old gold meets delta nu

(originally appeared august 26, 2004)

My gratitude to our still-a-thesis-thing-Mexican-party weeks before, I received an exclusive invite to Roy’s big party at Calamba, Laguna. By the way, highway, Roy is considered as the noveau riche of a deaf gay community. My personal interpreter slash new close friend, Ooma, also got a chance to receive an invite. I was going to that party for an official thesis mission. So, I must bring another thesis mate—Cindy. Leo couldn’t be there because he is a non-Tiff (get it?).  It was my aim to get closer to this delineated segment of our society. Unfortunately, Cindy didn’t receive a visa from his forever-strict dada. I must think quickly. Randomly, I saw Nixie’s classic portrait in my elephantine memory. I called and coerced him to accompany me to this mission to Mars. The chances were slim. It really was a short notice. Thanx to the signs (i.e. buko pie, the name Laguna, etc.), which according to him he saw while he and his sister was in a Caloocan mall, he finally agreed to be with me.

Together with my Delta Nu Sisters (Ooma and Nixie), and two other relatively young deaf-gays (DG)—Macky and self-proclaimed discreet Robin (I assure he’s not!), I waited for the car, which would bring us to the garden of the Old Gold. Hours later no wheel arrived. It was then I asked Robin who we were waiting. It was also then that he asked me the same question. Finally, our not-so-equal wavelengths met. Right there and then we found out that we were victims of a miscommunication. He was expecting that I have a car, which would bring us to Gardenia (a private pool somewhere in Calamba). I was also expecting that the Queen of Old Gold would send his van to pick us up. Thanx to Robin’s puzzling text messages the night before, we were officially on a road trip. Just like an episode in Sex and the City (SATC) where Carrie and Samantha are expecting of a first class—and they mean first class by New York’s standards—train trip to San Francisco, Ooma, Nixie, and I were surprised of an only bus trip to Calamba. Nixie (my dear Samantha) was of course devastated of that express news. I did promise him of an all-expense paid trip to the Queen’s palace. We, the fab five rode the bus just like the SATC girls going to Atlanta (remember that episode?). With our just like Louis Vuitton’s luggages and our just like Prada ensemble, we squeezed ourselves on that Provinciano Express just like the fancy, New Yorker SATC girls. Minutes later, we were on the way to the city of Silence.

At the end of the bus, the five of us were having our own kind of make-this-boring-trip-fabulous. The two equally-flamboyant (but not equally-gorgeous…hahaha!) DG decided to have their private conversation. Suddenly, in my peripheral view, I saw flowing fingers fabulously flying across the air.  While the two were privately doing their stuff, my Delta Nu sisters and I made the back portion of the liner as an instant studio. With our camera phone, and with the fair share of light, we managed to capture beautifully our on-bus experience. Although we were clueless of where the place was, we didn’t let the blonde in us to win the battle. We required the bus assistant, locally known as the konduktor, to let us know if it was time for us to leave the liner. A more than an hour later, we saw ourselves crossing the highway. Luckily, the automobiles were so kind of enough to stop as we strut in the middle of the street. Unfortunately, they didn’t honk to signal how appreciative they were of the five belles. Minutes later, we were still walking inside of a village where everyone was having a party. We were literally in a party place. We could hear people singing in a videoke in almost all of the houses. We then realized that it is a place where instead of private houses, private pools for rent are situated. After a seemingly walk of eternity, we finally saw the palace where the Queen of Old Gold was having his private party. My soles were aching. Thanx to my Manolo’s, I didn’t get blisters from that walkathon.

As we entered the hall of the palace, I was surprised to see how big the DG community was. Oh, daffodil! It was my first time to see a relatively large number DG and D-Bi gathered under one wing. The last time I saw them converged under one roof was when we had that Mexican party. But this one in Calamba was a real-deal and authentic gathering of their community. While all the eyes were burning my skin, I courteously smiled back at them. Was I nervous? Quite. Was I excited? I really was. I was slowly scanning the sea of silent sirens hoping that there were at least a couple of bastards. On my first try, I failed. While I was busy searching for them, the trumpets were blown. It was a signal to bow down as her majesty, Queen Roy (with his signature shades even under the moonlight) descended from a wet pebble-washed staircase. Wearing his newly-dyed, golden ash mane, her majesty needed not to wear his tiara to show how regale he was. His voice was not necessary to call our attention; his mere presence brought us down to our knees. When he saw us, he gave us a very rare opportunity to kiss his well-maintained face.

The quiet Queen ordered his macho muchachos to prepare the banquet for the fashionably late—us. We were situated on one side of the pool. Upon my request, a metallic electronically-powered fan was brought to us. Slabs of not-well cooked meat alongside the staple food were brought to us. Though I haven’t eaten my lunch, I couldn’t eat properly. Actually, I had a protein diet on the spot. Perhaps my hunger has passed by. Maybe I just didn’t like the food. Or maybe it was the excitement to mingle with them. After a quick bite, we headed to our room on the very top of the castle. As expected, the better rooms had been taken by those early geese. For the late urban girls, we have to settle for the white linen-covered foam. It was ok. We would be using the bed for just how many hours.

On the way up, we met the other DG’s. Of course the princesses were surprised to see uptown girls. While we were received with mixed reviews, we graciously smiled at them and humbly introduced ourselves. Honestly, I forgot most of their name (excluding those whom I know from CSB). Don’t blame me. I really am a bonehead in terms of name game. But I do remember two queer members of the Old Gold club: Juancho and Arthur. And of course four lads: Jeffrey (aka Lou Diamond Phillips), Casper, Paul, and Abraham. Yes, I’m not good at remembering names…especially girls-slash-gays’ names.

While we were in the room…relaxing a bit and fixing our things, some of them were watching us; as if we were having a peep show. I don’t know. Maybe this would be the first time they saw three young and beautiful party princesses to have graced their own countryside party. Am I being too bitchy in here? We were so tired with that more-than-an-hour-long trip. After a while, Paul—the silencer, remember?—entered the room. That’s the good thing in attending parties such as this. It can go from bad to cute. Of course the DG’s [who were inside] were like sheep being bullied by a dog, they didn’t know what to do and where to go. One of them, who probably learned [from his ROTC first-aid classes] not to panic in situations like this, got his camera and asked his fellow-queer to take a picture of him and Paul. Nice move, dear! Other DG’s soon follow suit. But we also gave them the opportunity to capture our golden smiles. So, we posed for a couple of takes.

I know what you are thinking. Don’t worry. My mind is still focused on my thesis mission in this party. Actually, I encountered a problem. Because of my bahala-na-attitude, I was out of V8, which I REAAAAALLLYY need to videotape everything. Without which, I should have just stayed at home and I should have just thought of another journal entry. So, I snatched my Delta Nu sisters to join me in my quest of searching for a V8 in the middle of the night in a place of nowhere. We hired a P150-per-rent tricycle to be our service as we cruise the whole place for that very important piece of technology. First stop: TOTAL gas station. Whew! Is this Laguna’s version of Starbucks? “Too many boys…too little time. So, adios homme! We were in an official trip.” TOTAL’s salesperson didn’t even know what we were asking from her. It was clearer than crystal—even if she hasn’t said no—that they didn’t have a V8 for sale. Next stop: CALTEX. “Laguna was a boy-machine at the wrong time!” Different place but the same failure. Off to our next stop: 7/11—our last hope! “Dude, is Laguna not implementing curfew for their home boys?” Uhm, they didn’t have it (both the V8 and the curfew!). We decided to go back to our territory. That trip was a failure. But we sure enjoyed the sight seeing part of that short trip. When we were entering the village, Ooma suggested checking the other resort’s kiosk. The salesperson’s words were like bombs exploding as she said it…Sorry (boom!) we (boom!) don’t (boom!) have (boom!) it (boom! And another boom!!!). I was really shaking from restlessness, hungriness, and hopelessness all rolled into one big gift. Thanx to Nixie’s accidental steps towards the other side of the counter…there it was, during those times where our tiredness was unbearable, the site of hunkydoodledoos (who are topless) gorgeously playing billiards recharged our long-lost energy. It was a site to behold! If I were only there not for this f*ck’n thesis, I would surely grab my bag out of that silent castle and I would go to that place…and I would play billiards…with them! Actually, I would ask them to help me out! That’s what we call a very nice and a very precise move!!! That site was just so amazing that it made my mouth salivate…for FOOD. Again, God is good…Max’s restaurant was open for the three of us. I was starving to death. It was then when the food was served that I realized how hungry I was. After that trip and that food stocked in our tummy, we were again back to our uptown girl status. And we were again back to the silent castle.

Delta Nu sisters are know for their ultra-kikayness. True to our bond of sisterhood, we didn’t mingle with them unless we were sure to wash out the dirt that we have accumulated all-day long. We dashed to the nearest washroom, which happened to be located on the ground floor, and we took a quick and a hot bath. This time I really meant Q-U-I-C-K. After which, we changed our old clothes to fresh-from-the-bag garbs. Finally, after sprays of various colognes and after a squeeze of body cream, we joined the rest of the crowd. 

Ooma and I grabbed the microphone as we sang Bakit Ngayon Lang, while Nico grabbed each fleeting moment with the moving cam. Oh, by the way, with the permission from Cindy, we decided to recycle the V8 that I have with me. It was a difficult decision because I had to weigh the opportunity cost. Would I sacrifice John Tusalem’s interview (yes, by all means) and a sequel of Dr. Liza Martinez’s interview (this one was a difficult choice) in order for me to videotape that very rare occasion? After singing Spice Girls’ hit—Stop, Ooma, Nixie, and I decided to observe everything and everyone with our own eyes. Of course the observation was both for the thesis and for personal purposes.