Friday, May 27, 2005
It is over.
It has died.
Just one more day.
One last wait.
And my toes will touch the sea again.
Hello Boracay!!! I will be out of my blogger self for four whole days.
Farewell, until I write again.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
metallica on a wednesday
What I've felt, what I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never be, never see
Won't see what might have been
What I've felt, what I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free, never me
So I dub the unforgiven.
Cheers. To one of the greatest songs. That I'll never tire of listening to.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
I walked into Let's Face It (a facial care / derma center) to have my lashes permed last Sunday - at that that time, I felt that this was a catapult into the world of mega ka-kikayan. That feeling faded as I saw behind the reception area. It was packed like sardines. Men were getting facials, this woman was getting some cellulite treatment, yada yada yada. There was a woman who was having a foot spa, some facial peeling treatment (it made a whizzing sound similar to that of a dentist) and a manicure all at the same time. I was amazed at the menu of things a person could have done on him/herself. All for so-called self betterment. They made my lash-perming effort so miniscule.
As I lay there waiting, I heard this woman arrive. She said she was there for her regular whatever-peeling treatment. How regular could this induced peeling be? Your skin renews itself on its own. I visualize her having only one layer of her epidermis left, with her facial muscles almost visible. Do they even think that they look better? Their skin looks like plastic. Barbie's skin actually looks more natural.
I saw this special on some show about plastic surgery. There's this woman actually spending so much just so she could look like Nefertiti. Because she's a queen and she's the epitome of beauty and she feels that she's a reincarnation. Right. She looks absolutely horrendous. She looks like the bust all right. But maaaan! It's just so unnatural, it's scary. Chips was also telling me about this woman who got addicted to plastic surgery (a special on Dateline). She's like chopsuey. Imagine a face with the nose of Michael Jackson, the lips of Angelina Jolie, the jaw of Jennifer Anniston... and I don't know what else. They showed a picture of her before all the knife-weilding and she looked so much better. Almost like Julia Roberts actually. Then there's this show on MTV called I want A Famous Face. It documents the plastic surgery of teens and young adults. I have no idea what the objective of this show is. To discourage? To promote? To just plain entertain? God knows.
I can't actually fathom WHY these people can't be happy with what they have. Each one is beautiful. Each one is a gift, no matter what the looks, what the shape or size. It's difficult to figure out the deeper motivations for such editing (if there are any) especially if such doesn't even seem to be needed. But it's easy to understand why Al Pacino, playing the devil, calls vanity his favorite sin.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
These brooding eyes, they make you melt.
Plus, the man he sings. Beautifully.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
good not good
It is good to go out on Monday nights, to relieve you of the stress.
It is especially good to go out with your cousins, whom you've not seen for the longest time.
It is very good to eat at a nice and fancy restaurant and laugh to your heart's content.
It is however not good to do this in the middle of summer. It gets sticky.
It is also not good to finish a whole liter of a vodka cocktail. But it was very yummy.
It was good at the time, but not good to stay up until 1 am. The moment will end, inevitably.
It is good to still be able to wake up the next day in time for work.
It is not good to be zombified the entire day.
Not good. Today was not good.
But last night? It was a blast.
Monday, May 16, 2005
My cousin, after a year's stint on a Holland America cruise ship, has finally come home. All weekend, we marveled at her stories, her pictures, and her encounters with the rich guests with bogus requests (hey, that rhymes). She has snorkeled and bungee jumped in Acapulco, cliff-jumped off the coast of New Jersey, shopped in the street markets of Mexico... ah, we were green with envy.
But her guests... man! Talk about demanding. Well, they've got the right to be anyway... after paying four grand (dollars, mind you) for a trip on a big boat. She was stationed for two months as a concierge for these people. She said they were kind, they weren't the type who just got rich out of the blue and treated everyone else like trash. So they were pretty much the polite but demanding and very appreciative type of rich people. Sample requests:
"I would like an indonesian-themed dinner for me and my friends". The crew needed to dress this guest's suite up with authentic indonesian decor, and cook up a menu of indonesian dishes and drinks. All in one afternoon, to make it to dinnertime.
"Dear, I don't see any blueberries in your blueberry muffin."
"Would you like me to send for another blueberry muffin, ma'am?"
"No, this blueberry muffin has made me lose my appetite."
And the kicker...
"Dear, there is a bird under my bed"
"A bird, ma'am?"
"Yes, there is a bird under my bed"
"A living thing?"
"Yes, quite odd isn't it"
"As in a bird?" Visualize my cousin flapping her hands.
In the end, there really was a bird.
Hmmm. Alternative career perhaps? But then again, I might just end up screaming and jumping off the boat.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
bob marley and rain
I have a dilemma this morning. Fittingly, it is raining. To make me feel better, I pop in my new Bob Marley CD. Now it's time for some deep thinking. Or at least attempt some deep thinking.
As you have read in my previous posts, I am due to go to Bora at the end of the month. More specifically, from the 29th to the 1st of June. My vacation leaves have been filed since April. For more perspective, this trip is for free. Because of a promo from Globe - where I got a very good package of a new line with a new phone, just to get a free Boracay trip.
Now for the dilemma. My family wants to go to China. It was supposed to be for the first weeks of May but they never told me when the dates would be. Hence, no leaves filed. Now they have dates. Now they tell me. The flight leaves on the 20th (Friday) and I'll be back for work by the 25th (Wed). That's the week before my Boracay trip.
What to do, what to do. My bosses will kill me. The Bora trip HAS to push through. The flights and everything else are booked. Since it is a promo, it will be forfeited if I cancel. The China trip will also HAVE to push through. My parents will absolutely disown me for always coming home late from work and not being with them enough. My mom is so close to marching into my office and fight for human rights. Sigh. If I don't get to China with them, my parents would surely but the Bora trip on trial. Argh.
Resign nalang kaya ako.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
the heat it kills
Before anything, I'd like to greet my mummy Happy Mother's Day. Mwah to you! I give you a big, sweaty smack on the cheek! Yes, sweaty is today. It is excrutiatingly hot. Picking clothes is growing more and more difficult. Normally, a weekend meant a mini-skirt and a thin shirt. But it was Sunday. And church is one hard thing to dress for. You need to be decent, but you need to survive the humidity. I made a mistake of wearing jeans tonight. They stuck to my skin. And my mom liked sitting in the front row. Which meant that we were closer to being baked by the hallogen lights on the altar. Though there was a huge industrial fan, it was just circulating hot air. No "new", cool air. Like there was cool air anyway.
The day we spent just at home. My mom was locked up in the room with airconditioning. Dad had an electric fan blasting directly at him while watching some golf tournament on TV. My sister was in her sports bra. I was in a bikini top. The dogs were lying on their backs, bellies up in the air trying to catch the air swing of the electric fan.
My mom believes that I am so close to getting skin cancer. Everytime she sees my skin color, I can feel her wince. I really can't understand why she still has this fixation on being fair. She refuses to let me set foot on a beach again. Bah. Nothing's stopping me from Bora. The only gripping fear? The monthly friend. Double bah.
The heat it makes blogging coherently difficult too.
Friday, May 06, 2005
All the unrest has compelled me to create this. Still under construction. Unrestrained. To a restrained audience. Nothing big yet.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
When me and my friend drink coffee every morning, a constant topic is on our boyfriends - on what they are like, what they did, what they shouldn't have done, what they should've done. Then we inevitably talk about what defines a man. I think it's a function of all these dashing debonaire movies. Plus all the fairy tales with the prince charmings. And then you'd have your dad and your brothers... and all the other real life scenarios you encounter with these things we call men. And being the picky women that we are, we round 'em all up into a ball of great expectations (of course in relation to us women). There are thousands of lists of "what a man should be" or "what a man should know" yada, yada, yada. I think I'll publish one of mine too. This will be fun.
The man must know how to save you. Basic example is that he should know how to swim (I mean serious swimming, not just floating face down). If you're in danger in the water, he shouldn't be choosing between a lifevest and you. This also covers not being a wimp. He should know how to defend you. He shouldn't look like a single punch can make you boyfriend-less.
The man should know how to fix things. If things are broken, he should know how to fix it. He should know how to tinker. If he doesn't already know how to fix it, he will attempt to tinker with it first before giving up and taking it to a professional. Men will not immediately admit to not knowing how to fix things - it is a sin to their ego.
The man should know how to drive. This is not just about knowing how to change gears and make the car roll. This is about knowing how to survive traffic and speed when needed. He should be able to choose a lane (i.e. will not connect the dots on the road). He should know how to switch lanes, if he then chooses another one. He should not be overtaken and out-maneuvered by something as measly as an owner-type jeep or a Daihatsu. He will also have to know how to get you to a place fast, if needed, like a sale.
The man should know about style. Certain shirts go with certain pants. He should know that. And that brown belts don't go with black shoes. He should know the difference between board shorts and long, garterized "pambahay" shorts disguised as board shorts. He should know how a polo should fit - it should not look like it was the polo of your father or a bigger man. And when he tucks it into slacks, it shouldn't be fluffed out like it was the 90's. If the polo was orange, he'd be an automatic pumpkin. Hopefully, the pumpkin would know how to tie a tie.
The man should look and act like a man. You should not look like the man in the relationship. If a hunk is not possible, soneone who at least looks like he is on the road to hunkdome. Some cuts and lines here and there (need not be defined). As long he has markings of a man who can protect you, fine (refer to number 1). He should not look like a surfboard with nipples and spaghetti for limbs. Not to say that lanky and thin is not a man, look at Raph Feinnes and David Bowie (Keanu, if he's gym-ing). Net, manly is possible. Boy not acceptable. BUT - hunk that doesn't act like a proper man is not a true man. The man should know how to treat a woman with respect and love (i need not explain).
Now. The man I have is not perfectly all of the above. But I think he's on the road to such manliness (I just hope no one hogs the steering wheel). Because yes, the last thing that your man should be is... trainable. But you, the woman, should be such a trainer that the trainee will not be able to tell that he is in fact being trained.
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
It didn't sink in to me that the beach weekend had ended until EDSA. Where a bus swerved from the right most lane to the left, almost knocking all the cars (including ours) coming from the South Super flyover into the concrete divider. Ah yes, the city. I'm back home. White lights lined the roads, red brake lights swerving around you, billboards and buildings all around. So it finally donned on me - the beach was gone. It's a memory. Past (senti noh?). And I wanted to relive it. If only life had a rewind button. If not, I wished that the weekend would go on and on and on (and that we had the luxury of extending our stay in the resort for as long as we wanted). Both options impossible.
We ate dinner at what we call the "Dream Figaro place" - the Figaro branch sitting on the service road off the Sucat exit. It was windy and breezy. It felt like the beach, minus the sand and the water. It was relaxing. If we couldn't extend our stay at the beach, at least extend the feeling of being on vacation. There we had coffee and talked. We talked about the simplest things, the silliest things, like how bacon has got to be the grandest thing on earth. Or how Tin and I were so lucky because both our guys knew how to cook (while the closest thing we got is the toaster). No talk of work. No talk of the city. We recounted what happened in the beach, extending the "stay" as much we can.
What I like about the resort is that it makes you forget about the things we say we couldn't live without - like the TV or shoppping or the computer. Out there, there was no need for electricity (except for the chill-out music the resort plays on their sound system). You've got a living aquarium channel. The heat was calmed by the breeze, by the ocean. You wouldn't mind the sun at all. You'd just lie there and let all the gifts of nature seep in. Who cares about sweat and what it does to your make-up (what make-up even?!?). And at night there were candles. The only bothering heat that we felt was of the cheap tequilla blazing down our throats. Drunk and disoriented, we laid ourselves down on the beach and stared at the stars. With the only disruption being a man on a videoke machine several resorts away singing "Laklak" and "The Greatest Love of All" (odd repertoire we know).
But the most welcomed disruption came from the sky. A shooting star. Not just a simple falling star that's gone in a second. A shooting star. I couldn't describe the awe we all felt. Our jaws just dropped as it lit up the blanket of darkness above us. Voices raised, we confirmed with each other that it was real, and wasn't a hallucination brought by the cheap tequilla or the mango-rum (aka Zesto-Tanduay). A trailing blaze of sparkles, a giant firework falling from the spanless sky. It was utterly magical. Literally the highlight of the weekend.
Now I can't wait for Boracay. End of the month. Three agonizing weeks of waiting to go.
Sometimes bored. Most of the time oddly alive. Phobic of butterflies. Creatively suppressed. Hungry for coffee and shoes. This is my subconscious talking... at times interrupted by my reality.
a nomad in tofu town
chocolates & sapphires
uncontrollable writing urges
lost in the wilderness
chona in the city
what mama jojo says
a jayveebug's life
driver ng bayan
up dharma down
the patient mental
insane adventures of d
alamat ni kuya jeff
welcome to nio
ang juanang kapatid
anino ni abaniko
kapihan ni qroon naomi's leaf who is eyevan?
lessons of knoizki
marlon's twisted list
blog ni skittles
ideal pink rose thoughts & photographs soul^tude the gypsy cat south central jen yuri's flight manual arie's blog v for vina snippets of a wanderer lazarus' thoughts iskoo glances over the fencesitter billiedoux reviews the shoe blog
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea. Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price to pay, Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside -- "Mr. Brightside" The Killers
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