Louise and Val knew nothing

(Second of six parts, for lack of better things to do)
I know Val has always had trouble with Ms. P. She says dealing with her is like putting up with a self-righteous harpy in the workplace. It’s quite unimaginable writing an apology letter indicating all your mistakes in the past six months for simply not going to work on heels. And believe me I would’ve nailed my resignation letter on her forehead if I were on Val’s shoes. If not for Ms. P, though, and the long anticipated clash of your tempers, I assume there would not be a new account management position where Val would tackle her way through. And chances are you would not even move to that new agency where you’d meet my college dorm mate and friend, Louise.

The second time we saw each other was on your first day in the new agency—that was I think, December 2, Tuesday—a couple of days before Chiggy’s. First thing you noticed was my chain smoking, second, my hair. What I wanted to say then, is that I’m not in the habit of combing my hair every so often. Louise has just returned from an event that night; you were bored to death, which is normal for everyone on their first day in a new job; I was severely irritated by an office bitch who did nothing but watch youtube, while I struggle to finish the day’s deliverables.

That second meeting was immediately followed by coffee the following morning, dinner the day after, and dinner again, and Chiggy’s without our dear Louise knowing. And only about a month after we became ‘official’ did we tell the poor girl about us, though obviously, she was a little smarter then we’ve thought. Val knew everything from the start, because of the few common friends we had then, she was most supportive—given of course that she’s an honest-to-god lesbian herself.

By then, we were already friends in Facebook, Multiply, Plurk, Y!, what have you, and have been keeping a sort of steady communication with each other. You knew about my ex-girlfriend who left me for a guy and I knew about your ex-boyfriend in college who left you for reasons I can’t remember as well as your very discreet lesbian past back when you were in high school. Later, you would reveal a “thing” which you had with another person I knew from college and would forever complain “I’m living in such a small world.” Well, thank whatever gods we have that you do live in a small world; otherwise this account won’t be written at all.

In our rather short and sweet period of flirtation, you taught me a lot of things I’d never learn from the book, from my shameless immoral friends, or my sexually repressed professors from college. My favorite lesson is the definition of the term below:

Bugie (v.) the act of blatantly flirting with someone even without the intention of ever getting into a serious relationship with her—or perhaps getting into that but with this bitter intent of her dismissal after a couple of weeks. The word was coined and often used by the cream of high school bitches (where you once belonged) who prey on infatuated lesbians (excuse my French), in an exclusive school for girls somewhere in Quezon City.

Bugie (n.) them fuckin’ bitches.

Bugie-d (vt.) poor infatuated lesbian who fell for the trap. Ugh.

Thank you very much for admitting that you originally planned to make a bugie out of me. Your ineffective plan aside, we sure ended happy in the next couple of years contrary to the very objects of your plan to keep me just for the thrill. Being the timid person that I am, I doubt if you were ever extremely thrilled—Friday nights and Saturday mornings aside.

…to be continued…