God, These Are The Signs

This, my dear, is my grand list of signs that I’ll ask God when this guy he sends, arrives.

1. Drinking Game. He has to join me and our friends (in case we don’t move in the same circles let’s just put it in the mi casa, su casa effect. hey, no habla *espanol) for a drinking game. It feels nice getting to know people without the pressure of getting to know people in a way that involves alcohol. Whooops! That’s the alcoholic girl in me. Oy-a.

*Someone please tell me how to put special characters with a laptop keyboard, sans the keypad, no ascii-code action?

2. He never tells me what to do. I, just like dear Dovie, have freedom issues. It’s enough that I am an unica hija. And yet while I want him to let me be, I need to know he cares and so I need him, as a sign, to stop me when the right time comes (meaning nasimulan ko na pero sosobra na) or at least, in his little sweet charming way, warn me of the possible consequences. Yes, I know. I’m too much. But girls are looking for security. This is primarily but not limited to drinking. And as much as I don’t want my younger cousins and nieces and nephews (take note, gender equality) to be drinking girls+boys (what is the word for it?), I am aware of how the world is… with four genders.

Why did this list begin with drinking?? I am so deprived. The last alcohol intake for me was a taste-test at Duty Free. *blush*

3. Regardless of actual and existent skills, he at least attempt to cook me a meal. Obviously, breakfast is not one of the options. I’d like to see him display/fake cooking skills, see him in action, breakfast is definitely out until I’m 30 for two reasons. One, I am not a morning person and I actually don’t foresee myself evolving into one without sending my DNA codes to one of those hush-hush genetics labs on a secluded island of a world power and them sending me, by fed-ex of course, a special serum which would modify my genetic composition (or psychological disposition on mornings) that I need to administer by injection, with the assistance of my needle-expert Papi, of course. (My father’s not a junkie. He’s diabetic. Insulin is far from addictive and it actually counters a high.. sugar high.) Second, if it were breakfast, that would have to mean that we were together since the night before and hold your horses, dearies. That’s because I’m a night-owl (believe it or not it has nothing to do with the size of my eyes) or it can be (just a possibility) when I’m 30 years old, hopefully (cross-fingers) I don’t have a curfew anymore since I would be a proud owner of space. This list is getting more and more

4. Yellow flowers. I said flowers. Need I say more? (Yeah, yeah, I’m marshmallow deep inside this rock-hard chocolate coating.)

5. Sing me a Filipino church song. Or should I say a church song in Filipino? Uhmmm, no Ama Namin’s, please. So I’m getting weirder. I just want to feel that when we go to mass together he sing for God first, then me next. Heehee. Again, I’m not looking for talent here, just sincere and some level of skill (hey, para kay God, doing your best is a skill).

6. My labrador, Aya, immediately likes him. A little sniffing but no major barking. Dogs are such keen judges of character.

7. Photography. Oh shut up. Hear me out first. (Ay defensive.) (Ay incriminating.) (Ay caramba.) Defense: photography (the serious-ish/er kind, not the snap-for-the-fun-of-it kind) requires that a person look into a frame and see more than meets the eye, draw focus of what needs to be in focus, or give attention to detail which are usually ignored by the next Joe/Jane Doe. I need a man who can see through bull. Especially mine.

[This list is has successfully evolved from a signs list to a request list...]

There is no rule which demands I write 3 more so I’ll stop here because the last 2 ideas slipped. I’ll add them when they go back to my head…

Ciao!

~ by paulyne on October 31, 2006.