For the greater glory of love

If you've been reading my blog, you must be thinking, “Surely, this lunatic won’t do too well at social functions.” And you would be right. Not with the way my brain is wired.

I am the one guy who will actually show up at 7:30 because the invitation said 7:30. How was I supposed to know that 7:30 was actually for the caterers and that guests aren’t expected for at least another hour?

“Fashionably late” is totally lost on me.

Worst living room experience was being stuck, waiting for other guests to arrive, at the house of a friend whose mother was Opus Dei.

Trying my darnedest to look cool, I tried entertaining myself with the reading material available – all Marian devotional stuff and the like. I was on my third pamphlet when finally the man of the house realized what was going on and rescued me with an EDSA Revolution coffee table book.

For all that suffering, I exacted vengeance on the beer. Good thing, I am not a lousy drunk. Foolish, yes. Lousy, no.

I was maybe on my fourth beer, when we sort of played this game where everyone had to say something. Around the table we went. My turn, I toasted “For the greater glory of love!”

The sheer foolishness of toasting the “Karate Kid” theme song was really funny, at least in my own drunken mind. I was the only one laughing. Maybe they just didn’t get that I changed it up a bit and stuck the word “greater” right in there, having just read through two and half Marian pamphlets.

A few more beers and the househelp serving started to look cute. I thanked her as I have done throughout the evening but this time around with a flirtatious smile. Some other female guest caught that and commented “eeew.”

Why? Bottomline, by what measure was she better than the househelp? Because her parents can afford St.Paul matriculation? I wanted to rip that one zinger off. But I held back. It was a party. I was a little tipsy. I was supposed to behave. I let her off the hook by giving her the same flirtatious smile.

Much later on into the night, one final guest arrived. Talk about fashionably late and she was Sarah Jessica Parker. She used to work in the same office we were, as an account executive or some other bullshit title. And she had the most fashionable reason to be late to boot, having just flown in from LA.

Apparently she was now an international flight stewardess. And just about everyone at the party was impressed. They were all fawning over her, except me.

Same girl who commented eeew asked, “Aren’t you impressed?”

I should have again held back. Bit my tongue and all that. But the beer got the better of me this time around.

“Sure, I am impressed. Konduktora ng eroplano is really impressive.”

And on that sour note, the party was over.