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A year ago, Kicks invited me to a birthday party. It was during that period when the prospect of meeting a fellow blogger is… thrilling. So I went. Is it fat? Is it gorgeous? Does it wear a pink tee? These are important questions when deigning to meet people online. Up until that time, Kicks was the only person I’ve met within the blog community whom I felt at ease with. So I went to party even though I wasn’t planning to, and even managed to drag my usually undraggable friend Jose. Blogger attendees were commanded not to tell about it since the celebrant was a prominent Mafioso. I’m not sure if any of us are allowed to do it now that a year has passed but I’m thinking, no one among those guys is likely  to divulge undivulgeable personal business as I am.  By which I mean, no one among those guys will make a year old retrospective about how attending that stranger’s bash meant something other than being referred to by their real names by people who originally referred to them by their online names such as… I’ll divulge some other time. So if you could already see where this is going, quit already and I’ll just blah blah blah and celebrant and me hooked up and are still together, and it turned out that my attendance to that party meant more than just getting very drunk that Sunday night in Timog.

Ours is not a story Joyce Bernal flicks are made of as it is ostensibly from the Brillante Mendoza stockpile since it has Coco. And since you told me I’m corny sometimes, I might as well indulge. I’ll just set This to private when I feel like I have to, or if you command me to, since blog drama is very much part of our Brillante movie. I’m sorry, art film. And I’m telling these as if I won’t be cringing about this when we wrestle on the weekend and hopefully the weekends after that. 17 movies, 54 late night talks over beers, 29 fights, 18 flights, 1098 smooches and 1 war later, we’re still on. May we have more and still be on.

In short, I’m glad I went to your birthday party last year.