Well, another year in the books. 31. Weird. They just keep sneaking up on me. All and all, I had a pretty good birthday. The one thing about this birthday that is certain, it definitely wasn’t like past years. There were no grand celebrations, no scorpion bowls, no car bombs, no crypt keepers. But you know what? I’m really OK with that. I knew going into this deal that sacrifices were going to have to be made. Birthdays come and go, but once in a lifetime opportunities don’t just fall at your doorstep. At least not for me.

Part of what made it not such a big deal for me (other than some great friends who made sure to still make me feel pretty loved), is the firm realization that I am a lucky son of a bitch. I crammed more fun into my 20′s than most people get to do in a lifetime. But you know what? I wouldn’t relive that time in my life for a million bucks. Alright, maybe a million…or at least enough money to pay off my overbearing student loans and get a lap dance or two. Sure, we had some awesome times that I’ll treasure for the rest of my life…and damm if there weren’t a few mistakes I’d like to undo along the way. But my 20′s were wrought with a complete uncertainty that I’d never want to go through again. Who I was, where I was going, what my path in life was going to be. It was nothing short of controlled chaos, and I wasn’t always alone in the aftermath it created.

Being a teenager was easy, there was no expectations. Hell, staying out jail was meeting expectations for the most part. But my 20′s? Well damm. All the fun, the adventures, and the partying did nothing more than help distract me from the reality of knowing that quite frankly, I didn’t know where the hell I was going. I just knew I had to get there fast. The pressure of my reputation, my demons, and my own unreasonable expectations put me in a place where I could never really relax. It was always about what’s next. The next goal, the next conquest, the next move. It was never about where I was, it was always about where I was going. I may have picked up a few enemies over the years (and I use the term “a few” loosely), but none were bigger than the guy I saw in the mirror every morning. Or late afternoon. Whatever.

I never really ever planned life after 30. It seemed so far away, and I seemed so far away from being old enough to relate to it. I always assumed it would just take care of itself. Boy, was I wrong on that one. It’s funny. I spent most of 20′s running forward at 100 miles an hour, but never really knowing the actual destination. Now it seems like I know exactly where I’m headed, but the ride moves just a little bit slower. At the end of the day: I know what I want, and I know what I don’t want. That alone made all the madness worthwhile I guess.

Sure, there are goals I sometimes wish I got to earlier than I did. Everyone does. Marriage, kids, houses, promotions….hindsight is always 20/20. But you know what? I’m still going to get where I’m supposed to be one way or another. I think for the first time in my life, I’m completely content with the now. Not relishing the past, not fixated on the future. I’m just loving every bit of now. My 30′s is where I learned to stop sweating the small stuff, and for an anal retentive bastard like me…that’s the closest thing to a miracle I’ll ever find. Good or bad, all you can do is take the things you’ve learned along the way, and use them to make today better than it was yesterday.

And today will be better than yesterday……..no doubt about it. This ride is just getting started.

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Well, it’s been a month. What a freakin month. I’ve really tried to sit down and write. It’s just….well, you wouldn’t want to sit around and write if you were me either.

I gotta say, things in Manila are going pretty damm awesome. Work is going as well as it could be, I’ve gotten used to being up all night, and the weather has been amazing. It’s weird, the weather here never changes. I was sitting on the patio upstairs last night with one of the other long term guests and a nice breeze came through. No lie, it was the first change in the weather in like 2 weeks. It’s always between 80 and 90, and a little humid. Lets just say that I’m no longer my usual winter pasty self.

I’ve had a chance to do some exploring over the last few weeks, survived my first earthquake, and managed to get myself familiar with the culture here. It’s interesting, that’s for sure. Lots of random t-shirts with American phrases, occasionally not worded quite correctly.  I’m definitly bringing a couple of the funnier ones back with me. The food here is decent, though my adventurous nature has twice stricken me with what I casually call “Filipino Stomach AIDS”. Uggh. Not fun. Not fun at all. Crippling actually. This place has some odd smells sometimes. You occasionally get these wafts that smell like either bad fruit or good cheese. That’s not even getting into the street vendors. Rumor has it that the ratsicles in Intramuros aren’t just a bad Chinese food joke.

Living in Manila is not nearly as scary as people make it out to be. But, that’s after you get used to it. My hotel’s security guards have an affinity for pump handle shotguns. I have a new friend to play catch with named Buddy. He’s the black lab they use to sniff the cars for bombs. The trunk of my car gets checked every time I enter the hotel, and every time I enter work. On the surface, it’s disconcerting. But, most of it is a dog and pony show. It’s more about appearance than anything else. Nothing really weird has happened to me, nor do I see any crazy shit. I will say though, I also rarely see police officers. From what I’ve been told, about $40 can get me out of any situation when it comes to the police….so most of the businesses and hotels all have private security. You even get searched entering the mall.

Oh, the Mall. I can’t even explain the Mall. You just have to see it for yourself. Filipino’s LOVE the fucking mall. It’s shocking, considering you would think they don’t have the money to shop at the mall. That’s what credit cards are for I guess. It’s really just like America! The mall’s are like a world all their own. They are like palaces. the one next to me has 6 floors and 750 stores. It’s crazy. I’ve gotten lost in it twice. I spend a lot of time in Greenbelt, which is packed full of bars, nightlife, and old creepy white dudes looking for wives. Oh yeah. Can’t forget that part. There are two kinds of Americans here in the Philippines. Those that are here for work, and those that are here for sex. The dudes I’ve met and the things I’ve seen would blow your mind. I mean, I’ve met some real scumbags. I met a trucker from LA that comes out here 3 months a year just to buy whores. When I asked him if he felt bad about it, he responded “I pay these girls a year’s salary to suck my dick…so no.” Umm, yeah…I think I’m going to move on to the next bar. No, I don’t want to hang out sometime. Dirtbag.

But, the market is there I guess. When I first got to Manila, I befriended one of the staff members here. His name is Shrii, and he’s a really cool dude. He’s one of those guys that should be doing a lot more than working the pool at a hotel. He said to me probably the second week I was here “Your build, your skin, that handsome face…Filipino girls will dig you like chocolate bar”. Of course, I laughed it off at the time. Yeah, it’s not so funny anymore. I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say I get approached by Filipino women on daily basis. At the end of the day, a guy like me is a golden ticket. I see creepy looking dudes, some in their 60′s and 70′s with hot ass women. God knows I can pull better than those mopes. Call me old fashioned, but it’s all just kinda messed up to me. Of course, if I was one of those dudes…I’d probably understand a bit better. You gotta figure, most of those types couldn’t get laid on their own to begin with..so there’s not much for them to compare it to. I’m sure it seems normal in their heads. I’ve been trailed at the mall, approached at bars, and my personal favorite: The girls at starbucks write their phone numbers on my receipts. Oh yeah, the corporate expense guys are going LOVE my explanation for those. If I had an Asian fetish, this would probably be a really fun place to live. Unfortunately, I’m stuck being attracted to obnoxious American women. Meh, such is life.

So, there’s about 5-6 parent company folks that are living here in the hotel, as well as a few more westerners that work for other companies. The brits are my favorite. They are the only ones that can keep up with my drinking problem. We go out on the town together, hang out by the pool, get shithoused…it’s pretty cool. We’re all kinda stuck in the same situation, so it’s nice to have company. The work people are funny. First being…well, they’re Canadian. That alone can be amusing. They try to give the American kid shit sometimes, but I mean…it’s Canada. That’s like getting made fun of by the kid that eats paste. All I have to do is bring up how Curling isn’t a real sport and that shit is over. But that’s not the real reason they bust my stones. The real reason is when the US division makes 60% of your revenue and they are supposed to be your subsidiary, I can understand being a little jealous. Not to mention they get all their IT support from that shitty ass company named IBM. That alone could make someone pretty bitter.

Speaking of Canada, one of the parent company folks brought her husband John with her. He’s from Nova Scotia, so he might as well be American anyway. I mean, he’s a Bruins fan for christ sake. He’s pretty much the Mayor around here. He’s been living here for three months…and just hanging out every day. He’s some sort of nature museum director for the Canadian government, and just decided to not work and stay here for the winter with her. Must be nice. But, I’m going somewhere with this. His government issued PC got infected with a bunch of viruses, and they weren’t doing shit to help him back home. Of course, the PC is totally locked down since it contains sensitive government data, blah, blah, blah. He’s bitching about it one day, so I tell him to bring it down to the pool and I’d take a look at it. 20 minutes. I cracked Canadian government security in 20 minutes and removed the virus. There’s a reason you’re our little brother Canada, now go get me a Molson. What? Don’t call me your buddy, I’m not your buddy. (Needless to say, John was quite grateful, and I didn’t pay for a drop of booze for a good week or so.)

Oh booze. My trusted friend. Even more so a friend now that I’ve been limited to it being my only major vice. Yeah, that other stuff is not really quite as accepted as it is in lets say, Massachusetts. It’s kinda killing me. But, I’m surviving. Gin helps. A lot. The booze here is pretty much the same as back home…except for a few things. I can’t find a bottle of Captain Morgan to save my fucking life. It’s like there’s some sort of Filipino trade embargo against it or something. It’s really starting to get me a little frustrated. I have gotten well acquainted with the local beer however. San Miguel is pretty much Miller Lite (which I ALSO can’t find over here to save my life), but with a local flair. It’s cheap and it does the trick. What I have gotten to like is a beer called “Red Horse”. Red horse is like Budweiser, but a little stronger. But there’s a funny thing with Red Horse. Randomly, they insert a bottle where the Horse is smiling. They call this “The Happy Horse”. Why is the horse so happy? Well, turns out the beer in a happy horse has an extra 2% alcohol content. Trust me, the horse is not the only happy one when you get dealt of those gems at last call.

Do you know what I found quite odd? No one here has ever heard of a beer coozie. It’s a thousand fucking degrees all year, you would think someone would have introduced a prime way to keep beer cold. Needless to say, I’m building a business model. A few San Miguel beer coozies could make me millions.

All  and all, I really can’t complain. Sure, things are a little wild around here sometimes, but it’s almost like the country as a whole is forced to police itself. I mean, the Filipino government stance on drinking and driving is “Please drink and drive in moderation”. No, that’s not a joke. There’s really no such thing as a DWI here. Yet, I never see any drunk guys smashing into each other. Survival of the fittest I suppose. I bet the Catholic guilt helps. Well, that and it’s hard to get a lawnmower engine up to speeds that can kill someone.

Wait a minute: Cheap booze, great weather, loose women, no DWI laws……why exactly am I coming home again?

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