Thursday, May 31, 2007

For the Nth Time I Present to You my Handicapped Self

Going home at three in the morning on a weekday is never a good idea, especially if you have a day job like me. ("Day Job" is the word of the week.)

Crawling to bed and forcing yourself to lose consciousness can be a bit hard if you've just wolfed down large fries and strawberry milkshake not 30 minutes ago, so you lose another 30 minutes tossing and turning, trying to ignore the strawberry-flavored burps.

In effect you will only have three hours of sleep at the most, and when you finally manage to pry yourself off the bed you're still half-conscious and dreaming. So you miss the last two steps of the stairs, the stairs you've climbed up and down for three years.

For the fifth time my right foot is bandaged and I'm popping pills for the pain. I can't walk straight and I can't do capoeira tomorrow since it would be suicide really to do the ginga while my feet is straining against the bandage.

I hate my right foot.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

We Did the Alphabet, and Some Other Stuff Too

I know I said that my body don't really go well with late nights recently, but when it's this fun you'll all wanna go. One Saturday night I went with Lomopeeps for the RockEd Keep Your Promises event at the Big Sky Mind to see Mozzie play. The Swiss Deli event wasn't enough I guess.

Pam tells the whole story with pictures.

Pictures only tell half of the fun. I only hope that fun isn't going to be featured in Youtube anytime soon. Fifi, you are the keeper of everything. We're friends, right?

Some FishEyes of that night.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Whoever Wrote the Script for my Life, I Want Him Fired

Sometimes I feel like my life is a gag show very badly written. Serious conversations turn into a slapstick joke best delivered by some B-movie actors desperate to entertain. I didn’t always initiate these conversations, sometimes I supply the moronic answers.

With Yaya:

“Yaya, tawag mo ko ng taxi.”
“Now na?”

“Yaya, tumawag ka ng taxi, pero dun sa may Mercury ha, para di na kayo ikot.”
“San po yung Mercury?”
“Dun sa binibilhan mo ng barbecue.”
“Aaaaah… Di ko po alam yun.” (This is not the punchline.)
“Di ba dito yung bilihan ng barbecue (puts barbecue stick on the table), andito yung Mercury (puts Mercury Drug suki card on the table), tapos dito yung BPI (puts BPI ATM card beside), dito ka mag-abang para kanan na.”
“Sige po, ate.”
Leaves, then returns after 15 minutes.
“Andyan na ang taxi?”
“Wala pa po ate. May tatanong lang po ako.”
“Pag po ba nakakita na ko sa kanto ng taxi, pwede ko na parahin yun?”

“Ate, saan po galing yung itlog na maalat?”
“Itlog ng pato yan, hindi sa manok.”
“Pag initlog po ba yan pula na agad?”

Seeing her archenemy passing by:

With the Gels:

“Sa PNR daw sya nakatira eh.”
“Ano yung PNR?”
“Philippine National…?”

“Ano yung doily?”
“Yung bulaklak.”
“Pano naman naging bulaklak ang doily?”
“Basta maraming bulaklak, pag binuo mo yun doily na.”

“Huy, ano nga yung movie ni Aiza na pato sya tapos nangingitlog sya ng gold?”
“Petrang Kabayo!”

“Sinamahan ko nga sya bumili ng boxers eh, tinanong pa ko kung maganda.”
“Ano sagot mo?”
“Sabi ko mukhang ok naman.”
“Gaga! Ang sagot dapat dun ‘Bakit, mahuhubad ko ba sayo yan?’ o kaya, ‘Sige, sukat mo sa harap ko para malaman ko kung maganda nga.’”

“Ang white ba maco-consider na light color?”

“Di ba may address ka ni Daisy? Nakita ko yung postcard nya nakadisplay sa cube mo eh.”
“Tingnan ko ha. Ano nga buong name nya?”
“Daisy [Last Name].”
“Ok. Saan nga address nya?”

“Dati pala sa DND sya nagtatrabaho.”
“Kaya pala mukha syang gwardya.”

With high school friends:

“Tinetext ako ng ex ko, nagbabalita tungkol sa buhay nya. Ano dapat ang isagot ko dun?”
“Sabihin mo ‘Oweno ngayon?’”
“O kaya ‘Pakyelam ko naman?’”
“Die, loser, die!”
“Pwede ring “Rot in hell’.”
“May the gods of bad luck and bad breath bless you.”
“O kaya sabihin mo na lang ipag-shopping ka para tumigil na agad.”

With strangers:

“Good morning, this is [name of office].”
“Ay, Wendy’s?”
“Hindi po. Wrong number.”

“Miss, dito ba pila ng Antipolo?”
“Hindi, SM North to.”
“Dadaan ho kaya yun ng Antipolo?”
“Siguro, pag uuwi na yung driver.”

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Just Don't

No matter how much your new decorative bra straps is cutting into your flesh, dammit, do not, I repeat, do not adjust your bra straps in front of your boss.

Oh God, the ensuing embarrassment.

In other news, the world as we know it might end soon. Crows will be white and polar bears will be black. My sister is now giving me clothes that won't fit her anymore, and surprises, it fits me. If you know us personally then you'll also be a little disoriented, since I was always the one giving her clothes that I can't squeeze into.

I'm working on her shoes, which she won't give up. But then again, pretty as they are, I can't really walk on fuck-me heels all the time. All this running around will either break my ankles or damage my spine, at the very least it should give me painful calluses. Ah, the price of fasyon.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Not a Virgin Anymore

For the first time, I processed my own film in a real darkroom. I reeled the film in total darkness, put it in the tank, poured developer and stop bath and fixer and the works. Ah, I don't care about how many pixels the newest digital camera has, nothing compares to the anticipation and excitement you get when you finally see your images on the film strip.

Thanks Jill for the tutorial, darkroom and chemical use. Most of all the patience. :-)

Some pictures from the strip. I've messed up quite a few from screwing up the film reeling.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Langit Ako, Lupa Ka

From a forwarded text courtesy of Cler:

Kapag tinanong ka ng boyfriend mo kung gaano mo sya kamahal, ito sabihin mo:

"Hindi pa ba sapat na nilabag ko ang batas namin? Na ang Dyosa ay bawal makipagrelasyon sa lamanglupa?"

Mwehehehehe... I am so using that. Kelan kaya?

Ang Tagal Kitang Hinanap

Sows. My seemingly elusive No. 7 Soft and Soothed is found at last.

Nasa Hong Kong lang pala ang mga hitad (half the price pa!), I thought I would have to resort to having friends in the UK buy for me. They're just there, in almost every Watson's store in Hong Kong, which is like the number of Jollibee branches here in the Philippines. Literally, every corner.

Might have to spend less on Mickey so I can stock up on this loot!

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Ignore Me, I’m Speaking Out of my Gluteus Maximus

I was never a sporty person. In slam books (remember them, the glorified CV?), when asked about my favorite sport I wrote volleyball and soccer. I liked to watch them, not play them. If you threw me a ball I would get out of its way. I got 3.0 in PhysEd in college because my teacher was delusional about getting me to shoot hoops. He got hit in the head in the process, and I swear on my pet dog’s grave it was unintentional.

I tried badminton, but my racquet keeps hitting the guys playing in the court next to us. It just flies, I tell you. Billiards was a venue for drinking and smoking while spotting out cute guys. Swimming was ok, except I don’t know how to tread water until now. I mean I can, but only if I know that if I get tired I can stand (at least I’m not Hesika or Wabbit). My swimming instructor gave up on teaching me how to flip in between laps, so I stopped. He should have accepted my money instead of trying to ask me out every time we’re in the pool. Plus my hair was dying from the chlorine. I did boxing, but my wrists are too weak. It’s official, the doctor said it herself.

Now I took up capoeira. I’ve no idea what it was, except that it’s a Brazilian martial art. It was disguised as a dance so their paranoid evil king won’t know they’re studying self-defense. I’m talking shit here, google it for facts.

I like capoeira. It’s not so much as trying to pulverize your opponent like muay thai or taekwondo. Rather you take pains not to hit him, and for him not to hit you. It’s graceful and it requires berimbaus. Not really, we have CDs for that now. But to do the ginga with the capoeira music is an experience on its own.

If you watch capoeiristas doing their stuff it doesn’t look all that hardcore. But believe me, it is. Ten minutes of doing the moves makes me sweat buckets and turns my muscles to putty. At the end of the session I can’t recover from an esquiva, I remain there on the floor, one knee at ninety degrees while the other leg is sprawled straight at the opposite end. Don’t make me draw it.

At the start and end of every session they make us do this thing where we’re supposed to lift our bodies using only our right hand for support. The instructors are very encouraging; they tell us to practice because eventually we’d get it. Maybe, if I were pounds lighter or my arm was made of steel. Must not eat.

Hesika and I plan to visit their other venues to see other students. We don’t have a benchmark for improvement since we all started together. Thing is, this can be an expensive sport. If we do it at least twice a week it adds up to a month’s rent, including my roommate’s share. I hope some school opens that’s not so expensive; for once I enjoy doing a sport, and it doesn’t involve a tool or hitting something.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

I Have No Right

We got a Playstation (the first one) for a very illegal price and we promptly loaded on pirated games. We got the classics, like the car racing and the motorcycles jumping on ramps, the titles of which I never bothered to read. We also got my favorite, Tekken 3.

My favorite character is Eddy, the dancing guy. Now I know he’s not dancing, he’s actually doing the ginga. But of course in the game he’s not just doing the fintas and the esquivas, he sort of pummels people and monsters.

The thing about this newly acquired thingie is we got what we paid for. You have to cajole, beg, bribe, and threaten it before it can start the game. When the disc finally loads you’re not in the mood to play anymore, either you’re too pissed or you’ve already smashed the controller into pieces.

I’m not a gamer, I’m not genetically predisposed to coordinate hand and eye in the destruction of entities whose only fault was to be selected randomly by the computer to provide a virtual punching bag for me. Usually it’s me who ends up sprawled on the dungeon floor with “YOU LOSE” in big bold letters across my virtual aching body. Yeah, like I didn’t know.

I played with our now 9-year old and of course I lost ten games out of ten. In desperation I told him he shouldn’t really be uppercutting girls (I picked Xiao Yu).

“Bakit ka nananakit ng girls?”
“Binibilisan ko na nga pong patayin kayo para matapos na. Ayoko pong nananakit ng girls eh, I’m nice to them.”

Oh. I’ll check back on you when you’re 25.

I’m actually thinking of getting a PSP (nice screen), but the hardcore gaming community might stone me since I’m planning on just playing Tetris on it. I don’t even know if there’s Tetris for PSP. Maybe once in a while I’ll play Gran Turismo or Motocross or even Tekken, but I get too emotional, I can’t play in public. I scream along when the cars crash or when Heihachi is delivering the spinal tap/headlock combo. Maybe I’ll just get Brick Game or Tamagotchi, the most boring invention on earth, next to the manual can opener.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Lomomanila at RockEd Philippines

Sets of slideshows shown at RockEd Philippines Malinis Please, a peaceful gathering of musicians to promote clean elections, May 10, Amoranto Stadium. I wasn't able to go, I'm afraid of Amoranto. I'm in the first video, with some of my pictures from my very cheap Actionsampler. Hay, I want an LCA na talaga.

Videos courtesy of the very cool Jill.

UPDATE: Jill didn't make the videos, I just linked to her site. Bong, Drea and Eric made the videos, respectively.

Friday, May 11, 2007

An Open Letter to the Concerned Family and Friends of Thirty-something Single Women*

Dear CFF,

This letter aims to address several areas that have been brought up to our attention repeatedly, i.e. every occasion that requires people to bring their significant others and we turn up alone and dateless. While we appreciate your well-meant comments about the state of our ovaries, please take a moment to hear our side.

1. We are not unhappy. Where you got the idea that single women mope around whining about the fact that they don’t have someone, we will never know. We try to live our lives as best as we can, and I think we’re doing good. Most of us are professionals successful in our respective fields, independent, smart, well-traveled, and knowledgeable about a lot of things. While it might appear that we are obsessed (and sometimes we are) about our Jo Malones, Lampe Bergers, Havaianas, gadgets and such, we are not compensating the lack of a man’s presence in our lives by being materialistic. We can afford what we obsess about anyway, with our own hard-earned money.

2. We don’t envy married people, and we have reason to believe that some of them envy us and our lifestyles. Judging from statistics, couples are more caught up in the wedding than the marriage itself. True, there are many couples who are the best fit for each other (hurray for you guys), but how many marriages dissolve before they reach their tenth anniversary? I have lost count of newlywed girl friends advising her single friends not to rush it, and coming from someone who’s married for only two months, that’s a little scary. Take somebody who’s been married for more than ten years and ask him/her straight if they’re truly and deeply happy inside out with their lives. Chances are they will say, “Yes, because we have kids.” Which is the biggest bullshit. Marriage is about two people who rock each other’s world, and working at it until one partner’s breathing stops. Children are just a bonus. A good marriage should be able to work even without producing offspring.

3. That brings us to another thing, children. Yes, we are aware that women have biological clocks, that past the age of 35 it would be rather difficult to conceive, blah blah blah. Contrary to the winning answer to a beauty pageant question, having children is not the end-all be-all of a woman. What about those who cannot bear a child because of nature’s bad joke? Will she lose her life’s meaning just because she can’t bring another life into this overpopulated world? While we acknowledge the fact that children do bring meaning to their parent’s lives (see Doodle, Abbey), we can be mothers to children not our own. It can be our own nieces and nephews, or kids we haven’t even met yet (see World Vision).

4. We don’t subscribe to the crap that we have to have children so someone will take care of us in our old age. It’s unfair to the child, that he’s brought here for a purpose. I once saw on a TV documentary a couple who has 21 children, and when asked why do they have so many, the father answered “Isa dyan ang mag-aahon sa amin.” To pass that burden to your children is not right, and to have kids for that sole purpose is just plain sick.

5. We don’t hate men. We like them very much, as a matter of fact (see Trillo, Dennis; Ventimiglia, Milo; Pitt, Brad; Underwood, Blair; et al). However, we are old enough and know enough not to settle for just anybody. Most of us have had strings of failed relationships under our belts, and we have learned from them. We have done our share of compromises and sacrifices, yet we know that if one day we wake up and we don’t recognize ourselves anymore, it’s time to run as far away as we can from the man. We’re not stupid. We’d rather be alone than to be with somebody who needs our constant assurance and coddling, then we turn our backs and they go off chasing lampposts with skirts.

6. In line with that, don’t set us up with your loser friends, or the loser sons of your friends. We can manage to find our own dates, thank you very much. We can go to dinner with our friends instead if we don’t have dates, and we can pay for it. We don’t need dates to take us to fancy places, because most probably we’ve been there already.

7. Don’t harp about our age. Don’t keep on saying that we’re of the marrying age, that at our age you already have three children. It’s different now. We have so many options we’re actually overwhelmed which one to take first. French or Spanish? Capoeira or Muay Thai? Bangkok or Singapore? MBA or some other degree? US, Canada, or Australia? Visa or Mastercard? Wedge or stilettos?

8. We’re not bitter. We’re not cynical. We’re just grounded, sensible people who believe that if there are fairy tales and happy endings, there are also villains. We know that beauty, riches and fame are not enough to bring you happiness (see Aniston, Jennifer; Aquino, Kris; Gutierrez, Ruffa; Barretto, Gretchen; Quiambao, Miriam; et al). We believe that we should first be happy with who we are before we can be happy with someone else. We know that men will not complete us, rather they should complement us. We have to make peace with ourselves and our flaws first lest we bring that baggage into a promising relationship.

We hope that the above points are clear enough, and the next time you see us these kinds of conversation will not happen anymore:

“Ay, kanino ka ngang anak?” (Kay [parent’s name] po.)
“Ang laki mo na iha! Nung huli kitang makita ganito ka pa lang kalaki. Ilang taon ka na ba?” ([Age] po.)
“May asawa ka na?” (Wala pa ho.)
“Ay bakit?”

“O, ikaw lang? Asan ang boyfriend mo?” (Wala akong boyfriend ngayon.)
“Bakit? Naku napag-iiwanan ka na. [Laughter]”

This is our cue to get out our AK-47s and start shooting people at random. So please, read the memo.


* Straight single women. The girls who like girls can say their own piece, and no, we don’t have anything against them.

Thursday, May 10, 2007


Jessica: dapat sa status natin lakwacherang pulubi hehehe
redjeulle: oo, palitan ko
redjeulle: ayan pinalitan ko na
Jessica: lakwacherang pulubi = palaboy hehehe
redjeulle: taong grasa
Jessica: hehehe
Jessica: pero ang grasa natin ay l'oreal
Jessica: oil of olay
Jessica: sun block
Jessica: mario badescu
Jessica: tutyal
redjeulle: hahahaha
redjeulle: oo nga
Jessica: kaya pulubi

Sir, Moshy Has a Question

When I got my new iPod Nano it was a refreshing change from my old iPod. I used to have a 15gb 3rd generation iPod, the one with the buttons on the top. It was heavy and bulky to carry around, especially at the gym. It would be a punishment if you hung it around your neck while you run on the treadmill. However, it has served me well for three years and has gone places. Wherever my camera goes, my iPod goes. Until some mothereffing bastard stole it from my backpack. Rot in hell, you thieving scum.

Anyway. Moshy here has a colored screen, displays album artwork, and the buttons are not so sensitive. My old iPod was real touchy, if you breathe on it the volume increases or it will go to the next song. Moshy also has longer battery life, and is so small I can tuck it under my bra while running. I got a lanyard but try running with a big dog tag around your neck; sooner or later it hits you in the face. Yeah, that’s how I run.

The one thing I find amazing with the new Nano series is its ability to display the lyrics of the song currently playing. Hit the center once, you get to go to any part of the song. Hit it again, and you see the album cover (if it’s available). Another hit, you can rate the song. But – there is a but – if the lyrics are embedded you can see it on the third hit, before the rating part. Cool, huh?

I tried ripping original CDs and transferring them to Moshy, but there are no lyrics. I thought the CDs were just not recent enough, so I got Gwen Stefani’s latest, Sweet Escape. Still no lyrics. To the Apple techies out there, how do I get the lyrics? One theory is it should be embedded in the CD titles database, is that right?

I really want to sing along to Sakura Drops by Utada Hikaru but it would be a little strange if I carried a songbook with me. Help?

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


I have never ever attended a miting de avance my entire voting life. I have no patience listening to politicians and their platforms, even if they bribe me with song and dance numbers from people I normally see on TV.

But now that they chose to stage it in front of the apartment, I have no choice but to hear every lie they spew out of their mouths with their forked tongues. I want to shout at them from my window, but I guess it won’t really matter. Resistance is futile. Be scared, be very scared.

There’s some trying hard singer wannabe caterwauling Celine Dion’s I’ll Be Waiting for You, and you can hear her veins popping with every high note. I want to end her pain by cutting off her circulation, but last I heard I can go to jail for that. Also, I’m clean and ready for bed and I’m not that prepped to go out in the sticky evening heat.

Thankfully it ended all too soon, somebody tripped on the power cords. Hee.

First it was Anak Pawis, now it’s Bayan Muna. I am having multisyllabic word overload. In Tagalog, nonetheless. Pagsusulong, paghihikahos, paninindigan, paninikil, plataporma, pagbabago, pangungurakot, progresibo, pakinangshet. Kidding, I added that last word. But I wouldn’t mind if they say it even once.

What else is new? They just rehash every single thing they say on the previous campaign period. Over the weekend some councilor candidates went from house to house shaking the hands of people. It was noon and we just got up, still in our ratty tank tops holding our coffee cups trying to wake up. I am not a morning person, and neither is my roommate.

This sad ass candidate knocked on our window, “(name) po, wag po nating kalimutan.” We didn’t even look in his direction, but you gotta admire him for his persistence. He knocked again. I looked at him slowly from where I’m sitting, my face blank. My roommate was a statue, ultimate boredom personified. “Ano ho yun, manong?” I wanted to annoy him by calling him Manong. He didn’t budge. He stood there, holding flyers like he was expecting me to take it. “Ano ho yan?

Wag po nating kalimutan ang (name of party) sa Mayo 14.”

Something snapped in me, and I said to him in my laziest voice, verbatim:

“Hi. I’m sorry, but you have reached the most apolitical household in this district. I don’t even vote here, and she’s (pointing to my roommate still not moving) not even registered. We’re not your target market.”

He stood there speechless for at least five seconds, still holding the flyers. Then he comes to himself, withdrew his hand and when it came out again it was holding something else. “Eto na lang po, for information na lang.”

I took it and he left. When I finally looked at it, it was a brochure for some subdivision. The motherfucker is doing real estate on the side.

Monday, May 07, 2007


At some point I might have to clean my room.

I might have to remove the dead flowers, tidy up my shoes, wipe the various bits and pieces lying around, bring my laundry to the laundromat, replace my bedsheets, and figure a way to banish the wrinkles from my freshly-laundered clothes without using an iron.

Yaya is on leave and I'm going crazy.

I can't find where the broom is, or what I'm supposed to use to wipe the dining table, the blue rag or the white one. I don't know the number of the water and LPG delivery guys. I don't know where I'm supposed to put the trash bags while waiting for the garbage collectors who comes every I-don't-know-when. I don't know anything.

We tried cooking instant pancit canton but the noodles were overcooked and inedible. The instant quaker oats I made as my only meal for the day turned out solid, like soggy kutsinta. We haven't cooked anything on the stove except boil water for two weeks. When I'm at home, I subsist on 3-in-1 coffee, Lucky Me La Paz Batchoy, and Bread Pan (redundant branding, btw). When I'm really really hungry and it's already late I eat a piece of old ponkan from the fruit basket I got when I was in the hospital.

I'm always mindful of the mess I make since no one will clean up after me. I'm careful not to spill on the hardwood floors because I am never in the mood to wax and polish it. Is it still any mystery why I don't stay at home much? I eat all three meals (sometimes only two) outside, in the office or at the mall. I go to the grocery only for toiletries, because the last time I bought canned goods I learned it was a big mistake, our can opener is the old one which looks like a wrench and nobody knows how to use it.

Dear God, please grant us domestic skills.

Friday, May 04, 2007


Ngeh. Just finished capoeira and my legs don't seem to hurt as much as the first time. That was really terrible, for three days basic movements such as sitting, getting up, going up the stairs, and walking was a real pain. Before the second session Hesika and I tried to stretch our sleeping muscles by running on the treadmill everyday. That's why I got sick, and you know the rest.

Anyway, in capoeira they have graduations in which you earn your belt (I will have mine maybe in ten years, haha) and they give you a capoeira name, a Spanish-sounding one of course. I'm really not sure who decides on the nickname, but this fact has great entertainment value between rodas.

"What's his name daw? Pinirito?" (It was Pedrito.)
"Pwes, ako si Adobado."
"Ako Ginisa."
"Di ba nagdecide na tayo dati pa? Ako si Paborita."
"La Pacita."
"Ano ba, serious, dapat Spanish-sounding."

So Freakin' Tired

I am exhausted.

I have arranged itineraries for Islamabad, Kabul, Tashkent, Baku, and Yerevan in the past few days and there are times when I want to erase them from the map just so I don't have to look for flights.

Pwede bang magtaxi na lang?

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Test of Friendship

"Pre, ang dami kong dala eh, paki hatak naman pataas ng bra ko, nalalaglag eh. Thanks."

The things you have to do to prove your friendship. Gah.