bittersweet memories

I don't really know how it happened.

Our plan was to go out for drinks, grab some dinner and return to our shady, rat-infested hotel in plenty of time to lay awake the entire night sweating. The evening started out innocently enough: he had a few beers, I spilled a few beers and we watched a couple of prostitutes play a few clumsy rounds of pool; all-in-all, your average Sunday. Four hours later I’m in a karaoke duet with a Ugandan man, clutching a flea-ridden kitten whose rapid heartbeat suggests an inexplicably-strong dislike of our “I Will Always Love You” rendition and quite possibly all classic 90’s hits. My stomach gurgles loudly; it’s full of what I’ll later learn was liver and gristle. I turn toward the “audience” to avoid my karaoke partner’s increasingly-intense stare and see my boyfriend smiling and shaking hands with Willy, a Filipino man, in a way that convinces me he’s just negotiated the terms of my arranged marriage. I think I’ll like the Philippines; I wonder if I can bring my kitten.

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 3 hours:
We hear a familiar melody, an old American traditional tune that immediately makes us think of hairspray and Coca-Cola. American Idol! We follow the bewitching theme song into the back room of the dimly-lit restaurant and there He is: Ryan Seacrest in all his spray-tanned, Crest-White-Stripped glory, prominently displayed on the most beautiful 40” flat-screen television that ever existed. We can’t take our eyes off Him. He is America. We sit down, vaguely aware we’ve just invited ourselves into a Filipino family’s make-shift living room.

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 2 hours, 55 minutes:
New judges? Who’s that freaky looking woman sitting in Randy’s old seat?

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 2 hours, 21 minutes:
I begrudgingly go to the bathroom during a commercial break, extremely cognizant of the fact I’m missing the latest T-Mobile commercial. Meanwhile, two prostitutes take advantage of my absence and proposition my boyfriend for sex. I’m more distraught over that commercial.

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 1 hour, 55 minutes:
The show’s over; Travis is in the bathroom. An older Filipino man turns to me, introduces himself as Willy and asks if I’d like to stay and sing karaoke. I tell him I don’t really sing but then realize wherever that giant television is, that’s where I need to be. So I do what any flat-screen-deprived person would do: I tell him my friend with the bladder problem absolutely loves to sing, what a great idea! And Willy, buddy, in the meantime, do you get HGTV?

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 56 minutes:
I’m listening to Travis sing his sixth song of the night. In fact, I can’t get him away from that microphone.

I’ve finally had enough beer to boost my karaoke confidence. I’ve even chosen a song: Desperado. Not your traditional karaoke tune, but it has just the amount of vocal range I’m looking for, which is to say: not much. I tell Karaoke-Idol my plan and he decides he’s going to sing Desperado, that that song is actually his song, obviously meant for his Kansas accent all along. I halfway consider telling him I’ve decided to sing Ke$ha’s “Blah Blah Blah” instead, just to see if he’ll follow suit. Something in me wants to hear him belt the lyrics, “Come put a little love in my glove box. Want to dance with no pants on?”

Arranged Marriage Negotiation Time-Minus 28 minutes:
We’ve been invited to join the restaurant/living room owners in a traditional Filipino meal. I make it a point not to ask what I’m eating, but it’s delicious. I spill another beer, this time into my lap. Nobody seems to notice.

T-Minus 7 minutes:
I find a kitten. I name him Charlie.

T-Minus 6 minutes, 51 seconds:
Charlie’s fleas find me.

T-Minus 4 minutes:
Why yes, random Ugandan man, I’d be happy to sing a duet with you. But for-the-love-of-God, please stop calling my kitten “pussy”.

T-Minus 2 minutes:
Uh-oh. I’m actually starting to believe this man will Always Love Me. What was that they taught us about making eye contact with Ugandan men during powerful emotional ballads? Do or Don’t? Do or Don’t?

I decide I should probably just let someone love me before it’s too late.

T-Minus 0:
What the…? What the hell is going on over there? Why are those two shaking hands and winking at each other?




There are some magical nights when the rats in the ceiling annoy you just a little bit less.