EVERYBODY WANTS ME BUT...

The partnership was stuck.

So I took over as I always do and moved the ToR at supersonic speed as should be done, fast enough to also suck an MOU and next week's partnership assessment in its wake.

I make things happen. 

Like pairing sweet moscato with leftover bopis or hard beer with creamy catfish sisig, shanghaied Siluriformes, crisp samgyupsal and an unconventional omelette in Bakal 2.

They all made their bids known.

Vientiane indicated a budget, Phnom Penh called, Chicago sent a message, the countries said there is a way but still, the future hangs in limbo like the requested TA to Jakarta. 

But the tempered glass is breaking.

And this is when rare exceptionalism should rise from mediocrity to be digitally transformed from a savory chicken powerpoint into a deboned crispy pata.

There is no birthday but a wedding.

Because those who want me are waiting for the chef to whip out a wedding kaldereta instead of bearing with a birthday policy that was supposed to happen but should not.

Four days into exit month.

And after 7 breakfast runs, it was decided that the 38th year of people power will be skipped for a mid-afternoon dream of a lotto jackpot win or the jueteng mother lode.

A VALENTINE'S DAY SUBMISSION

Never look back.

But I do sometimes to remind myself of the superficiality and idiosyncracies of some people I've met along the way that is both sobering and amusing.

Always look forward.

And through my new biennial glasses, I can see a secure, confident and content 54 years old who will win the lotto jackpot someday.

But I wont have enough time to finish properly so the first application was impulsively fired out on Friday afternoon three hours before the daing na bangus and Ma Ling pork luncheon meat were flash fried.

"Making good men better".

Apparently not so for certain people who are perfect metpahors of memorizing without understanding. 

Yes, Tuklaw is a kumpare or a face at the fellowship table and that being it, March 2 will be my second and last reception after January 6 because a Saturday in Palayan is just another day.

Kathmandu was warm and beautiful on Valentine's Day, enough to thaw a frozen fake ham in a bonfire of curriculum vitae and a cover letter that acknowledged the credits and debits from Bulan's account while I chase Jakarta for a ToR amidst a power outage that failed to explain why the Thursday Group had salami, roasted chicken and stale pistachos on Saturday night when Elizabeth Keen's idiotic episodes were being previewed at Elena's for an Apayao Brew on Day 7 in the trails of Munoz+... 

THE YEAR OF THE WOOD DRAGON IN BINONDO (and Malate)

for three days

the meetings were banished into a birthday party in the realm of the dead, dirty salami purged with a Pakistani sidestep as a leverage for Laos, like Thursday's streamlined plastic money or paper wrist bands sketched for the Friday loonies of The Gathering 

si Remedios ang kristo ng sabungan 

at sina Lola Asiang at Ruby ang una at huling sultada,  "sa inihaw! sa prito!" ang pustahan sa labas hanggang sa naibenta ng mga mahuhusay ang dalampasigan ng Batong Apog sa halagang 389 milyong piso...

...at pumusta ng todo ni Ginoong Teus kasama ang Bahay ng Tanduay, ang mga santo mula sa Simbahan ng Serbesa, at ang mga ipinagdadamot na bakuran ng mga Lakan sapagkat ang deboto ng Pinikpikang Santo ay nagsipagpugay sa Antigong Asado ng Binondo bilang pasintabi sa mga Koreano ng Malate 

at the Arranque Market

cats and birds were wrapped in taope as an appeasement to a late opening time 

at dahil matabang na siomai ang isinawsaw sa maitim na suka at lasang ilang-ilang ang mamantikang kikiam na ipinalaman sa mga inihagis na angpao... 

...Ongpin choked with dancing dragons, extorting fire eaters, and a thousand tiny yellow ducks

dahil ang retasong karne ni Remedios na inihain sa kalye ay lubhang hinigitan ang mamahaling buntot ng baka ni Adriatico

I am the Ironman, plantsador ng Bakal 2 who ride the Iron Horse when shirts and trousers collide in the Year of the Wood Dragon...

THE LAST TWO MONTHS

Bongabon was sold for a case of Johnny Walker Black and three bottles of pale pilsen because the collective birthday cake was good enough to finally banish a pair of discarded tellys and dress the mundane with salami, olives and dried dates 40 days after a death not from Montezuma's revenge but a temptress in quest for a 20/20 vision that can decipher the Jakarta proposal and why there should be no meetings on Candlemas because the Ironman's last three cigarretes were finally lighted by a pair of troopers after four days of cycling into the last two months of an extended contract...