So let me tell you how it is. It's almost midnight and I am munching on a "small" Snickers bar. I like Snickers, but not as much I love Mars bars. See, I like almonds. But there are Snicker days and there are Mars days. Sometimes you gotta snicker than go out of this world.
Prior to having my Snicker moment I parked the car in the basement parking of my apartment building. Before I managed to enter the gates, there was another car that was posed before the electronic fence. And then the moment I managed to get the car into its slot, another came in. So I thought, maybe I would find the answers in these really coincidental incidents. Maybe the answer is
either in these cars.
I am a sucker for symbolic shit, you see.
The answers I was looking for has been set in me since I was fifteen, and since I do not lie about my age the search has been with me for seventeen years. Wow. Seventeen years. That's somebody's lifetime. People lose their virginities before seventeen, heck, I know people who had babies before seventeen. The point is, the whole time I have been looking for answers some people were already having their mini-revelations and some are already planning to have their shot in
Teen Mom or
Mom at Sixteen or however you call that sick reality TV shit. Mine has been very elementary. What's taking
him so long?
I was actually on Makati Avenue, in the car, with Mirro on the passenger seat, when I made the inevitable monologue. I said something like, "I am not looking for The One, I am looking for The Next One." At thirty-two, you do not really give up, you just continuously move on. What the hell is The One? Does that even exist?
Is that sad or is that smart? I can't tell. Maybe I'll find out when I'm thirty-three. Hopefully I won't find out when I'm thirty-five. See, one of my dearest of dearest friends is a resident surgeon, and years before her license as a medical doctor she was texting me in the middle of her OB-GYN class or similar that we needed to get pregnant pronto. I was probably twenty-eight. See, we're approaching this in a
very scientific manner. We're women, hear us roar as we are suppressing the sound of our biological clocks. Yeah?
So my Mirro was drunk, I was tipsy, and we were on this intersection called Buendia and Makati Avenue. Mirro told me for the nth time that night that we were not going to find
him here. No. I told him that the sad thing about that is a
fortune teller already told me
that when I was fourteen, but the huge problem is that I am
here. I am still here.
The first time, this day (or yesterday) Mirro said that was around ten in the evening. Or was it nine. Or maybe it was eight. At eight in the evening we were enjoying some coffee pana cotta and muddy chocolate cake in a diplomatic event at the Shangri-La Makati (yes, I surprisingly get invited to these things). By eight-thirty we were heading to this dinner party hosted by another ex-pat in which the party was consisted of people from his region (Europe). Mirro and I spent most of the time outside the party; he smoked and whined whilst I got drunk on Chilean wine and whined. It was an incredible recipe for a Thursday night.
Stationed a few meters from a lighted pool on a drizzly Thursday night, we made some revelations. I told him about Jason Segel because I did not want to get into too much details about Guy X, Guy Y, and Guy Z, those guys who were merely good on paper and that guy who seemed to like me genuinely enough to ask me on a proper date. Anyway. I told him that if I was desperate and if Jason Segel was in LA during the time I was there I could pull a string who could pull another string who could "get" me Jason Segel. I told him I said no. Not because I didn't want Jason Segel; it was because I didn't want to meet Jason Segel as the girl who could pull some "strings". I mean, I am not relying on some miracle or other, but the thing is, like I had to share with my friend, Jason Segel is someone I can genuinely like, not as
the Jason Segel but as Jason Segel.
Gets?
But I have to say this is all not just because of Jason Segel, of course. This is not some kind of a De Clerambault Syndrome, however. I'm done with erotomania, seriously. I couldn't help but tell Mirro this because this is the truth:
"When I met (ex), I thought that he reminded me of that guy who played Marshall from HIMYM. Then I fell in-love with (ex). And then when it was over between (ex) and I, and I inevitably started seeing Jason Segel movies (thanks to HBO) and, yes, Jason Segel did remind me of (ex), but ironically Jason Segel helped me get over (ex). Because I started to see another person as his own person (Jason Segel), even though I do not know him and the guy he reminds me of is the guy I
could marry."
Sounds like a dang movie, right. Ask me to write the screenplay, I am actually
very good.
So that is the thing.
Since I was inevitably pushed into this career limbo, I told my friend that if I had enough money, I would choose to spend some time in the US. To meet Jason Segel? That's, say, a fourth of it. Heck, it is probably easier for me to meet him. But along the lines of sitcom drama, from Robin Scherbatsky ending up as "Aunt Robin" to Robin Scherbatsky who is, at this point, in the limbo of finding love in so-called conventional terms, I have to say that if fortunes are aligned according to plan, how I will meet Jason Segel is probably as fated as me ending up on the corner of Buendia and Makati Avenue, drunk and whining why I am having such a great time on the night before an early client meeting.
See, the moral of the story is, do not drink and drive,
