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When I was a kid, I used to have these recurring dreams where I’d go surfing under cloudless blue skies. I have never gone surfing as a child, nor was I particularly keen about learning how to, but in my dreams I’d feel as though I were one with the waves carrying me gently to the beach. Some ten odd years later, I found myself marveling at the sport’s deceptive simplicity as I alternated between paddling out to sea and clutching at the sides of a surfboard, the sea churning underneath my belly like a hyperacidic stomach.

Last weekend was spent catching some early summer sun at La Union with the boyfriend, Helga, Peter, Jen, and three of Jen’s friends. In between sips of pina colada, naps under the sun, and the kind of kilig moments only beaches can induce, I toyed with the idea of trying out surfing for the first time. There’s no arguing that it looks like a lot of fun, but I know myself well and my self cannot stand very long on a moving object. I also had doubts about my learning curve and the ability of my smoker’s lungs to carry me against the current. Helga claims to have gone surfing on the first morning, but because she has no picture proof I’m inclined to take her story with a grain of salt. She did swear that it was incredibly easy, even for total noobs, and that I’d probably learn how to ride a wave less than an hour.

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Dating. Courtship. I never understood what those words meant because I’ve never seen a need for these rituals in my life. To date someone involves a certain kind of caution and certainty-seeking that I don’t have the patience for; I believe that the only way you can ever be sure of how the other sees you is by jumping in with your eyes closed. My idea of getting into relationships involves talking nonstop until both parties have fallen in love with each other, enough to want to be an item. The dating stage of my three serious relationships were pretty much whirlwind romance types that lasted less than a month; after realizing that, “You like/love me. I like/love you. Let’s be together!”, we’d officially take ourselves off the market. No dinner dates, no flowers, no dramatic displays of love. (Well okay, the catalyst of the second relationship was the relief I felt over his having survived a physical confrontation with 75 men, but this is a strange story for another time.)

So I wanted to do something different with Marco and try to make the dating period last as long as possible. It wasn’t because I was unsure of what I felt for him; in fact, from the moment I first saw him (January 3 at Cantina through the intercession of the Hohobags; I have Kimi and Rica to thank for being particularly insistent that I be there that night), I liked him. The more I got to know him that night and the weekends that followed, the more I realized that a) we are insanely compatible (he likes zombie movies and he actually listens when I talk about Marxism), b) he gets cuter every time I see him, c) I can’t imagine a weekend without seeing him, d) shit, I want to be with him but he probably won’t feel the same way because I’m creepy and dorky and weird. So I kissed him (and with a “kbye!” I made my way quickly into my house because I couldn’t look him in the eye after). I figured that if I never hear from him after that night, my fears would be confirmed and I can just chalk this up to another one of my many failures in dating/relationships.

But I did hear from Marco the next day! And at some point over the next couple of weeks, he actually told me that he was falling in love with me! OMG OMG OMG. The Relationship Talk was inevitable at that point. He admitted that things were going unbelievably fast for him because it usually takes him forever to warm up to people. Not that he wasn’t happy being around me though. The problem is that he can’t accept happiness until he feels he has earned it. And to that, I showed an unexpected amount of maturity and patience. The old neurotic me would have freaked out, but all I said was, “Okay, take your time. We have all the time in the world. It’s not like I’m dying or moving out of the country or anything.”

Last night, Marco took me to a fancy restaurant carrying a huge bag and a bouquet of flowers. “No, these are not for you yet,” he replied mysteriously when he caught me looking at the bouquet. Throughout our appetizers (snooty French onion soup with lots of cheese), he kept fiddling with something under the table. I wondered if he was setting up a bomb to blow the place up, and if dying together was his idea of romance.

Finally, Marco explained what was going on. He was ready to jump into a relationship with me, but before doing so he wanted to “earn” it by courting me in record time.

“Wait, that’s completely unnecessary, you know I don’t believe in courtshi-”

“Just play along, it’ll be fun!”

And when I nodded dumbly, still confused about what was going on, he procured a checklist and timer from under the table.

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WE’RE HEEERE!

Well what do you know, I ended up NOT making an ass out of myself on the intarwebs after all. The wonderful Lorna (aka TheBachelorGirl) took the time to personally speak to Fritz and me so we could sort out the mess that was my unexpected marketing scheme. What a very nice lady she is! Thanks to her, we got to occupy the best seats in the house. Even the obscenely tall couple sitting in front of us could not ruin the view from where we were seated.

Unlike Fritz, who pretty much knew the soundtrack by heart even before we got our tickets, I only knew of two songs from Avenue Q: Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist and The Internet Is For Porn. (Aside: I find it odd that my friends keep cracking jokes about how I would know a lot of things about the internet being for porn. Me?! Lauren Dado? Role model for the Filipino youth? What do I know about vulgar things like Internet pornography? Srsly gais.) I felt like a douche for showing up unprepared, so I went on a mad Avenue Q OST download spree before heading out. It’s a good thing I wasn’t able to find the complete soundtrack though. You see, when it comes to watching movies or plays, I believe that Ignorance Is Bliss. I like knowing next to nothing about what I’m about to see. This makes me a more open-minded viewer and keeps me from falling into the trap of holding unrealistic expectations or from “challenging” what I’m about to watch (”Come on puppets, bring on the LOLZ!”). Also, I become more receptive to happy surprises and unexpected plot twists.

The Ignorance Is Bliss tactic brought rise to a rather unusual experience I had while watching Avenue Q: for a very brief moment during the second act of the play, I actually felt like crying.

This happened when Kate Monster sang the lines, “I wish I could go back to college. Life was so simple back then.” Fuck me if I haven’t made that same wish (almost) every day since I graduated! Actually, the opening lines of the play – “What do you do with a BA in English? What is my life going to be?” – was enough to hit me right where it hurts. I did not expect Avenue Q to address the question of Purpose or to portray the confusion and self-doubt that plagues us sheltered college kids when we step out into the Real World. The lighthearted moments were appropriate placed though, so that the heavy stuff didn’t get too heavy. Thank god for that, or I really would have burst into tears and made an idiot out of myself.

Besides the existential angst, Avenue Q also brings up other Real World issues people don’t like saying out loud simply because they aren’t very pleasant things. Things like: you aren’t as special as you thought you were, money is a real bitch to come by even with a degree, and happiness is an evasive and fleeting thing. If I had kids, I’d take my kids to see it because nobody ever tells children about the awful things that await them in the Real World. Then I’ll make sure they don’t have access to sharp objects or ropes afterwards. Also, nobody ever tells children about sex and how it happens. So parents – if you feel awkward about explaining how the boy’s peepee goes into the girl’s vajayjay to make babies, the very graphic sex scene in the play is quite instrumental explaining the reproductive process. My mom did her best with me, but for the longest time I seriously thought I could get pregnant by kissing someone.

We have pictures of the cast, just not with them. Suxxorz.

Performance-wise, the cast was excellent, particularly Aiza Seguerra, who pulled off a very believable performance as the grown-up child actor Gary Coleman, right down to the accent. Joel Trinidad was also amazing as Trekkie Monster and Nikky. Then again, I’m a little biased because I’ve had the hots for him ever since I saw him perform at Mag:Net Bonifacio High Street. Once I have more time, I intend to make Jayvee bring me to his SPIT shows so I can stalk him properly and propose marriage, or perhaps concubinage, when the opportunity arises.

I think the reviews done by bloggers more eloquent than myself already said what I want to say. Which is: go watch Avenue Q! I hear the shows are all sold out, but try to mug someone you know with tickets anyway. The jail time will be worth it, I promise.