JessicaRulestheUniverse.com

Here are two photos taken during merienda this afternoon at Greenbelt 5. If every picture tells a story, what epic fable is contained in these two shots? Post your captions (or stories) in Comments in the next 24 hours (Entries will be accepted until 9pm Sunday, 28 February Monday, 1 March 2010); our favorite entry gets a signed copy of Twisted 8.

* * * * *

This is what actually happened.

Photo 1: General gasp.
Photo 2: Everyone tries to look somewhere else—at the ceiling, the floor, the window, etc.

The best time to read your horoscope is the following day, so you can see if it was correct. Otherwise there is the danger of the self-fulfilling prophecy: you read a dire prediction, you get all worked up, and in your anxiety you make the direness happen. This morning I stumbled onto my horoscope without meaning to—fortunately it said “a generous and delicious conjunction of loving Venus and lucky Jupiter”.

Today’s earrings: Our Lady of Guadalupe. Ricky found them in Bangkok. On a churchgoer they would not look unusual; on me they’re ironic.

I had a chore in Salcedo Village near my friends’ office, so I dragged them out to lunch. Chuck had the lengua, I had the lamb stew, Noel the callos, Don the callos, and Boboy the callos. What delightful smells emanate from the kitchen at Terry’s Selection—you can feel your hips growing as you inhale. Lunchtime conversation included the dangers of parking by the pier, bad customer service, excellent customer service (Boboy called Manila Water because their water pressure was so low it was like the faucet in Lino Brocka’s Insiang. Not only did the Manila Water repair crew arrive in one hour, but they fixed the problem quickly. Bravo.) and the news that Nora Aunor is now in Japan for cosmetic surgery. When she makes her comeback, she will look like. . .Vilma Santos! Kidding. We’re all fans of Nora and Vilma, and Noel can give you a lecture on their different approaches to acting.

Vegetable terrine and Chicken liver pate at La Cuisine.

My friends had to go back to the office, which is the trouble with being gainfully employed, whereas I can be lured away from work for no reason at all. Rene called just as our check arrived and said he was down the street at La Cuisine with Michelle. I joined them, allegedly for coffee, but Michelle started plying us with food and it would’ve been ungracious to decline. We tried a new item on the menu: Vegetable terrine. Knowing of my aversion to vegetables had it served with chicken liver pate. Did you know that parsley is not only edible but delicious?

The baby Piper Heidsieck and stuffed animals. I got the rhino and the giraffe; Rene the giraffe and the baboon that was anatomically incorrect because its butt wasn’t big and red.

On Valentine’s La Cuisine had a Piper Heidsieck promo: Buy a bottle, get a mini-bottle and a stuffed animal free. I whined until I got a baby champagne bottle, plus stuffed animals. This time the conversation was about the nature of luck. In my case I can never make major long-term plans because they tend to go kaput. However if I just do what I always do with no thought of rewards or consequences, I get lucky.

Next item on the lunch menu: Beef cheeks braised in beer and served with mashed potatoes. Fantastic! I forgot to take a photo. For dessert: Nougat ice cream with walnuts and ginger. So no one was having any supper, it was worth it.

Nougat ice cream with walnuts and ginger

La Cuisine is on the corner of Sedeño and San Agustin Streets, Salcedo Village Makati, near Makati Sports. Telephone 5015202 or 7520335. We’re planning dinner plus movie nights on the Mondays of March, I’ll let you know.

It was 12 noon when I sat down to lunch; when I next looked at my watch it was 4pm. On the way home I dropped by Books for Less in case some rare book had appeared on the shelves. Found these for a total of P157. They should vacuum more often, though.

A Madeline and a Mary Renault

Amount of work done by 6pm: None. I blame my horoscope for forecasting “generous and delicious”. But there are worse things.

Saffy and Mat

Mat my white tabby with black markings is the sweetest, best-behaved cat; in the morning when I open my eyes he’s curled around the top of my head like a fur hat. The other night I heard a commotion in my room, and when I looked in my three cats were all acting casual but the closet door was open. “What’s going on?” I asked, and they looked away or started grooming themselves as if they didn’t know what I was talking about.

Obviously something had gone on because there were drops of blood beside the closet, though the trail ended by the door. “Have you been fighting?” I demanded, and inspected each one: I didn’t notice any cuts or wounds, although Koosi fled and leapt to the top of the bookshelf and Mat had a spot of blood on his paw. I’ve never seen a mouse in my apartment, but I inspected my room in case the cats had killed a mouse. Nada. I wiped off the blood but didn’t scrub the floor since the cleaner was arriving the following morning anyway.

At two in the morning I was reading in bed when I noticed Mat sniffing the floor where the blood trail had been. Then he got very excited; if he could talk he would’ve said “Yeah! I Am Cat!” Then he started running around the house, leaping onto tables and chairs and looking thrilled. I think he was celebrating having killed something or at least drawn blood. I have to remind myself that I live with natural-born killers.

Nine years ago I interviewed Jaime Augusto Zobel for TODAY. The elegant Manny Goloyugo (who was wearing those checked scarves in the early 90s) took the photos (“kumu-Clooney”).

Today I interviewed Jaime for the Star. It was on short notice and all the photographers were in the field. Meaning I had to shoot the subject myself. I’m no photographer: if I take a picture that’s in focus I consider it a triumph. And I have two very efficient point-and-shoot cameras but I started worrying that they were too small. In order to look like you know what you’re doing you need huge monster lenses. Finally I had to tell myself, Jessica, you’re thinking like a guy again, and you complain about being called Sir.

So I took the photos and subject patiently smiled for my little cameras. However, he would not loosen the necktie. “Just take it with a tie na lang so I’ll look like a businessman,” he said. In return for his cooperation I will not mention the disco compilation in his iTunes library. The interview runs in the Star on Monday Sunday (probably to reshoot). Here’s a preview from the back.

Walking out into the rain this afternoon Ernie and I realized to our horror that we had matching bright orange umbrellas. Ernie had bought his at a 7-11. I had accidentally stolen the orange umbrella in Paris from my friend’s husband. Accidentally because I thought I’d left it at a museum but when I got back to Manila it was in my luggage, and I would’ve returned it on my next trip except that my friend got a divorce two years after that and I do not acknowledge existence of the ex-husband and anyway he probably considers the umbrella part of their divorce settlement. I know, stupid story.

So Ernie and I had the same umbrella. It’s bad enough that we have the exact same khaki backpack, but having the exact same orange umbrella makes us feel like back-up singers in a music video no one wants to see. We have the exact same khaki backpack because Bert bought one and then told Ernie it was so Ernie, so Ernie bought one too, and then Bert decided it was more me than him so he gave me his backpack, but Ernie and I don’t really mind having identical knapsacks because he carries his like a lady’s handbag and I use mine like a desert explorer’s backpack. I know, stupid story.

“Take this umbrella, I’m getting another one,” Ernie said. We went to a bookstore, where he got this very nice literary umbrella with the faces of Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, and other famous authors on it.

He was very happy with his purchase until we dropped by another store and I heard him gasp. “It’s Alma Moreno’s umbrella in Manila By Night by Ishmael Bernal!” he cried, twirling a transparent plastic bubble umbrella.

“A Bernal hommage!” I said. “I want one, too.” It even comes with directions: “Pop out umbrella and put your head inside. Enjoy the rain.”

So in the end we have five umbrellas between us, and we still have matching umbrellas. I know, stupid story. Good thing someone somewhere is always in need of an umbrella.

It’s Tennis Mike’s brother’s birthday party and we’re supposed to go. I ask Mike the simple question, “What time shall we meet?”

He says, “Well I’m late for a 4pm meeting and I have to go buy a present for another friend who’s having a birthday but I can’t decide what to get him and then I have to pick up the gift for my brother and there’s another guest I have to fetch and oh no I’m late for my meeting but I’ll call you at 7 to tell you what time we’re meeting and anyway the party’s at 9 ay 4.30 na pala!”

This is actually normal behavior for my friends, so instead of hanging around the mall I go home. I do not hear from Mike. At 9 I text him. “Are we still going to Gerry’s?”

He says, “Oh no, I decided to stay home and watch tennis.”

Fortunately I am comfortably ensconced in my own house so I spare him.

Some days later I see Tennis Mike at lunch and he says, “I’m dealing with my stress. I bought a motivational book. I’ll share it with you. But I forgot it at home.”

He does offer me a bribe: the Picasso’s Nose eyeglass holder in the picture.

Here’s the scary part: In my circle of friends I’m the sane one.