sunroom

I had brunch at this great little restaurant at Greenhills - The Sunroom, which serves delectable Chinoy selections. Their line of congees, as well as the spare ribs, fish and oyster cakes, make the visit worthwhile.

I met up with some people to firm up some business plans. The good thing is that, if all works out, I'm actually looking to be in a better place than I initially assumed (which is why, often, it is better to estimate on the side of paranoid conservatism, especially when it comes to projections and such). The capacity to look at circumstances via unexpected perspectives is part of the strategy I'm advocating. Too much of the same old, same old leads to predictability, which, while leading to a semblance of stability, also becomes akin to background noise. The question is: how do you make yourself heard in a room full of noise? The answer is not obvious but charmingly simple once you understand how to attack the question.

Put it this way. If a man were in that noisy room, wherein everyone was trying to attract the attention of a single woman in the doorway, he should put up a huge sign that tells her, in big bold letters, who he is.


oh, so that's who he is

It turns out that this guy I keep sharing the elevator with at the condo (tall, tatooed and piss-ugly with attitude) is none other than KC Montero.

Goes to show how little I know. It seems that the condo has more than its fair share of "celebrities" (really, I'd rather have some writer rather than a has-been MTV jock). Celebrity does little for me. Unless it's a bevy of pretty girls.


bevy of pretty girls

At another restaurant, at another meeting, I quickly realized that I was sharing the room with The Beautiful People.

Around 25 young women, all models, were sitting around, waiting for something, flipping through their clearbooks filled with their pictures in various poses and stages of undress.

It's hard to carry on an intelligent conversation when just across from you, a PYT laughs, complete with tilted head and cascading hair.

Of course, nasty bastard that I am, all sorts of evil thoughts were in my head. Why is it that a lot of people immediately assume that if you're beautiful, you're stupid? Because god is fair, that's why.

It's like that terrible assumption people make when they see an ugly man with a stunningly beautiful woman: he's very rich or his sex technique rivals hardcore porn. Rarely would anyone say "Oh, how lovely, a couple in love".

Aren't you like this? Let the guilty, like me, be struck where it hurts.


where it hurts

Everywhere, almost every part of me today is in delicious pain.

Last night, I paid a visit to one of the spas I frequent - City Spa along E. Rodriguez. It has a decent sauna and gives a decent massage for a fairly decent price (P600 bucks, but of course I go during the odd hours to get the 30% discount, thus only P420).

Now, the kind of guys that I am, when it comes to massages, it must hurt. None of this namby-pamby girly-girly "soft" or"medium" crap. It has to be brutal, like the ones I went to in China, where they stepped on me (but for the love of god, leave my feet alone, because my Singapore trauma still lingers).

I am usually resigned to subpar massage, using the sauna or the hot pool becoming more of a draw to me instead. However, last night I met my match when I was surprised by Jhoy.

Yes, Jhoy, complete with the regrettable "H", was a Valkyrie, a Chooser of the Slain. My session became one of masochistic bliss as she pummeled, pulled and cracked me, reducing me to a whimpering mass of glassy-eyed goo.

I dragged myself into a cab and managed to crawl home, thinking that maybe I finally understood how penitents achieve enlightenment through the judicious application of pain.