You want thingamabobs?

Oh, the perils of public transportation.

I limped over to MetroPoint at Taft, increasingly aware by the minute that my foot felt like it just lost a baby toe and was just valiantly trying to regrow the spare it keeps during these dire moments. After meeting my beloved mother who was late and wearing my knit jacket, and nibbling on Pesto Plato Wraps, I watched as she banged her head on the corner of shelf in National Bookstore as we both looked for packaging tape. My mother saw stars. We left the store without tape (this is the fourth store I've been to in the past ten days or so that didn't have packaging tape -- what? some packing crisis I don't know about?). My mother rubbed her head and asked if I wanted to go back for some duct tape. I told her I wasn't that kinky. Yarn usually does the trick. And it's cheaper.

I spent thirty minutes in the MRT Station, eyeing women in veils with large tote bags that could literally knock me off my feet if the need ever arose (and it probably would have), girls with tight buns (hair buns, mind you) and nurse's caps of the industrialized variety, and this chick with fish nets and incredibly thick turtleneck. Mukhang talo ako pag sapakan na. So I stepped back. Some people would credit me for being instupid, ya know.

The trains were slow to arrive, they lingered and didn't set off for quite some time, and there wasn't any air-conditioning anywhere. The cars where so overpopulated, I kept grabbing someone's ass as some three hands grabbed mine back. The sheer density was mutating people. We defied the laws of physics for a good one hour. It was, sob, beautiful.

On my way out, I just barely managed to avoid trampling on a little boy, and in the process, kicked the shins of a man in a wheelchair, before almost falling on his lap. I offered to push him to the elevators. He smiled, the kind of smile that tells you tall, skinny women have made it an unspoken habit to give him a harried lap dance every other train ride or so. (I only hope I made him a happier man.) And then he said no. Poor man was probably afraid all this gangliness would hurl him to the train tracks. I'm really sorry, sir, my extremities are so very far from central command that messages tend to get delayed. You should see me dance, bub.

Anyway, I saw Kael and Sigh sa LRT, looking like normal non-ass-grabbing people. Oh, hello sweet Jesus. I mentioned the wheelchair incident, though I don't think I looked a bit repentant, given that my shirt was plastered to wear my chest should have been if only God up there was paying attention eighteen years ago, random handprints were on the ass of my jeans, and my hair looked like it had just been turned into a permanent residence by those creepy little fuckers that turn evil when they get wet. Those troll-like thingies with beaks and LSD eyes. Yun. And then at Katipunan, I saw Joel, who, damn it, looked like he just had a bath. He offered some mutual work-bashing. I politely declined, thinking both of the blood pooling between my sweet new flats, and the fact that my back was ready to give out.

And I have two Penoys (yeah, like, yeah) in my bag. (It's always a trial to stop giggling whenever I say, Manong, dalawa pong penoy, yung basa.) I got my poison. When I recuperate, I'll let you know.

I'm heading home in a couple of minutes, so if any stalkers out there are reading this in real time, you can probably kidnap me in ten to fifteen minutes by KFC. I'll lend you some yarn, duct tape is expensive. Share tayo sa penoy. Sarap nun pag basa.

Will keep you updated on the state of my foot. Central command most probably fucked up again and I now have six stubby widdle toes. Damn.