's no one there cheering them on anyway. So what's the point, where's the fun and happiness in that?

But going back to last night. I've got to admit I find it wholly refreshing when people accustomed to being chased and fawned over still find a way to remain normal and down-to-earth, and not let fame get to their heads. If M hadn't told me that "Duncan and Vince" were joining us, I would have probably thought them to be just another couple of young, funny, really nice guys who were slightly hung-over and trying not to ogle too obviously at the pretty belly dancers swishing their hips in front of their faces. But who also just happen to look and sound really, really familiar.

CABIN FEVER

I've been home with the flu since Wednesday. Because of the nature of my job, however, this doesn't mean that I haven't been working, I don't think I've had a real sick day in years. Still, there are inherent advantages of toiling from home; for instance, I get to sit around in my pajamas (or whatever it is I feel like wearing -- or not wearing, for that matter) and I can take a nap whenever I choose to. My cat also keeps me company, she likes to wrap herself around my right foot like a furry sock while I'm click-clacking away at the keyboard and, best of all, no one can hear me utter the crispest of profanities whenever I get frustrated (which is more often when I'm not feeling very well) or when I call people names that I don't really mean but thoroughly enjoy saying at the moment.

The bummer part about getting sick this particular week is that I had to cancel a much-anticipated weekend trip to Vegas to visit friends (I even had this thing all planned out and I'm not normally organized about vacations) and I was forced indoors during a rare spate of really mild and pleasant weather. I tried venturing out into the world -- or at least to the neighborhood Target -- with my sister on Friday night, only to feel my fever shoot up again and cause me more grief. But at least I made out with a DVD set of the much-awaited second season of Grey's Anatomy (uncut!) and a really cute winter-white sweater knit Paul & Joe bag. Shopping therapy redefined, I suppose.

I GOT TAGGED

I've been staring at my Mac's face for a couple of days now and she just keeps looking blankly at me in return, like we're in some kind of nonending, fruitless staring contest between man and machine. And then Manolo, who just happens to have the most fortuitous timing ever, intervened and broke stalemate by tagging me with a simple music meme.

Seven Songs

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your LiveJournal/blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

Easy enough. I just put together a mix cd for a good friend and so am still listening to all 19 songs I selected just for him. But here's seven.

1. The Walk - Imogen Heap
2. Is It Love - Brigette
3. God Only Knows - The Beach Boys
4. No One Else - Amel Larrieux
5. I Love Everylittle Thing About You - Stevie Wonder
6. Reason Why - Rachael Yamagata
7. All the Way Around - Marvin Gaye

TAGGING (only if you want to do this peeples, okay?):
K, Bugsy, Julianne, John-John, the bee, Batjay, Noelle

Thanks Manolo!

BATTLING THE BLUES

Just got a bit of horribly bad news that I can't share. Of course it had to happen this week, which hasn't been -- well, let's just say it hasn't been the best ever. I don't want to sound like I've turned into Bad-luck Schleprock so I'll sum this all up and say there's been (physical) pain, nonstop bouts of high fever, and a very uncomfortable medical procedure involved. And now the bad news.

Once in a while I get the bout of the blues so bad I don't want to get out of bed. But eventually I do because I know if I don't things won't ever get better. So I tell myself that many other people have it worse or are struggling with life-or-death type of situations. Which I'm not (or at least I don't think so). I doubt this helps put me in a more positive frame of mind since I don't like to dwell on any kind of suffering but -- what can I say -- it's Catholic guilt permanently ingrained in my fiber. I'm one of those people who can't win without thinking of the one who lost. And so when I'm feeling sad, as I am now, I know somewhere out there is someone who's feeling much worse.

There was a time I was prescribed a cocktail of anti-depressants. I've got to admit the medication took the edge off and I became functional once again. But there was a part of me that needed to know I still had my coping skills so I did what NO ONE should ever do (seriously, this is dangerous stuff); I got off my meds cold turkey and for a period of time I wondered if I was going insane. But that passed, thankfully.

So now I just cope the best I can, and keep reminding myself it's the bad times that make me truly appreciate the good times. And, for me at least, the good times always return, even if I have to dig through the mess and hunt for that positive spin that can turn everything around. Because really, if there's something I've learned all these years it's that perception is a very powerful thing; it can truly make all the difference.

Excuse me for a bit while I go back to bed. To read, that is. Hopefully I'll return rejuvenated and inspired, and in a much happier place. But as I always say, happiness is a commitment we make; I'll just have to keep the faith, put in a bit of time and effort, and I'll get there. Like everything else in life that truly matters, it doesn't always come easy but it's always worth the struggle. See you guys soon.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY W

I was chatting with a friend last night; he was bemoaning the state of what his body has become. Now in the early part of his mid-40s, he says he's beginning to "feel his age." He was complaining about how much more tired he often feels these days compared to before and how his waistline has thickened a tad bit and, even worse, how he now has this thin tire of skin and fat that sits just atop the waistband of his jeans.

And it doesn't matter that he watches what he eats, keeps active, practices kendo, and maintains the punishing pace of a working man half his age. "Stop it," I said. "You're perfect just the way you are." And I meant it; it wasn't merely a friendly attempt to make him feel more positive and optimistic about his upcoming birthday.

There was a time many, many years ago when I couldn't keep my hands off this man. I was absolutely nuts about him, smitten; I made plans around him, plans for myself and for us. None of these plans happened, of course, and our relationship didn't work out the way I'd hoped. Still, I will admit that when I was with him I didn't look at other men; none of them could compare, as far as I was concerned.

And yet, I didn't fall for the guy because I found him physically attractive; in fact, the day we were introduced (and even during the time we were developing a friendship) I thought he was way too skinny and scruffy and didn't give him a second look. It didn't help that he had a cocky demeanor, looked like he had a temper, and had a ring of hickeys around his neck (which he didn't even notice was there). And also, because he was also older than I was, he looked too much like an "adult" compared to boys my age whom I normally hung around with. But then eventually, although it felt like it happened overnight, I saw him quite differently. Now I viewed him as being lean and confidently casual, which I thought was extremely sexy -- even if he looked exactly the same as he did the first time I saw him.

BUY THIS BOOK

One of the first few blogs I got hooked on when I started my own almost two years ago belongs to an incredibly funny, talented man known to thousands by his nom de plume, Batjay.

A Filipino expatriate then working as an engineer in Singapore, Batjay quickly felt like an old friend even if we had never met (and chances were we would never meet). There was just something about his distinctly Filipino sense of humor -- earthy, even raunchy, but never cruel or humiliating -- that was familiar and most comforting to an immigrant like myself. And just like someone you've known forever, he's open about what he loves about life; among them good food (likes 'em spicy!), great music (with a preference for classic rock) and his gentle, caring wife Jet.

FINALLY AN ANSWER

Some stories I hold deep, deep inside. Maybe I clutch them too closely so I don't ever have to look at them straight in the face; maybe I'm afraid that if I release my grip I'll lose them completely and irrevocably. Or perhaps they are simply too precious to share. No matter what the reason is, the truth is that what I opt not to share is even more telling than whatever it is I choose to say.

But sometimes the story is buried so deep within that I've merely forgotten it's there, no matter how essential and constant it's been in the ongoing plotline of my life. Denial can be a wonderful thing; it can wash away that metallic bite of sorrow that lingers on the tip of the tongue and it can soothe the afterburn and ache of horror and desperation. But it only lasts so long before the fleeting warmth of its comfort segues into the inescapable chill of undesired exposure.

Just a few days ago I was chatting with an old friend of mine, someone I've known for about two decades now. Although we've flitted in and out of each other's lives, he and I will always be connected in some way, just as we've been through all these years. So I don't know what we were talking about this time, but I heard myself utter the words, in halting succession, stalker, assault, cops, jail, and lastly restraining order.