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.