Console Me with an Oreo Mc Flurry
I
downed an Oreo Mc Flurry a few minutes ago. Three hours before that,
I joined a couple of college friends catch the last full screening of
Tristan + Isolde in Gateway Mall. I’ve always been partial for period
love dramas with gory battle scenes. But like any tragedy, you leave
the theater feeling heavy and low. You curse at the main characters
for making their lives miserable, and eventually, yours. You may wipe
a tear or two, and even wonder if it was worth the money and time to
sit through the whole film and feel depressed afterwards.
Strangely
enough, you still contend that the movie was great, but since you
still feel bad anyway, a cup of calorie-laden ice cream with cookie
bits will always come in handy to make you feel better. Yes, I know
what you’re thinking: “Dude, lactation can’t be far behind.” But
if you tell that to my face, I’ll be shopping for needless expensive
things and yammer to my pals how you offended me. I’ll whine: “It
wasn’t really what he accuses me that is demeaning… it’s the
condescending look in his eyes and the abusive manner on how he said
it.” So there.
***
Author’s Quite Lengthy Note: Aside
from cups of ice cream, another thing that tickles me pink is the
fact that this same post is officially my blog’s 40th
entry. Originally, I wanted this entry to be of value to society,
something that would arouse the collective psyche and social
consciousness, and not something as inane as my bouts with Mc
Flurries after a sad movie. When a friend told me via text that he
wanted to post something very personal about his traumatic childhood,
I readily agreed. It would’ve been the perfect 40th post
if not for my friend’s failure to provide me a copy of the article even after multiple inquiries.
It’s still in the works, he tells me, but I’m not about to have
grandkids before I post another entry in this angst-ridden blog.
