While Gene and I were having dinner at Gourmet Cafe and waiting for the girls to arrive - there was an event for the residents of their block, and we didn't want to intrude so we decided to just eat somewhere else - a middle-aged Singaporean man asked if he could occupy the extra seat. When he was settled, he took out paper and backboard, charcoal and ink and pen, and started drawing. He leaned over and whispered to us that he was drawing an angel. Gene gestured to me, and (thankfully) said in Filipino that the old guy was drawing this gorgeous Scottish girl two tables away from us. Unfortunately, the old man's drawing skills would have been better used to paint house walls rather than capture the rendition of some person - my five-year-old godson Enzo would have done better.
Anyway, after he was done with his "artwork", he scribbled something on the back of the paper (which we later learned was "a poem") and walked over to the table where the girl and her friends sat. It would have been admirable, romantic even - had he not walked over to the table several times over and given the girl such openly admiring looks that it seemed almost freaky and stalker-ish. Gene repoted that her friends were already trying to shield her from the man's gaze, and that she refused to look up from her food. As they prepared to leave, I saw the old man walk up to them with a notebook in his hand and asked for everyone's contact details. The girl was all-too quick to walk away from the place. I feel kind of sorry for her.
I suppose being pretty isn't all that. Not when you have scary stalker artists who constantly talk about how they need to be inspired by new muses, new angels.
You know you've made friends for life when you find yourself singing along to cheesy (read: baduy) songs that people keep on throwing on the table when all you've had for the evening is ice lemon tea and a thick slab of chocolate cake. And yes, we were in public - myself, Gene (the honorary girl), Lorie, Justine, Angie (the honorary Pinoy), and Irea - the six of us commandeered one of the wooden benches right outside the main entrance of Prince George's Park (PGP) Residences, where everyone, except for Gene and I, lived. (Side note: PGP is the graduate residences for the married couples, which tells you that I am not only the youngest in the group, but the only one who's unmarried as well.) Without beer and a microphone, everyone started belting out Eighties tunes from Air Supply and Madonna, Bread and Heart and the Culture Club - it was just so funny and so insane. And during one spirited rendition of the Wilson Philips classic, "You're in Love", some white dude passed us by, stopped for a moment and started tapping his feet and wiggling his butt in our direction. It was hilarious. ^_^
And apparently, Gene can do a mean Cindy Lauper imitation in "We Are the World."
Granted, a lot of the songs were things I wasn't familiar with - or familiar only in the sense that they are standards in the Philippines. Angie, who's Malaysian, kept on laughing at/with all of us, repeating over and over again, "You have such an amusing culture. I wish we had something like that." On our way back, the girls started belting out Michael Learns to Rock songs, pausing in the middle and laughing like crazy people. ^_^ It was a good way to end the week.
PS. The stupid webcam isn't compatible to Leandro. Idiot salesperson said it was. Will have blood for lunch tomorrow.