I remembered

I'm posting this late. But I'll post this anyway. Because forgetful me considers this triumph over something ,ummm let's say, I have no control of. Sounds dreadful. Or is that just an excuse?

Anyway, I did it. I really, really, really did it. I remembered a friend's birthday and I was able to greet her in time. Clap, clap, clap.

This friend of mine, whose birthday I remembered, is a old college friend and I have not seen her for ages. No big deal, no?

But for me to remember. Even if hers is not on my phone calendar. That is such an achievement, not extraordinary but achievement nonetheless. And don't tell me I'm singing loony tunes now for making a mountain out of this mole hill. Just don't.

Birthdays come only once a year. And for someone, a friend at that, to forget. Ahh, just horrible, terrible.

And here's some prayers for her that wherever she may be -and she said she's in Japan now, I hope for best things and so much more. For happiness. For good health. For magic.

P.S. In case I go forgetting again, consider this greeting to be valid til next year and the years to come. And friends, consider this as my greeting on yours, too.

Actually, I'm thinking of automating this greeting to coincide with all entries in my calendar-slash-alarm. But that would be tedious work and I just don't have the time. Just yet. What with all this blogging and all...grin, grin

But friends, consider this as my greeting on yours, too.

Sin-cerely, HAIR

So I visited a salon to have my hair done last Monday. A long overdue hair job, but one which I kept on postponing because of time and $ issues. And all because I’m not one of those gifted with a natural long, straight tresses or a glorious wavy hair.

Mine is curlier than the usual wave, to say the least. But to be straightforward, mine is kinky and spongy, the type that defies the gravity. Buhaghag. Really. Really, really so.

And with that hair, a trip to the salon would be way too expensive and I was just not ready to shell out some cash. Plus, the fact that a process for that kind of hair, my hair would take toooo long like 4 hours or so… And under some 120C heat. Shockkks. With two, three pairs of hands pulling the strands, left and right, east, west, north and south! It really is hardly encouraging.

But I needed it. Of course I can live without it, but be prepared if I live without it, be prepared to see the Old Hag in person. In flesh and blood. In its Asian persona, brown, stout and short and sporting a Bob-Marley hair (okay, I’m exaggerating but that’s closer to reality). I can hear my son say "Yuck" already. Really yuck. So so yuck.

Also, I really don’t want my dear son to scamper and dart off across the room in panic when he sees me, especially when all the lights are out. Yup, no mother in all her senses would want to give kiddo the scare of his life. No mother! I repeat, no mother.

So I finally pulled all the ropes together, actually I pulled off all the strings of all my pouches, to raise enough cash for that hair job. Cash all in, I was out of the door before you can even say “Hello.”

Here’s my first shot.

Edited (to tame the THE RING look).

I’m really flaunting it because I just spent much mickey-mouse money including all my centavos from my old purses, my alkansiya, and all the cash I collected out of the sale of old plastic bottles (no kidding!). And only to leave it under the wraps of a bandanna, hair/head band. Or a ponytail holder (not to mention that it would ruin the job). No way!


And after almost three long days without washing my hair (upon the hairdresser's advice), make it 67 hours of carrying all that grime, sweat and dust in the head (with the last 7 hours was spent asking whether all that not-washing is really necessary), I finally felt the refreshing coolness of water in my scalp. Just today, this noon. Heaven. It felt like heaven.

(And yes, I dare to go to work in an all-male office without washing my hair. I don’t know if they know, but it feels like they don’t. Or maybe they are pretending not to know.)

And introducing, another kind of heaven. This was recommended by the hairdresser at David’s and I was really skeptical. And not only skeptical, I was bowled over when I heard its price. It costs as much as 2 cans of dear Matt’s 900kg formula! (I know darling hubby would be aghast when he reads this). A fortune, really. A month salary for some hired help in this third world country. DO I dare to be so vain?

Nonetheless, I bought it and I am guilt-stricken now (but going on guilt-trips is my fave pastime). How could I be so vain?

Anyway, my hair felt smooth to the touch. (And as I write this, I’m instinctively combing my hair with my fingers and it still feels smooth and soft. Or maybe it’s just my imagination). And my olfactory glands are not complaining either.

After that salon trip and all that treatment, I do expect my hair to turn dry, brittle and coarse. I just hope this costly creamy mud would do the trick and feed the thirst and hunger of my newly permed hair. And all throughout the year (I hope I'm that lucky *cross my fingers*). With that price, it has got to be. Otherwise, I’ll sue the company. Hahah.

*alkansiya means piggy bank

STOP

We all need stops in our lives. Everyday. On the roads. That RED light can spell a whole lot of change in one's speed. The NO ENTRY sign can make a difference in traffic situations. The humps, that Early Warning Device you see far ahead. These are signs (of what? :D) that guide us on what appropriate course of action to take.

And in this journey called Life, the STOP sign comes in not too pleasant packages called frustrations, failures, disappointments and/or even less palatable truths. But in our lives, let's count it as a blessing. In this frantic, crazy, selfish and dog-eat-dog world, let's count it as a blessing. Because we need it. Because it could be a guide to living our life in a more meaningful, more fulfilling, more beautiful and simpler way.

So really GOD provided us with stops. For so many reasons, maybe only HE knows. Or maybe we do know of (and I so believe in this), if only we just take time to stop and look within us and then think. But it certainly is one of GOD’s mysterious designs.

Maybe He simply wants to break the frantic cycle of our day-to-day living. For us to glance up and appreciate the clear blue skies. To listen to the maya sing in the backyard trees. To notice the abundant kaleidoscopic blooms of the flowers. To really feel the soothing wind that blows our hair in a gentle caress. And so much more.

So here I am posting a STOP sign, that made me more than STOP. It made me think so hard because for the life of me, I just couldn’t get what it meant. Funny sign. But really, a pretty confusing one too. But then, it - it maybe, just maybe - is one of GOD’s STOP signs.

This is the original road sign, right next to a manhole.

What?!? What did it say?

Happy Birthday Sis!

Happy Birthday Sis!

-beggar-ing-

Tell me I suck, tell me I'm boring , tell me I'm pathetic (and I'm really todo pathetic now!), tell me I'm wrong, tell me you like me or love me but that's just expecting too much, but hey if you do, tell me so. Tell me anything. Puhleeeeaaaase.


Correct me. Tease me. Criticize me. Berate me. Patronize me. Post me a comment. Say anything you want.


Brothers and sisters. Do me a favor again. And I know you're tired of doing me that first big favor I asked, to visit my plain and boring blog. Friends and best friends. I oblige you to do me the favor or I sulk and hold a grudge. Anyone. I need to hear all of you. Please make yourself heard. Shout. Holler. Don't leave me wondering. I'm on my knees now, groveling. Please, please, I beg you, don't walk away in silence. Yell. Honk. Yodel. Leave me a tune. Just don't leave me hopelessly staring at all the dust flying after you zoom away. Or breathing the toxic carbon monoxide that you left behind. (Gasp! Pls do Mother Earth a favor and visit the nearest casa to have your car examined ASAP.)


Drop me a line, a word, an article. Just don't drop me a rock because that would stunt my already stunted growth and at tweerty (gasp!), I still want to grow taller. Honest.


Come now, don't be shy. I may not know you. Or I may. It really doesn't matter. What matters is the truth...the I'm-gonna-get-a-tissue-now-and-blow-my-nose-hard truth. So you really, really want the truth, huh? I'll give you the truth. I could count my readers with only the fingers in one hand. But really, it's barely a hand, it's just two fingers anyway. No kidding. Who am I kidding? No, I really am not kidding. And so you'd be encouraged to click the comment link and go tapping the keyboard, I'll let you in on a secret, the secret as to who are those two readers. But promise me, you'll start pressing the keyboard as soon as you see the last period.


Well what do you know? Because for all you know, it's just you and me who read this blog. *sob* Just the two of us. Imagine that, in the whole wide Cyberworld, there are just two people reading this. T-W-O. Just you and me. *sob* Only two! Arrrrggggh! Good heavens, I need CPR!


So humour me now and drop me a word. Seriously now, I would really love to hear from you. Would really, really, really love it. You're really doing an old hag like me a big favor. Grin, grin, grin.


(And thanks to my friend G for consistently dropping a line. Mwah!)

Blog tool: Sitemeter

My sister mocked me for adding a counter to my blog. *wink* She slurred the word counter like it's synonymous to baduy. But that's okay, I'm baduy anyway. *wink*

Or maybe she thought I can do without it because I'm not getting that much traffic anyway.

I know I'm not getting that much visits to this blog. I can really use just my fingers to count visitors. So do I really need Sitemeter?

Maybe not, but so what. I love SiteMeter. Really, really love sitemeter. I oh-so love sitemeter. I just loooooove sitemeter. Oh la-la!

Period(.)

B, M..

I felt sorry that I failed…Though how much I tried…

ILYVMH.

Heartbreaking, that note. And a sandcastle crashing is…simply crushing. A dream gone to the drains. Disappointing. More so because we were expecting…hmmm, maybe expecting a little too much.

Okay, okay this will be the last of it. Promise. This will really, really be the last of it. Because we’re moving on. We’re bouncing back to reality, to the present time with a silent resolve to do better next time. Because really, we have no other choice but to move on. Wallowing in misery is just pointless. Right, Pops? Wallowing in misery over something we have no control of is really pointless. Simply just a waste of time and energy, which when used wisely can go a long way in securing other things. To ferry our lives in the proverbial greener pastures.

Yes, we can only try. And he did try with what was his best at that time. But that’s as far as we can go, he can go. Because we have no control of other people’s judgment, other people’s decision. And yes, we will leave it at that.

I know in the future, when we look back at this time, we’ll only smile. Maybe we’ll get a little more nostalgic and there’ll be a couple of tears in our eyes. But we’ll surely smile. Maybe even laugh over this one sandcastle, laugh at ourselves for feeling sad.

And with strong conviction, I believe there’s something better stored for us in the near future. All we have to do is start building again. And all we need is here and now, us.

finding solace in green

Great expectation is a sandcastle on a beach. The waves may run through it and it comes crashing down, until all you have left, is some heaps of sand. Or you're left with nothing but just traces. Traces of what you once built.

But enough of this. Enough feeling low. I'm dusting imaginary specks of sand in my hand and I am heading to the bath. I will find refuge in the green paints and tiles.

I will don my moss green vintage pants, which my sister bought from ukay-ukay and gave me, and don a nice top with its stripes in different shades of green.

To finish the look, I'm borrowing my mother's colored bangles, wearing them will surely pep me up.

Now, I'm prancing around town with my hand clasp in my better half's.

Tagged!

INSTRUCTIONS: Remove the blog in the top spot from
the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then
add your blog to the bottom slot, like so.


BlondeMomBlog
Holly's Corner
An Island Life
Sandier Pastures
Verb

Next select five people to tag. But I decided to skip this one out.


What were you doing 10 years ago?
* Getting a diploma.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
* I was rushing to work and back because I only had my father to take care of my son Matt, who was still an infant then

Five Snacks You Enjoy
* Mango Float (self-made!)
* Boiled saba bananas (with a self-made cream dip)
* Yogurt
* Bread
* Fruits

Five Songs That You Know All The Lyrics To
* Greatest love of all
* A Love to last a lifetime
* Love moves
* Twinkle, twinkle little star and some nursery songs
* Some songs from Dido, Sarah M..etc..

Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire
* Visit India or go country-hopping
* Invest in real estates
* Share, share to others (my community, my family)
* Go to school again (yikes!)
* Feed vanity (double yikes!)

Five Bad Habits
* laughing too loud, a former officemate once said that I laugh like a peacock
* going on guilt trips when I spend much on myself
* temper tantrums
* brushing my teeth more than usual before a visit to the dentist (as if it matters)
* cracking up under pressure

Five Things You Like To Do
* getting silly with my son
* eating!
* reading!
* sweating it out with some outdoor activities
* holding hands, getting mushy with hubby

Five Things You Would Never Wear Again
*I don't know because I might say something that could end up trendy in the future and then I would only eat my words
* but maybe, a skimpy swimsuit would be a no-no because it would show all my stretch marks.
* high heels, more than 2 inch high (would just be too stressful for the legs and feet)
* wala na..
* can't think of anything else

Five Favorite Toys
* Remote controls! Aircon, tv, dvd...
* The PC
* My cam-phone
* Screw drivers
* And a remote-controlled car supposedly for my son

If you wanna do this in your own space, go ahead and copy-paste!

******

Happy Birthday, Pa!

It's okay

I've heard it all the time. Casually. With the air of nonchalance. Tinge with sarcasm. To spite someone. To sympathize. To comfort. I even say it all the time.

Sometimes, it just leaves the lips without our meaning to, or without any clear intent.

But it's okay.

And it really is okay. I'm saying it now with all intent to soothe, to comfort, to reassure, to boost the morale.

It's okay that you expected. Or hoped. We expected and hoped. We will keep on hoping.

It's okay that you tried. At least you tried. We tried. We will keep on trying. It's okay.

Even if you failed. Or I failed. You hurt and I hurt. Shed a tear, or buckets of tears. It all means we're okay because we are human after all. Then it's okay to leave things at that.

Or to go beyond our limits. Go beyond our comfort zones. There are far greater things waiting for us. To conquer. To experience. To enjoy. To soar. To love.

It's all okay.

We'll just keep on testing our limits. We'll keep on conquering. On trying new things. On enjoying. On soaring. On loving.

It is all okay.

Have faith that it's all okay.

Go Dakak!

If the moon and stars will permit, I might end up de-stressing in this place one day. For free. Woooot! Yup, all expense paid.

It's just too bad I cannot bring my son and my hubby with me. But then you cannot just have everything for free. But trooper that I am, I won't let that fact dampen my excitement.

If you're keen on exploring places in the Philippines, take a peek here.

Sad Feet

I won’t be wearing slip-ons for a little while. I’m switching to running shoes, or anything that will cover the skin ankle down. I feel I needed to do this ASAP. Badly.

No, I haven’t really sworn off from strutting around town in those airy nothings called slippers (how could I?). It’s just that I have to give some time for my footsies to recover. And no, I haven’t contracted scabs or something unsightly and awful as that. Maybe lesser by some degree.

The thing is, I’ve brought the two good fellas who almost uncomplainingly brought me to places in a sad plight by getting them burned into toast. What with the slipper-almost-everyday attitude for more than two years. And without much protection, I might just add.

I'm so guilty and so sorry.

In all their naked glory: rough, wrinkled, dry and discolored.

Poor feet! So helpless.


Had it not for my sister, who told me the other day that I’m getting an "elephantsy" quality to my skin in that region, I wouldn't have thought twice of wearing slippers again. I was really caught off guard but ah, you've gotta trust somebody like a sister to bluntly give you the truth when you least expected it and ironically, when you most needed it.

So now, I'm trying to make amends hoping to reverse the effect of all my neglect.

Antidote

Work spares us from three evils: boredom, vice, and need.

-Voltaire

I'm posting this because I want to remind myself of the eventual dark pits one can get in when idle. This is going to be a mantra, my mantra.

(title forgotten)

I’ve been forgetting a lot lately. Alarming. Annoying. And every bit frustrating. I know it's not the OS-US thing! And I hope I'm not symptomatic of the dreaded Al*! God forbids!

There’d been last-minute changes of my work sked for the next day last Wednesday, something which I was totally aware. But as it happened, I completely forgot about that that I dragged my butt off the bed to work soooo early Thursday morning (when I was supposed to work in the PM). Dang! In the end I had to work 16 hours straight because no one could take the PM shift (which was really the reason of the change of work sked in the first place). Double dang!

And last week I forgot to post some reports, which prompted an officemate to call me and my shift buddy's attention. A crime! 'Tis so humiliating. The first time really. But given the normalcy of network operation at that time, no excuse could justify this omission. And to add to my guilt was the terrible truth that I didn't really have any excuse at all. Arggghh!

And last month, I missed greeting a friend on her birthday. Simply unacceptable! Actually, days before the date, I was already looking foward to greeting her on that special day. But to my horror, weeks had passed before I was jolted into realization that I did fail to check on her on her special day. Some friend she got there hah! I should be chucked to prison. Or get a good lynching.


*AL- Alzheimer's disease

Greetings!

Happy Father's Day to my husband and to my father.



My mother is also celebrating her birthday. Happy Birthday Ma!

No more tears

I've been crying. And crying so bad. In reality, I've cried all my eyes out. I've been so excited to hop in the bath, with plans to get all dolled up and prance around in my fresh-est glory. But how can I do the Ms. U strut when I look horrible terrible everytime I come out of the bath with my eyes all red and swollen?

I've been so disappointed. Countless times. I've sought for one after the other's company. Gentle and mild. Tough and strong. And so many others. I've juggled optimistic thoughts like 'this is it', 'this could be it', 'I couldn't possibly be wrong.' But time and time again, I was bitterly wrong. I've only been heading to Heartbreak Hotel each time. How could I allow myself to be carried away by half-empty promises only to be crushed to a hundred and one pieces later? I only worked myself up to frenzy over nothing. I've got to get rid of them all, quick.

I then figured it was time to seek advice from the wise. But all he said was I'm okay. I came out of the visit still none the wiser. So well and good, I better look for the answers in other places. Like maybe I could go see somebody else. Or just take a good look deep within me hoping to find the answers.

I've been so fed up already. One day, when I couldn't take no more of this bath product affairs, I took a good towelette by the arm. Under the steady spray of cool water, naughty me got it sleek wet because it's more useful to me when wet.

And after working up a good lather, I carefully wiped my face to remove the suds. And it did work. Now why didn't I think of that before? I could have saved myself from the hurt and all the tears.

Birthdays

Someone very close to me will be celebrating her birthday tomorrow. Someone who’s all the reason why I'm here. Someone who's sacrificed a lot for all of us sibs…(Hmm, no..I really hate it when I start to get like this. I’ve gotta stop my melodrama otherwise I spoil the moment. Birthdays are supposed to be happy and festive, with all the balloons…este, fireworks bursting in the air, ayt?)

To my anchor. My light. My mother. *Mwah* Happy Birthday Ma! May you have more fanta-bulous years ahead of you.

And my sister and father’s birthday are all coming up in a week’s time, too. Happy, happy birthday!

Grinningly Green

I used to grumble about my mother’s choice of colors. She’s so partial to greens. No, I retract that. She seems too obsessed with green.

I could boast of numerous knick-knacks crazily scattered at home, and in shades of green. Kitchen wares. Home accessories. I remember our old furniture: the cabinets; a bench; and a table were all curiously painted green. And there’s the light green curtain to complete the look. The matrimonial kama*, which has undergone so many repairs and repaints but is blessedly alive and still able to offer good rest for our tired backs, was previously in mint green (and now still in green --but a shade darker).There was even a time in the past that she had the part of our walls painted in dark green!

Even without actually getting in our bahay-kubo**, one could correctly assume the owner’s favorite color. It was so so nauseatingly obvious! The jumble and tumble of greens –plants and trees-- said it all. Our place was without a doubt one forest full of greens inside-out!

Like Kermit the Frog, I thought green was too ordinary. So commonplace. For God’s sake, the whole wide world is already colored green. The leaves. The grasses. So so plain, and soooo booooring. I never thought of green as refreshing, or relaxing. How could it be relaxing when it already gets in my nerves? Or that it symbolizes life, birth and all that? Excuse me. Why couldn’t she just get something more colorful? More attractive?

One day in my teenage years, when one could easily be uncaring and crudely upfront, I bravely stood up against authority and blatantly voiced distaste over my mother’s color preferences. I had enough of it. I really had more greens than I could handle. (I do not know if most of my clothes she bought were in green too; because half of my life, I was wearing hand-me-downs) But I had developed an aversion to greens THEN. Quite understandably.

But now, look at me. Mock me then. Me, who acted so bratty and know-it-all. Mock me, because some years later, I ate all my rotten words, swallowed them whole even. I do not know what happened. You know what they say when girls get bad on their mothers and they get the curse? That must be that, huh? So mock me once again.

With me and my mother, you’ve gotta expect something like this will happen.

Oh boy, am I certainly cured with my past aversion! Totally, totally cured. Blessedly cured (!).

When we were deciding which sofa to buy, I picked a green sofa over all other available colors. Not the neat black kind. Or the cool neutral shades. I just had to have that green one. Pillow cases. Cushions. The fridge. The jumble of greens are endless. My son’s toy basket is colored green. His potty trainer. A green non-spillable cup. A green spoon.

And to drive home my point, I edited my blog to hideously refreshing greens. As if the title of this entry was not enough!

I know. I've gone overboard, alright. But truth is, I am happily overdoing it. I know it’s already becoming nauseating.

Madness. Madness. Such madness. I wonder what buddy Matt thinks of all this when he gets older and more than ready to speak his mind.

*kama is a bed made of wood

**bahay-kubo is a small house made of wood, usually from dried bamboo poles

(another forgotten entry)

I do not read blogs. Liar! No, I only read blogs of people I know. Liar! But really I read blogs especially of people I know. And I would love to read more of other people's beside my friends' if given more free time but someone, with an iron will, limits my internet time at home to something like 20 minutes. (And beyond that would be disastrous. Trust this someone whom I also call dear son to spring some surprises.) So I usually leave other people's blogs unread, though tempting as it is.

But when one is in an office like mine... and bored to the bones... one could think of so many things, stupid things...even entertain thoughts of jumping off the roof to pry the eyelids open or something like that. And then do a lot more crazy things.

Anyway, I came upon this blog -of someone I do not know. Hands down. I will give it to him..err, her..hmm, whatever. But I know whatever I say here will never do justice to what BryanBoy did and still does in his blog. "Verbal diarrhea* at its best" from "the gayest gay that ever gayed" this town. Read on and tell me I'm silly and stupid and screwed up and all that crap for staying more than 30minutes in his site. (How can I not love his honesty however vulgar and maybe bastos he may sound at times?)


*I've seen people use these two words a lot but never really thought I'd use it in my blog. Ever. But I feel it's so fitting when used in the bryanboy-context.

Idly

I am currently deciding what apt job title I like after my name.

ZAM

Junior Worm-digger

Junior Mother

Junior Househelp

Junior Wife

Junior Blogger

Junior Trooper

Senior Bench-warmer

Senior Testcall Queen

Senior Wanna Be

Above are meaningful enough, but I need something with a corporate-y sound to it...

Senior B(sw)itch Engineer (lovely!)

Senior (s)Witch Engineer (maybe!)

Senior (si)Wretched Engineer (not so!)

Senior (sw)Ri(t)ch Engineer (in my dreams!)

I’m afraid this is something you have to expect when you, like a good mother that you are, warmly take wacko comrade in your wing when you see her knocking in your doorstep. Because you think that wacko comrade is thoughtful enough to show up her lovely head and pay you a timely visit. And you still hang out with her and never complain even when she jokingly pokes you and nudges you in the rib, rather too strongly. After all, she is just out doing you one big favor by giving you much-needed company. Haaaaay, that wacko comrade named Boredom is driving me nuts once again!

joyride

I am back to commuting to work until the state of affairs at home is settled. (State of affairs ? Intriguing hah? No it’s nothing.. big).

It’s really no big deal. Commuting, that is. You may find it hard to believe but I do miss getting my bum in a jeepney. Funny hah, but it’s true. I miss the fun and adventure of every single ride to work. I miss the casual chitchats with commuting neighbors, who like me tries to patiently wait to get a ride, which takes too long in the area where I live esp during school days.

I miss sharing a ride with countless strangers – students, employees, laborers, out-of-school youth, vendors, etc… and observing the changes of expressions in most faces every time the driver pulls over at almost all corners to take in more passengers (even if already fully loaded). Was it anxiety written all over their faces? Impatience?

And to stop myself from checking the time (and peering over other people’s timepieces!) every 2 seconds and feeling anxious and agitated at the sluggish passenger pick-up, I do olfactory nerve exercises when I smell the faint scent of a shampoo in the hair of the person getting in or with the one sitting beside me. Sunsilk? Pantene? H&S? Or is that a hint of a perfume or cologne? Kenzo? Benetton? Bench? I enjoy playing guessing games.

I also miss tightening an imaginary seatbelt and bracing myself when the jeep, brimming of passenger heads, takes off at lightning speed. You’ll definitely learn to memorize the saints and martyrs they taught you during Sunday school. No kidding! I’ve learned to call the saints and ask for divine intervention every time the famous (or infamous) king of the roads snake their way in and out of the traffic jam @ a record speed of 120kph! It’s so interesting to watch the flying hairs (mine included!), the hands that shoot upward- all at once and as if on cue - to hold on to the rail and the play of emotions of the faces (who looks so impatient one moment and fearful, the next) infront of me. All these, while I hold back myself from practically shrieking and letting out unheard-of expletives. But when you do get off alive and in one piece, you’ve got to give them the credit for bringing you to your destination as if without much delay.

And then I miss daydreaming on my way to work. What? You must have thought I’m insane to allow myself this when I just described the terror of riding a PUJ awhile ago. Go chill, I’ve been riding PUJs all my life! *shrug* I am just so used to this hair-raising scenario I can afford to daydream while aboard any public transpo. And it’s such a pity I cannot indulge in this favorite past time when I’m the one driving. Being a new driver, I cannot risk getting my eyes off the road even for just one sec! And I still do not trust myself to engage in lengthy conversations while I’m behind the wheel. But the past 3days, I have been gloriously getting my head in the clouds, away from some aging-accelerating concerns of everyday living.

Gawker that I am- although I try hard to foil this very bad habit or try to conceal every intention to (I don’t wanna be gawked at too), I sometimes fancy myself (must be a product of the daydreaming!) to be a member of the fashion police (although I’m really far from being a fashionista myself). Under the pretext of anything, I’d momentarily scan other people’s outfits and accessories. I’d take note of their tops, dresses and bags. And then more often than not, before disembarking in my destination, I’d single out best dressed people in the public transpo, shake their hands and hand out trophies to them, albeit just mentally.

Walking Away

I’ve always loved arguments in whatever form and either delivered good-naturedly or passionately. In blaring verbal sparring. Or the soundless yet lethal way, in writing. I am only human enough to succumb to the temptation of retorting. And ruefully I must admit, it is not so above me to throw back icy remarks. :-( I prefer these over chilling and unnerving silence. In both directions.

But maybe as one grows older…and maybe itsy-bitsy wiser (which is not always the case!), walking away becomes the sensible thing to do. They always say be man enough to walk away from a fight. To me, it really means be humanely human enough to let things pass, to let it go, to walk away. In a dignified manner, in silence. I find good reasons to pick which battle to take on, which to let go. Sometimes it works for the best to not necessarily make a mad dash to each and all. And that walking away is not exactly a bad idea. If one says you lost that battle by walking away, then so be it. Does it also come to mind that it also forfeits a chance to severing ties, to hurting people?

Letting loose torrents of words, that one doesn’t really mean but is -at times- only a product of an emotional upheaval, can do more damage than keeping one’s silence. Even permanent damage to relationships. When people say that comments, barbed or not, are just words that don’t wield enough power to hurt, I beg to differ. Words hurt, not as much – to some- as any physical blow. But to me, they hurt all the same. Alright, with time and maybe some great effort, the open wounds heal. But things may never be the same again. And to me, they even leave deeper scars. Keloidal scars.

But self-righteously, I -and others- also ask why not, why can’t I defend myself (hurt back)? I am also human enough to have these battles within me, to find excuses to lash out. I lose some because I let it go and walk away, but I lose more because I give in.

My husband, he would always tell me to guard my tongue at the height of my anger lest I end up regretting everything or anything that comes out of it. Guess, I'm better off without saying a word then.

So let me just calmly walk away now and retreat to my mental space.

Goldi-looks

Remind myself to not say never again. Ever.

I’ve always had this never-buy attitude towards something I can live without- jewelries. Okay, that's not totally true if you count the wedding bands. But let's exclude it.

For years, I have adhered to this self-imposed yet unspoken no-can-do code. For years, I have only used the pieces given to me by my mother or some cousins as presents. And the occasions to adorn myself with these jewelry pieces are hard to come by. Indeed, very rarely do I have a need to put these on. Minimalist me find it sensible to dress for work without these sparkly little things (not even my wedding band!) because with my line of work, I fear they would only attract current to easily lick my body (and then if I strip these ornaments off in the workplace, there's a high risk of misplacing them - trust the forgetful me).

Of course there were times when I would have wanted to -buy and then wear some, but this girl's longing is simply quelled with the disturbing thought of only bedazzling desperate snatchers who might just be waiting for an easy prey (already been a victim of this incident 2 decades or more ago). So for years (since earning my very first paycheck), I have kept my word.

But Sunday, I allowed myself to splurge into buying jewelry pieces made of gold (cute little pieces brought -on my prodding- by a cousin who came from the KSA). I am already calling it splurge because I've always been stingy when it comes to myself, or my wants (much more to material wants). I could go on a food trip, binge all I want, but that’s food - a very basic need [although an excess of it wouldn't exactly be called basic :-)].

So do not ask me why. And I am clueless myself as to when I'd be able to use them.

Obsessions

Been tagged by Grace re obsessions. So without much funfare, here's my list:

1. The men in my life. That funny rascal who was pounding on the bathroom door the other day and repeatedly saying Mama, Bah-bu* and after a millisecond pause, abri** in a sugary-sweet small voice. And after a few minutes of the pounding and hollering, it finally dawned on me that impish Matt was sweet-talking, coaxing me into opening the door! I could have easily fallen into his clever plot and got both of us into a wet struggle (one day I'll treat him to a water battle!) and delayed a supposed hurried bath way too long. And that is my son, charming in his innocence. Then there’s the one who beats me to chess and checkers (well, actually, he lets me win the game sometimes) but sucks at word games (because I could always give him a 5-0). The one who brings me truckloads of quiet laughter. That is my dear husband, charming in his silence.



2. The seemingly impossible task of keeping myself healthy. Downing the right amount of vitamins ( the odds: forgetting and not really knowing if my body is absorbing the needed amount everyday). Definitely no MSG, less salt and sugar (odds: apart from the battle against the taste buds, you cannot be sure of what you're jamming into your system if you don’t prep the food yourself!). No poultry, less red meat, enough fish and heaps and heaps of veggies and fruits (the odds: fish may be mercury contaminated; fruits and veggies may also be pesticide, insecticide-ridden!). Trying very, very hard not to eat processed food too much (the odds: this is next to starving oneself!). Geez, can you feel paranoia slowly creeping in?


3.Yummies from Café Laguna and Bigby’s. I always go bonkers after ingesting a spoonful of the kinilaw and pinakbet at the former. Contradictions! MSG overload anyone? *gasp*gasp*

4. Reading. I read anything I can get my hands on. Books, journals, magazines, product labels, even graffittis over the walls (or on tables and desktops) and what-not.





5. Neat stuff from Mango and Kamiseta. And Havaianas slippers. I just couldn’t resist dropping by their outlets (MNG is still not in CDO though *sigh*) and checking what’s out on the rack. Chalk it up to a little female vanity on the side.



And I just needed to add this one:

6. Wentworth Miller. Need I say more?


And now I'm tagging my friend May Ann and my sisters Jacky and Joy. Or if you want to join in the fray, post me a comment.


*Bah-bu means I love you
**Abri is Bisaya term for open

Hmmm home

I stayed home these past couple days. And really had a wonderful and fun time doing all the things I could imagine. So what other better thing to write than why I oh-so love staying at home.

1. There are always a thousand and one interesting things to do while at home. I could read and read and read my heart’s content (granting my son is asleep and that all chores are already finished). Mend old clothes. Tear down the house and clean. Do some yardwork..the list is never-ending.
2. Get to be silly with my son. Horse playing at every minute is possible.
   
3. No need to doll up myself. I could always walk around the house in my jammies and any rattiest shirt without people raising their eyebrows. Wear an unkempt hair all day long! I can even go through the day without taking a bath (but because summer heat is unbearable, this cannot be possible these days)
4. I can also take as many baths as I like.
5. Can munch and be merry. Ransack the fridge for some goodies and munchies without getting a bill. And can get double helping of everything on the table without worrying of extra costs. All that plus I can hand feed myself, without getting all self-conscious.
   
6. I can alternately hum, yodel and sing Sesame Streets and Barney songs without looking every bit insane. I can even let out some notes at the top of my lungs ala Philly Idol without doing a 360 deg-turn in the head to see if someone’s within earshot.
7. And last but definitely the best-est treat of all is hearing my son say “Bah-bu” (I love you) million of times; and get licked gazillion of times. Such sheer pleasure. Nothing can ever top that, ayt?
   

Home solutions

Am so grateful for this thing called baking soda (yes, the one we use when we would bake cakes, pastries…).

Especially on these days when I am constantly doing some yard work. There's just no chance of getting myself unscathed (but thanks God, not really in a major way) before I strip off my pair of trusty gloves. Scrapes. Cuts. Skinned elbow.

But even if some scrapes are reaped, I can still heave a sigh of relief and be happy for the day's small achievement. Thanks to this white powder wonder.

The solution made by putting together baking soda powder and water, can be used as disinfectant. And it doesn’t sting one bit. And because of that, I always prefer adding a dash of it to a bucket of water to wash scrapes, cuts and wounds (than just water alone). So ideal to use with the kids, like my dear buddy Matt.

Can be used as a deodorizer too. And It can also be used as feminine wash (my OB Gyne’s advice).

Stress busting

Cutter. Mini-shovel. nails. My trusty pair of gloves. With a stubborn certainty on how to spend my morning, I called in these good old buddies 'o mine so they can pitch in some help for me. And indeed, we have had a field day doing yard work, under the scorching heat of the sun.

I spent more than three solid hours pulling off unsightly weeds like I’m yanking someone’s hair, digging through the earth like I’m bashing someone in the stomach,






pummeling the ground as if crushing inner demons like anger, despair, and the like, lifting and dragging off weighty pots like setting aside stupid pride ,

piling up stones to bury recent hurts, loading soil to earthen pots and sowing in the plants to pack positive vibes,


and then setting these leafy pals in order and putting things in their proper perspective.

Under the curious glare of the summer sun, the icy walls of fear melted. And it felt so liberating, breaking loose from its clutches.

As the beads of sweat trickled down my arms, back and face, I was cleansed with its healing salts.

I could have shouted how good it is to be alive because I am alive and so ready to face the world once again.

The seemingly ordinary bath after my self-imposed task, which filled me with some sense of achievement, was made glorious because of the feeling of triumph, of joy. So refreshing.

Although the grass-slash-cedarwood-slash-cucumber scent I am sporting to work this afternoon is synthetic, the healthy blush I am wearing is all natural.

Random no nonsense, nonsense @ midnight

I am still wide awake. At this unholy hour in the morning. Make no mistake, I am far from being insomniac. Actually, I slept very early- at 5PM, with buddy Matt. And woke up with my stomach complaining. But after giving in to its demands, I find myself unable to go back to Zzzzland.

So after the turning and tossing , I decided to reach out and flick the main light on. Gotta channel some energy into something productive. Reading, perhaps. Or scribble some thoughts (like what I’m doing now).

I’ve just spent considerable time staring at this angel in deep slumber beside me, and thinking of the miracle of bringing a new life into this world. And murmuring comforting words (always do) to him, even if he may not hear me.



I am not $ wealthy (I wish!). I do not live in G8-member countries. Do not have holiday vacations in Maldives , or in the Alps.

But I am happy.

Wild 4 Went

So there I was sitting in a somewhat pensive mood, in front of the PC at home, minding my own business* when I chanced upon this awesome sight. That almost made me jump.

So captivated that for one heart-stopping moment, I sat very still and at the edge of my seat, tightly gripping the innocent mouse that my knuckles almost turned white.

Everything else was forgotten.

There he was peering over his shoulder, to my direction.

Gawd! *Breathless* I just couldn’t stop gushing like a teenybopper gone nuts.

I am so smitten, and totally so into him. Silly me, I have fallen madly inlove with this hunk of a man eversince the airing of that first episode of Prison Break.

OMG, he is coming this way!

Guess it’s high time to drop good old Brad Pitt off the hook then. I’m sure he won’t mind.

*Alright, alright I wasn’t totally minding my own biz because I did discover his presence in my sister’s private space. Butttttt, I wasn’t snooping either.

Big fishes a' comin'

The bigwigs are coming to town. And it looks like they are bringing the whole circus team with them. And causing minor disruptions to the normally very laid-back atmosphere in the office. Understandably.

These bigwigs, also collectively known as the tech mancom, are ordinary humans who hold influential positions, and so way above the ordinary workforce in the company. But who generally likes to reach out and mingle with majority of the employees, for maybe different reasons, intentions. But I really have no way of knowing these, and judging is no use. Maybe some really have a good heart -with the heart of a true and sincere leader. And maybe some are just going through the motions, trying to be friendly and trying to be your ally, trying to be sympathetic, and trying to be of your service. Dunno. What I do know is, they are all heading this way. And they will be here, among the on-their-way-to-the-top bosses and pseudo-bosses, to grace an annual do, which I have not attended eversince. Lucky me, I always have the perfect excuse everytime, like being on-duty or sick.

In reality, I really feel awkward hobknobbing with this elite group. (And even if an upgrade depended on it. I think I'll just have to make it own, the long, hard and honest way.) Exchanging pleasantries and casual talks (that may really be hollow), eternally pasting a seemingly accommodating smile (that may not reach the eyes and may lack warmth) and vainly trying to be amiable all throughout the affair can be too much of an effort for me. I'm not even too keen on keeping their company for an hour, I'll already be too ill at ease by then that I might just puke, how much more for more than eight solid hours! Talk about torture! It would just take too much energy on my part I might pass out and I just cannot risk being sapped to core (and I already feel so stressed even thinking about it). Guess, I'm just not cut to kiss some asses. Not even the bigwigs' asses.

That said, I'm really glad I'm not going again this time. I'll be working by then.

But I'm reminding myself, before I go to work tomorrow and the day after, to temporarily trade my usual casual get-up for a more appropriate look (and forget about the slippers), pay extra attention to my appearance and don the proper office attire or something like it, lest they accuse me of not maintaining some company standard. That is the least I can do. And in truth, the only thing I am willing to do.

gasp!

I was in the mall yesterday to pick up some supplies when bang I bumped into my English teacher, who used to send everyone in class shaking in their shoes!

We both stopped to chat, tried to catch up with each other's lives (and those we know).

I was tempted, and was really on the verge of telling him to go and check this blogsite but I held my tongue in check before the first consonant could escape my lips.

As if on instinct, when I got home, I checked some of my past posts and did some grammar policing, which I haven’t really done lately.

Holy cow! The handful of errors I spotted would have given her a coronary! God forbids.

Done, but not yet done!

At last, I've already managed to crack the macro. After slaving over it for a few days, not uninterruptedly though. But this doesn't mean I'm really done with it. I've gotta go back and see what enhancement I can add. If and when I can.



I've already edited its code so it will make up a functional program, one that can be logically correct. It's not completely hardcore programming thing, and not really written in a low-level language but I did warm my butt in my chair for some time, strained some hand muscles and joints in the process and scratched my head for the umpteenth time, one would have thought I'm hosting some parasites in my head/hair.

And before someone says, that's one hardworking genius! I say, no siree, that's one lazy gal at work. That's right, I'm just too lazy doing things manually that I've gotta figure out some way to automate some tasks. Me, so desperate and trying hard!

just dropping some thoughts

Home
830PM

I just came from sending hubby off the pier for tonight's voyage to Cebu .

And ummm, I really meant to write about the fun-filled but casual-as-it-looked weekend we have had (even if we only stayed at home),








what naughty things the guys did to each other,



the crazy-somersaulting and some hilarious antics exhibited by the one and only entertainer-of-the-house, buddy Matt and what kept me busy under the summer heat of the Saturday morning sun and definitely without sunblock again (I'll let you in on a secret, I have a little project at home. Shush now.)…but the irregular buzzing of the CPU at this time is bugging me. It really is interrupting some processes in my mind.

So lemme just sort out some thoughts while Sitti sings in the background. And I’ll see if I can come back with some interesting things to tell. No promises, though.