Crepes, chicken skin and an explosion of foil

There was a plan. It was vague, but it was a plan.

People would go to Jill’s house so she can crack open her new bottles of vodka. She has a thing for Absolut in the weirdest flavors – I kinda blame the rekindling of that obsession on the bottle I brought home from South Africa (Watkins!) and the bottle Tim picked up in Abu Dhabi (Grapevine!).

It sounded like a good plan, even though vodka and I have been enemies for a while now, ever since we played that insane Snakes & Ladders drinking game in a hotel room and they forced me to down shots of vodka, even after I begged and begged for them to let me skip a turn. That night ended with me crying and crawling to the toilet to puke. So yeah, fuck you vodka.

But Giff bailed because he was going out with GA. And Michelle couldn’t, her babies were still sleeping.

Vodka night cancelled.

That’s fine, I thought, that meant I could stay in and have a granny Saturday.

See, here’s the thing: I love my granny Saturdays. I don’t like going out, I don’t like dressing up, all I want to do is stay on the couch with my special blanket and my laptop (or my iPad).

So I settled in for what was going to be a quiet, granny Saturday. I wasted hours on YouTube, watching Ellen interview different people, watching Mila Kunis speak Russian, watching those W and New York Times screen test sessions and listening to Seth Rogen’s weird laugh (I seriously want to be Seth Rogen in my next life).

But then, at 10 p.m., Jill says, “Do you want to go to Cafe Breton?”

Bye bye, granny Saturday. Hello, crepes.

We drove to Cafe Breton in Commonwealth. I had no idea it even existed – I had never seen that Technohub place before. And it blew my mind because I spent a huge chunk of my life driving through Commonwealth to get to my high school and my university and back home. And when I say driving through, I mean someone else was driving and I was in the passenger seat. Or the backseat. Except for that one time I tried to drive post-driving school. I successfully made it to the house before deciding that I just didn’t want to drive. Ever.

But back to the crepes.

Jill and I kept missing the goddamn entrance to Technohub so we ended up going around Quezon City Circle three freaking times. Naturally, I became dizzy.

Lele and their friend Mae were waiting at Breton and we spent an hour or so eating crepes and chatting. It was raining when we left and as we brisk-walked to the car, I marveled at the realization that my gold Yosi Samras were doing an excellent job at protecting my feet from the rain and puddles.

The butter and sugar crepe did not satisfy. Still hungry, we headed to Katipunan in search of food. Shakey’s? Nah. McDonald’s? Jollibee? Nah. Burger King? Maybe.

Then, Jill had a lightbulb moment. Route 196 pizza!

But granny reared her cranky head again – I wanted some pizza and maybe some beer but I wasn’t in the mood to sit in a bar and watch a band.

So Jill ordered pizza, chicken skin, tinapa rolls and we waited for the food in the car. And when the food finally came, it was like an explosion of foil. You see, Route 196 isn’t really a takeout place. They didn’t have boxes so they wrapped everything in foil. Hilarious. And delicious.

As we were getting ready to attack the food, I made the quick decision that no, this wasn’t going to be my Coke-worthy meal for August.

Last month, I made the decision that I will only allow myself to drink one can or one glass of Coke a month. I don’t like Coke Light, I don’t like Coke Zero, regular Coke is the only Coke I like drinking. It’s not healthy, I know, so I decided to cut down without completely depriving myself. I get one Coke a month and I get to choose when and where I’ll have it so I better make it count. And no, tonight wasn’t the night for it.

So I had my pizza and my chicken skin with water and they were delicious.

And now I’m back in front of the computer, determined to continue my granny session, ignoring Cesar Millan on TV and trying to resist the lure of YouTube so I can Reddit and write about polish.

Pop pop pop

The trouble with having access to excellent microwave popcorn is it ruins your movie popcorn experience.

The barbecue-flavored cinema popcorn you used to love now tastes like cardboard. Stale cardboard. Because how can that compare to the awesomeness of Blast O Butter?

So goodbye, cardboard popcorn. Hello, chocolate-covered almonds.

I gave a talk about my book at a school last week and one of the students asked, “What kind of movies do you like watching?”

Every kind, I said, my friends and I watch practically every movie released. Actually, I said it more crudely than that. “Lahat ng movie pinapatulan namin.” Hi, I’m Pam and I’m a movie slut.

But my intentions are pure. I want to help keep the movie industry alive. Yes, just like I want to keep the publishing industry alive by buying more books than I can read. And as my pile of unread books keeps growing and growing, I tell myself I will get around to reading all of them eventually.

I am currently reading a book that is moving so slow. I am halfway done and I feel like nothing’s happening. I am tempted to just drop it but I’m trying to give it another chance. I very rarely stop reading a book even when I think it’s bad. It just feels like cruel abandonment.

I have a feeling I will be able to watch a lot of movies and read a lot of books this month. Because I am just days away from what shall be known as 18 days of loneliness.

It will be tough but I will suck it up.

Because that’s what you do. You suck it up, you watch movies and you swim in books.

Oh blue, you aren’t so bad.

My blue hair started growing on me today. I guess it helped that I wore a blue shirt. And that I painted my nails blue. And that I got a haircut. And that the cut ended with a perfect blowout.

I like my blowout.

I asked Jill, “If you get really really really insanely rich, what would your biggest luxury be?”

And she said, “I want a beach house.”

That’s cool. I’d definitely hang out at her beach house. But I don’t want my own. I don’t want cars, big houses, planes and my own island.

You know what I want?

I want one of those salon shampoo chairs and I want someone to come in and give me a salon shampoo every day.

You know what else I want? Someone to fill my iPod with songs I’ve forgotten I love. When I hear songs on the radio, I keep going, “Holy crap, why don’t I have that in my iPod?” And then I completely forget about them again. I just want to be able to shuffle without skipping over any song.

I was up until 5 a.m. working on an article and after I slammed my laptop shut I settled back with my new copy of Nick and Norah’s Playlist. I am reading two Cohn + Levithan novels at the same time. Dash and Lily, Nick and Norah. Both for the second time. And no, I’m not getting confused, even though in my head both couples are Michael Cera and Kat Dennings.

I love Kat Dennings. And Michael Cera.

This week is bound to be busy, the good kind of busy, the kind that makes you want to run around and hug people and scream, “Life is awesome!”

There is a lot of awesomeness in the world.

And right now, awesomeness is a big tub of popcorn which I need to make.

I’m blue.

And I mean that literally and figuratively.

I’m sad because my hair is blue.

It’s not purple, it’s not blurple, it’s god damn blue.

And it was supposed to be purple. The label on the bottle said “deep purple,” for fuck’s sake. And I’ve been using that brand and that shade for years. For years. But apparently, they decided to change the formula. And the formula wants everyone to have blue hair. So much for democracy and the freedom of choice.

It smells different too.

And I thought yesterday’s low point would be the ten minutes I spent on that elliptical machine, otherwise known as the machine of death. By the time I stepped off, my legs were rubber. I have no idea how I managed to walk across the gym to get to the stairs.

The truth is, I only go through cardio to get to the best part – boxing. And I have to admit, despite the exhaustion and aches and pains, it was fun brushing the dust off my gloves.

After boxing yesterday, I headed straight for my hair dresser who, luckily, was willing to wait for me past closing time. I sat in his chair for three hours, getting bleached, getting dyed, watching TV, restocking my Tiny Tower, getting reacquainted with Nick and Norah, talking about his past love.

I left his salon with blue hair.

It’s probably going to turn purple after I take a bath, I thought, thinking that the color just looked blue because it was so intense.

But when I turned on the shower, I started dripping blue. The suds turned purple when I shampooed, giving me hope. Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s more like it! I thought, as the purple suds covered the floor, making the bathroom look like a purple crime scene.

I stepped out of the shower, got dressed and the first thing Giff told me when he saw me was, “Beks, your hair is blue.”

Insert your favorite expletive here.

When the plan is Grimace and you are turned into Cookie Fucking Monster, I think you have the right to want to punch something.

But I didn’t. I am trying to be mellow about it (yes, this is mellow). When life gives you blue hair, you drink lemonade. But there was no lemonade to be found. So I grabbed a Hoegaarden and I drank it in a cup with ice. Beer. In a cup. With ice. And I didn’t even finish the whole thing. When did I become such a wuss?

When I had blue hair, that’s when.

RIP, Raw Hair Dye. We had some good times. But I am now switching to Manic Panic.

Purplexing

Guess what.

My hair is still black.

I thought I’d be dripping purple by now but no. My meeting started too late, the damn salon refused to wait and now I’m rhyming like an idiot. An idiot with black hair.

So instead, I ate salad, pork chops, a lot of vegetables and spent Friday night in the supermarket.

That’s how you know you’re getting old. Screw partying, let me hang out here by the dairy section.

It was enjoyable, it really was.

So the trip to the salon has been moved to tomorrow – but not at the original salon. Because if you’re bitchy, you don’t get my money. (Please, God, make the rhyming stop.)

And after the salon trip, I will dust off my gloves and start boxing again.

Purple dye and punches. I can’t wait.