Thursday, December 22, 2005

As I'm Writing This I'm Gaining Weight

It's no secret that I love to eat, hence the weighing scale aversion. However, I would like to clarify that I just don't eat anything that comes my way. In fact, I can be picky. Except when it's 4 p.m. and I haven't got my first meal of the day, then even stale bread and tap water would be fine. Actually, scratch that, I'd rather just drink than eat stale bread.

When I do have the luxury of choosing though, I tend to be snooty. I used to be just a simple person when it comes to shoveling food into my mouth, but I've come a long way since then. You can probably blame Jepoy Baboy for initiating me in the finer points of eating.

From somebody who can compete with a refrigerator in terms of girth and food storage, I had no choice but to trust his judgments. He introduced me to shabu shabu, mongolian barbeque, sushi (I used to barf at raw food), and what to eat at which restaurant.

We used to spend hours at 8 Treasures, that Chinese eat-all-you-can hotpot place that's now closed, it was a part of the Triple V group of restaurants. The waiters at Mongolian Grill in Mile Long know him by name. He used to take me along on his dates just so we could sample a new restaurant together, to the dismay of his girlfriends. They all despised me, but whatever, I can't remember their names anyway.

We used to wolf down two orders of Angelizas and Fried Ice Cream at Angelino's (closed down years ago) and sparerib rice at Le Ching in Greenhills. surprisingly, I was sort of skinny during those times.

We'd go to Malate so we can eat sisig at a rundown place because he would swear it was the best. We would also go to those authentic chinese restaurants in Binondo and he would force me to taste crispy fried frog legs and a turtle dish. He would also eavesdrop on the conversations in Chinese around us and tell me what's it about. I don't know how he discovers those places, he seemed to have a sixth sense about food. If you saw Jepoy you'd know why.

Now Jepoy B. is in the States with his wife, and most of our favorite haunts are closed. But oh how I've learned to eat.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

This Jungle Has Better Lighting

As you may have noticed I haven't been writing much lately because of my recent relocation. It was a painless procedure, I didn't bawl (visibly) because of high embarrassment potential. I just waved goodbye and turned my back, grabbed my plant and saw myself out.

There were no fireworks -- after all, I was only there for three years. I didn't do the Monggay thing of going around the office saying my farewells to those I hold dear. Mainly because you can count the office people I hold dear in one hand, and if I went around doing that I might instead end up pushing certain people down the stairs.

I already miss the Junkyard, that sorry excuse for an office I've had since working there. It is a very apt nickname, as it was a junkyard before cubicles were put up, and still was when we moved in. Publications and old files were piled there, and we moved among filth, some of which are our own making. One good thing about it was there were no people traffic, we had our own cocoon where we can pretty much do whatever we want, and walk around with no shoes. I don't think everybody knew where the junkyard was, sometimes when they wander over by chance (read: lost) they're actually surprised that there are people working there.

Here it's still mostly bare, as if I'm just a transient visitor. As much as possible I want to keep it this way, I just can't stand clutter anymore after that major clean up when I moved. I can't believe how much bonfire fodder I accumulated during those years.

I don't have to worry about making friends, as the Gels are here. There's still not much to do, as everybody's mostly on Christmas leave. It's very fine with me, as I'm still discovering the filing system. Every office has one, and no matter how complicated, sooner or later the code will be broken.

Meanwhile I'm just here, contemplating how I don't have money for Christmas shopping. Neither office has paid me (!) and I'm terribly broke over the holidays.


PS: Who decided over at Philippine STAR that Celine Lopez deserves a column?

Friday, December 16, 2005

Surreal, But Nice

After five years I'm back. It's hard to be apathetic to this place, it's either you love it or you hate it. Funny, they say the same thing about New York. Not that I've ever been there, and why is it funny I'm not really sure.

I'm walking the same hallways, riding the same elevators, seeing the same people. It's a lucid dream, a living nostalgic trip.

My past has caught up with me.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Note to Self: Brain Cells Do Not Regenerate

So it's one jungle after another.

I'm now here in my new job, without a day off from my previous one. The previous day I was filing documents left and right and stuffing personal papers into bags so I could take them home. The next morning I was taking a different train to a different place.

I still don't exist in my new environment, as I still don't have a phone, a PC and much less email. But I've been doing some stuff already, like you know, stuff.

So anyway, there I was doing stuff and lo and behold (don't you just hate that expression), I made a mistake. I got the liquid paper thingie and was about to start painting, when I suddenly decided to write down something. I didn't screw on the cap as I will use it shortly. After writing down the thing I was supposed to write, I remembered the liquid paper thingie and STARTED TO SHAKE IT, because some idiot said that you should shake anything liquid before using it.

Next thing I knew I have white dots all over me. On my pants, blouse and hands. Now there are two kinds of liquid paper thingies, the one that is water soluble and the one that is like enamel paint. Guess which one splattered on me.

So I got the thinner that came with the thingie and dabbed it on the spots and on my hands. Yes, you read it right, on my bare skin. Suddenly my hands started to itch, and my dark pants are getting lighter on some spots. Uh oh, seems like I did something stupid.

I ran to bathroom to try and soap it out -- well, it wouldn't come off. I gave up and went back to my cube, and you'll never guess what happened next. I picked up the liquid paper thingie and unscrewed it THINKING IT WAS THE THINNER and poured it on my fingers. Yes, even though the thinner made it itch earlier.

So now I have white fingers. Which still wouldn't wash out with soap and water. And itches like hell.

Did I tell you I was the token Genius of the family?

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

This Will Not Do

It's sad when it's midnight and I'm hungry but I can't get anything to eat because I already ate a strawberry sundae for dinner (a very unwise decision in hindsight) and if I give in to the demons of overeating I will one day resemble the Goodyear blimp, without the Goodyear sign. As it is, I am gaining back the weight I've so dramatically lost the past few months, and if this trend continues I might as well stitch up my throat so I can't swallow. A drastic measure, I admit, but when my mouth is possessed I can inhale a whole bag of Ruffles Sour Cream and Onion in one sitting. Other flavors takes me two to three sessions.

I think this is the effect of giving up the darned cigarettes. Good thing that I don't crave them anymore, I even turned into one of those irritating people (at least on the part of the smoker) who cover their noses when they smell cigarette smoke. It's now that I realized that it's really mabaho pala, pramis.

But it's sadder if I want to eat and there's nothing to demolish in the fridge or in my prized baul of goodies. I have lots of things in those two places now, because the SO loves to eat (appearances can be deceiving) and we cannot subsist on Grill Queen every day. Trust me, we've ordered every item on their menu. But imagine you are genuinely hungry and yet you don't have anything, even a three-day old half-eaten can of vienna sausages (yuck yuck) or tutong na kanin (eew eww).

That would be really sad.

That's why I pledge not to be sad or depressed or masungit if I can't eat. There's the lunch at Korean Village tomorrow anyway (bulgogi, yum yum). Hee.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Oh My Bloody Eye

Somebody just stab me in the eye, seems like I'm the only one left who hasn't seen Maxi in all his glory.

There's just too much to do right now, and I'm tired. I'm not complaining though, remember the sloth mode and how I was going to regret it? You're looking at it.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Conjugate the Verb "Die" in French

I've always wanted to learn a foreign language, and the first on my list is French. I don't what it is with French but I think anything you say in French will sound romantic. I know that's not true but still, French has its charms.

I could say "parles vouz Francais" and "Comment ca va" but it would get me nowhere when let loose in a French street. The natives could plan something evil to me under my nose and I would just grin stupidly at them because they might as well speak telepathically.

When my cousin, who's now based in UK and married a Brit, went home and brought her three year old daughter with her, I had a blast conversing with the kid. In a few days I was speaking English with a disgusting British accent. I got to say "today" as "to-die" and "no" as "neoai" or something like that.

But what really made my trip was when I overheard the British princess trying to make conversation with one of our Ilonggo-speaking, home-grown brats. They were swinging the gates, and Brit brat was asking the home-grown kid something, kid mumbled something, and Brit brat said in a voice loud enough for the whole clan to hear, "OH MY GOD, ARE YOU FRENCH?"

Turned out they once vacationed in Paris and she never understood a word said.

To close, I have one favorite French phrase, and it is:
"Ee c'est beaucoup pour salee?"

Haha. I know, it's an old joke, but when said properly and with conviction, can fool even a French instructor.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Closure

Sob. I'm moving on, and putting the final touches to another chapter of my life.

I hate goodbyes. Goodbyes generally connotes sadness, it's a rare occasion to be happy when saying goodbye. Especially when you're saying goodbye to people you've worked with.

I have had quite a number of jobs in the past, and it doesn't matter what the reason was, sooner or later I had to move on. My first job, where I stayed for a month trying to sell books, was a disaster. I never did manage to sell a single page, but oh man the people were FUN. I loved their jokes, their stories, their collective dynamo and positive outlook were contagious. I was half in love with every one of them, and those were the times I learned to light up (and stopped after 8 years). After four weeks of doing the selling stunt I didn't see any future for me selling anything at all so I gave up. It didn't matter that I was there for a month, all I knew was I was gonna miss those guys. I can't manage saying bye bye, I was too choked up with suppressed tears. I didn't want to cry because they might think I'm being overly dramatic.

My next jobs, well, I didn't really have to say farewell because technically, I didn't leave them. I was just shunted off to another place so there was no closure on that part. (Love that word, closure, even if it is the overstretched topic of Chicken Little, but that's another entry.)

Next job, I stayed on for 3 years, but I was more relieved than sad when I said no to another contract. I felt I was being suffocated there already, there was no room to grow. So I left, but stayed in touch with a lot of my friends there which eventually evolved into the aforementioned Adonis Gels.

If I felt was being suffocated there, in my next job I was being strangled. To Death. By mediocre people. Fortunately I have decided long ago that I am not going to be killed by people who have average IQ, for goodness' sake. I got out of that place before they could write Mediocrity as the cause of death in my post-mortem report. Look, I am not a judgmental person. I don't judge people just because they don't read Umberto Eco (fucking snob). But this is different, and I won't speak any further because it pains me to relive those dark moments of my working life. Let me just say I'd rather slide down razor blades to a pool of alcohol than have some pretentious jackass who don't even know what the word "amendment" means to assess my performance for the quarter. And to think they are the only one I've worked for that people don't recognize when you mention the company name.

Next two affairs workwise were short and fun. People were fun, work was ok, I didn't have to pay any taxes, I'm generally good. And it was great for my CV.

Then I had to move on again. I know, I move a lot, but what can I do? There was an opportunity and I took it. I ended up staying for 3 years. I have learned a lot here, honestly. I really thought some diseases didn't exist anymore, only to discover that they're still out there killing millions of people a year and mutating. Scary.

The people I work with are great, and I'm not saying this because they're reading this, they're not. I hope. Sometimes I make it like I hate the Monday meetings, but I think I'm gonna miss it. It's not everywhere you can banter jokes with your bosses, or actually say what you think of the current project.

It's normal that you get into a little snit with them from time to time, it's when you don't that you have to worry. I do, but often with the same person, and then I came to a point where I just chose to ignore the whole thing and wrote it off to receding estrogen levels, not mine. It worked, what do you know.

So in a few days I am leaving them, and we have all reached some kind of compromise over what should be done regarding work, and tomorrow we're all gonna party.

No, I'm not doing a farewell speech. I might just cry.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Nice Useless Things

I went to Sephora.com and I nearly cried. If only for Sephora I would live in NY. Just look at all those things, yummy things, nice smelling things, beautiful things. I know I don't need it but what the hell, like I can afford it. Nearest thing to Sephora I have is Beauty Bar and Essenses. Why am I blessed with so much tendency to hoard nice things? I'm a Taurus all right.

Happy, uh, Birthday

It's her birthday today, and please don't ask how I know. I'm still hesitant to write a greeting in her comments section as she might have me decapitated.

Anyway, now you know.

Friday, November 25, 2005

They Wouldn't Get Off my Case



"Pasuot nga kung anong kamangha-mangha dyan sa Chuvaianas na yan."

{Sinuot nga. Naglakad lakad.}

"Eh Beach Walk lang to eh."

Letse.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Tagged

There's been a lot of tagging going around, so I'm inventing mine, and I'll go first:

Ten Reasons Why God Put Me Here on Earth (I Think):

1. Because my parents were in need of bad karma.
2. So that there would be somebody to torment people who leave their phones on Loud and take their calls inside theaters and churches.
3. So the family would have the token Genius. (kafal)
4. To help the economy by shopping blindly.
5. I help generate employment by being lazy. I pay somebody to do the dirty work like laundry and stuff.
6. I'm proof that you don't need to diet to lose weight, and you don't need to pig out to gain. The latter part, I just inhale the yummy food and that's 2 pounds more on the weighing scale.
7. So that my friends would have somebody to yell at them while crying with them at the same time.
8. To serve as proof that there is harm in trying.
9. Two words: devil's advocate.
10. So that B would have someone to have and to hold. (nyah)

I'm tagging Daday, JDE, Resty (haha), Dylan, and Raf. Ang hindi sumagot, panget.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

I Don't Have Anything to Say

I'm just here listening to this CD called OPM Classics, which I bought in 1998, just when pirated CDs were starting to be born. When pirated CD covers were actually laid out, given a lot of effort, and can be considered quality compared to the pirated of now. Yes, it's pirated, it's not produced by any record label (or is Music Masters a legit recording company?).

Actually, I don't think I bought it, I just stole it from Jepoy Baboy's inventory. It's a 2-CD set of songs from the golden era of OPM. I love love love this CD, it contains 46 classic 70's and 80's hits such as Manila, Sumayaw Sumunod, Kayganda ng Ating Musika, etc. Rey Valera, VST & Co., Hajji Alejandro, Basil Valdez, and the APO Hiking Society among others dominate this collection.

It's just refreshing to listen to these songs, instead of the hip-hop trip-hop chill-hop whatever-hop that's all around today. Maybe I'm really getting old, I can't listen to Eminem for three songs straight, or even Nelly. That bang-bang-bang beat of hip-hop is torture to my ears, and frankly they sound all alike.

Old songs didn't need all those noise to be interesting -- they were cleaner, simpler, and more free-flowing. Why do you think they keep reviving them? Because it's so easy to rearrange and put new twists on it, there are almost no bare excesses.

I don't think of myself as a music expert or anything, I thought the song Believer was an original by Smash Mouth. So sue me, it was by the Monkees sung in the 60's. You don't know who the Monkees are? Same here.

And then I met a girl who thought that Crazy for You was composed and sung (horribly at that) by this guy, I don't know which one. What, she says, Madonna was the original? As in Madonna of Music and the same one who kissed Britney Spears and of late the Confessions on a Dancefloor Madonna? Really?

Oh good Lord.

PS: I don't think it's pirated anymore, iTunes recognizes the CD but classified it as Reggae. Really, who decides for genres over there at Apple?

Monday, November 21, 2005

When I Go Splat

"I bought Havaianas, they're on sale."

"What's that?"

"Anobeeehhh...Havaianas, yung flip-flops."

"Oh. The cigar."

"That's Havanas."

"So what's Havaianas nga? Tsinelas?"

"Flip-flops."

"Same banana. What kind did you get?"

"A tropical something."

"Lemme see. How much?"

"It was on sale."

"Yeah, you told me. How much?"

"Mmfppfftt."

"What?"

"-- hundred."

"I can't hear you. Where is it ba?"

"Seven hundred. It was on sale."

"SEVEN HUNDRED??? FOR TSINELAS? Hanep, baket naging ganyan presyo nyan? Mukhang pambanyo ha."

"It's really really soft. You can walk in it for hours."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Since when did you walk for hours? Scratch that. Since when did you walk to anywhere, period."

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Vienna Tidbits

Or what is known as neither here and there, yet everywhere...

+ Dude's so funny. Went to Peyups.com to read articles and came across this guy's article in which he said (and to which I totally agree) that "Testimonial whores, on the other hand, still need to be shot dead."

+ I once posted on the Bulletin Board in Friendster: What's worse than not having a testimonial? Begging for one.

+ I will really regret all the times I've been on sloth mode. I know it, I just know it. Then I will swear to myself ten million times not to ever go on sloth mode again. But I can't help it.

+ I'm gaining weight again, after that drastic weight loss of the year. But still manageable, although I would've liked to lose more. Lakas kasi kumain ng breakfast/lunch/dinnermate ko.

+ I went to the dentist earlier. It has been so long since the last time I had my teeth cleaned, but the dentist gave me good marks. I just hate the sound of that drill thing. I may have to have braces again. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

+ This BryanBoy creature, you know him of course, he's not something from our collective imagination, right? I mean, I guess he's real like he's alive and exists, but WHERE DID HE COME FROM? I have nothing against him and his lifestyle (you know me), and I actually get a kick from reading his blog. I just wonder what he does for a living to be able to spend all those money and what is his family like and what's he like when he's alone, that sort of crap. He's unapologetic, crass, in-your-face, and rich. A lethal combination.

+ Just two weeks left, and I have mixed feelings. I'm always like this when I'm about to have major changes in my life. I suddenly don't know if I made the right decision or whether I'll be happier doing this or that or would I regret this forever...I've thought this over four hundred times and I think this is the next best step. Wish me luck.

+ Going to DFA tomorrow to get his passport, hopefully we can go to Kota Kinabalu next year. Fingers crossed.

Teynks

Natatandaan nyo pa ba nung sinubukan ko magsulat ng purong Tagalog? Di ba ang pangit? Pwes, hindi pala sya pangit dahil nasa Peyups na sya.

Teynks ulit sa mga nagbasa. Hayaan nyo, sa tuwing magkakaroon ako ng inspirasyon ay magsusulat ulit ako gamit ang wikang Tagalog. Bibili na rin ako ng ta-la-sa-li-ta-an. O ha?

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Kristal


Belated happy birthday to my youngest sister who just turned 14 yesterday, the 14th.

She was born when I was 15, making her old enough to be my daughter if I actually had a boyfriend then and was stupid enough to get pregnant.

When I started working she was only 4, she would call me at the office mumbling about some things just because she memorized my number. Now I don't know which of her cellphone numbers work and I would send load to the wrong one.



We used to drag her to the nearest Burger Machine stand (not near at all) at 12 midnight because her older siblings suddenly wanted to eat chili burgers and Mama is not home. Now she goes to McDonald's with her own friends.

She used to hate food so much that if she heard the table being set up her face would erupt in a mini volcano of screams and sobs. Now she wakes up at 1 a.m. to scramble eggs and wolf that down in 3 seconds. She can eat two slices of stuffed crust pizza and eat rice afterwards, still with zero body fat.

She used to have wonderful spiral hair when she was little. Now it's just a mess of waves going this way and that because she's not very keen on combing it.

She would just plop on the couch even when wearing a short skirt. We'd have to remind her that some things aren't meant to be seen by the public.

She's very mature for her age, maybe because she grew up around adults. She can be very sarcastic, but then again, that's because she grew up with us.

She used to ask "Where are you going?" when she sees people brushing their teeth.

She is very tall and lanky -- a very far cry from me and the other sister -- maybe I can get her to be a ramp model when she's old enough and I can be manager. I could even meet Dennis Trillo that way.



Happy birthday Xtal!

Monday, November 14, 2005

Answers to Questions I Long to Say Aloud Sometimes

Q: Bakit ang taba mo ngayon? (You've gained weight.)
A: Ikaw, bakit pangit ka palagi? (Oh yeah? well you're ugly.)

Q: May ginagawa ka ba?
A: Meron, ang pagtiisan ang mga walang kwenta mong tanong.

Q: Can I ask you a question?
A: You're already doing it.

Q: {While discussing a very lengthy instruction}. Yeah? (Meaning did I get everything)
A: No, and I couldn't care less.

Q: Ate, may uod po yung itlog na maalat na binili nyo. Itatapon ko po ba?
A: Wag, hayaan mo lang sya dyan mabulok sa ref. Sa inyo ba anong ginagawa sa mga inuuod na pagkain?

Q: Ay bakit ganyan yan, ano ba yan? Pusa ba talaga yan? (Referring to our Persian kitty)
A: Hindi, kangaroo yan. Ganyan ho talaga ang mga kangaroo, mabalahibo.

Biatch.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Spawn of the Devil Dog


You might have read about our brat dog, Gabby.

She's not any breed at all, at the same time she has lots of breeds in her. She's a mutt, a generic dog, an askal if you will. But since Banana and I are suckers for anything we can baby, she's the Dawg.

During the past few weeks she's been with us, she has grown from a docile puppy to a first class bitch (pun intended), treating everybody like her servants and acting like a diva.

There's a dog next door, Tasha the Pomeranian, who's about the same age as Gabby. There has never been a single instance when Gabby did not bully Tasha. When Gabby came to us, they were the same size, but since then Gabby has far outgrown Tasha.

Gabby had once pushed Tasha into the stinky gutter. She also has this habit of sitting on a sleeping Tasha. Once we let in the Pomeranian inside our house and let her play with Gabby's toys. She was in the midst of sniffing a toy bone when Gabby saw her, got mad, and like a speeding bullet Gabby hurled her body against the smaller dog and of course the smaller dog in turn hurled into the wall.

I don't know why she acts like that. Did we spoil her too much that she's now like those ugly-but-rich kids? You know, those native-looking brats who drives sparkling new 4x4s, sometimes mistaken for the driver's kid?

And for the love of God, she won't stop nipping and biting us. Her mouth is always half-open looking for something to snack on. I fell asleep on the couch one time, and I woke up because Gabby was there chew-chew-chewing on my fingers. We've bought her toys and stuff to nibble on, but they quickly become a Toy Story nightmare sequence. Annabelle, my mini-stuffed monkey (Monkey, monkey, Annabelle. get it?) was ripped in two days after I gave to her as a toy. Once, for lack of something or somebody to chew, I caught Gabby with a whole hind paw stuck inside her mouth.



She doesn't remember pain. With other dogs the memory of a spank would send it hiding from you at least for a while. With Gabby, I think that even if you beat her with a stick (not that we tried) she would just go on doing her thing. She likes the trash and dirty tissues which she takes to the living room for shredding. We caught her once, we told her NO, the next time there was a slap on the nose, the third time a fairly hard spank on the butt. At no instance did she give any indication of remorse or guilt.

You should see her roll her eyes. She does that especially when you're talking to her, roll her eyes and then turn her back to you. Nice.

She has learned some things though, like not peeing or pooping in the house, not going up to the second floor, not chewing the shoes and slippers, and not begging for food while we're eating.

When we come home at night you'd think she's gonna faint from excitement. Jump jump jump, tail wagging, all smiles as she tries to lick our leg. When she's like that we forget everything else.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Another Victory for Mankind

I just killed a cockroach.

I didn't do it by the old-fashioned way (i.e., slippers) because I don't want that icky white thing that gushes out of their bodies. Besides, the fucker is in my room and Yaya just polished the floor. I'm not that evil.

I used old fashioned Raid. I always keep a small can in the room in case one of the fuckers deign overstep their boundaries. Well, one did, and I spray-chased the dirty bastard all over the room. Now he's lying dead, and I'm suffocating from the insecticide.

I am not afraid of cockroaches, I just don't like them because of the germs they're carrying. Also, I have terrible allergic reactions when they somehow come into contact with my skin. My aunt said I can part time as a cockroach path tester, like you can roll me in a suspect location (like a kitchen counter) and if I break out into ugly red splotches, then bingo, a cockroach passed that area.

I know about ecosystems and the circle of life and all that stuff but seriously, what animal eats cockroaches? I guess they can be crunchy outside and mealy inside (excuse me while I throw up) but really, cockroaches?

While I was typing the above I turned to look at the supposedly dead thing on the floor -- I didn't pick it up to throw it out because I'm lazy -- and it's GONE. I forgot they survive nuclear explosions, and I was stupid enough to assume Raid will do the job.

If this was a B-movie, there'd be a sequel.

Suspending Law and Order

In an ideal world there is no disease, no wars, no poverty, and I am allowed to bash in the faces of those who annoy me.

In an ideal world Dennis Trillo will see me while I climb the stairs to the godforsaken LRT station and fall head over heels in love with me. He will then move heaven and earth to find out who I am and where I live so he can send me flowers and chocolates and nice, expensive things.

In an ideal world I can eat anything I want and still be thin and glamourous. I don't sweat like a pig on hot summer days and my face won't look like it can power a small engine with all the oil it's producing.

But alas, this is not.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Would You Kill Barney?

I know I would. God, that purple turd is irritating.

Anyway, you might have noticed that (ahem, ahem) my blog has a different look. Many many many thanks to the Great SA of MN for holding my hand throughout this ordeal. If you know somebody at the Guinness World Book of Records, SA of MN can totally be listed for MEMORIZING THE HEX CODE OF EVERY COLOR in the spectrum. That's no small feat.

I've decided that my new color theme is Eggplant. I will be using every shade of Barney for my new template. Well, technically, it's not a new template. It's the same old algae-farm thing, I just "repainted" it. That would explain that ugly block of green down south of the page. Can't figure out how to send it to hell.

Also, I need a new banner, don't you think? Something purply but not Barney purply. I still don't know squat about Photoshop, but I might probably be able to bully someone (Daday? :D )to make me a new Eggplant banner. Or, as the British says, aubergines.

Another eyesore in this template is the blasted Google ads down there. I can't make it mooooove. I've tried everything -- bribery and coercion won't work their usual magic on that thing. I'm thinking of taking it out since I haven't earned a single cent from those.

I also don't know how to remove that green stripe on the right of the sidebar so it might stay there for a while. Or forever, unless you take pity on my case and help me out here.

Oh yeah, that Tarot girl below is kinda hot in a weird way. Not her boobs, no, but there's something hot about the way she throws her head back and laughs. Please forget I said that part.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Dark Justice

The Justice Card
You are the Justice card. Justice preserves the
harmony of the world. Working with opposite
forces, Justice does not seek to criticize or
condemn but rather to accept. The idea behind
the card justice is that opposite forces are
complementary; you could not have good without
evil or light without darkness. Justice's
position is to make sure that if a thing is out
of balance, the weight of its energy is
realigned with its opposite force. This card is
also a card of humour, for it is in pointing
out contrary positions that humour is often
found. The attitude that is found in the
humourous person, being able to shift
perspective and flow with an instinct, is
important in the maintenance of good balance.
Image from The Blue Moon Tarot Deck.
http://www.themysticeye.com/pics/bluemoon.htm


Which Tarot Card Are You?
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Monday, October 31, 2005

In Anticipation of International Readership

The title alone makes me want to hurl. International readership my ass. I never bothered translating my Tagalog entries to English -- like who cares, right? Occasionally I would get these blog-hopping commenters from other countries, but it's not as if they would bang my door down if they don't understand one line. My three and a half loyal readers all come from next door.

As far as I remember I only wrote one entry in pure Tagalog, and it was also pure crap. The rest of my non-English entries were not necessarily Tagalog, it was more of an abomination of the language. Combined street talk with swardspeak is more like it, and even the most sophisticated version of BabelFish will not be able to translate it with 10% accuracy.

As much as I am comfortable writing in the English language, there are just a few things only Tagalog can communicate the way it should be communicated.

For example, the classic "Pang-ilan ka sa inyong magkakapatid" or the variation "Pang-ilang presidente ng Pilipinas si GMA". Try as I might, I can't come up with the English equivalent of that.

The comment box is open for those who would like to try.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Sick Sick Sick

I don't know about you, but I'm really sick of this lumot-green template. Yep, that's what it really is, lumot. Nilulumot na ang bhlogh koh. The template design is so old it has grown algae you can be proud of. You can farm algae from this template.

I guess it's not really that old, it's only been a year. But the saying "familiarity breeds contempt" is so true here. Maybe for my three and a half faithful readers it really doesn't matter since they go here what, every time there is a complete lunar eclipse? And me, me who chose this abomination of a template, I look at it everyday, I have withdrawal symptoms if I don't get to see it at least once a day. I might update, or add a link, or click on my blogger friends' links.

If this template were a person I would have slapped it for no reason at all except for being ugly and just being here. Admit it, you do get that feeling sometimes for certain people. I know I do. Sometimes I don't want to slap them, just throw them out of the window or kick them down the fire escape. But I digress.

I tried, I really did, to put touches of change in the hopes of salvaging whatever aesthetic qualities this template has. Very much like the way you hang a picture frame to cover a nasty crack in your wall. All those pictures, the new banner courtesy of Daday, the sidebar links, those are all attempts to distract the eye from what lousy colors I have.

Don't get me wrong, I love blogging. This is better than going to the shrink. I can foist my senseless rants (like this one) to the unsuspecting public. Best of all, it's free.

Yes, I am to blame for this, I chose it when I opened this Blogger account. I don't know why, maybe because it's green and I've read somewhere that green is the easiest on the eye. I could have chosen black-on-white for sheer simplicity, but no, I have to be trendy (ngyak) and unique (right). Whatever is trendy and unique in choosing from a set of ready-made templates is beyond me. Your honor, I plead temporary insanity. You may read my first post if you want.

Now I can't choose from the other templates, because they are all equally sucky, and I have to redo all those links I've put in the sidebar. That's too much work, and this is not a good time as I'm very busy planning my (surprise) wedding to Dennis Trillo.

I've also tried to ingest some HTML nuggets of wisdom from that brilliant tutorial site Ate Sienna recommended. Sometimes it works, but most of the time this fucking template won't budge. I can't even change the background color, for crying out loud.

I don't know what to do anymore. I want change and I want it now. At least something's gonna change in my life, except for the wedding thing.

----------------------

P.S.: To the creator of the template, I'm so sorry, I know you put a lot of hard work into it, and in the beginning it looked nice. Now it's making me toes curl, and just in case you would want to redeem your name you can seek me out and make me a new one. I'm available for consultation anytime. My email's over there at the side.

Quote

You know it's really embarrassing when after ten years you recall what happened and you still cringe.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Re Truth #50

I just realized #50 came true.

Now, what about #64? I wouldn't mind having her and him AT THE SAME TIME.

What is the matter with me? Can't blame me though.

She is HOTTTTT.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Believing

I've often said that I am not a religious person. I believe that there is a Supreme Being, sure, but I am not your church-going, novena-praying, belo-wearing type of person. Prayer meetings scare me, not because of what it entails (praying) but because of certain reasons known only to me. No, I'm not scared that I will burst into flames if I was made to hold a Bible.

I don't like the "sharing" part in retreats, because 1) I don't really know all those people to tell about the more colorful aspects of my life, and 2) I don't like sharing, period. I don't even like retreats.

Don't get me wrong, my family has raised my siblings and I as good Catholics. We were taught to pray and go to Church every Sunday. I can recite all Prayers from memory, from the Apostle's Creed to the Act of Contrition to the Memorare. Prayers were not merely asking for something, we are supposed to give thanks for the blessings we are receiving.

I'm not against any of it, in fact, I would teach my own kids the same thing. What I don't like is organized religion. I don't like being forced to do something. There are times I don't want to go to church because I don't feel like it, I don't think God will be happy that I'm physically there but my mind is elsewhere.

I used to hate it when my great grandmother wakes us up at three in the morning to say the rosary. How can you effectively pray with half your brain zonked out? I have great respect for prayer, if I can't focus my whole being on what I am saying to God, I'd rather not say it this time. I believe that we owe it to Him to at least give Him 100% of our attention when we do speak to Him. Also, small things like not getting stuck in traffic, or being inside your home safe when the heavy rain pours, are reasons enough for thanksgiving. We don't always have to ask Him for something.

What I hate most is when certain people would start blabbing about how I cannot be saved just because I don't belong to their sect. Those are times I want to scrunch their flyers into a ball and stuff it in their mouths.

I don't like the agenda that goes with organized religion. Religion should be a personal thing. If it makes you a better person by going with what you believe in, well and good. But if you threaten people by using God's name just because they are not doing what you want them to do, then that's just bullshit.

The Philippines is a largely Catholic nation, and it is deeply rooted in our culture. We were taught that bad things will happen if we don't follow God. Sadly, this fact is abused over and over and over by a lot of people who cannot rely on their own convincing powers.

Case in point: family planning programs by the government. Did you know that in some parts of the country people who avail of contraceptives from barangay health centers were not allowed to enter the church? Or that religious groups confiscate the contraceptives then threaten the health workers who distribute it? Admittedly, this happened in a remote part of the country. But still, it happened.

Frankly, I have no complete knowledge why the Roman Catholic Church bans it. All I know is when you have nine kids crying for food, God is not happy. When those kids get sent out to the streets to earn their keep instead of going to school, God is not happy. When those kids grow up uneducated, unemployed and poor, who do you blame? God?

I don't think so.

Friday, October 21, 2005

Plugged

(Deep breath)

On na ba to? Is this working?
(Tap tap tap)

Ahem ahem. Hello mic, 1 2 3. Mic test, mic test.
(Feedback noise)

Manong, pakihinaan ng konti lang.

Ayan, ok na.

Ladies and gentlemen, please visit this site, because this is included there.

Yun lang.

Thanks.

Pano ba to i-off?
Ay kelangan bang mag-explain further?

Ok.
(Go back to mic, clear throat.)

Hi guys, this great group of people have deemed me worthy of their attention, and included an entry of mine in their third themed compilation Warm Bodies 3: Nostalgia Galore. Go get the whole thing here. No less than Dean Alfar wrote the introduction.

(Dude, that's Dean Alfar!)



Ok, there's too much link in this entry already so I'm gonna go now.


P.S.: I still have bloody feet.

Bloody Feet

These shoes are a bad joke.

It's meant to be worn by people who put them on, walk a few steps to their chauffered car, drive all the way to their destination, and when they get there walk a few steps to a chair.

It's not meant for someone like me, who has to put it on, walk down a flight of stairs, walk 7 minutes to the train station, go up another flight of stairs, stand for 20 minutes inside the train, go down a flight of stairs, walk half a block to the office building, and CLIMB ANOTHER FUCKING FOUR FLIGHTS OF STAIRS.

Yeah, they're pretty but they're quickly filling up with my blood.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

I Want ...

To go back here...



So we can do this...



And see this.


I hate the rain. I can't do anything. I want the sun, the beach, the water...summer can't come soon enough.

Monday, October 17, 2005

Like Strawberry Soda Gone Bad

When it's freshly drawn from the tap or poured from the can, strawberry-flavored soda bubbles and fizzles. Its sweet and cloying flavor brings you back to childhood, maybe you're six or seven, when you're only allowed to drink soda if it's a special occasion or when you're sick.

Its fragrant smell of artificial strawberries reminds you of that other childhood relic, Lipps candy. You remember smearing your lips with the sweet so you can look like a child-whore wearing bad lipstick. You remember your cousins and you showing your tongues to each other after stuffing your mouths with Lipps three at a time.

But you realize you're a grown-up now, an adult. You don't have the excuse of youth to screw yourself up majorly, you're supposed to know what you're doing. Heck, you can sign on legal documents, right? Just the simple concept of right and wrong should be one of your expertise. It's either black or white, yes or no, left or right.

But you know life is not like that. There're grays, maybes, and straight ahead. Oh shoot it, there's a whole spectrum of choices available to you right now. Nobody is limited to only two, and the phrase "you always have a choice" has never been more true.

You can't sip your strawberry soda now only because you're sick, or it's fresh, or whatever. Nobody's gonna twist your arm if you choose to gulp the whole can in one go, or drink it lukewarm after sitting on the table uncovered for two days. Or you can smear your whole face with Lipps (if you can find it), or eat five at a time.
It's always your choice.

Just don't act so surprised and full of self-pity if you get a stomachache, or have an army of ants ready to attack your Lipps-glazed flesh. No crying dude, it was your choice after all.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

World Domination is Nigh

Why the fuck hasn't anybody told me about this before???

The Dominatrix is blogging here. I can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me. Thanks Mark!

Yes it is she, and not some wannabe pretending to be her. I have written about her before, and how I miss her writing. If you don't read JZ, well I got the title of this blog from her.

Friday, October 14, 2005

As an Alternative to Committing Suicide

1. Join NaNoWriMo. What do you mean 69.44 words per hour???

2. Be a hero and own up to all mistakes happening at the office, even if it's not mine.

3. Join the cheer-dance competition wearing bloomers.

4. Be so selfless and give up all my earthly possessions in the name of world peace.

5. Appear on TV shrieking "Ang ganda ganda ng pelikula! Nakaka-inlove!"

6. Have a root canal without anaesthesia.

7. Act as a referee between drunks bearing lethal weapons.

8. Give up my present life and live in Spratly Islands taking nothing with me.

9. Eat worms.

10. Join Pinoy Big Brother.

Monday, October 10, 2005

If I Find the Other Half of the Medallion I Could Resurrect my Hair

I'm obsessed with my hair these days.

Ya see, in a moment of temporary insanity 5 years ago I decided to color my hair. I bought one of those boxes they sell at the supermarket and thought I was savvy enough to do it at home. Red was in vogue then so I thought I could up my ganda points if I followed suit.

And then it died.

It didn't happen overnight. It was ok for a while, I had red hair that glints in the sun and I looked like every other girl in town. Hah. It was my first time ever to subject my hair to harsh chemicals. It used to be straight and shiny and never posed any problems, except that it was too fine for my liking.

In a few months, I noticed strands curling straight up, until I looked like a baby lion with tufts of mane sticking out. I lived with it for a while, but then came the day I really can't stand looking like that anymore. I went and had it rebonded in a leading salon. It wasn't cheap but I figured it was worth waking up every morning and not getting scared by my reflection in the mirror.

Anybody who had their hair rebonded knows how much torture the hair goes through during the process. Shampoo, blowdry, apply first gunk, shampoo, ironing, apply second gunk, rinse, apply deep conditioning treatment, wash, blowdry. And you could raise a child until he goes to nursery school for the same amount of time.

I was feeling artista afterwards -- no more stray strands, no dead hair, all straight and shiny even if the wind blew a mini-tornado on my head.

And then my hair died further.

I didn't learn my lesson, after six months I had it rebonded again.

Now my hair is mummified, 36 feet under, and only the high priest of ancient Egypt knows the spell to undo the curse that is my hair. Unfortunately he is long dead.

But I will not give up. My bathroom is full of hair treatment products, from the lowly coconut oil to the more expensive Kerastase Masquintense. And oh my gosh, the ones in between. The hair stylist at the salon advised me not to get it rebonded because of the fragile condition of my hair strands ("Gusto mong makalbo?"), instead told me to go for regular hair treatments instead.

I've been on it for a month now, and thank the Lord God, it's showing some results. Now it's only the tips of my hair that's dry and brittle, but if I had it trimmed regularly it will go away. If only we could do the same to Tom Cruise.

If This Isn't Paradise, I Don't Know What Is

My brother talking to himself while watching Ever After on cable:

Drew's Dad (in movie): Utopia -- it means paradise.
Rimbaldi: Huh? Isn't it in Africa? The one with the hungry kids?


Ladies and Gentlemen, meet my brother the professor. The one you entrust your kids' futures with. The one you pay to teach your kids stuff. To be fair, he's teaching ECE subjects so I doubt if geography will come up while discussing microwave measurements.

Friday, October 07, 2005

Her Majesty's First Night

Just to get this out of the way, Caramel is now Gabrielle, Gabby for short. We went through a lot of names and disagreed on almost everything (from Caramel to Hermione to Natasha to Buttercup to Fourth-Baroness-in-Training Cassandra Amelia Ishii) but nothing sounded right. Finally, Gabrielle was brought up. Ahem, by yours truly. Yes, I got my way. Hah.



It was Gabby's first night with us, and we were fawning all over her. Every little thing she did was pure wonderment for all of us, and there is absolutely nothing evil about her. The way she would tilt her head when her name is called, or when she plunks down on the carpet for a nap, or the way she chews our hand -- it's all bottled Christmas. When we see her napping we tiptoe so she wouldn't wake up. We can't move when she falls asleep in our arms. We're pathetic that way.

You might think she sleeps all the time, but you would also be damn tired if one of your humans just won't stop getting this close to your face and going "Who's the pretty girl?" over and over and over for all eternity while making that face.

Oh, the plans we have for that dog, so grand it would shame BitBit and Tinkerbell, those two glorified giant rats of spoiled Hollywood brats. We're already planning to take her to a vet like right now, for deworming and vaccines and grooming. Is there a shower cap of sorts for puppies, cause we have this Friday night habit of hair treatments and massages and we want our princess to be part of it. I was even thinking of putting nail polish on her but she might chew it off and die. Maybe when she's bigger.

This early she already shows signs of being a true part of the household -- she just watches TV sitting on our laps, never barking or whimpering, in her very behaved self acting very much like her humans. Only she hasn't learned yet to make lait the people we see on TV, especially Yasmien. We've already rattled off the house rules last night: no noise before noon on weekends, no bodily fluids on the floor, she can come up to the bedrooms but only if she's clean and no dog breath, no chewing the sofa and shoes, and absolutely no friendly association with cockroaches and mice. That last part alone would so get her kicked out.

We're already planning on getting her a Halloween costume, while she's young enough not to ask questions about public humiliation. And oh yeah, we're planning to have dog tags made for her, me and Banana -- matching ones, of course.

We know she's not human and you think we're deluded and crazy and pathetic and you're probably right, but what the heck, she's our doglet.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Finally, She Lets Other Species in the House

I have to tell you something -- oh my God, I'm so excited I might pee in my pants.

We have a new dog.

(Pause for effect, look very flushed on the verge of passing out.)

I haven't had a dog since I was a kid. We have lots of cats at home but no dogs, because my mother says they're more high maintenance than cats. And besides, we don't clean up after the cats anyway so why add to her headache. (Not true. I always tell the cats not to pee or poo inside the house but they never listened, the ingrates.)

There are lots of things why we chose to have meows instead of bow-wows. For one, dogs smell. They have these glands of theirs that even though they don't sweat or roll in mud or get dirty or anything, they just stink after a few days. And it's a horrible horrible stink after a while. Cats, not really. The problem with cats is the shedding, but dogs shed too.

Dogs are clingy. If it was a human relationship, you'd shoot yourself in the head in a few months when that clinginess is bestowed upon you on every occasion. Cats might not notice if you're even in the same continent, as long as you feed them regularly.

Dogs can be noisy and it's difficult to shut them up. They have all sorts of barks for different occasions and they're all damn loud. Short of putting on a muzzle, you can try everything from headstands to costumes but nothing will shut them up while they're on it. I've heard cats go noisy and stuff, but always on the height of passionate lovemaking.

But I've always wanted to have a dog, I was just worried about the responsibility it would entail if I decide to get one. You can't just get a dog and tie them up at the front of your house. You need to take care of them, play with them, and give them your love. They're not servants who will protect you in exchange of meals. I wasn't sure if I'm ready for that commitment.

But we've got a dog, and I'm sharing the responsibility with three other people. We're pathetic when it comes to something we can baby. We originally wanted to get an aquarium, with something swimming inside it but never got to it. Now we have Caramel, and she will be a lucky lucky puppy with treats everyday and yummy baths and maybe I will let her sleep in my room once she's toilet-trained.

I don't have pictures of her yet, but wait till I get home.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

No More Moolah

What is happening here? Did somebody siphon off my salary to a very secret account? It's just the 4th day of the month and my ATM says "Will you quit it already? I don't have any more to give! One more swipe and I'm walking out."

Fucking piece of plastic.

Pautang nga.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Hit and Run

Two mornings ago I saw one of the neighborhood tomcats sprawled in the sidewalk, gasping for breath. His stomach was bulging, as though it will explode anytime. Our yaya was bent over the cat and patting its head, as if to make its transition to the next life as bearable as possible. I asked her what happened, and she said some fucker backed out his car without checking for murder opportunities. Apparently there is, as he ran OVER THE STOMACH of the cat dozing off next to the car's tires.

This particular cat was not a stranger to the house, as we require his services from time to time in exchange for the occasional feast when he's around. When we're being plagued with the vermin that is mice, we open the door and let him in, and automatically he would chase (and pounce and kill and shred to bits) the very unlucky mouse that had the nerve to overstep his boundaries.

Our yaya would feed him, if he has the time to poke around our front door in the middle of his busy schedule impregnating the lady cats. He would meow and knock softly, and yaya would scrounge for something to give him. More often than not there would be some food, as we are the queens of leftovers.

I felt sad and angry, seeing him lying there breathing his last. I wanted to beat down the door of the fucker's house, but he left already. When told that he killed the cat, he just shrugged and said "So? It's just a cat." Yeah, and you're a fucking lowlife with no karma points left because you ran over a cat who didn't do you any harm and now he's dead in spite of the supposed nine lives they have and because you have negative karma you will not be a cat in your next life but rather a mouse that they will chase and pounce on and kill and shred to bits.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Happy Birthday Blog!


Image hosted by Photobucket.com




Goshness, it's been a year since I signed up on Blogger and consequently dropped my Bravejournal account. (Note to BraveNet: it's just so fucking frilly to update. Do a one-click template and make all our lives easier, I might just resurrect it. Right, as if you care.)

A lot of things has happened since then. Lemme see...I lost friends, gained new ones, bitched on just about everything in my life, found purpose for a few glorious and awful weeks, grieved over something that I never thought I'll have, discovered a few more facets of myself that wasn't there before, and for the first time in my life I felt sure of something.

It wasn't easy. In fact, it's the most stressful self-induced torture I ever had. The past year's roller coaster ride has left me high and dry, and gasping for breath. This was one ride I almost regretted, even cursed myself for lining up in the first place. But I can't. How can you regret something that's brought you both heaven and hell, wonderful and tumultous at the same time? Nobody can understand me even if I started out at the ABC of explaining the situation.

Well, guess what? I don't care, not one bit. I don't give a flying fuck whether people understand me or not. I don't owe anybody an explanation, and neither should they expect it. Live and let live, I'm not stepping on your old ugly toes. I'm not saying anything about you going out of the house looking like that, do I? So stuff it.

In anticipation of another year of blogging, I am moving on. I am leaving everything that is mucky and stinky, and all those things I have learned to love in my own weird way. I am taking only one thing, and you can't take that away from me. I am laying my claim on something that I see as mine, and whoever attempts to stop me will suffer serious psychological damage that it will take them ten years of therapy.

Stay tuned.

(Picture courtesy of Ninang)




Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Fancy Dining

This made me laugh, and I haven't had lunch yet! Hee hee hee...



It's really interesting how restaurants use fancy words to describe their food. One description of adobo went as follows: "Juicy chunks of pork and chicken, boiled in dark soy and vinaigrette to tender perfection. A mouth-watering episode designed to stimulate the senses."

Duh. It's just adobo noh...even I, yes I, the undomestic goddess, can whip out adobo in 20 minutes. It's the first dish I learned to cook, even before sinigang. With adobo you just put everything in a pot, let it boil, making sure the meat is not rubbery anymore and you don't gag because it's too salty or there's too much vinegar in there. I know that there are plenty of ways to cook adobo, but that's my way, and this is my blog so basically you really can't do anything about it.

Sinigang, on the other hand, is a little more complicated. It's complicated for me, anyway, because it has more than one food group. You have to know the exact cooking times of each of the blasted vegetables, unless you can eat sour mush without changing your facial expression. I like it when the pork (obviously, I am talking about pork sinigang here) almost melts in your mouth, complemented by the crunchiness of the kangkong and sitaw (I don't eat okra). The gabi is also very important, it must be starchy and overcooked so that it blends in the sour, sour soup.

Fuck, I'm hungry.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Cheer Me Up. Tremendously.

I made my weekly pilgrimage to the home base this weekend. As usual we did nothing but eat, watch TV, eat, sleep, eat, watch videos, eat, watch the latest development of my brother's soap opera love life, and did I mention eating?

It was unwinding at its best, if you don't count the slammed phones and boxes and doors which contributes to the everlasting drama of our favorite telenovela starring my favorite brother as the lead guy. Sorry, can't resist.

We did Godfather III, to which I fell asleep, not because it was boring (so NOT) but because the choice was sleep or die from sleepiness. And maybe because it was already 3:30 a.m. I'm gonna do it again next week. I was thinking I'll have to first watch Godfather II again for the continuity factor, but nah, it's four hours and that's like two movies already.

My sister wanted to watch Spanglish (again) so we did, while killing time waiting for The Buzz. I think it should be Paz Vega instead of Penelope Cruz as the current Latino It Girl. She's so much drop dead gorgeous and not so bony thin as Penny and she has a cuter ass. Heck, she has a butt, period. Adam Sandler for once (except for Punch Drunk Love) did not try to be funny, thereby not getting to everybody's nerves. Tea Leoni was crazy hysterical she was almost scary there -- that sex scene will haunt me for weeks.

For the closing video of the weekend, we chose the classic Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion. That is absolutely one movie I can watch for the ten thousandth time and not be bored. The dance number alone is worth it, right up there with Ross' and Monica's "routine". I also loved the soundtrack, all from the 80's. And the wardrobe, they're so bright and funky. I don't care if Lisa Kudrow puts on a Phoebe face all the time and Mira Sorvino...well, I never really cared much for Ms Sorvino anyway (except that she graduated Magna cum Laude at Harvard). Did I mention that the brilliant and gorgeous Alan Cumming is also there? I love that guy.

That was a bum's weekend, definitely, but I'll do it again anytime.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Banners Galore

See the picture above? I finally discovered how to replace that boring old banner from the template I am currently using. It's not perfect, but I'm getting there. Daday agreed (thanks again!) to make a banner for me even without a concept in mind.

Conversation went as follows (a little rephrased):

Daday: may naisip ka na bang concept?
Me: hmmm...wala eh. kelangan ba meron?
Daday: ok lang na wala, pero baka pictures ko lahat makita mo dun.
Me: ngek. kahit ano, basta something dark and not too girly kasi itsh not me.
Daday: sige. anong kulay ba gusto mo?
Me: Pink.

Monday, September 19, 2005

100 Useless and Random Things About Me

Because its all about me:

1. My nickname at home is Girlie. Why oh why?
2. I am the eldest in a brood of four, and the eldest grandchild on my mother’s side. Needless to say, I had the most baby pictures.
3. I was born on a summer’s day at 12:30 p.m. I weighed 6 pounds.
4. I was named Redjeulle because when I came out I was very red.
5. I never smiled much at strangers when I was a baby. Not much has changed.
6. When I was a kid, I locked my mother’s friend’s kid inside the broom closet. I didn’t let him out until it was time for them to go home.
7. I recognize the letters of the alphabet at one and I could read at three.
8. I don’t hate math. It’s not my favorite either.
9. I spent my growing up years in Tagaytay. I saw the explosion when they blasted off the top of the mountain to build the Palace in the Sky.
10. During those years I had seen at least three salvage victims at the roadside.
11. I had head lice when I was 8 or 9, courtesy of my cousin who visits every summer.
12. I had an imaginary friend named Cathy, she was rich and had all kinds of toys and she lived just below the hill.
13. I’ve been to six different schools by the time I graduated college.
14. I never got the desire for taking notes, or copying from the blackboard. It was always a problem whenever teachers would check notebooks. If on the rare chance I did scribble something, it’s not gonna be read for the next 10 years. That’s why I loved college and post-grad classes, no pressure to take notes. You can just sit there looking interested, even if you’re not.
15. By the time school starts I’ve finished reading all my textbooks, resulting to major boredom in class.
16. I used to play a mean game of touch ball, agawang base, and Chinese garter. I was kinda stupid in jackstone and taguan.
17. I had a pathetic social life in grade school. Until now I don’t know if that was the cause or the effect of too much reading.
18. I was always in the honor roll in grade school. Then I stopped seeing the point. I once told a high school teacher that I didn’t need a medal to know that I’m smart. He took it personally.
19. I got into a nasty catfight in Grade 5. I went home with bruises and a bloody lip, but grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. That was the first and the last time I ever used violence in emphasizing my point in an argument.
20. For a time we lived in Escopa. Enough said.
21. The PC that I use at home cost me only six grand with a 17” monitor.
22. My shortest relationship was one week, I was 15 then. The next time I saw him I wondered what the hell was I thinking, and broke up.
23. I don’t like policemen.
24. I will absolutely die if you force me to declaim. That should be made illegal.
25. I was never good at memorizing – I sucked at enumeration.
26. I never failed an exam. Except the fucking DFA Foreign Service three-day torture and a psychological exam for a company.
27. I sometimes wish I’m not related to some of my relatives.
28. When I’m really really mad I can’t talk.
29. I am dead scared of worms, snakes, lizards, and other creepy crawly slimy creatures. But I’m not scared of cockroaches and mice.
30. I am too stubborn for my own good.
31. I read anything, and I always think I never read enough. I also spend a fortune on books.
32. I have never stalked anybody, but sometimes wish I had the guts to do so.
33. I see dead people, but I never saw my father when he died.
34. I am currently addicted to blogging and bloghopping.
35. My filing is up to here I can’t even look at it.
36. We moved to Bacolod when I was in second year high school when my parents separated, then came back to Manila after college.
37. I used to compute bloody timesheets for payroll and hated it.
38. I wish I have the patience for scrapbooking. I keep all these stuff hoping I could do one someday.
39. When I’m interested in something, I really get down to it. Then after a while it just dies a natural death.
40. I have a very short attention span.
41. It takes a lot to impress me.
42. I wish I could write better.
43. I have an unused credit card lying around somewhere.
44. Whenever I see or hear April Boy I want to break or hit something.
45. I fall really hard.
46. I once punched a 40-something year old man inside a bus because he shouted at an old lady.
47. I once sat next to an exhibitionist in the bus. I clobbered him with a shoe.
48. I can’t get enough sleep.
49. I want a car so I can drive out of town with a chow chow beside me for company.
50. I wish Jessica Zafra would start writing again.
51. I can be a real bitch if I wanted to.
52. I can’t commute around Manila. I’d get lost in the middle of Quiapo.
53. When in doubt, I take a cab.
54. I can’t sleep during long trips, but get knocked out on the way from Makati to Quezon City.
55. I suddenly can’t swim when I know my feet aren’t gonna touch the bottom if I tried to stand up.
56. I’m scared of diving.
57. I’m claustrophobic, and I have a secret fear of heights. When we went to Ocean Park my knees were shaking every time we have to take the steep escalators.
58. I do witchcraft, but not often.
59. I used to cross stitch, embroider, and knit.
60. I sometimes wonder if my whole life is just a dream, then I’d wake up and I’d still be five years old.
61. I keep my promises.
62. I don’t say I love you if I don’t mean it.
63. I am eternally grateful for having my friends.
64. I want to do censored things to Angelina Jolie.
65. I can never keep house. I hate laundry and doing the dishes and cleaning up and being a domestic goddess.
66. I enjoy cooking though. It’s so therapeutic to just keep stirring and tasting and adding stuff.
67. I can’t bake to save my life. It’s an exact science.
68. I took computer science in college because I don’t want to be a nurse or an accountant. I almost enrolled in civil engineering.
69. I can never work in a hospital or in any medical profession. I get queasy looking at blood or pus or flesh or… [faints]
70. My eyebags are inherited. You should see my three-year old cousin.
71. Jobs that I cannot do: customer service, domestic helper, janitress, flight stewardess, waitress, caregiver.
72. I am genuinely friends with most of my exes, and will never be anything more than that.
73. I have to be in a certain mood for a book. Otherwise I won’t enjoy it, even if it’s really good.
74. When the point comes that I really and truly hate someone, he or she ceases to exist for me.
75. I can watch any movie.
76. I can spend the whole day doing nothing.
77. I’m burned out with studying.
78. Can’t imagine myself living in a rural area. I’m a city girl and would probably turn green if exposed to fresh air for a prolonged amount of time.
79. I like shopping for toiletries and shoes and makeup.
80. I have two cellphones, one for Smart and one for Sun.
81. I am a proud member of the Adonis Gels.
82. I used to hate the boys in my class in high school.
83. I love buying new pens, stationery, drawing pads, drawing pencils, crayons, watercolors, and other school supplies.
84. I used to have a size 6 in shoes. Now I’m a 7.
85. I can’t sleep with just one pillow or without a blanket.
86. I have let two pairs of contact lenses dry up because I was too lazy to use them.
87. My boyfriend does my nails. He’s OC about it.
88. I wonder what’s it like to die.
89. I love hotels and bathtubs and buffet breakfasts.
90. I only have one pair of closed shoes, and they’re boots. I prefer strappy sandals and slippers.
91. I’m addicted to foot spa.
92. I used to feel uncomfortable with girls who like girls. Now I live with one and I never felt uncomfortable at all.
93. I only colored my hair once and regretted it for life. Now my hair is fucking dead and only an ancient Egyptian ritual can resurrect it.
94. My kikay kit weighs a kilo and takes up too much space in my bag.
95. I don’t feel clean when I don’t follow my bathing ritual.
96. Sometimes when I’m bored I wish a ghost would appear and talk to me. Never happened. They just pop up when you least expect them to, and scare the daylights out of poor me. I told them I’m okay with them appearing from time to time, but not like that.
97. When I’m angry and wish people bad luck, I take it back immediately and pray it hasn’t taken effect.
98. Going to a public market is a field trip for me, i.e. it’s done once a year and I have to be in a group.
99. When we were kids, my brother and I used to put skirts in our heads and pretend we have long hair. He didn’t grow up gay.
100. If law and order didn’t exist, I’d throw certain people out the window and hope they break enough bones but not die. Yes, I am evil.

Friday, September 16, 2005

The Adonis Gels


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Meet the Adonis Gels, founded 2001.

There are eight of us, but our most beautiful member went to seek greener pastures in that other country in North America. Why we call ourselves the Adonis Gels will be discussed later, depending on my mood and whether the skies clear up. (The former depends heavily upon the latter. Damn intertropical convergence zone.)

I don't know why I haven't written about them before. We all met at this organization eight long years ago as lowly temps, the kind you send to do all the dirty work like filing and fetching supplies from the growling custodian. We weren't Adonis then, we were simply friends who had lunch every now and then, discussing various people who made our lives hell in the office.

Eventually, four of us left the organization one by one, myself included. We weren't getting what we were hoping for, so we looked for other things to try out. Daisy left for Canada, and the rest of us ended up working in different international organizations. We meet up every once in a while to catch up on things, but there was no obligation or pressure on anybody to do so. We just do.

We don't see each other very often, but we know enough about each other's lives. When a crisis comes up, a dinner at Burgoo's Podium is immediately scheduled so we can talk about it while analyzing Nancy's current hairstyle, and whether Jessica should just kidnap the love of her life. Yvonne is always late, and thus she never gets to the buffalo wings on time, just the celery stalks. We don't see Mercie that often now that she's got a mutant to take care of.

We love to travel, the most unforgettable of all is the one in Hong Kong with Jess, Bunny and I. We take advantage of Nancy's penchant for hotels. If we run out of stories, we talk about Daisy and her wardrobe and hairstyles, never fails to crack us up. Sorry Daisy...thanks for the gimmick money, by the way. Can't wait for the next one, hahaha.

Maybe one day I'll you about the history behind the name.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Why Don't You Just Take my Wallet

Damn bookstores and their booksales. Damn my nonexistent self-discipline. Damn credit cards.

I was really meaning to go home straight, then I remembered I'm out of mouthwash. So I decided to go through that sorry excuse for a mall on my way. I stiffed my neck to the right, summoning all my willpower not to look the other way where the bookstore is with all those red flags and streamers shouting the words that is feared by all men with girlfriends or wives in tow: SALE.

But my feet apparently has its own opinions about things, and it was leading me that way. Yeah, as if Their Gingerness can read. All warning bells in my head were forcefully silenced as I gave up and entered my heaven on earth (aside from spas and good restaurants).

I was giddy as I walked toward the aisles, adrenalin rushing. I want to take a shopping cart and just pick up books, I don't even care what, as I read everything, even nutrition labels. I may have to draw the line on self-help books though, as I cannot take a step to admitting that I may in fact need help.

I checked out the "below 100" section first. Uh huh, uh huh...do I really need to know every single gem that exists on planet Earth and their gradations? Nice book paper though. What about Catholicism for Dummies, or is that the Idiot's Guide to the Catholic Religion? Wait, does the Vatican know that the Church is being mentioned in the same line as idiot and dummies? Oh look, a battered copy of Feng Shui According to Winnie the Pooh! I love Pooh, but he's kinda slow. Plus, is it good Feng Shui not to wear pants?

Move on to the 50% red tags. Nuninuninuninu...aha! A Dilbert hardbound. Only it's not tagged red, it doesn't belong here. Drat. What about the sequel to the Girl With a Pearl Earring? Only I haven't read it, so it doesn't make sense to jump to the sequel. I can't be really choosy or I'll be there till kingdom come, so I grab a nice green-covered paperback chicklit that's all about magic recipes. It sounds interesting enough, and it was really cheap. I like reading stuff like that, makes my life sound so simple and everything has a happy ending.

I'm thinking I can't just buy one, it would be a crime to just walk away from a booksale with just one book. I crossed over to the Teens section, and a stack of yellow hardbound books caught my eye. Original Nancy Drew! I shivered and felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Who didn't love Nancy Drew? When you're 10 and has no social life Ms Drew is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Titian-haired genius sleuth who could always find a single match to light her way up a ten-foot tunnel, and a rusty nail so she can create steps to climb to safety. She's forever eighteen and I can't remember a book that mentioned she ever went to class during a case. For all those times she was trapped with some kidnapper, nobody even dared touch her in an inappropriate way, if you know what I mean.

I was feeling nostalgic so I picked out the very first Nancy Drew I ever read, The Mysterious Mannequin. I was bowled over by that book (remember, I was ten and CSI hasn't been invented yet). A carpet that has clues! Imagine that. And it was 20% off!

As I was paying for my loot I can't believe I'm paying that amount of money, money which could feed me cafeteria food for a week or more. I told the cashier to end the sale tomorrow, or else she'll have to take promissory notes.



Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Monday, September 12, 2005

On Being The One and Only Superstar

I amused myself inside Powerbooks Megamall last Saturday, on my way to doing the 911 for my hair (it is really hopeless). Well, I can't really exit that damned bookstore without something, everytime. I figured I haven't bought anything decent from a bookstore since that time I was excited about something that was taken away from me. I'm not regretting that purchase though, it was very informative.

So anyway, I was inside and browsing at the Philippine Publications section and I always make it a point to buy our own, when this peachy brown book caught my attention. It was "Si Nora Aunor sa mga Noranian". The cover has this three pictures of Nora from the 70's, 80's, and a recent one. It's a collection of essays from La Aunor's loyal fans, and the first one was written by Boy Abunda, a self-confessed Noranian. I decided to buy it.

Let me clarify at this point that I am not a Nora fan, or a Vilmanian for that matter. I have never experienced a total fanaticism about one person or thing, I never understood the concept as my attention span is so short. I wondered what these diehard fans get out of it, of every single thing they do for their idol. I would rather shrivel up and die than hold a placard in the audience with the words "Nora International" or "Vilma Forever, Inc." I wanted to know what drives them to worship a fellow human being, who is admittedly blessed with so much talent it's almost supernatural.

I do admire Ms Aunor for her acting talent, having watched enough movies of hers to give her what is due. I was moved by Himala, Minsa'y Isang Gamu-Gamo, Tatlong Araw na Walang Diyos, and the more recent Sidhi. They are very very excellent films and the whole Philippine population should be required to watch them at least once in their lifetimes.

What I don't get is how fast she shot up to superstardom looking like that. (Hate mail, please be gentle.) Would you believe one of her movies ran for six months straight? That's way more than Jack and Rose can ever manage.

I am not saying she's ugly, all I want to say is maybe I am brainwashed by Hollywood and the idea that movie stars are supposed to look larger than life. That's why they're in the movies and we're not. But Nora here looks like the typical Pinay: short, dark, and ordinary-looking. She's one of us.

As I read the essays, I marvel at the drive and determination of these people who are willing to risk life and limb for their idol. I cannot imagine myself ever doing even a tenth of their dedication to Nora. They go into fights, they leave their families, they set up altars, they spend hard-earned money on memorabilia. One guy even smuggled a cigarette butt and framed it.

If I only had that kind of drive to do one thing, I would be a lucky person. These people rock.


Inhale, Exhale

Ok, this is kinda insulting (but only very very slightly) but the entry that got the most comments was my post about the alleged Best Looking Guy in the Whole Wide World, So Help Me God. It was the one that got the most traffic, not my world-changing insights on how to lust properly for weird men, or why I cry myself to sleep at night, and why the rest of population should care about it.

Much has been said about the "assets" of this certain outstanding sample of Homo Sapiens. Sadly, nobody knew his real name or where he came from or whether he got my number already. Until now (well, the real name part and where he came from. I'm working on the number thing).

Behold, people, the official website of His Yumminess, Reynaldo Gianecchini.

He's Brazilian, apparently. Hmmm, I wonder what he would look like in Havaianas and nothing else...

Thursday, September 01, 2005

For Crying Out Loud

I don't know what came over me just a few moments ago. I was reading a blog entry about some cards kids made and two seconds later these giant tears was plopping down the front of my shirt. And another two seconds later I was bawling like someone had been carving out my heart with a bread knife.

What was that?

I know I'm not PMS-ing because I'm in the middle of that whole feminine inconvenience and the P in PMS does not stand for Middle, as far as I know.

I get this weird crying spells every once in a while, for no apparent reason and totally at random. Once, we were inside my friend's car plowing our way through EDSA going to Makati, and we were laughing about something then suddenly without warning I was a horrible mess of tears and snot. One great thing about this was the look on my friend's face, who was driving. He was like, "What the hell? What did I do? Do you want my car, cause it's yours, but only if you stop crying." Only he didn't say it aloud, because if he did I would totally take his car without remorse. Why do guys freak out on the first sign of tears?

I also cried incessantly in the middle of watching an uber-jologs Channel 7 sitcom, I can't even remember what it was. And during my 4-year old cousin's play where he was a leaf. Oh yeah, let's not forget the time I cried because my cat puked a very large hairball. Cat proceeded to stare at me all night, not getting near me.

But then again there were moments meant for crying and I cannot squeeze a single drop from my traitorous tear ducts. Like breakups. When you're breaking up with somebody you're supposed to shed a tear, or just look like you're going to anyway. There were one or two situations like that, and my God, was it awkward. I just did my best to glare, it was the next best thing that came to mind.

Foxy Little Shiet

fox.
You are the fox.


Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by Quizilla

Thursday, August 18, 2005

TMI

There are people so private you don't even know their last names. And then there are those people whose lives is such an open book they can give Krissy a run for her money. I mean, even my bestest friends don't know every single thing about me. I still respect privacy, and everybody should too.

For those aforementioned people who never hesitate to tell strangers they met not two minutes ago, a few things we don't have to know:

1. What you ate for the last meal and how it made you feel.

2. Latest antics of your kids and/or pets, if you have them, no matter how extraordinary they seem. More often than not, they aren't. Plus we don't care at all because we're not related. Even hearing that from my cousins makes my eyes glaze over. Why can't parents understand that?

3. Your medical history, and the medical history of everybody related to you within two degrees of consanguinity and affinity.

4. Related with that, abnormal growths in your body. Specifically those that itch.

5. Your significant other and your love life. Like #2, I couldn't care less, so does other people. So you're in love and has a wonderful boyfriend, big deal. Unless your boyfriend is a major celebrity (at which point we would want to hear some juicy gossip) I cannot bear listening to such happiness.

Side dish - I know this lady who cannot for the love of God stop reminding every single living thing on the planet Earth that she has, finally, a boyfriend. After getting more than a few "my boyfriend this, my boyfriend that" I was ready to puke.

6. Your sex life and special talents in bed, even if you're having lots. Unless you're doing it with Brad Pitt. I would like to know how he is in bed, but please don't exaggerate.

7. How much you are making. Really.

8. Famous/influential people you know. I'm not impressed.

9. Famous/influential people you're related to. Same thing.

10. The amount of your debts. Ugh.


Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Mapagpanggap

It might have been the TV overdose, or I'm completely going bonkers: why is it that whenever I see PGMA on TV I always think that it's not really her, but one of her numerous gay impersonators. I always have this urge to shout "Bading!" to the screen. Baaaad.

What if (this is the part where I cross the line from borderline schizo to full-blown manic depressive bipolar mode) it's not really her? It's actually a decoy, trained and perfected so it would walk, talk, move exactly the way she does. I mean, who are we kidding? She's not the most difficult to impersonate, judging from the Gremlin-like mushrooming of Gloria-decoy wannabes in showbiz. Oh yeah, she could also count the Nora impersonators as hers.

The decoy was maybe set up because of the volatility of her popularity right now. I wouldn't be surprised if she's suddenly pelted with banana peels and empty water bottles during one of her (lordy-its-so-boring) speeches. How do you make 80 million people forget something you did under the influence of idiocy? And you think you had problems.

I'm gonna go pretend working now.

Friday, August 12, 2005

Just Bummin' Chronicles 2

I am becoming a remote control freak. I cannot stand commercials, I flip and flip and flip to see whether any of my favorite channels have something more interesting. Result? I now confuse the Rugrats storyline with the South Park reruns. Disturbing.

In other news, I am horribly (and I mean horribly) attracted to Matt of the Joe Schmoe show. I don't know why so please don't ask me, and anyhow it's not up for discussion. Remember those weird guys I lust for? The attraction is something like that, a perverse curiosity of some sort.

Sometimes, when I am terribly bored out of my skull I turn to the Korean channel and dub my own dialogue for their telenovelas. Can be highly entertaining, but make sure you're alone or your mother will accuse you of not eating on time. She will then proceed to force feed you her concoction of boiled vegetables which is really disgusting.

I went to the mall again the other day. I now suspect a conspiracy among shoe stores: they will wait for me to be dead broke then they will go on sale at 80% off. That's equivalent to cutting my ears off then giving me diamond stud earrings. Pardon me, I make very poor analogies.

Oh well, I'm back to work on Monday. I hope I don't pass out from sheer exhaustion. Right. I will miss my SkyCable and the couch and the refrigerator and the remote and the cat stuck in the screen door.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Just Bummin' Chronicles 1

I am on sick leave for two weeks and I still have a week of it left. I should really be resting and stuff but really, how tempting would it be if your doctor just said "you're not allowed to work for two weeks so you can heal properly"? So damn tempting, I tell you.

So far, I have seen a mall again, something I haven't done for a while. I just didn't have the time and the inclination to go drooling at stuff I couldn't afford. Sadly, a mall is a mall anywhere in the world. (Not that I have been around the world.) They just all look the same. Especially SM malls.

(If you doubt me, go to any four SM Supermalls anywhere in the country and have your picture taken anywhere at random. Then have your friends guess which mall is which. Even you yourself might have difficulty remembering what is what. But then again, it might just be me.)

What I really want to do is travel, but I'm not allowed to because I'm (yeah, yeah) supposed to rest. Or else I will be bleeding for the rest of my life and one day I'm gonna look like Pepe Smith. Or a daing, whichever looks worse.

I lost a lot of weight, even though I spend my time sleeping and lying down and reading and watching TV. I love ETC Channel, and some Jack TV shows (Crank Yankers is effing funny). Desperate Housewives is my new favorite show, after SATC and Friends said goodbye forever. I'm still loyal to Will and Grace, Nigella Bites, and of course, Queer Eye. I think I have a crush on Kyle. I'm still waiting for Carnival's new season though.


-- To Be Continued --

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Turning One

My blog is turning one soon, and that means I have been using this lumot green template for that long.

Frankly, I'm kinda sick of it. Green might be the easiest color on the eye (somebody told me, or I've read it somewhere) but really, one year is one year and I'd really like to see some changes. (No, I'm not gonna change the title to "It's Not Easy Being Green".)

I'll quit whining now and go straight to what I really wanna say: I want a new look for the blog. There. Obviously, the next word is "how". I really have no idea where to start. I've heard about free templates, and visited Manilena. There were a lot of wonderful stuff there but you know, they're not ME. Can you imagine me having something to do with flowers? Or anime? They were great but they don't really represent my personality. And anyhow, picture a website with flowery stuff and soft candlelights and the words Excrement next to it. You get my point, right?

I now appeal to you, my dear faithful readers, all three of you, to find me somebody who does templates for a living. If the person gives it out for free, bring him to immediately. God knows I'm a charity case, and with the impending arrival of my karma I'm actually worse.

Better yet, can somebody teach me how? I know basic Photoshop. I tried googling for online tutorials but I haven't found anything that teaches it in English. They all used Elbonian in the manuals.

So there.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Future Father of my Second Child


I've kinda decided already who will be the first one, see. But this scrumptious and delectable sample of the male species isn't a bad choice at all for being the second. So anybody can point me to where he is right now? Oooohhh, yummy yummy. I really don't care how to spell his name, or if he has the IQ of a marble statue. I also lost IQ points when I first saw him. Is it true he's voted as the best looking guy in the world? What contest is this and when and how come nobody gave him my number?

Wait, what if he's a porn star? Or horror of horrors, gay? Nah. I wouldn't mind either.