Sight for Sore Eyes

If you'd visit my homepage (yes, I have my own. How's that for swellheadedness?) , you will see this excerpt in my About Me portion:

Had the worst case of the pox at 20 years old. Got hideously ugly...and refused to go out without a cap, shades and pollution mask. Went through a case of near-death experience (which up to now, I have stubbornly rationalized as the glare of the friggin' overhead fluorescent lamps). Deserted a supposedly flourishing career in show biz...and lamented on it. Have wept gallons of tears in sheer desperation. Have cussed to no end for my terrible fate. And then have gotten hold of a bunch of Chickensoup for the Soul books. And finally moved on. Still a little bit ugly, but nevertheless cheerful.

It's been a while since I wrote that testimony. Years later, I find myself realizing that I am getting old(er). Gone were the days when I'd actually take forever to just fix my hair, or tuck my shirt, or moisturize my face, or even mix-and-match my apparel...all because of trepidation over what people would think about how I looked (or worse, that they'd think I'm ugly). At 29 (*shivers*...OK, I'm still more than a month away from that...!), I have developed an attitude that says, "I don't care what you think about me. You don't pay my bills"...which I should have adopted years ago.

These days, I can just step out of the shower and slip into the next piece of duds I'd get my hands on...of course taking into consideration that it fits the occasion. Nevertheless, it takes me practically minutes to whip out some "look"...and a good one at that. :)

I think this is also the reason why people start to notice that I am...well (and I say this with a little blush, mind you!), eye-filling. :-D It's when you stop trying so hard to make people notice that you're beautiful (or in my case--again, with a little blush--handsome), that they actually do notice. And perhaps, it could be the age factor. What was it again that they said about wine...? That it gets ripened (or in some cases, tempered) with age? So, hey, you young lads, make sure you grow old gracefully. I know some of us did. :)

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"Bear Brand"

Sheila and I went to Roxas Boulevard yesterday to watch Daniel compete with his rowing teammates. Once we got there, we were told by Dan that his team was already done competing...and that he was already miles away from the event, on his way to a meeting with a client. So, after a handful of cusses and cartoonish *#!%^%&!#$!@, the two of us--in our ultrahooverphonic summery clothes--decided to walk towards the cab lane. While waiting under the poignant shade of the traffic light, a motorcade of Bear Brand (yes, the milk with huge teddy bears for its mascot) passed by. Two gentlemen (not of the straight kind) and a young, twenty-fivish lass locked gaze with and smiled at me. Propriety dictates that if someone did just that, you return the favor. So smiled I did. And with that flashing of my not-quite-CloseUp smile, the two gentlemen (again, not of the straight kind, but those that would makeover a straight guy) and the lady squealed and giggled (respectively)...and then when I managed a savoir faire-ish wave of my hand, the lady shouted out, "I'm Mariel. And you are?" Then I said my name...to which she replied with, "And your number is?" As I started saying my digits, their van/pickup rolled away into the scorching heat of the metro.

So, to you who wanted my number, it's 0917...... ;-)