Sunday, February 22, 2009
Ivory soap? Wax Crayons? Milk?
I've always thought mine was just the smell of a new book --- given that my parents bought me a new book every week.
The other day though, I smelled something and was astounded. I realized I couldn't move because my brain was busily processing when I last caught a sniff of that smell. I was in a Folded and Hung sale, and I sniffed at the samples of their colognes and spritzers. They had something with Tangerine, and something with honeydew... but it was the Jasmine Bloom which took me by surprise.
There was a whoosh (!) and the scent transported me to an old house, with wooden floorboards that creak if you tread on it. I approached an equally old desk drawer and opened it by giving a mighty tug. Inside was a pirate's loot of ... stationery. And it was all mine.
Do you remember those scented stationery? They come in all shapes and sizes, and in every imaginable color possible. This day and age, nobody writes on stationeries anymore. But I grew up adoring them. I even kept a special set which I vowed I would only use to write my first love letter to my True Love.
Hey, I was eight years old. Funny thing is, I still haven't used it. :) Seriously. Actually, I still have my collection intact. :) Most of it are yellowing with age already, but I can't even start thinking of throwing it out. A lot of my childhood fascination (and not to mention allowance) went to these stuff. And I still prefer handwritten letters anyways. Maybe someday, I'll get to use ALL of them.
So now, if anybody asks, I'll say: My childhood smells like a newly-cracked-open book and jasmine-scented stationeries...
How does your childhood smell like?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
So, I didn't exactly follow everything in the book and turned it into a personal mantra. But I get the point. We don't have to keep pushing ourselves on men who aren't so nice to us. And you know what else? Even if they're NICE to us? It doesn't mean they like us like us. BELIEVE ME.
Been there, done that.
I'm in a personal salvation mode these days wherein I'm trying to hold on to the frayed edges of my tattered dignity, after going for a guy totally unsuitable to me. And I keep telling myself, NEVER AGAIN. So help me God. Never that way. I'm never going to be that stupid ever again.
And my friends all roll their eyes. Yeah, right.
You know what I hate about the whole thing? What gets me the most is that one guy can be totally emotionally barren, or immature, or limited, but I end up feeling like I'm the dipsh*t. Until I realized I will only be the moron if I let that continue.
So no more. He's Not Into Me. And quite frankly, I probably misled myself that I was into him. I was not raised to "settle" for the average. Ooookay. Obviously, there's still a little anger left in there, huh. Soon enough though, even that will dissipate, I'm sure.
I'm going for the moon, baby, I gotta go.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
When you’re feeling lost and confused, an idiot or a fool, watch Gossip Girl and you’ll feel like freakin’ Socrates or the mythical Self-Actualized Man.
This morning, I woke up feeling happy. But I know happiness these days are tremulous at best, and I wanted to prolong my bliss a little while longer. So I asked myself: what would make me feel good about myself, happy to be alive, and thankful for what I have?
Ah. Why not watch a bunch of over-indulgent kids, who have everything but their sanity intact, seduce and fumble their way through high school? Awesome. My life is buttercups and blue jays and butterflies compared to theirs.
Oh, wait. My life IS about buttercups and blue jays and I used to spurt sunshine offa my arse. See, I’m in a good mood. And I’m starting to realize that the moment I start feeling like I’m slipping, I’ll just slip in GG and I will start singing praises to the Fates for not giving me Blair Waldorf as an enemy. Or Chuck Bass for that matter. Or his wardrobe, for crying out loud. He looks like Peewee Herman on meth. But give him credit for carrying it off though. I Mean, red pants, c’mon!
And as I watched the whole Season 2, these questions surfaced: (Don’t expect something earth-shaking, we are talking of Gossip Girl, okay?)
How many of my brain cells have died because I actually watched the whole thing?
Aaaah. I love Sundays. Tomorrow’s time enough to think of financial global crises, wars and lpg shortages. Today, I digress. Let’s call it a temporary devolution. Let’s call it, a truce.
You Know You Love Me.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Who knew? Achilles could very well have been killed when that arrow notched his heel. This hurts. But I may be going overdramatic. I can stand the pain anyway. Also, I KNOW how to get rid of it. Lose weight. About 7 people said that to me. Quit it, I know already, okay?
Pain makes me bitchy, so back off.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Guess whose side I'm on?
I just read this in yahoo mail and I had to IMMEDIATELY blog about it out of pure joy that all the faults I found wasn't just in my head. Somebody else who has more authority to speak about it, agrees. Meyer sucks. She just purely does. She was saved by finding a really great story, one she didn't do much justice, but girls will read anything with a hot dude in it.
We are not all Stephen King fans, but I respect this dude (botoxed face and all) coz he writes. And even if his stories are creepy, he writes them well. I don't always like what he writes about (i.e. What's up with that The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, huh?), but at least he tells it well. And for those who say, well, Meyer's an amateur, get this: writing Twilight makes her an amateur. Did we see improvement in the next books though? At all? No. It even got worse. One word: Renesmee.
But I've said all this before. Let me just quote one whose voice matters more:
In an interview with USA Weekend, the bestselling author compared Meyer with J.K. Rowling , the author of the Harry Potter series.
According to Stephen, "Both Rowling and Meyer, they're speaking directly to young people... The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can't write worth a darn. She's not very good."
Apropos. And for those who would quip that King is just envious because Meyer sells more books nowadays than he does: poor, poor dearies. He wouldn't care if he sells any more books EVER because he already sold millions. Not a huge Stephen King fan, but one has got to give props to the creator of three generation's nightmares and phobias. :D
Monday, February 02, 2009
Honeyed hair and licorice ears
And your eyes would taste of something blue
And if I go and take a bite
Your tongue will taste like dew.
I think it’s true
If I take even the smallest sip
Your mouth tastes like champagne
And if I close my eyes, I think
I may even taste the rain.
This is my shame
Your youth is a blasphemy
And my progressing years a sign
That love is naught but infamy
And old age is a crime.