Tuesday, October 28, 2008

It's Subjective

Girls don't have to be lesbians to like other girls. Women admire other women too, and not in a sleazy way. I have girl crushes, those who I find really pretty and feminine. I have my own standards of beauty, and by my standards, they're beautiful.

I like good skin, fine cheekbones, and long eyelashes. There are girls who are so strikingly, drop dead gorgeous (hello Angelina), and then there are those whose beauty grows on you. The longer you look at them, the more beautiful they get. Skin color isn't a factor for me, but I generally find the duskier tones more appealing. I don't like the idea (especially here in the Philippines) that the fairer you are, the better you look. Hey gluta bitches, lay off the MET.

I like to look at tall, slender women who can wear even a garbage bag, but I'm more amazed with "larger" women who can pull off outfits. There are also beauties who seem so average, then you take their picture and their bone structure just pops off the camera LCD. That's why some supermodels look plain when you see them in person.

The point of all this discussion is yeah, you're not one of them. So stop walking around like you're waiting for an agent to accost you, or dreaming about being in the movies because girl, hindi ka kagandahan.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Freak Out

We have a new yaya and she's freaking me out.

After I came back from my trip (yet again) I saw a big lump on the day bed downstairs, all covered up. I assumed she was the new yaya, since my roommate texted me in extreme joy that we are now employers again. She's big, obese even, but that's not the point. The next morning I slumped my way to the bathroom and she was in the kitchen, frying something. I called her name, and after a few seconds she turned around slowly to face me.

She has a big scar on her cheek, and even though it startled me, it's not what freaked me out. She looked at me with a piercing gaze, but somehow her eyes looked empty, like deep pools of blackness. They didn't catch the morning light. (Me talking to myself: Oh-kay. Stop watching Shake, Rattle and Roll on Cinema One. She is not going to cook you for her dinner.)

I went home early because I was crashing already at the office, then I made her cook dinner. Hooray, I ate at home. Get over it. I asked her to please bring up my dinner to my room since I'm a sloth that way. She looked at me for three solid beats, then in an icy tone said "Sige." When she brought the food I almost didn't want to eat it. You know, in case she's really the Evil Stepmother Incarnate or something.

It has been three days, and I think she's just unbelievably slow in the data processing department. If she was a camera she would have a shutter lag of 5 seconds per click. One time I asked her to buy tocilog and she came back with tapsilog, which is ok. But she asked me 5 times and I replied "tocilog" 5 times.

I don't know. I'm still locking my door.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Pictures Don't Tell Half the Story

Like this one. From looking at this picture you won't know that near where this sunset happened is the most delicious adobong pusit, and inihaw na tilapia and ok, the sisig was also good but I can't get the adobong pusit out of my mind.

This Masskara was the most fun I've had even if I lived in Bacolod for 7 years. For one, in my time there were only a handful of bars and they're all blech. Two, I wasn't allowed to party. Three, I didn't have my own money for partying. So this time, with a more party-inducing atmosphere, I went with friends to experience the Lacson Street party scene.

(I went to visit the grandmothers, don't look at me like that. I swear, I really did. Look:)

We were drunk every night, ate everything in sight, and partied until the sun came out. On our last night the Rockstars played to a crowd four blocks long, and the instructions to enter from the backstage was an adventure. We had to ride a pedicab and threaten the guard to let us in. (Hey you, guard man, I hate you.) Finally we got right in front of the stage, in the middle of their adoring public and the first thing we did was ask Rockstar for a beer. While he was playing onstage.

After that we proceeded to Sorento's to drink our weight in Bailey's, vodka, and beer. I wasn't really drunk but I guess 5am takes its toll on you.

Joy, I'm telling you to go home on Masskara season. I'll be there, I promise.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

You Won't Know Until I Tell You

From the desk of someone who wakes up to love songs (and proceeds to wake up her very sleepy and very cranky roommate who doesn't care about love songs):

For a million bucks you will never be able to single me out from a lineup. That's okay, really, because I won't be able to tell you anyway about how I waited, even though I was close to passing out.

And besides, someone will definitely kick my ass if I told you, to your face, how hot you look throwing that guitar in the air. I still have some dignity left.

So I'll be content writing statements I will never admit to, on temporary surfaces like this.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Because Rainbows Come Only After a Rain

I swear there was a human attached to that abomination. She walked around asking people if they're in their proper places, or whether they have a right to be sitting there. She never even looked at my direction even if I don't have a shred of paper in my person to pass for an Event Pass (wordplay not intended, just the brain malfunctioning). I stood at the city plaza for an hour under the sun without being asked for an ID, because it was supposedly an exclusive area for the coverage team. No one asked me, I didn't volunteer information. It's not lying.

I sat there on the grandstand, long lenses surrounding me, sometimes with a white stripe on it (that's an L lense for you mortals) then I get out Lex my lovely point-and-shoot sweetheart. And my Vivitar UW&S. Yes, I like it wide.

Finally I got bored, then we left and went out of the city to eat some serious seafood which was so good I didn't care if we were in Alaska or something.

More tales of the masquerade coming.

Guess who is this rockstar who, hours before their concert, was made to sit by his friends at the compartment area of a 4x4 because of space constraints. This was after he walked 16 blocks from their hotel to ours. We fed him real well afterwards anyway, so we're even.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Sleep Debt

Over the weekend I didn't get my usual 12-hour sleepfest because...I forgot what I did. For the life of me I can't remember what I did over the weekend. Oh yeah, I Photoshopped to death and my iBook G4 just up and died on me. My laptop is 4 years old, which in human years is like 65, near retirement. With a 512mb RAM, of course it can't process a 550mb file. Flattening a 30-layer image took 30 minutes of my life, 30 minutes of my life I can never get back. We imagined a small, thin and old person was in charge of cranking the integral cogs inside my computer. It's just another justification why I should get the new MacBook Pro, along with "it's so pretty" and "it would look so cool if I opened it up in the office library". The non-justifications were "I can't afford it, maybe if I sell a kidney" and "I need my money for more important things". Which of course are pretty minor reasons that I can just ignore. I'm good at ignoring, in case you don't know.

On other things, I think the toe next to the big one on my left foot (is there a fucking name for each of them because it's tiring to describe them like that) is sprained. At first I had no idea why it was hurting like hell, I swear the pain radiates to my kneecap, then I remembered over the weekend I stubbed it on a protruding part of the sidewalk and the pain was so bad I had to hold on to KFC's arm. Yes, the restaurant. I was wiping away involuntary tears and muttering every curse word I know, when my phone rang. The ensuing conversation required some hair-flipping and giggling and I forgot about my toe. Now it's reminding me of the horrible pain.

The point of the title is that my legs are shaking and I'm cold and trembling from too much caffeine from forcing myself to be awake. It's sooo hard to get up in the mornings after a four-hour sleep, sometimes I feel like throwing up. There's a very big chance that I will spend my first day on the trip sleeping in the hotel. I'll update you with Lex.

Oh yeah, it was Pampling's Red Box Jollibee birthday. Pictures by Kha and Mon.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

The Ice Cream Test

In the 1950s (or 60s, I don't want to google) several children were given the Ice Cream Test - each child was made to hold an ice cream cone, told to just hold it and they can't eat it, until the nice lady comes back. A hidden camera records the struggles of the child when the ice cream starts to melt. There were kids who started to lick the cone the moment the lady's back was turned, and there were kids who were never even tempted, they were just worried about the ice cream on their hands.

These kids were followed into adulthood by the researchers, and not surprisingly, the kids who had the self-restraint did well in life. They grew up to be successful in their chosen fields, having had the discipline early in life. The ones who didn't, well, there were exceptions but generally they were the drifters. This is not the most accurate account of that experiment, but you get the gist.

I have been handed an ice cream cone, and the lady had left the room. I am holding the chocolate pistachio with almonds (my dream ice cream flavor) and it's starting to melt. And I'm telling you, it will be over my dead body before I even think of eating it, because I will not be that person who can't focus her attention on one thing for more than two minutes at a time. Or that person who just walks away when she's bored, or when things have become routine.

I should have some semi-concrete plans of what I want to do, or where I want to be. I am an adult in a world in the brink of recession, and no one will take care of me if I keep dithering with my plans. Thankfully it's only me I am responsible to, and I don't know if I want a change in that area.

Still holding that ice cream.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Dirt

It's so much easier to write about what's happening to the world, instead of talking about myself, which just a year ago I was so obsessed with. Yes, I'm selfish and self-absorbed, so what. Who isn't anyway - up to a certain degree everybody thinks they're the greatest thing since sliced bread and twist-cap beer bottles. Of course, most of the time it's not true, and when I'm being egotistic the universe sees to it that I promptly fall from my not-so-high chair.

The past two weeks was like a gangbang of deadlines and obligations and learning curves, that left me with shredded dignity and zits and ugly nails. Two weeks ago I finally had the time to go inside a spa, and I was so tired from Jason's birthday overnight that I kept yanking my hand involuntary while my nails were being filed. It was embarrassing.

I am getting the hang of being without a yaya; all I have to do is take my laundry to that shop two blocks away every Sunday (if I'm home), not spill on my floor, and pretend that my room is currently undergoing renovations. One time I finally had the motivation to clean my room, and I was expecting a mountain of dust. Surprisingly, there was very minimal dust, and I moved furniture around. Maybe it's because I hardly open the windows, because duh, I'm never there during daytime.

I don't know what it's like to have a home-office-home routine, to be able to follow telenovelas, to recognize the new young things on TV, and to sleep before midnight. Maybe it's nice to do it once in a while (because right now my world is spinning due to lack of sleep) for health reasons. I haven't gone to the doctor yet but I think they would only tell me what I know - more rest. Someday, If I get the courage, I will lock up all distractions (only the non-living ones) inside a cabinet and throw away the key.

Oh yeah, I have a new one. Meet Lex.

Friday, October 10, 2008

I Don't Think We're Friends Yet

I got home relatively early last night, meaning before midnight. I was really tired for the nth day already, and I just came from an event where I realized that local free TV is ok, and periodically watching SOP or ASAP on weekends can be helpful. I recognized only one celebrity in the mob, and that was because he now looks like his 12-year old self again, with those chubby cheeks. And Marc Nelson. You should always recognize Marc Nelson.

Then after that I had to speed learn Photoshop so I can be armed for the weekend, because I don't know, the universe doesn't seem to like me a lot these days. Crap just keeps piling up until I'm unconscious and bleeding.

I was in bed already, not sure if I was awake or just dreaming. I felt the familiar creepy, heavy feeling I get when I have "visitors" in my room. There were five or six of them, one even sitting on my bed. I couldn't move, I could only watch and listen to them.

They seem to be taking a break, sitting there exchanging stories. Then the woman nearest to me noticed that I was watching them, so she looked at me pointedly, "What?" At that point all the hairs I have on my head and arms were probably standing on end, aside from the fact that I couldn't breathe properly. I said I was just listening to them, because it is my room and I have a right to listen. They tried to include me in the conversation, and I was pretending I wasn't scared at all. Then I asked the stupidest thing you could ever ask spirits: "Can you help me win the lottery?"

And they laughed. All of them laughed at me, like the laugh you could die from. Except, well, they're all dead already.

And I was "OK, so you can't, I get it. How about a MacBook?" And they laughed even harder.

I was humiliated by a bunch of ghosts, and I can't even do anything about it. I hope they don't pass my way again.

PS: I seriously think now that my room is a passageway of some kind. I never see the same spirit twice, except for that dirty old man who tried to sleep on my bed.

Thursday, October 09, 2008

There's Something Going On

I act as if my life is the same, with all the things going on, coming at me from all sides - but in fact it is not. From the surface it's all the same, but the tip of the iceberg doesn't really give much clue about what's going on under.

I'm not the same. My friends are not the same. My job is not the same. Ergo, my life had changed. I haven't even noticed anything until the shit hit the fan. Some changes were good, some were not. While the good changes trumps the bad, still it's a bit disorienting. But then again, for ADD poster children like me, any change is a welcome break from the monotony that is beginning to make me want to gouge out my eyes.

Almost half of the Alkies had left. I want to leave. How long for, I don't know yet. Sometimes the concept of a fresh start is too tempting, but when I really think about it I probably don't have the energy to make a new life from scratch. The only aspect of it that appeals to me is that I can introduce myself as Victoria, the Underwear Maker, or maybe Pandora, the Exotic Belly Dancer. I know. I cringed too.

Then there's the thing I promised myself when a relationship bombed, that I won't again discuss online the details of any relationship I will have in the future. Sometimes my hand itches to type away, you know, for therapy. But what are friends for if they're not willing to listen to every detailed analysis of a particular day. Then again I hardly ever do that because I have this mindset that only people below 25 should do that. On a bed with your BFF, eating ice cream and pizza and discussing the man of the moment. I didn't even do that when I was 25.

Last night I had dinner with my married siblings, just the three of us like we used to, without the in-laws and the babies. I miss them a lot and I don't get to see them that much because they have family duties now, and when I do see them they're usually chasing their kid around. We used to go on movie dates and just talk about anything, and of course being married and having babies changed everything. I'm not envious, no, but I hate being left behind.

I need something new, and it's not a material thing.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

The Alpha State

It's that state between sleep and wakefulness that I dread the most. It's when the mind is most open, most sensitive to everything.

This morning I was hugging my alarm clock to my chest, having snoozed it for the third time already. My eyes were half open, and I was lying down on the bed with one foot on the floor. Then there were footsteps on the hardwood floor, footsteps so close I could have turned my head and saw who it was. But I didn't, there was no need to.

I was looking at the mirror at the foot of my bed, and there he was: a young man walking back and forth inside my room, like he was impatiently waiting for something. I couldn't see his face, only the shape of his head. My mind was telling me to check who it was, except my body was frozen solid in fright. Then my alarm sounded again, and he was gone.

I think I might have to move again soon.