Thursday, November 30, 2006

Something's Irking Me

I don't know what. But something's wrong in this picture and I can't place it. I'm serious. Something doesn't feel right. Can you help me figure out what it is?

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Why Lie?

Borgy Manotoc guested in yesterday's Forbidden Questions Game during Good Times in 899 Magic. As per usual, celebrity trivia ran like wild paper airplanes all over the place. One of the questions that created a big bang (hehe, pun on the bun) was who were three of the more famous women he'd slept with in the past. He answered:

1) Lana Asanin - I can only catch fleeting memories of this bombshell who was quite popular back in the early 90s. Can't get a lock down on her face though.

2) Victoria London - Another "almost-remember-her" girl.


3) Vina Morales

Now, here's where the controversy starts. In today's Phil. Star, there's an article there that says Vina is denying she ever had any kind of relations with Borgy. She's asking Borgy to clear up her name and she's acting the part of the hurt damsel-in-distress.

I don't get it. Who's lying here? Here are my theories:

1) Borgy might be shtoopid enough to think Vina would never know he said her name. maybe he thought that it won't boing (!) right back to him if he was lying through his teeth.

2) Vina's playing the innocent because she's dating an influential Chinese guy.

3) Vina had a mind altering accident rendering her with selective amnesia.

4) Baka naman, Borgy just meant natulog lang sila sa isang lugar where they both happened to be in at the same time, like maybe in the shores of Boracay last summer, 20 yards apart. Pwede rin.

5) Eto favorite theory ko: baka na-abduct si Vina ng aliens and the one we see on teevee today is just a robot made in her likeness. Ngayon, she can't remember what happened in the life of the real Vina. Small details, like how she used to know how to smile without a predatory smirk, and how one night when she was drunk on tuba, she slept with Borgy. Pwede? Pwede! Look at her and see if she looks human. Diba? Look closer? She looks like a plasticene Barbie!

I don't usually make stuff like these my problem, BUT... I hate it when I'm reminded how a lot of people in showbiz are plastic and like making stories. And I mean that I hate it with the concentrated heat of a thousand suns.

Here, I don't know who's lying. I really shouldn't care. if it's all a misunderstanding (although how they'd make it appear like that, I can't wait to hear), then fine. Go live your twisted, contorted lives.

I'd rather be stuck in Oblivia eating cud than live the high times and high lies of the high life.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Wake Up, Wake Up!

I wonder what's wrong with me. I keep waking up early this week.

Oh yeah, I remember now. I was forced to wake up early two days in a row last week. First, for the site visit in Pampanga, and Second, the Saturday exposure.

The house is still quiet. Yet again. I think everybody's finding it hard to wake up early because it's so cold in the mornings now. Sarap nga naman matulog. Pero ito, ang mga weirdong tulad ko, tsaka naman nagigising ng maaga.

Buti na lang, maaga ang Good Times with Mo. I keep laughing out loud. I'm afraid my Dad'll wake up hearing me laughing to myself. Can't help it. They're so gosh darn it funny. Thank God for small blessings, no matter how irreverent. :)

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Mojo Jojo, Mohan and Andy9 (pic from shale)

Shux, Mojo kinda deserves his own cute boy alert... :)

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Eating Mangoes While Naked

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(fooled a bit with the format, this is not a poem)

I saw a book with the same title sometime ago,
and it's the most apt title I've got to describe
what I'm doing right now.

I am eating mangoes very early in the morning
wearing nothing but a towel.
Technically, I'm not naked.

I just got out from the shower and
nobody in the house is awake yet.
The house has this kind of stillness that's a bit
magical because it seems to be promising
many wonderful things for the next 24 hours.

Somebody saintly
bought fresh ripe mangoes yesterday and
they were as sweet as heaven.
I had a craving for it first thing this morning.
While taking a bath, I knew
I just had to have it immediately ---
ergo, my present state.

I just opened a window and
a shock of green greeted me as
I surveyed the fields surrounding our house.
Now, the mango's skin is so flawlessly yellow.
My towel is so garishly red.
My human skin is pink in places I scrubbed too hard on.
Oh my, I'm going to have a colorful day.

There's this fantasy I have when I'm
eating mangoes.
I know that it's an expensive fruit elsewhere,
let's say Switzerland.
So what I do is, I imagine myself
eating mangoes in Switzerland
where only the really privileged could get a taste.
When I do that, I don't feel so poor.
When I do this, I feel sickeningly happy.

I love ripe mangoes! Yum!

Suffice to say, I also revert to my
six-year-old soul speak when I'm happy.
So there'd be no witty, sarcastic closing today.
All I have is this and you might as well
deal with it:

Oh yum! Life is good!

Monday, November 27, 2006

Pieces of November

How many days til Christmas?

The months just plain swooshed by us, didn't it? It hardly registered that today is the second to the last month of the year. And today is the 27th out of 30 days in that month. Cum Friday, we will hit the good old merry season of December.

I can't afford gifts this year. I've tried to make my budget fit, but I'm simply out of it. I gave most of my bonus for the house. With just me working, most of my income this month would have to be directed to mundane things such as electric bills and telephone bills and heckling freaking lots of kinds of other bills.

It's going to be a challenge to spend Christmas as poor as a mouse, but statistics say people survive. So I probably will too.

I don't know if this is the primary reason why I don't want it to be December yet.

November isn't a bad month, y'know? We celebrate Samhain this month. We celebrate Saints this month. And more than anything else, we spend our lives waiting within this month. I think I'm better at waiting for Christmas to come than celebrating it.

I'm a wicked, wicked child.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Without Amphetamines

Book in Hand: World Mythology Minipedia
Song in Mind: Return to Innocence


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There's a theory that we are only attracted to things that reflect our current state of mind or emotions. I believe that's how people find their favorite art object, book or song. So when I say my favorite book of all time is still Lois Lowry's The Giver, I wonder what that says? When my favorite artist remains to be Monet, I wonder what that says? And when the tune to Return to Innocence keeps playing in my head the past few days, what does that make me?

Two weks ago, I bought myself an MP3 player and went crazy downloading music. The advent of Limewire has finally reached th far-away shores of my consciousness. I know it's barely legal, but I don't have the resources to buy all the CDs I like. The moment I understood the concept of file sharing, I downloaded my old mantra-esque songs. Ergo, I'm downloading Snow on the Sahara by Anggun as we speak.

The deliciousness of listening to my favourite tunes on demand still hasn't worn off. It provides background music to my day-to-day existence. I'm the type to wallow in my mood and that's the only way I can get through it. Some people will play happy music when they're sad, but that's utter crap to me. I can't pretend to be feeling otherwise. I find more solace in learning that whether blissful or depressed, the world can feel right along with me.

So when I'm happy, I play Dancing in the Moonlight by Switchfoot, or What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. When I need to get myself revved up, I play Get Your Head in the Game from the High School Musical or Let's Get it Started by the Black Eyed Peas. Angry? Some Gwen Stefani or Alanis Morisetter suffices. Angsty ponderous? John Mayer. Sad? The Sundays and Tori Amos to croon along with.

When I'm tired of the mp3, I turn on the fm radio. I usually tune in to Jam 88.3, Home 97.9 or if it's morning, Magic 89.9. Jam usually plays a mixture of old and new songs, especially on Fridays. The thing they call songs of the old? It's actually music I listened to when I was an adolescent and brings back a lot of memories. Home plays songs I can sing along with as well. Magic from 6 - 9 am though plays music I like now. What they'd play is pretty predictable, yes: John Mayer's Dreaming with a Broken Heart, Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol, Collide by Howie Day, and How to Save a Life by The Fray. A lot of guys complain to Mo Twister, but I don't. I love knowing with certainty that I'd be hearing my fave music before I get to work. Sometimes it even surprises me when they play stuff fron not-so-recent hitlists just because they like it. They played Dancing in the Moonlight and Don't Know Why by Norah Jones, I remember. Hehe, they eve played Laklak once and the E-heads! I assume as much that Mohan was reared within the same niche of the same generation as I did with the same bent or tendencies.

Have half the mind to recommend Conner Reeves' Ordinary People and Earthbound since it follows the same bent.

Now I'm listening to Seasons of Love from the musical Rent. It's not so bad to have a soundtrack for life. It makes the going a bit more flavorful. Only thing that's frightening me is I think I'm going deaf since I have a tendency to play my music loud. I like it when it reverberates in my ears because nowadays, I think my soul is stone deaf as well. Just waking it up a little, putting a little fire in there, a little groove. Maybe even a little more heart.

"525,600 minutes, how do you measure , measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles,
in laughter, in strife?"

Another Term Down

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Hay. Yesterday, I just wrapped up another term teaching CWTS. I've been doing this for two years now. DLSU's not so bad, you know? We kept harping on about La Sallians in college, making them the butt of school-related jokes. Snarky friends will say I sold out, but they haven't been teaching there for seven terms, have they?

It's true that the intellectual capacity of the students are more varied, God knows it frustrated me a couple of times, but you find means and you move the kid along the right path, y'know? On the surface, La Sallians like playing it cool. Since DLSU practices block sectioning, the kids tend to be clique-ish. A good example would be my class this term with the boys' mafia-esque barkadahan. Or the Silent Girls' Club. Or the We're So Pretty and We Don't Give A Damn Club Society. It's a good study on how students thrive in too much opulent air.

My good-natured snarkiness though received illumination yesterday. Two of my students were super late for the site visit to Valenzuela City. We've been waiting in the meeting place for more than an hour already. When their classmates called them on the cellphone, they said they were still in 7-11 buying drinks. That's still 5 minutes away. I told them to come to the parking lot pronto. After 6 minutes, they still weren't around and I called up again asking where they were. The guy answered, "Nandito na po, miss. Nasa moldex parking lot na po." This after telling the class repeatedly that the meeting place is in the Harrison Plaza parking lot.

I blew my top talaga. I was practically yelling when I said, "ALL your classmates managed to remember we're supposed to be meeting in HP at 7:30 a.m. It's 8:10 a.m.! Know what? Don't bother coming here, we're leaving!"

I gave the go-signal to the jeepney drivers and left. Not five minutes later, a student handed her cellphone to me and surprise! It was the two kids left behind. Or rather, the taxi driver flagged down by the kids asking for directions pala.

"Abladi abladi abladi, Pedro Gil! Ablada ablada ablada Padre Faura!" shouted the driver (while driving my students ito ha! My God, heart attack!)

"Ano?! Ano sinasabi iyo? Ibalik niyo sa bata yung cellphone!" I shouted. Then once handed the phone, the boy pleaded for us to wait for them. They said they were in Pedro Gil along Taft already and they'd follow us in the cab. Atake talaga sa puso! Sa Valenzuela pa kaya kami pupunta, dadaan ng Expressway yun!

Even if I wanted to teach them a lesson (by effectively failing them because the trip was half of their attendance grade), I'm deathly scared they'd get into an accident. Good night naman, ganun pala ang feeling ng pagiging responsable sa ibang tao. I had 37 kids to mind and kasama sila dun. So I relented and waited for them sa may Lawton. Muntik pa kami mahuli ng pulis dahil 3 jeep yung naghihintay para sa kanila. Kailangan kasi sabay sabay talaga kami. Galit na galit talaga ako na walang magawa. At nung dumating pa sila, hindi pa tamang kulay ng shirt nung girl. Ay, parang gusto ko ulit sila iwan!

When they got into the jeepney and we moved along, I cooled down a bit. I told myself there must be a logical reason for their tardiness. I have a lot of students who doesn't really give a damn about the subject because it's not academic, but they still won't graduate without it. This girl happened to be absent the first time we went to the site and her failing to come that day would have meant total failure, no question. She couldn't be that daft, I said.

A visibly calmer Olivia faced the kids. Well, the guy was really inattentive in class because he insisted to the girl that Moldex was our meeting place, and the girl believed him. They were late because the girl had family troubles, she didn't sleep at their house because of a flare-up with her Mom, I think. She's not wearing regulation t-shirt because her friend only lent her something and that was all they could find. She was also crying.

Eh, iyakin din ako. Gusto ko na rin umiyak habang ine-explain sa kanila why I had to do what I did. But again, being the responsible adult, IT MUST NOT BE! Argh, hirap talaga maging matanda! Naawa ako sa kanya, ayokong maniwala pero her tears and distress felt genuine. I cannot take the risk of being too hard on the girl. I don't have the heart. I let them go with the lamest of warnings. Bahala na kung nagoyo nila ako. I'd rather trust them than spend the whole day feeling like a monster.

Later that day though, I saw the girl wince when somebody tapped her on her shoulder. May pasa ata siya. I immediately cancelled all my doubts. Geez, sombody freakin' hurt that girl! She's my student! Parang gusto kong manugod ng magulang. And I realized that, heck, if she was hurt like that, distressed like that and she still came to this trip, then I was dead wrong. She cared for her future. Sige, her grades na if not CWTS. But she came.

Consider me reformed. I will never snark on a La Sallian again. Kahit mild, kahit good-natured. Students are students saan man sila nag-aaral. Their standards of excellence may not be the same, but they go through the whole formative years too. They have real problems, more horrific than what I went through when I was in college even. They are also just dealing with life the way they know how. The best I can do is to make the passage worthwhile for them. Kahit hindi na nila ma-realize agad.


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"There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment... - Anais Nin"

"I do not know all the answers, I do not even know all the questions... - Theodore Reik"

"BETADINE Feminine Wash Indication No. 3: As an external genital wash for protection before and after sexual intercourse... -Pascual Laboratories"


That's what I thought when I read above indication while taking a bath last night. Yes, I read things even when I'm inside the shower. Kahit man lang text ng shampoo bottles. Or in this case, ng Feminine Wash.

When I read that one of the primary uses of Betadine is to protect women before and after intercourse, my mind drew a complete blank. Protect from what? Surely not pregnancy? What then, dermatological problems? As in pubic dandruff? AIDS?

Wait, wait... so people need to wash after? Oh, and they wash before? How come I don't see that in the movies?

All this precious thoughts swirled inside my head while I was standing in the shower, holding a miniscule bottle, reading the fine print. That's when I had to admit defeat and accept I know nothing about sex. Oh, I've read about the technical stuff. I've even come across through the kinky stuff. But the nuances are alien to me.

In the movies and books, people just seem to rip off their pants within 5 nanoseconds and they get on with it. I've always wondered. These people --- must not have love handles. It takes me 5 minutes to completely take off my jeans. First I had to suck in my tummy, so I can unbutton the waist and then wriggle and jump about to lower it one pant leg at a time. And that's me when there's an urgent need to poo.

Same goes for blouses and shirts. I have to wriggle, bend, reach and do gymnastics first before I could take off my top. In the books and movies, it's like, Whoosh! There goes the shirt! Plink, Swish! There goes the bra! Plop, plop, plop! There goes all the buttons rolling on the floor. Who's gonna freakin' sew those things back on?

And don't they just dive to bed? Or slam their backs or butts on whatever flat surface is available? I've never seen it anywhere yet where the girl said,"Oh, wait, i have to wash with Betadine first. Y'kow, for protection."


"Tapos na tayo? Hugas lang ako with Betadine, ha?"

And speaking of protection, when do girls put in thir vaginal condoms? Because I attended family planning sessions and anti-HIV awareness campaigns, I know when it is for guys, ironically. Although it doesn't seem typical for them to stop and put on rubber once they're geared, aherm, up. I can imagine curses abounding if they can't locate where the freakin' rubber is. For the girls though, how does it go? I was probably absent when they taught that.

There's a lot of weird things I don't know. It's weird to know the theories, concepts and beliefs about sizes, tightness, movement, positions, etc through media, but those things are standard issue. Practitioner or not, most would have knowledge somehow. It's the understanding of why and the small how-to-get-there things that continue to elude me.

I really am clueless about a lot of words, or implied messages, especially if it's green. Ask anyone in the office, and they'd readily offer the fact that I'm naive. I had to go through a traumatic and embarassing experience first before I learned what the counterpart of the word sperm is in tagalog. I don't get why it's such a bad word in the translated version though. It's a biological definition, right? What's so funny about the word sperm? Even whales have that.

But it'll be hypocritical to pretend I don't know at least some things. I'm not advocating for IBM (intercourse before marriage), I'm really not. But I don't want to be a spacehead either. I can at least know a few definitions so as to be rendered as a human being living at least within the same ectosphere.

Would that really be such a cursed thing?

Thursday, November 23, 2006


I watch my mother sometimes, and she doesn't know that I do.

My mother hobbles gently when she walks, having lost confidence in the solidity of ground. Her left eye is blinded and she cannot distinguish depth anymore. She describes it as seeing the world as a flat dimension where shapes have lost their definition. So when she walks, she sends her feet as sentinels to feel out her next step. She wears dark eyeglasss to hide her whited-out left iris, and that adds to her difficulty in seeing with her remaining good eye.

My mother, she hunches when seated. The effort of drawing her body straight is too exhausting for her. During vain moments, she would tuck in her stomach and sqaure her shoulders up. But that doesn't last for very long. Her bravado diminishes as aches attack her abdomen. The pain shoots and licks at her body, whipping her back to her soft, hunched figure and if available, both elbows resting heavily on the table top.

My mother, she's missing one breast. After having faced cancer courageously, her loss of appendage has scarred her for what remains of her life. When she lost it, she smiled and called herself funny-looking. I think I was more desolate about losing the breast that fed me than she was. She remains conscious though that people might figure out that she's got stuffing on her right brassiere and we tell her to stop being vain. But we shouldn't do that. We haven't lost a part of ourselves. We'd never know how it feels to face the world missing part of our armour.

My mother, she winces when you touch her bloated feet. You should always be careful when passing near her else you might step on her toe and this brings her inexorable pain. My mother, she finds it difficult to raise herself up after sitting too long or when she's lying down.

My mother, is a long list of soliloquys of what could go wrong with a woman's senescent body.

My mother, she does all the washing these days. She's returned to her housewifely duties after retiring from 45 years of molding young minds. Her eyes mist over when she talks about her students who are changing the face of the country now and we cluck at her for being sentimental. But we shouldn't. Memories are all she has of her glorious teaching days and we should not mar it with our petty remarks.

My mother is in her room right now, puttering amongst her small things, delicate lady accessories. She finds endless amusement in dismantling her drawers and sorting and re-sorting her things. She does this every week. These objects she barely uses are arranged adoringly into boxes, stuff that are heaped with sentiment rather than value. Oftentimes, she'll finger a necklace or an earring and call me in. She'll tell me, "Daughter, come try this on. I want to give it to you." And I try it on, pretend I like it for her sake and say thank you. I kiss her cheek and she beams at me.

She feels useless now without work. How can I tell her, really speak to her, say to her that no other jewel on the face of the planet can replace her? Glow brighter than she does, shine brighter than the sun?

This is my mother. She is all that is soft in the world for me. She is all that is brave. She is all that is silly and vain. She is all that is cruel and sharp in angry words. She is the silent murmuring that comforts me when I am ill. There's no other woman in the world who looks more beautiful than she is.

I watch her fade away and my heart breaks. For the woman that she was. For the old, tired mother that she is. For her dreams of raising two girls into women of character. Women who'd change the world as she once hoped she will.

I hope in earnest I never disappoint her. Never make her feel she failed. If only I can be that kind of daughter, maybe I too can become the kind of mother that she's proven herself to be.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006


What irks me the most are people who give themselves too much importance.

Today, I met a really annoying guy. He comes into the office announcing himself to be Mark Ignacio and that he's got a meeting with my supervisor. I guess his entrance and manner of speaking can still be attributed to a lesser irritating factor --- stupidity, which I could still have withstood.

I was asked to sit in the meeting since this guy's from the media. He's from RJTV --- the echoes of which barely reverberates in anybody's mind. All I can remember is a kooky old-looking fella talking about music and his love affair with various guitars. He then introduces himself as the owner of a production suit named Epitome Productions (again, silent echoes in the room announces that it does not register to anyone at all) and he flashes out his cheap calling card (too many pink fonts there for a normal person's taste).

He goes on to say that they are conceptualizing a program they plan to call Pinoy Galing Mo -- Angat Ka (PGMA - K for short). He said it's there to support the President's objective to give 10 Million jobs to Filipinos by 2010. He goes on to add that it's not political at all.

Kung t*nga ka, kami hindi noh.

What's more is that, he doesn't effing know what he wants. He comes here without prior research, presents a pro forma program description and asks what PBSP can do for them. He even ended the meeting this way:

"Sige, ganito na lang partner (taps my supervisor on the shoulder), e-mail me what you can do for us, and I'll e-mail you what I need..."

T*NGA!!!! Bakit parang puro kami lang? Ikaw? Sino ka ba?

At eto pa... ang show daw nila ay may target audience na A, B, C. Pag nagpupunta daw siya sa mga mall na pang-lower classes, hindi siya kilala. Pag nagpupunta daw siya ng Podium, nakikilala siya. Nino? Ng mga security guard?

I was about to give him the benefit of the doubt. I was going to lower my disgust over his unschooled English, preference to start his sentences with "Ang gusto ko..." and "Ang kailangan ko..." and his over-all maangas attitude. But then, he let out that one laugh of a paragraph and I know it's not me just being elitist.

T*ng-In*, hindi kita kilala! Sino ka? I don't watch those effing telenovelas you expressed disgust over, nor do I frequent those low class malls you mentioned (bakit ka nga pala nandun?) but I don't know you. Last time I checked hindi ako bobo. SO baka ikaw, mayabang ka lang talaga.

God forbid I have to deal with him again. If he contacts PBSP, I hope he contacts Felix. If he could really help, then fine. But I have a feeling he's one of those lost egomaniacs trying to hide beneath a veneer of social responsibility. I hope Ms. Patty shoots his proposal down. I don't care if it's not going to be credited to my performance appraisal.

Just. Keep. Him. Away.

What I Want for Christmas

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Sunday, November 19, 2006

A Secret Regret

When I was eleven, I hated the fact that I was a girl.

Oh, I've had my crushes even then. But I quite detested that I could never run as fast or climb a tree or be allowed to buy "suka" from the corner store without an escort. I wasn't allowed to stay out in the backyard after 6 p.m., and I was given silly little dolls to play with. No wonder I resorted to books --- you could only change Barbie's dresses so many times until you want to puke at the very thought of handling another taffeta-infested mini skirt. I hated the color pink. I went through a phase that I adored wearing baseball caps. I wanted to change my name to Elizabeth --- So I can call myself Liz. I thought the name Olivia was too girly-girly. And Liv sounds positively and undesirably feminine.

I preen whenever I'm scolded by my Mommy for being tomboyish. It was positive praise, at least in my dictionary. It means I'm not one of those giggling, lace-laden, floral-headbands-stricken girls who are just beyond hopeless.

Now, I think pink clothes bring out the blush in my cheeks. Lace is not to be abhorred but to be used wisely. Sometimes, I even put on make-up when I'm in a good mood. I sign my letters as Liv or Livia.

Yeah, I'm not that eleven-year-old hellcat anymore, but I still have one regret about my being a girl / woman.

There are no woman-priests in the Catholic Church.


There are nuns and there are nuns. They visit the sick, give succor to the suffering, live out the good deeds of Christians --- just as priests do. But they do not --- CANNOT --- celebrate Holy Mass. They do not get assigned to parishes --- so far out in the countryside that the only way to communicate to your loved ones would be by whispering to the wind and praying a trace will touch your intended.

I want to write homilies and stand at the pulpit. I want to make people think, cry, laugh, and believe in the word of God. I want to inspire hope in people. I want to administer communion. I want to be Pope.

Unfortunately, even the beloved late Pope John Paul II was against ordaining women in the priesthood. Maybe it could never really happen in my lifetime. Thinking about this red hot desire to do God service THIS WAY makes me want to cry.

Why can't I? Why does it have to be men only? I understand tradition should be honored --- but I would really give my all if given the chance.

My mother keeps reminding me she has promised the Blessed Virgin that her first born child was going to be either a priest or a nun. I would not have felt bad about this if I were a boy. But unfortunately, what I have is a concave, not a convex apparatus. And to rebel, I pushed away the thought of becoming a nun. Not only pushed, I suppose. Even trampled upon that dream and tried to run away from it as far as I can manage.

But I cannot claim I know my future. If I was promised and accepted, if destiny had laid out a path for me, if I find that someday I'm changing my mind --- I might actually turn out to be the Sister Mary Olive my kindergarten teacher kept calling me back then. My convent education in an all-girls school might come in handy.

But now, my stomach churns at the idea. A priest --- that's what I could never dare to wish to be --- seeing that I'm a woman and a whole tradition of Popes and a whole Bible of fire and brimstone awaits me if I make a wrong move. But the wish cannot be erased nor eliminated.

I know God must have never intended me to be a priest or else I'd be male. He must want me to serve some other purpose. What it is remains to be obstinately unclear though. So... I just make do by serving Him in other ways. Girly ways. Sissy ways. The way I know how. The only way for me.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Done and Over

Thank effing jupiter!

The Festival of Trees is concluded. Last night wasn't so bad... actually, I'd go to say it went okay. We didn't sell the items at high prices in the silent auction but-- people seemed to have enjoyed themselves.

Half the people there I knew because I have read about them in the magazines. Tessa Prieto-Valdes was so pretty! Yeah, she still dresses up kind of wacky but she carries it well. Then there were a lot of good-looking guys with smiles that blinds the stars themselves... but heck if I'd ever get close to them.

Yung crush kong artist is so doubtfully gay in my eyes now kaya I transferred my affections to somebody else --- another artist who looks like a giant studded with piercings. Also, Sam Concepcion performed, along with Agot Isidro and Pilita Corrales. So that was additional pa-wow effect. Not bad, I guess.

Hay. I'm just happy it's over. And happy I can go home soon now. Just a couple of hours more. :)

Saturday, November 11, 2006


No, I will never be completely free from depression. This I understand now. It comes and it goes and it never lets go. I haven't got it as bad as I did before... not yet. It's like a whole new cycle re-starting. I think it's time for me to reconsider finding a therapist.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

History of Gayness

Book in Hand: Breath in Suspension
Song in Mind: Complicated - Avril Lavigne

And I'm not talking about happiness, alright? I don't know why I keep falling for all the wrong guys --- in the sense that they usually turn out to be gay. I do understand that I like clean looking, neat shaven, pleasant looking men. But effing s... my gaydar is darn broken.

You think I'm exaggerating, huh? Can you handle a secret? Here's some of the people I actually had a crush on growing up and most of them turned out to be as gay as a Christmas Parade.

Neil Patrick Harris (as Doogie Howser, M.D.)

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Yeah, he's not much of a looker nowadays. But back when I was eight years old, he was an effing genius. Or at least, he plays one. Just recently he came out and gosh, darn, what took him so long to own up? But was I surprised? Heck yeah!

Keempee de Leon (god, why am I admitting this?)

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I was probably around nine when I had this fixation on Keempee de Leon. Back then he was still a singer, and in my defense, he was really cute back then okay? Then drug abuse happened and now he's this washed out half-gay, half-alien person on teevee. Some claims he's not really, really gay but heck if I can still have a crush on him when I know he thinks its fun to pose like that.

Stephen Gately

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Ah, half of OLGA knew I was in love with Steve and I'd marry him any goddamn day. Tsk, tsk. I still wonder how I made it through my adolescence with just a couple of scar tissues to show for it. How could I ever have not known??????
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The Best Friend

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Nuff said. (This by the way is all smoothened out now...:)

The Watercolor Guy

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So he's dignified looking, see (he's gotta be coz he's like 38), and he always smells good and he always look nice and he's a UP prof, and he's one heck of a water color artist (quite well known, actually). Kaya lang... he looks mataray... and as Petit said it, "Ganyan talaga ang effect niya, pero later on sasabihin mo na lang: Ay! Parang may mali..."

Nate Berkus

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He's Oprah's decorator guy and I almost end up hyperventilating eveytime he comes out on teevee. It doesn't matter if he's talking about paint and screwdrivers. When I learned he's out though, I went postal. C'mon, leave some good-looking guys for us girls naman!

Guys who might as well be gay because I have had a crush on them at least once in this lifetime:

Jonathan Taylor Thomas

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He was this cute, pesky looking kid who starred in Home Improvement and a couple of feel-good movies. When I was in 6th grade, I thought he was the epitome of a man. :)

Ricky Martin (when he was still in Menudo)

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I know they say he's not gay, but c'mon, Ricky Martin is like the poster boy for the true metrosexual. He is, at the very least, bi.

Now, nobody get me wrong, okay? I'm not homophobic. Half of the cool people I know are gay and I'm even good friends with a handful. I'm just whining how I always pine for guys who pine for guys. It kinda sucks, y'know. All I'm saying is, when it comes to finding the right man....

I ought to buy myself a functioning gaydar.

Better yet, I should buy two.

Monday, November 06, 2006

They Exist

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The Believers of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monsters.

Oh yes. Click on the name to see what they say they believe in. :)

Details of Life

So far, here are the little things which helped me feel a bit better today --- even if it is Monday:

1. I'm wearing a new blouse which feels really comfortable.
2. I'm also wearing my new shoes.
3. Mojo Jojo of Good Times with Mo read my text message on air today --- although I forgot to include my name (oooops-doh!)
4. Mo said thanks. (But he didn't know my name. triple doh!)
5. An officemate is absent so I get to use her computer and do actual work.
6. I'm having fun doing the Auction Booklet describing the things for auction in the Festival of Trees.
7. I ate Jollibee burger steak for lunch --- yum yum!
8. AND --- there's a new Liam the Yahoo guy animation and I gigled with glee. Check it out:
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Whattalife. You gotta love the small things to distract yourself from all the bad things looming ahead. Sigh.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Teeny Tiny Tidbits

Geez, there were a lot of things I wanted to blog about but I rarely had time to type it in. Tonight, let me fill it in though. Maybe I could start with this:


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I don't care much for watching television nowadays. Gone were the days when I had to be home from school before 5 p.m. so I could watch the cartoons and all the sop that follow afterwards. I'm one of those kids whose past is characterized by the fact that I've been an avid follower of Manok ni San Pedro, Buddy en Sol, and Young Love, Sweet Love. Now, that's scary teevee for you.

Recently though, I've been in a hurry to gt home by 9:00 p.m. on Fridays. There's this show on Studio 23 --- it's called Ghost Whisperer, and I love it! It stars Jennifer Love Hewitt (hmmmm, not my favorite actress but she'll do) and surprisingly, it isn't that full of drivel at all. The stories are always engaging, and doesn't reduce itself to cheap tricks for scary effects. There were times that the show also managed to surprise the bejeezus out of me, implausible as I thought that was. That's saying a lot for a popculture modicum.

Just a couple of hours ago, I also caught the premiere episode of the tv series called "Supernatural." Watched it only because I know Jared Padeleki from Gilmore Girls and Jensen Eckels appeals to me as well. NOT as good as Ghost Whisperer definitely. It's like GW was translated into guy language. It didn't suck, but I cannot promise complete devotion to it. Just thought I'd let you guys know.

Ghost Whisperer is on every Friday 9:30 p.m. at Studio 23. Supernatural is aired every Saturday 9:30 pm same channel.


Mondays aren't as hateful as they used to be. The cost of liking this manic day though is an addiction worse than heroin. Mondays to Thursdays, 6 a.m. to 9 a.m. ---- I absolutely have to be tuned in to magic 89.9 to listen to Good Times with Mo.
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Everyone can use sarcastic humor in the morning, I've learned. At 6, my alarm goes off and my hand flips the radio on. I lie in bed for the next 30 minutes listening to Mo, Mojo Jojo and Andi do their opening salvo. When it's time for me to get up, I switch to the radio on my cp, which I bring to the god darn bathroom. I listen while I brush my teeth, do my morning business and take a bath. When I get to my room to change into work clothes, I turn back on the large radio.

By 7 a.m., I am dressed for work, and I go downstairs, present a decent face to my parents, say goodbye, walk to the bus stop, ride a bus. Once seated, I turn on my cp radio and lose myself in the show. By 8:45, I'll find myself in Intramuros. I go to the office, log in, space out. By the time 9 a.m. rolls in, the radio show ends, I snap out of it and find myself seated at my desk. Hah. It has got to be the most painless way to go to work.

I've found the secret and I'm never turning back. :)


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I'm kind of disappointed to learn Ryan Philippe and Reese Witherspoon has called it quits. Dissapointed, but not surprised. I've been seeing a lot of pics of the couple where RyanPhilippie just can't seem to connect. He's got that wild-eyed look of a trapped animal. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Reese has got ugly claws keeping him immobile. It's just that... I don't feel the loving in their body language anymore. Oh well.

The Bergdorf Blondes have split up, and a lot of snarky people are having a field day. (including me) :)


I've recently switched my yahoo mail to the beta version, and quite frankly, I'm amused. Amused by this little icon here bouncing on a ball. When I went ahead to save the pic, I found out this dude's name is liam. Now, I call him Liam with the Big Ball. :)

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Adorable, ain't he?

I wonder though, doesn't that hurt?