no fireworks, but still a good news

I've long lost taste watching news on TV.

Wanting to keep abreast with current events is a good thing.

I'm just not sure if I can say that to the news I'm mostly getting these days. I really feel I'm not getting much news, positive news on TV (at least not in this side of the globe). Except kidnapping, terrorism, murders, drug syndicate and corruption. And there's still a dispute over a senatorial seat. Arrgh. Excuse me, I'm going to puke.

But honestly, I easily get affected with what I see on TV.

But two, three days ago, I saw some light in a dark tunnel. Although there's, still, no fireworks but a local TV network held a nationwide job fair. Commendable.

And I think that's just nearest thing of getting fireworks in early July.

That's truly one great news to help our kababayan out of the economic rut. And cut down the 7.4% unemployment rate of this country (as of April 2007).

Kudos!

Phone Moan

Somebody in the house demands “Papa ta” everytime he sees my phone in idle mode. The kid means to talk to Papa. What was I to do?

These days, it’s so hard to get through two sentences over the phone to my husband. Or even to officemates and friends because dear son would instantly think it’s Papa at the other end. And then that rascal named Matt would try to reach and snatch my phone and say “Papa…Pops...Hallo” even before he could grasp it.

I always try to dodge from his attempts but there are just times. Times when I’m on the phone with hubby, times when I get soft because I know he surely sorely misses Papa. I’d be damned but I’m not that tough cookie who can stand seeing excitement, longing and that wanting-Papa look in my boy’s eyes, without doing anything about it.

But tell you what, I’m really not so keen on letting Matt use my mobile phone. Any cellphone, for that matter. I don’t completely trust its safety, radiation-wise. No matter how much I try to be all-accepting, all-believing, there’s just this niggling doubt that refuses to get squashed.

Maybe I’m the only one who works in the telecoms who is cagey on letting her kid use a cellphone. I’m cagey, I’m crazy, I’m wary. Maybe I am overly, overly, overly cautious. No. not maybe. I AM overly, overly, overly cautious. I’m crazy, I know. It’s okay if it's me, but not if it's my son. Don’t ask me why.

For someone who works under radiating microwaves 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. It’s funny. I’m funny. Certainly ridiculous.

This is my son's phone. An LG model, previously displayed at our business office as sample. Identical to the original thing, except for the LCD screen, battery and circuits. Scale 1:1. Almost real.

The picture on its screen is real, that's Papa. I taped it a couple of days ago. The best I can do.

July High

After posting Caramel, I just can't help smiling. The title is so yummy and foodie that I am, I can't help feeling hungry although that must be just mentally or whatever. But really, I noticed that I'm starting the month right, and starting it in a high note, a very positive bang.

July may truly bring lovely, lovely surprises. God willing. What can it be? I'm already so excited. I hope there'd be fireworks before the month ends, without the loud crashing noise of course because that would scare me and my son.

Off I scoot now...

Caramel

I might never get tired of this one I love you. Hearing it or writing about it. Actually, it’s Bah-bu, a two-syllable sentence which in my dear son’s vocabulary means I love you. And which is officially his first sentence.

It’s life-sustaining, and I’m breathing it like clean sanitized oxygen. It’s an analgesic, the magic salve to my sore, aching muscles and joints. Music to the ears, sweeter and more pleasant than any of Jose Mari Chan’s. I’m so addicted to it. Everyday, I’m sinfully craving it like the heavenly Haagen Daaz.

To-die-for, that one line (but then I don’t wanna die just yet because I still wanna hear it over and over again). And coming from a chaste one-year-old kid, it’s even made more special, it’s sooo endearing. So moving. I’m always swept off my elephant-skinned feet and blown out of my wits every time I hear him say it. I’m inclined to think that it must be powerful enough to melt all metals.

It’s a magnet that pulls you back home. When I’m in the office and I call my mother and she gives me the chance to talk with dear tot, hearing him say Bah-bu makes me want to abandon my work and go rushing back home. That powerful. And my theory is, it makes hubby want to come rushing home, too. It certainly is even meaner than my killer mango float (shameless ad!).

Although I‘m raised in a happy, loving home, I just wasn’t brought up saying I-love-yous all the time. My parents unquestionably showed love to five of us sibs in all different ways other than saying it. No, it’s not a taboo or something like that. It’s just that saying it is not really on a daily basis, it’s somewhat limited to certain occasions like a birthday or Christmas and the like. Or when you’re away and you call the folks at home, you sometimes end the call with that. Or it’s just seen scribbled on notes and cards. It surely felt awkward saying it just-because. You’d only get the are-you-okay-or-has-the-alien-from-mars-gotten-into-you kind of look on their faces.

But no, I’m not blaming my parents. They are just like that, and my environment is like that, so that’s just that. I have no issues whatsoever with that because I understand them. Maybe not completely, but I understand their ways.

Now with Matt, it’s a different story. Hubby and I silently agreed, and we really are one in showing dear tot affection verbally, and even physically to some degrees. Maybe because we’re just *throat clearing* naturally affectionate *wink* Is it called teaching by example? I hope so.

And are we successful? Let’s just say we’re working on it. But what do you call, waking up in the morning with dear kiddo poking and saying “Mownin!” or shoving a battery-operated car while saying, “Mama, e on” but because it’s too early and you’re feeling lazy, you refuse to budge and move a muscle and then dear kiddo devices something wicked that would make you pry your lids wide-open. And that, my friends, is to finally reach out and plant a big wet kiss on the face double with a sweet “Bah-bu.” Rewarding. Gloriously fulfilling.

Even when you’re too tired and sleepy, you just have to really wake up and return the gesture. Otherwise, he’ll go on and on like that. At times, I just love teasing him a bit more and play stiff and still as a log because I know exasperated Matt would give me MORE than a once over! Hah, one scheming Mama, that I am.

Anyway, this whole thing is slowly changing a family who’s not accustomed to all this sweetness. When Matt says Bah-bu to my mother or my sister AJ, she just have to reply. Because as I’ve said to ignore him means to suffer the consequence of not hearing the end of it. Until he can coax an acceptable response from you, he’d tail you and say the line over and over again. I even heard my mother coaching and prodding my son (as if he needs prodding) to say I-love-you to his Papa, who’s on the other end of the phone. I’ve been hearing people in the house saying I love you more and more.

I’m just concerned when Matt says it to people who are not used with this kind of talks. Because one time he said it to my niece (his cousin) over the phone but got no response from her. And so I explained to her but she didn’t get it and so she didn’t say it. As expected, Matt said it again and again and for long. Still nothing, so he just stopped. That kinda bugged me because I’m not sure kiddo Matt can already take in the complexities of the love-begets-love concept.

But then let love worry about love, because soon or sooner, he will learn the complexities and all and then he will know by himself that love certainly begets love. For now, I truly hope we’re giving him a good start because that's all that really matters .

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.