Saturday, August 14

What's Worse than Night of the Champions?

Mabi: What’s worse than “Night of the Champions”? “Night of the Champions, THE REPEAT”.

Oh hell. She’s right (this time). I wanted to go to Erik backstage and say:

What’s wrong, baby? Is it you father’s presence that’s distracting you? Are you overworked? Cos, fuck, you really, really sucked tonight. You forgot lines of your own songs (and I actually noticed, darn!), you were constantly out of breath, your Martin Nievera medley was monotonous and boring (no, that’s Martin’s fault, really), and you sweated so much throughout the entire thing, wait, no, that’s actually good, sweating is good and hot. Maybe sweating and out of breath together. But the rest, honey, no. No, no. You get an F for Fucked.”


On our way back from lunch, Mabi casually blurted that we’ve actually been friends for over a decade, and wow. (WARNING: Hallmark ad coming your way in 5 seconds.) The comfort level I have with her is just wonderful, and it shows. It’s always so easy, easier, to laugh, to cry even, when she's around. It’s just precious. You know how old couples, literally old couples, hold hands like it were the most natural thing on earth, like breathing, like walking? No? Me too, but I imagine it to be like my afternoons with her. Pure sugar, pure instinct.

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