My brother, the rockstar

Acknowledgment: Trixie B. , you're a star photographer, dude.

Thwarted Nationalism

I believe that the Philippine national government needs improvement. I believe that our people deserve better. I believe that there's a time to stand up for one's beliefs and a time to let peace reign.

When Senator Trillanes and his cohorts walked out of the Makati Regional Court and holed themselves up in another 5-start Makati hotel, they said, "let the Philippine economy be damned, let the Philippine reputation for fear and lawlessness remain."

***** Sigh ******

When will we ever learn?

This is my major impetus to blog

C and Uncivil, thank you for looking for me. I feel the love across the Pacific Lake that separates me from you.

Work's been a beeyatch. I'm having fun, for sure, but it's just been toxic, you know? A girl needs to just sit in front of her TV and watch pirated copies of popular American boob-tube prime time shows after being in front of a lousy laptop 10-11 hours everyday. That said, I CANNOT FRIGGIN' BELIEVE MY LAST POST WAS IN AUGUST. :(

But I'm back (or at least I'm trying to be), because I have a new toy that's motivating me to blog like hell. Check it out, world!

This is my desk at work (teehee, you can even see the brand of cigarettes I smoke. The roll of tissue paper is to wipe the desk in the morning, NOT for use in the toilet, mind you!)...


This is my laptop (badly taken but you've seen laptops a-plenty already, I'm sure, so you know what one looks like)...



I was gonna take more pictures, but my batteries ran out, and my friend who sold me this camera has not given me new ones yet, as he had promised (If you're reading this, Ganns, consider this a shout out!) Not just that, but I accidentally deleted other ones that I've taken of my officemates and of myself, because I had stupidly tweaked the folders of the camera's memory card after I plugged and played it on my computer. There were a few hours of panic, coz I couldn't get the darned camera to save the pictures anymore. But thank god for Ganns, he showed me how NOT to screw up my new camera after he finished his meetings that day.

So, expect more blogging to come from my l'il corner, world. This little camera, whom I've named Bubba, is gonna get abused a lot in the next few days (that is, as soon as Ganns gives me the batteries that he's promised me at the onset of our transaction). :)

h0liDae sEa5oNs

Josh Groban came to the Philippines recently. Tickets for his concert cost between PHP3,000 to PHP25,000 (approximately USD70.00 to USD591.00) and Groban still packed 'em in here in "impoverished" Manila, Philippines! He even brought two of the most influential, still powerful, and politically-opposed women in the country, Former First Lady Imelda Marcos and Former President Corazon Aquino, together under one roof, without any political agenda whatsoever.

With the holiday seasons quickly creeping up on us, I wonder how "impoverished" Filipinos will be in term of their spending to give our other underprivileged countrymen peace of mind at this time of the year...

I'm supposed to...

1. be working
It's a bright sunshiny Sunday. Quite unusual since it's been raining everyday for the past couple of weeks. Had our usual Sunday breakfast in a restaurant - today, it was at a hole-in-the-wall place called "Dragon House" along M.H. Del Pilar in the City of Manila. Dragon House has THE best meatball congee in the entire world. Their pork siomai recipe came from the gods. Total bill for breakfast: PHP576.00. That's about US$13.00... for five people with very very full stomachs.

Those are two good reasons why I'm blogging instead of working. It's too great a day to be thinking about sales reports...

2. be laundering my ball gown, the one I wore to a party last year
...but I'm too lazy. So, the ball gown lies in wait.

3. be watching a re-run of this past week's CSI: Las Vegas programme
However, my dad has other ideas. He's now plopped down in front of his precious television watching an NBA game. NBA Season is over, by the way, so he's watching a re-run. Yep, we in the family loooove re-runs.

4. be helping mom cook lunch.
But I'm still full from breakfast. So, I'm faking a stomach ache.

5. be paying my credit card bills via Internet now.
The stupid credit card company's website is down!!! Grrrrr... if they charge me with another late fee, I'm gonna go on the warpath, I swear to god.

6. be working now.
Okay, bye.

Tah-dah!

My friend Ganns was showing me his new shoes the other day. He blogged about those said shoes, and the owner of the shoe store and/or designer of the shoes himself dropped by on his blog, and ¡VOILA! Ganns tells me that he's getting a new pair of shoes FREE because of the free advertisement he's given to the shoe-guy online.

So, listen up, Mr. Marc Jacobs, Ms. Monique Lhuillier, Mr. Ben Chan, Mr. Jeffrey Lubell, and Mr. Randy Ortiz... consider yourselves advertised on. Hope you drop by! Oh, and it wouldn't hurt, either, if Mr. Henry Sy sees that I'm plugging his SM chain of stores here, too.

I accept anything you're willing to offer.

Aimer Barbara

Lucky 8's

Time.com reports that the best wedding date ever is 07 July 2007, a.k.a. 7/7/7. Not only are Tony Parker and Eva Longoria tying the knot on this day, so are Wolfgang Puck and fiancee Gelila Assefa and ten thousand other regular "Joes" who are marrying their ideal and regular "Janes."

As for me, on 7/7/7 (a Saturday, as LUCK would have it), I would be doing my usual:

1. Convince myself to go to the gym
2. Go pick up the laundry
3. Celebrate my personal holiday called, "It's Pasta Day, Today!"
4. Take a siesta
5. Go home to Quezon City and spend the weekend with the folks who are mourning the gradual loss of their aging brood.

But, I'll plan for something special on 8/8/8. That oughtta be an auspicious day - because (1) it's gonna be a Friday, and (2) my Chinese ancestors bet a whole darned lot on triple 8's (which, when pronounced in Cantonese is "fa, fa, fa," a homonym to the words "luck, luck, luck" in the same language), and succeeded in whatever they've done that had been associated with this "most lucky of numbers." Surely, there'd be something good goin' for me on that day, too.

The OTHER Paris

I was talking to a friend last night after a long day at work. Listen in on our short conversation:


SET: Me and J smoking outside a Starbucks cafe somewhere in Makati, while inhaling carbon dioxide spewed into the air by passing vehicles.

Me: Girl, Paris sure looks great from this point of view.
J: No way! Did you see that latest picture of Paris?
Me: Yeah! I was just googling and daydreaming about it earlier.
J: You were googling about Paris??? Why? Paris is all over the news these days! No need to google about it anymore, sweetie.
Me: Paris is in the news? Oh, you mean about the President's anti-immigration stance?
J: No! About the jail term!
Me: Sarkozy's in jail???? Oh my god!
J: Who the hell's Sarkozy?! I'm talking about Paris!
Me: Me, too! But why would they jail Sarkozy because of his views on immigration?
J: (burning herself with her cigarette ash.) S#@%!
Me: (burning my tongue on my hot coffee) S#@%!
Me: Arggh! Who cares about Sarkozy anyway? I STILL want Paris.
J: (raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow) Are you turning lesbo on me, Kim?



Gawd, what a mixed up conversation that was! Ahahaha!

And, I have nothing against people of the third-sex, but I most certainly am NOT a lesbian.

And, I STILL want Paris (France). *** Sigh. *** Don't you just love love love Fridays?

21st Century Taboo (Adobo-Style)

MSN UK recently listed ten 21st century taboos in an opinion article (read it here), and asked its readers which one(s) they’re guilty of. Ticking some of them off one by one, I’d say:

1. I have never given a beggar money – not because I’m a Scrooge, but because crime syndicates rampantly use the “Help-me-I’m-poor” ploys and some greedy lazy parents criminally use their kids in the “Help-me-I’m-young-AND-poor” gambits here in Metro Manila. I have, however, once given a poor tattered-looking boy my packed sandwich when he had approached my car that was, at that time, stuck in traffic. That wasn’t taboo, Mr. MSN. That was… uhm, me sticking to my no-carbo diet.
2. I am a deeeeee-voe-ted Princess Diana fan. I have an altar dedicated to her in my closet [because I don’t want anyone to see it :-)]. Never would I ever malign her name. Shame on those who would!
3. I like gentlemen. Opening doors for women is not a taboo. It’s common courtesy. Heck, I’D open a door for another woman, if (a) she’s older than me and (b) she’s overburdened with ten million things in her arms. Kill me with a spoon whydontcha, if you disagree.
4. Lennon’s “Imagine” is a classic. It is an idealistic piece of shmooze, and is number 23 on my computer’s digital music player list. I’ve also got “Hey Jude” on my song list… What can I say? I’m a quasi-Beatle-Fan reincarnate.
5. I am an advocate of non-fat milk. Whenever I drink it, I feel like I didn’t gain an ounce. It doesn’t mean I’ve actually lost weight, but I feel like I did. Therefore, I am a staunch advocate of non-fat milk.

With regards to the five other taboos listed - I gotta admit I have absolutely no idea what the guy was talking about anymore, since they’re too “British” for me to relate to, but here are some that people of my culture and in my society would most probably consider taboo in the 21st century:
a. Wearing t-shirts over your bikinis on the beach.

Why’d you buy a bikini in the first darned place, honey?

b. Singing “Thriller” at your favourite karaoke bar.

Let’s face it. That Michael Jackson song really fits Michael Jackson’s vocal range and Michael Jackson’s alone. Your “hoohoos” and “heehees” would never sound like Jackson’s. Give it up. Try singing something by Ne-Yo now. I hear his song “Irreplaceable” is quite a hit. Especially if you’re drunk.

c. Begging.

Right now, I believe they call this act “Selling.”

d. Playing with real marbles and real Barbie dolls.

PS3’s and laptops, according to the general up-to-date consensus from ten-year-old kids and kids-at-heart, are way cooler than boring old games like these. Besides, ancient things like marbles are no longer being manufactured, and Barbie dolls are for older women and gay men who collect such things as memorabilia of their once-upon-a-time youth.

e. Eating with your hands.

One word? Ewww.

f. Using hairspray

Like, oh my gosh! Haven’t you ever heard of, like, CFCs?
Or is it CCFs?
I, like, could never get that dangerous thingamajig’s name straight. But, like, my gosh!
Haven’t you heard of them, like, at all???

g. Consuming meat.
See letter “f.”

h. Speaking only one language.
Yes, I understand you’re a true-blue Filipino, man. I know exactly how you feel. But, you just GOTTA learn how to speak English well, man. You just GOTTA. Please understand: “piss” and “peace” DO NOT RHYME, man. They just don’t, you know what I mean?

i. Getting married at the church where your parents got married in.
This was soooooooooo ten minutes ago – that tradition died together with Mandy Moore in the movie “A Walk To Remember.”

j. Getting married.
Period.

Allergic to Love

To Tina Turner, my heartfelt thanks. When I first heard her sing “huwaaaaat’s love got tah do / got tah do with it,” my four-year-old brain immediately connected with the lyric, and it became a strong testament to my then sponge-like absorption of things new: “What’s Love Got To Do With It” was the very first song I sang in one of my countless recitals as a kid. I even kept the Tina outfit I wore (no wig back then – too gauche, my voice teacher thought), in memoriam of that particularly embarrassing three-and-a-half minute worth of fame, an experience among numerous others, which I would not care to repeat in future lives.

Now, twenty years later, I think that Tina said the most brilliant thing and sang the most heartfelt song ever. Ember Anne blogged about something similar on her own site (which, weirdly and eeringly, sounds like my own life story being told – by another person whom I’ve never met before) and it got me thinking about two things: (1) what, indeed, does love got tah do with anything, and (2) am I allergic to relationships?

I have girlfriends who have/had bad relationships. Their stories range from coping with temperamental/jealous/unfaithful boyfriends/husbands, to living with woman-beating s#%* heads, to giving their hearts to lying, cheating men who are in “wedded bliss” with other women. Because I love these lady friends who trust me enough to tell their stories to, their influence and their lessons have a profound effect on me.

Because of them, I think I’m afraid to take risks and let myself go.

Add to that the fact that I read blogs by women like Girlie Monkey and Mindy in Minneapolis – and I think, if svelte smooth sexy women like them (at least that’s how I perceive them to be) have trouble in the dating world, what more for me???

I try to forget about the horrible experiences(sssssss) I’ve had with the opposite sex back when I was a teen, but it’s not easy especially when I see a piece of monay (a big round-shaped piece of bread). I laugh now at the awful nicknames given to me by the boys back then, but…

Sometimes they’re still objects of my nightmares, you know?

And then, I read blogs like:

• Chrissy’s Life on Manitoulin, where a poor character named “hubby” is awoken at two o’clock in the morning to save a rain-soaked cat (he was smart enough to just roll back to sleep, though);
• Jimmy’s UncivilOne, where he captures images from websites his ex-wife likes and pastes them onto his own blog (awwwww, how shuweet);
• Curiosity Killer’s custom-made site, where she talks about her extraordinary life in Hong Kong (I’ve never come across a “love”-related issue/angst yet in her blog, so please DON’T correct me if I’m wrong);
• Ganns Deen’s personal site, where he posts songs of praise and love, and shares stories about his life-made-in-heaven with wife "C," son "N1," car Gigi, and soon-to-be daughter "N2"; and,
• PJ’s Tech Shark blog, where words like “halubshu” and “mahal” dedicated to a woman named Conne abound.

So, in answer to my own concerns…
(1) What’s love got tah to do with it, Tina? ANS: Everything.
(2) Am I allergic to relationships? ANS: Yes. But I try and “cure” myself of this allergy through daily doses of bullet-points one to five, mentioned above. Thanks to them, hope remains.

A Nightmare Come True

On one of our sojourns to the Ice Vodka Bar in Greenbelt 3 on an early Friday evening, three of my friends and I reacquainted ourselves with Liza, one of the bar waitresses, and dunked our collective angst in booze and cigarette smoke. We were, once again, taking horrible advantage of the bar’s PhP395+ (roughly around US$8.78+) drink-all-you-can vodkatinis, which are headily combined with a salmon pizza that’s good for one’s supper. You oughtta tell by now that my MadDoggerz and I spend plenty of time and money on this awesome promo package that the bar offers its patrons during its lean hours, 1800H to 2100H.

However, it was on this fateful Friday that I heard one of the weirdest songs I’ve ever heard. Ne-Yo sang his hit tune “Irreplaceable,” which he had originally written for Beyoncé. When the song’s Intro beats started blaring from the bar’s humongous speakers, everyone on the dance floor started their usual bump and grind, but instead of the normal “To the left / to the left” lyric, Ne-Yo sang:

“To the right / to the right
Everything you own in a box to the right
In the closet / Yeah, that’s my stuff
So, if I bought it / Bitch, don’t touch…”

It was already 2200H when Ne-Yo assertively screamed these words through my fuzzy brains (I wouldn’t blame me for being a wee bit buzzed by this time – I’d started on the vodka drinks at 1800H, for cryin’ out loud). So, I then happily pointed out to my friends that Ne-Yo f***ed up his own lyric, resolutely sang my own completely indecipherable words in time with the song’s beat, and purposefully struggled off of my bar stool to dance drunkenly in front of two very sexy guys.

I was told that no more than two minutes passed when my companions (read: ex-friends) forcibly pushed me out of the bar door, hailed the first cab they saw, and dumped me with the poor, hapless taxi driver. I distinctly remember waving goodbye to the two aforementioned hotties, but I don’t think they waved back. I also think I ruined a pair of good fuck-me shoes that night, but I don’t remember where I’d put them now.

…

Come to think of it, I don’t even remember if all these things really happened to me on this supposed Friday night. Gawd, I hope not, coz I just blogged about it to the whole wide world.

Monday Mlues

The fourth of June started out badly for me. I had an hour’s travel time, from Quezon City to Makati, waiting for me as soon as I woke up at 0530. Breakfast wasn’t exactly the best that it could be, although my dad (who’s cooked breakfast for us since time immemorial) did his damnedest to get the organic rice cooked on time. It was the first time he’s ever handled organic rice, and albeit his good intentions, his results were an absolute disaster. From here on end, my bad day blues, henceforth known as “Monday Mlues” starting pouring. Mlue #1: a busted breakfast.

The trip to Makati City was as bad as expected, especially on Monday. A twenty-minute build-up in a small minute part of the gawd-forsaken highway called the Epifanio Delos Santos Avenue, or EDSA for short (which really stands for “Every Day Superdupersloooooow, Aw-c’mon-i-did-not-swerve-across-that-lane-i-swear-mister-officer”) was hellish, as usual, but what was particularly surprising was that there was another thirty-minute disaster on Buendia Avenue. What should have been a mere five-minute ride to our final destination became a half-hour nerve-racking Mlue #2: the tempestuous trip.

As soon as I stepped into the office, I cannot friggin’ believe what happened next. My cute sandals’ straps broke off! Mlue #3: shoddy shitty shoes.

My desk was also being attacked by a zillion tiny little buggers that grew from the overflowing trash can our office maintenance personnel forgot to take out last Friday. Mlue #4: icky icky insects.

Then I received an e-mail entitled, “Di ta guae yong khee.” At first, I thought, “well that’s a weird e-mail subject,” so I read it. It was one of those supposedly funny stories people e-mail to each other, telling the experience of a Filipino college student who tried to help his classmate take care of the latter’s ailing father in the hospital. His classmate was Filipino-Chinese, whose family spoke fluent Fookien (a Chinese dialect from the Fujian province of China). As he tended the old man, the Filipino student suddenly heard the patient repeatedly gasp, “Di ta guae yong khee! Di ta guae yong khee!” Then, the old man just died. The stupid author was trying to be morbidly funny, but his humour sure as hell didn’t pass muster with me. Number one, “di ta guae yong khee” is a horrible Anglicized translation of “You’re stepping on my oxygen.” Number two, the author kept on repeating that his classmate was “intsik,” that the classmate’s family was “intsik,” and that he did not understand the “intsik” language. The term “intsik” is a derogatory term locals here use to refer to their fellow mix-blooded Filipino-Chinese nationals. And, number three, even if this story is false, pray tell, why the hell is a story about manslaughter funny??? Mlue #5: black-and-blue bigotry.

I just wanted to say: Mondays suck.

Big time.

And, so do Thursdays. I oughtta have a “Thursday Thumpers” entry, but I better get through with this Tuesday first before “Tuesday Chuvaness” occurs.

Getting Along Swimmingly

W. Chan Kim and Renée Mauborgne wrote of “blue ocean strategies” that may be applied in the business world. True enough, they gave samples of organisations and leaders who are creating blue oceans of their own: Canada’s Cirque du Soleil, Australia’s Casella Wine [yellow tail] brand, and Korea’s Samsung, among others. Even the company that I’ve just recently signed up with, Direct With Hotels, is trying to create its own blue ocean in the worlds of the tourism and hospitality industries.

Personally, though, I think each person has the ability to create his/her own blue ocean. A blue ocean is (I’m paraphrasing as I go along, so please forgive me for any missteps in explaining what a blue ocean is ) that area where a person or an organisation creates a “unique” environment where other people/organisations would find it hard to compete against it. For instance, Cirque du Soleil did away with animal shows, three-ring stages, and expensive “big named” circus artists who ask a premium for their performances. Instead, it focused on providing pure entertainment, not for children, who are the traditional target market of big league circuses, but for adults. Similarly, I think an individual can create his/her own blue ocean through what Kim and Mauborgne called “value innovation.”

In my case, I think I can start building my own blue ocean if I start “rearranging” my daily attire. No more loose jeans and floral-printed shirts for this baby. No more head bands and scrunchies (not in public at least). Target market: rich youngish-looking bachelors with kind hearts. Hence, low-cut v-necked tops, dark coloured clothes (to hide the unavoidable bodily curves and bumps) flowing or sexy skirts, and subtle hair accessories are, I think, what Dr. Cosmopolitan has just ordered for me. Also, no more hiding the fact that I’m an alluring combination of both “smart lady” and “smarty-pants”. My competitors who are stuck in the “red ocean” market, in my humble opinion, consciously depict themselves as bimbos who can’t lift a finger when it comes to facing an adversary. Why they do so is beyond me. Likewise, no more wishing for Prince Charming. I just recently realised he does not exist. My friend Winky had advised me in one of our heart-to-heart conversations that in the game of love, a woman ought to have “low expectations and great fun.” Amen, sister, AMEN.

Furthermore, I think that in order to expand my own blue ocean, I would have to create new values to my person – values that other people, whose trust and respect I need to have, would also value. Wit, fun, humour, brains, and passion are “things” that I wish to possess – thus far, I don’t think I’ve failed in acquiring them. There are other values that I wish to imbibe, though: generosity (but not to the point of stupidity), wisdom (but not geeky), strength (but not super duper muscular that I’d look like ArnoldA Schwarzenegger), and true beauty (hello, Nip | Tuck?).

My blue ocean is still in the making and I don’t think it’ll be completely achieved until I reach the ripe ol’ age of 35 (!). As my blueness is still a work-in-progress, I’ll carry on doing what I do best, and blog ‘til I bleed out of my ears. Regardless of how long my blue ocean’s going to be developed, I think I still have the chops to get along with the rest of the world quite “swimmingly”.

Home

Inspirations

For these past two weeks, I’ve been writing our project’s final report which would eventually be submitted to our funding agency, the European Commission. (If you could, please check out the project/consortium website I had helped develop, www.comqual.com. :-)) My brain juices have essentially been bled dry during this excruciating procedure at work, and I just had to seek out inspiration to keep myself sane.

Time’s list of 100 Most Influential People in the world today was my constant desktop companion during my sojourn into this final project documentation. I must admit, there were names there that made me raise my eyebrows: Osama bin Laden (who’s categorised under “Leaders and Revolutionaries” – but I tend to think of him as the face of 9/11, as opposed to “leader”); Brad Pitt (who’s still recognised as “Artist & Entertainer,” but is generously praised for his film producing powers and his philanthropic ambitions); and, Elizabeth Edwards (labelled as a “Hero & Pioneer,” because she embattled and is continuing to embattle breast cancer. Of course, I am aware of cancer’s omnipotent destruction – my mother underwent breast cancer surgery in 1990, a young cousin died of leukaemia, and a college classmate had fought valiantly against yet still succumbed to bone cancer. But Edwards, a politician’s wife, is, in my humble opinion, neither a hero nor a pioneer because of cancer. Thousands of other people are battling other fatal diseases and illnesses, but they are not placed on pedestals by commercialised news or feature magazines. So, I have to ask: why?).

Time’s list got me thinking then, who’d be on my personal list of ten “most inspirational and influential” people? I count them (from the past to the present, and hopefully into the future) down here:

10. Drew Gilpin Faust: First, a confession - I’ve never heard of Faust prior to reading Soledad O’Brien’s write-up about her on Time.com. But I certainly have heard of Harvard – and of its paternalistic management history. Upon reading of Faust’s appointment as the premiere educational institution’s 28th president, I felt goosebumps rise on my upper arms and a thump in my chest, while I thought, “If Faust can do the near-impossible, so, perhaps, I can, too.”

9. Oprah Winfrey: Nelson Mandela gently reminded Time’s readers of the obstacles Winfrey went through before she got to where she is today, Chairman (yes, she calls herself Chairman, not Chairperson) of her own company, Harpo Productions. She was molested by her cousin’s older boyfriend when she was a mere slip of a girl; she was often passed over earlier in her career for other “more beautiful” female reporters; she was (and still is) often ridiculed for her weight issues; and, she is a daily target for tabloid fodder and public jealousy. Essentially, however, Winfrey shone through, creating choices and grabbing opportunities that went her way. Her perseverance, wit, and compassion are what keeps me glued to her show and to her website – she leaves me breathless while I anticipate to see what she has next up her sleeve.

8. My friend, Kai: a single mom, who’s managed to bring up the most wonderful boy who’s graced my world.

7. Nelson Sulpico: In July 2004, Sulpico, a Filipino taxi driver from New York returned every single piece of jewellery, collectively worth thousands of dollars, to his passenger, showing the whole wide world the true brand of someone who’s been privileged to call himself a “Filipino.”

6. Ziyi Zhang: My favourite foreign actor is a woman - a high-flying, ass-kicking, beautiful woman of pure Chinese descent, whose drive and ambition made her a great English-language communicator and caused men of various races to drool. Hers is the face that launched the faces of a billion other 21st century Chinese-descended women, me included. Her brain is nothing to scoff at either – which, equally, makes me look damn good.

5. Maya Angelou: Her words resound in my head whenever I feel like crap: “I am a woman / Phenomenally / Phenomenal woman / That’s me.” Now, tell me: how could I not admire her?

4. My first grade home-class adviser: Mrs. Baja and I fell in love with each other at first sight. She with my messy pig-tail tied hair, I with her kind eyes. She gifted me with my love for learning, and I gave her a leather hand bag that she constantly carried with her, all throughout my high school years. I’ll never forget her.

3. My aunt, Beth: She is what society would call an “old maid.” To me, she is what I hope to be someday - a rebel with a great cause, a generous heart, and a brilliant mind, who is also waaaaay cool.

2. My papa: His gruff exterior and oft-undecipherable interior still makes me quake in my shoes whenever I know I’ve done something stupid. It is his face that haunts my dreams and his words that strike at my conscience if I go ahead with my baser instinct and do something to hurt another human being. Because of this, his name I’ll forever carry.


1. My mother: ‘nuf said.

Fun in the Sun, Vol. I, Series 2

Mitch, Conne, and I again hopped into a car two weekends ago, this time with a few other friends and family members [yes, PJ finally got his “weekend family getaway” with Conne and their toddling son. But, like I’d toldcha, Peej, I’m sorta like family to you. You can’t get away. Mwahahahaha :-) ].

We traversed the South Super Highway, erstwhile known as the Sergio Osmeña Highway (why they changed the name, you may ask? I have no clue whatsoever. People usually don’t give a hoot about the changes made and still call the streets whatever name they had originally been baptised with. Oy!) Mitch rammed us through the smaller and bumpier streets of Batangas province – at a speed of at least 150 kph (which is equivalent to a little more than 93 mph)! Gawd, I’m still trying to untwist my poor maliciously distorted intestines. But, setting Mitch’s barf-brewing driving skills aside, the time we spent in Kabayan Resort was abso-bloomin’-lutely wonderful. I think we each made a couple of new friends, saw and enjoyed ogling attractive people of the opposite sex, and criticised (read: beeyotched about) our fair share of people who looked prettier than we did.

Since the rainy season is upon us now, I doubt I’ll be able to post another entry like this again, unless I go to Bermuda soon…

Tagged (again)!

Wooohoo! A break from work! Internet’s down, so I finally found time to compose an entry for mineistheearth. There’s plenty to say after more than a week’s absence online, so this is the perfect time to say them. Besides, my boss can’t blame me. I HAVE to do something while I’m here in his office, don’t I?


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.

1) Pointless Drivel
2) Shelli’s Sentiments
3) Curiosity Killer
4) Chrissy
5) Kim

Next select five people to tag: (if you haven’t done it already)
1) Winky
2) Raymond
3) Leigh
4) Ganns
5) Idjea


What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was about to start my freshman year at the Ateneo de Manila University. Come June 1997, I learned how to struggle graciously with a couple of subjects: Filipino 1 and PE (Fitness Walking)! I was never good at physical activities, but at least the gym workouts now are helping me compensate.


What were you doing 1 year ago?
I was starting my new job. :-)


Five snacks you enjoy
1) Nagaraya regular or adobo-flavoured crunchy peanuts
2) Canned peaches in syrup
3) Chocolate wafers
4) Ham with mayo on wheat bread and a glass of milk
5) Oreos and a glass of milk


Five songs to which you know all the lyrics:
1) Smooth (Santana feat. Rob Thomas)
2) Love Moves in Mysterious Ways (Julia Fordham)
3) Again (Janet Jackson)
4) Sana Maulit Muli (Gary Valenciano)
5) You Oughta Know (Alanis Morissette)
Note: I've memorised other songs, but these are the top five that I feel I can blog about without blushing.


Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:
1) Spruce up my folks’ home in Quezon City and purchase the title to my family’s ancestral home in Paco, Manila

2) Upgrade and buy up everything on my list of “I Wants”

3) Go on a trip around the world with someone special

4) Put up my own business – preferably something related to food and/or clothes

5) After accomplishing items 1-4, I’d start a pension fund, which would be, at most, 20% of my remaining net worth, and then I'd contribute the rest to charities that would benefit Filipino street children.


Five bad habits:
1) I smoke.
2) I crave for chocolate way too much.
3) I blog at work, something I really shouldn’t be doing.
4) I gossip. Kindly. :-)
5) I drink coffee as if it’s water.


Five things you like doing:
1) Travelling
2) Writing – hence, the blog. D'oh!
3) Reading Nora Roberts novels – my guilty pleasure
4) Singing in the shower
5) Having Wednesday or Friday night drinks with my Maddoggers!


Five things you would never wear again:
1) Anything with a floral pattern printed on it – these clothing items should be banned from the face of the earth, forever!

2) Butterfly clips to tie back my hair. They are soooooo ten years ago, man.

3) Fitted pants. My thighs have already revolted and won against these things.

4) Stockings without garter clips holding them up on my legs during a job interview - I did this only once in my life, when I had an interview for an internship position at J. Walter Thompson (one of the world’s largest ad agencies). The stockings started rolling down my legs as I descended a staircase, on my way down to the ladies’ powder room to re-touch my make-up. Due to highly strung nerves, I accidentally ripped the bloody hose as I pulled them up. I had to go bare-legged during the interview. It was just my luck that I forgot to shave my legs that day, too. *sigh*

5) Runny mascara during a job interview – After I took off the torn hose (please see #4), I was already sweating cats and dogs inside the very hot restroom. I checked myself in the mirror and simultaneously wiped dripping sweat off of my brow. Horrifyingly, a straight black line appeared from one end of my right brow to the other end of left brow, as soon as I put my hand down from my face.
Note: I still got the job at J. Walter Thompson, despite items 4-5.


Five favorite toys:
1) My PDA
2) My car
3) My office laptop – which I bring home to watch DVD’s on
4) My gym’s ab machine
5) My sister’s mobile phone, since mine sucks.

Burned!

A trip down to the town of San Juan in Batangas was exactly what the doctor ordered for me this past weekend. Expect another "Fun in the Sun" entry to be posted here soon (insert: I just love love love the fact that I live two to three hours away from a good beach - north, south, east, or west.)

However, the prescribed "drug" I took this weekend turned out to be addictive, waaaay too addictive... Today, I look as if I deliberately boiled myself alive. Head first. From my hairline down to my underarms, I'm an Oompa-Loompa personified. Oi vey.

The Dances That I’ll Never Dance Again

I love to dance.

By myself.

And, in private.

My moves are never ever to be seen in public. They’ve been known to stop traffic and cause horrendous appalling accidents that could have been avoided in the first place. But I’m game with trying new things at least once in my life. So, when my gym trainer suggested that I try out the aerobic classes they were offering to all gym members, I thought, “Sure, why the heck not? How bad could it be?”

Well, I found out a few days ago exactly how bad it CAN be. It can be stupendously horrible, atrociously bad, and hideously awful. First off, the aerobics instructor was a man - one who is more girly-girl than I am. Jesus, he has an hour-glass figure and a flexible frame. He has shaved legs, too, to boot! Second, he was very very good, but had a soft soft voice. I stood at the back of the class and struggled to hear his instructions. To my mortification, I found myself with a pair of tangled legs, two lead arms, a dreadful rhythm, and THE sweatiest body to hit that dance floor EVER.

As I went through the class, I distinctly heard him instruct us to do the “mambo,” the “cha-cha-cha,” and the “boogie” several times during the exercise routine. My gawd, I have not had any training whatsoever in dance (except the ballet, when I was five years old), so I ended up massacring all three dance steps. My brain and my hips swayed in opposite directions; my two left feet brought me crashing into other students; and, my stiff hands stubbornly clutched at my waist.

I checked my watch – I’ve only been in the class for 20 minutes and I decided I’ve had enough. The instructor has ordered us to pair up... Pair up?! No friggin’ way. I’d much rather take my individual humiliation and drown myself in a Jacuzzi. Moral lesson learnt: I’ll stick to fantasizing about Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing, Mikhail Baryshnikov in White Nights, Channing Tatum in Step Up, and Marques Houston in You Got Served. No more dreaming about dancing like the stars.

But, I’ll still hippity-hop my way around my 30-sqm condo to the sound of Jojo’s Too Little Too Late any darned time I want to, thank you very much.

Dear God

Thank you for not making me a young mommy. Below is the reason why I think you made me choose not to have kids surrounding me 24 x 7 x 365. They’ll probably drive me to drink too early too soon. But, lawdy, I just gotta love ‘em. And, thank you, for creating such wickedly funny people (teachers, most probably) who post these things on the Net, too.




And, God, please don't hate me, but I sooooooo agree with these following prayers:


Indeed, why DID you create siblings, particularly sisters, in the first place? I could have been much much happier as a single child.

Nevertheless, I acknowledge that you are omniscient and omnipotent. Elliot summed up my sentiments quite well, to tell you the truth:


Amen.

Stuck

Dedicated to Conne and PJ. Thanks for the ride yesterday. Also dedicated to our office building’s administrator/manager. May you rot eternally in your own edifice.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to hitch a ride with my friends, Conne and PJ, to my condo because rains started to pour down in the middle of the sweltering humidity we’ve been experiencing recently in this part of the world. Conne and I packed up our laptops and boarded the elevator that would take us down from the fourth level of our office building to the ground floor, where PJ was waiting. Ten seconds into the ride, the elevator car’s lights abruptly shut off, throwing us into pitch black darkness. Simultaneously, we heard an ominous thump and felt the car’s floor bump heavily against our feet. We mentally screamed: we’re stuck.

I swear, it was the longest minute of my life. Conne started wheezing (ladylike-ly, of course), and whipped out her mobile phone so we would have some semblance of light inside the 50-year-old elevator carriage. I silently prayed that there would be a button on the control panel that would signify “EMERGENCY. "A prayer was essential because some naughty building tenants had been scraping the labels off of the elevators’ buttons. Thankfully, though, there it was – a bedazzling yellow button with a black bell drawn on it. I pressed on it. Nothing. I pressed it again, harder. Still nothing. We mentally screamed: we’re stuck.

And I could not find my blasted mobile phone inside my personal black hole (i.e., my bag). So, I shouted for help. Conne breathed even more heavily (but ladylike-ly, of course). I shouted louder, and thought, “Is this it??? My end has come in the form of a 1x3x7-foot elevator cab, with dirty white walls that had badly scrawled curse words drawn on them?” I mentally screamed: I don’t even have a bloody boyfriend who’ll miss having me around!

Suddenly, the lights came back on. We heard a whirring sound (the elevator motor, I presumed), and praised whatever god there may be, for it seemed as if our ordeal with the small, bad, elevator was over. Another sixty seconds later, the doors chug-a-chugged opened. Hallelu - - wait - - where are we? On the seventh freakin’ floor. Never mind, never mind. We found a staircase and started our descent. We mentally screamed: we’re free.

While waiting for us inside his car, PJ fumed. We had made him late for his next appointment. We screamed: we got stuck.

Ten Weird Facts About Kim.

Thanks for tagging me, Conne! This kept me from drooling over my laptop at work today. Mega bored, man.

1. I can drive any type of commercial vehicle (even prefer stick shifts over automatic transmissions) and manoeuvre a yacht. I’m fairly confident that I can fly a plane, which is why I’m already searching for good flight schools. But - I do not know how to ride a bicycle.
2. I own over 80 bags. I only have about 15 pairs of shoes.
3. I abhor soft drinks.
4. I can speak fluent Chinese (Fookien, to be more exact) but cannot write in that language.
5. Similar to the fact that I need three alarm clocks before I feel compelled to get out of bed, I need (on average) three cups of very very black coffee (no sugar, no cream) every morning before my brain can function normally.
6. I use my right hand to write and to hold chopsticks, but I use my left hand in just about every other one-handed type of activity – playing badminton/tennis, texting on a mobile phone, carrying a bag, holding a cue stick, using a calculator, etc.
7. I recently bought a trendy-looking black trench coat to wear in the office. It’s 38 degrees Celsius outside.
8. I’m allergic to Maybelline lipsticks.
9. Like Chrissy, I’m also allergic to certain types of metals that are being commercially used to make earrings. Also, apparently, my ears prefer earrings made of gold. Too bad, gold earrings are so not in fashion now. Hence, I let my ears suffer.
10. I can only passionately play one piano piece from memory: Beethoven’s “Für Elise.” The first part only. I don’t know how to play how to play the second part.

Action-Packed Weekends

The past two weekends saw me enjoying two wild Hollywood movies: Antoine Fuqua’s “Shooter” and Sam Raimi’s “Spider-Man 3.” With a tummy stuffed full of caramel-covered popcorn and store-bought orange juice (this may seem like a yucky combination to some, but I actually prefer this to popcorn and soda. I hate soda/soft drinks) during these last two movie outings, I have to say I was on a pseudo-adrenalin rush.

Mark Wahlberg portrayed Bob Lee Swagger. Bob Lee (oi, whatta name! *muffled laughter*) is a disillusioned military sharpshooter/marksman who sequestered himself from the world when his spotter and best friend had been killed in a mission gone awry. Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker/Spider-Man, on the other hand, is a revered super hero saving New York City from the weirdest and most deadly enemies NYC has ever seen (spoiler: it’s a good thing the Sandman saw the error of his ways at the end of the film, for how, indeed, can you destroy sand?). True, Spidey hides his real identity from his adoring fans, but it’s only because he wants to protect his loved ones from harm. Unlike him, Bob Lee hides from the world because he felt that he needed to.

The difference between the two characters and the two movies is the result of the two different men who helmed the creation of these films. Fuqua used to direct music videos – he had actually won industry recognition for directing Coolio’s 1993 “Gangsta Paradise” video – and eventually moved into mainstream film making. I had watched three of his previous works: “Training Day” (starring Denzel Washington and Ethan Hawke), “Tears of the Sun” (with Bruce Willis and Monica Belucci), and “King Arthur” (where I first got to ‘know’ Clive Owens and Kiera Knightley). Comparing these past works with “Shooter,” though, I think that Fuqua has not lived up to the hype. Oh, Wahlberg’s great and everything, but it didn’t drive me wanting to relive the film all over again (which is my personal “metric” of what a great film is). In King Arthur, I wanted to be like Knightley’s Guinevere and I decided that Owens was the best Arthur ever (even though I didn’t originally think that he was right for the role). In “Training Day,” I bawled my way through most of the film, and wished that military men in real life ARE as dedicated, idealistic, and yummylicious-looking as the ones Willis and his comrades played onscreen were. In Training Day, I absolutely hated Washington’s misdirected and rogue cop character, and debated with friends about the ethics of the tactics used in today’s crime-fighting world. With Shooter, I merely watched the film, ate my popcorn silently, and wondered about why the movie ended the way that it did.

Raimi’s “Spider-Man 3” is another story: it abso-bloody-lutely rocked! And, he’s finally found a way to contain and control Mary Jane’s annoying screams! I think choosing Topher Grace to play Eric Brock/Venom was just perfect – I never could tell Grace and Maguire apart . There are some scenes that screamed “guilty pleasure!!!” scattered throughout the film (i.e., Peter dancing that nerdy dance in front of a boutique, MJ and Peter canoodling on a huge spider web), and I blushingly giggle at them. Raimi does have a sixth sense when it comes to knowing what his audience wants. I usually end up thinking, “well, that show was a wee bit embarrassing, but what the heck, I loved it anyway). C’mon, admit it. You watched “Xena: The Warrior Princess” and “Hercules” on TV at some point in your life, too… I grudgingly admit that I did. Every week. And I wore black for an entire week after both shows suddenly dropped out of boob tube existence.

Watching these two films were exhilarating, heart-pumping, and mind-boggling (*sigh* Philippine cinema has yet to catch up, unfortunately). Nothing else has the ability to take my attention away from everyday problems. Now, I am soooooooo looking forward to Harry Potter: Order of the Phoenix, Shrek the Third, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, Transformers, Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, Knocked Up, etc. etc. etc. Man, my savings look like they’re gonna be depleted this summer.

Because I Asked You to Ask, Chrissy...

I tried to resist. Oh, how gallantly I tried. In the end, I failed. I am seriously addicted to memes. If there’s a therapist out there who specialises in curing people out of this curious affliction, please please… stay away from me. I’m hooked.

Thank you for the mind-provoking questions, Chrissy! You’re brilliant.


1) First off, how did you come up with the title of your blog? What is the story behind your blog?

I love Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If.” The last four lines continuously inspire me to try and do better every day (regardless of what it is that I’m doing.)

“If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!”

I thought, “mine is the earth” sounds pretty darned ambitious and that it is so high and lofty an aspiration that it, somehow, got stuck in my head. I’ve been mentally carrying the phrase around everywhere I go for over ten years now, and it still continues to make me want, make me need, and make me wake up from bed each morning thinking, “will the earth be mine today?”

Just so it’s clear to my dear readers, though, I personally think that Kipling only meant to have the phrase “you’ll be a Man, my son” as a generalisation of every child on earth (aside from the fact that “son” conveniently rhymes with “run”). I am neither a Man, nor a son. I’m a girl, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a cousin, a hard worker – whose sum total could only be described as “woman.” Now, I’ll stop the poetic sensibilities here, before I start reciting Maya Angelou’s “I’m a woman, phenomenally / Phenomenal woman / That’s me.” Oi vey, as Ganns would say.

The story behind “mineistheearth”? As you’ve noticed, I only started this blog a couple of months ago, due to the persistent persistence of my dear friend, Conne, who, at that time, was hyper-geared up and super duper eager to reap the possibilities that blogging brings a person. Now, however, I seem to be spending more and more time on the blogsphere than she does. Again, my confession has to be reiterated. I am soooooooo hooked. I mean, just look at the length of this answer to question number one. Question number one! Sheeeesh.


2) If you could name ONE place that you've been to that you would love to revisit one day, where would that place be and why?

Shanghai. I’ve only been there once, and that was back in 1993 (I think). I am an urbanite, through and through, and everyone (from business writers to linguists to film makers to historians to economists to commercial/industrial workers to students to locals to foreigners…) has gone on and on about how Shanghai has become one of China’s greatest business and urban successes in the past five years. I want to see it for myself again, because in 1993, to me, Shanghai had looked like what Manila City did in 1983. In 2007, Shanghai, to me, looks like what Manila City aspires to be in 2013. I would want to know how the Shanghainese did it, and what Manileños like me can do to, again, be within Shanghai’s ‘marketability’ range.


3) What does "a typical day in the life of Kim" look like?

My workdays are pretty much the same:
• 0300H - manually turn off the air-conditioner in the middle of the night (the darned thing doesn’t have timer, unfortunately). Gotta save on electricity.
• 0600H – first alarm.
• 0700H – second alarm. Yes, I need a second alarm, or else, I’ll shut off the first and continue sleeping until noon. Lounge around some more on the bed. Read several chapters of the book on the nightstand.
• 0730H – third alarm – this signals my brain to zap the rest of my body out of bed. Prepare “Kim’s Time-Tested Fool-Proof 15-Minute Breakfast”: scrambled eggs with mayonnaise on wheat bread, and a glass of non-fat milk. Toast the bread if not too lazy. Try not to spoil the milk by leaving it outside on the table, because of being too lazy.
• 0745H – wash dishes and utensils used for breakfast.
• 0800H – hit the gym. Exercise excruciatingly. Take a shower.
• 0915H – start walking from the gym to the office. Control the sweat glands. Mentally run through the day’s schedule.
• 0930H – Gulp down the first coffee of the day. Go get a second cup of coffee to induce brain to work. Then, attend first meeting of the day. Then, work again. And, then, go attend another meeting.
• 1330H – power lunch.
• 1400H – work again. Sneak in some blogging every once in a while.
• 1900H – go home, which is about a 5-minute walk away from work. A better alternative, though, is to go have an after-work coffee or three glasses of gin pomelo with friends.
• 2300H – take a shower (It’s justified. It was hot outside!). Read same book.
• 0000H - Sleep.

Weekends are normally devoted to parents who live in Quezon City. Sit through their interview sessions about my life, in general (Please refer to blog entry entitled “Survivor: Metro Manila.”) Do homework/assignments from MBA school. Catch up on what’s happening on “CSI,” (Las Vegas, New York, and Miami), “Criminal Minds,” “Psychic Detectives,” “House,” [Hugh Laurie, I love you.] “Bones,” “Fear Factor,” “Martha Stewart Living,” “America’s Next Top Model,” “Project Runway,” “The Simpsons,” “Spongebob Square Pants,” and “Aang: The Last Avatar.” Indulge in watching trashy tabloid-y entertainment news shows. Tune in to the latest films being shown on HBO and on Star Movies. Sleep. Glorious sleep.


4) How would you describe your latest adventures in dating? What is your idea of your ideal partner? (Being realistic, of course! We're not talking Brad Pitt here!)

What “dating?” Please refer again to answer given to question number 3.

Ideal partner has to have hair like Fabio’s, a forehead like Akon’s, eyebrows like Colin Farrell’s, eyes like Lee Dong Woo’s, a nose like Denzel Washington’s, a mouth like Price William’s, a chin like Bill Clinton’s, ears like Ben Affleck’s, a body like Mark Wahlberg’s, money like Bill Gates’, a sense humour like mine, an intellect and a heart like my dad’s. Ha! No Brad Pitt at all! :-)


5) What is the most important belief/rule you have for yourself (and/or others)?

Karma, whether it’s good or bad, can bite you on the butt anytime. Also known as Confucius’ “The Golden Rule,” or as emphasised by the Christian Bible's Matthew Chapter seven Verse 12.

I want...

1. A sleek semi-new affordable sedan, preferably coloured forest green or canary yellow, so that I don’t have to commute in this gawd-forsaken heat.
2. A condo unit all my own, one that I’m not forced to share with anyone else, also preferably one that I pay real-estate taxes for, all by myself.
3. A heavy-duty Teflon-covered flat-bottomed all-around pan. I’ve always told myself that I’d buy one the next time I go to the mall, but somehow I always seem to get distracted by that cute girly skirt, that awesome James Dean-printed top, that über pro-looking blazer, that pair of softly-padded heels that are just to die for, and that yummilicious-looking plate of pasta.
4. Another cute girly skirt.
5. An awesome Bob Marley-printed shirt.
6. An über pro-looking pair of slacks to match my new blazer.
7. A pair of furry slippers to help my aching feet rest after a whole day of standing in the killer shoes.
8. A gym membership that lasts forever + a day to counter that sinful plate of pasta I shouldn’t have eaten last night.
9. An Apple I-book, with unlimited memory.
10. An Apple I-pod, also with unlimited memory.
11. Open source software to be known and advocated by every single living person on this planet! But, since that’s not possible, I’ll just concentrate on my own small set of friends, and make them convert to the belief that open source is the new tech god.
12. Tourism here in the Philippines to be better managed, so that Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and other ASEAN nations don’t continuously trample us in the international market.
13. A business of my own.
14. A food business of my own, separate from no. 13. The previous entry, however, would still be part of the service industry, since it’s what I’m most familiar with.
15. To know how to fly a plane.
    

This is in response to some very persistent acquaintances’ own lists of “I want’s…” As you can see, I have some on the list that are pretty achievable (i.e., skirt, shirt, shoes), others that are mild hallucinations (i.e., car, condo unit, I-book), and some that are extremely wild (i.e., better-managed Philippine tourism). My point? You can’t have ‘em all, bebes.

Survivor: Metro Manila

I’m twenty-six years old. Never married. Single. Smart. Employed. Chubby. Funny. Thrifty. Extroverted. Intelligent… no wait, I said that already. Laid-back. Short. Friendly (I suppose the clue to this one was the previous description “extroverted.” Duh.). But I’ve never really been independent.

I’m not like Chrissy or Curiosity Killer who have travelled extensively and worked vigorously in various parts of the globe. My life’s simple – but not idiotic or boring, contrary to what Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie seem to think of the lives of the world’s regular Joes and Janes. Recently, however, I’ve made a move to change all that: I moved out of my parents’ comfortable home in Quezon City and into a semi-expensive flat (read: scrimping and saving are absolutely necessary for an ordinary yuppie to be able to afford this room on a monthly basis) in Makati City.

Ours is a conservative society: normally, a child does not move out of his/her parents’ house here in the Philippines, unless s/he is getting married already or earning more than the parents do. Sometimes, people who’ve moved out of their respective parents’ homes in their college years or during their early early adulthood even move back into the parents’ nest once they do tie the knot. Causes: simple. Money’s hard to come by. Blue-collar work, and sometimes, even white-collared ones here basically do not support a middle-income lifestyle. Relying on mom and pop is sooo much more convenient than the alternative.

However, I consciously chose the alternative last September – and, so far, I can say that it’s been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. On my own, I’ve learned to survive. “Grocery Shopping 101” is a course that’s proved to be extremely valuable. Key lesson learnt: “detergent” is quite different from “dishwashing liquid.” The former is normally in granule form, and is, therefore, difficult to use to wash china with (even if they were hand-me-downs, china is still china is still china.) “Cooking for One” was also an important course. Key lesson learnt: one kilo of ground pork does not equal one serving. “Cutlery” covered some pretty interesting lessons, too. Here, my key lesson was that dull knives are way more dangerous than sharp ones. Why? I have no idea. But I’ve got the evidence of this fact bleeding on my laptop.

(Insert ‘bathroom-break’: got to go stop the bleeding. Note to self: include ‘band-aids’ in the grocery list for tomorrow.)

“Cooking 104” was exciting though. Many lessons learnt there. One, don’t just leave defrosted marinated meat inside the refrigerator for three straight days. They’ll give you intense indigestion that’ll send you straight to the hospital when you cook and eat them on the fourth day. Two, green eggs, albeit their emotional significance to you and Mr. Schmidt, are not good for you. Again, you’ll save another trip to the doctor’s if you simply throw them out. Three, store-bought pasta cannot be boiled until the water completely evaporates. That would only result in a ruined pan and, more importantly, a starving stomach, which would have to be assuaged with your umpteenth burger from McDonald’s this week. Four, look at bottle labels before you grab whatever’s inside those said bottles and use it on a dish/beverage. For instance, black vinegar used in adobo tastes grandiosely gross, and two teaspoons of salt instead of sugar in your morning instant coffee is just pure unpleasantness. I could go on and on, but I fear that I’ll just make you (1) get off your chair in disgust, or (2) barf.

Being on my own was not a hunky-dory-peachy-keen experience. Hoo boy, I haven’t even written about “Bathroom Cleaning 4.1” yet. :-) But, there’s still time to experiment, learn, enjoy, and survive in this rented condo unit. My lease ends in June, and I’m already begging my landlord to not kick me out yet. Seriously, I did not mean to set off the fire alarm on my second night. I love it here. Life is good.

Mineistheearth's Topic of Choice

My Catch 22: I started a blog two months ago, just for the heck of it. But, what is it about? I have no idea. So, I browsed through this site again, and concluded: this is just a mumbo-jumbo combination of whatever I feel like talking about, whenever I feel like blogging.

This is not a good thing. After all, according to many blog “experts”, like Ivan Henares, for instance, blogging should have a point – that a blog has to have a specific topic to talk about, whether it be about the things that can be made of bamboo; food; travel; books; writing; religion; music; technology; movies; history; dating; parenthood; work; appliances; antique furniture; humour; family; etc.

For the past week, I’ve been racking my brain on what topic I ought to pick for mineistheearth. I’ve considered writing about my work – but I have a tendency to complain about it sometimes, which is not necessarily something I want to advertise to the whole wide world. Besides, there was this French guy whom I was faintly acquainted with before, and who had worked as an intern for his country’s embassy here in Manila. He got kicked out of work because he made the mistake of writing negatively about someone over the Net, about how he didn’t like his co-workers, and about how he hated it there. Well, it shouldn’t come to a surprise that he got shipped back to France faster than he can say, “Mer…”

What about writing and reviewing books? Nah… scrap that idea. I like reading books, not writing about them. Back in high school, I had hemmed and I had hawed when I was required to write book reviews. Particularly because the teacher would give me a low score whenever my opinion about the book wouldn’t jive with hers! Oi vey.

Then I thought what about writing about food. I eat enough of it to fill up three people’s appetites in half a day, anyway. Thus far, it was the food-related entries posted here that resulted in the most number of comments per post (Restaurant meme and Foooooooooood!). So, I’m going out on a limb and say that maybe food is my passion The posts that I’ve drafted are mostly about food; I’m eating some food (chicharon, to be more specific) as I type this right now; I’ve just laid out the ingredients for dinner tonight (spaghetti putanesca); and I know what I’m gonna eat for breakfast for tomorrow (scrambled eggs with sandwich spread on whole wheat bread – I’m taking my nutritionist’s proposed diet veeeeeeerrrrrry slowly… compensating, actually). So, perhaps I’d be writing about food here.



However, I also like travelling. A lot. Problem is – I don’t really get to do it that often, due to various reasons (i.e., primarily, Mr. Budget S.A. Constraint is the culprit). Hence, whenever I travel, similar to what happened last January and February (All Smiles :-)), Fun in the Sun! Vol. I, Series 1), I like documenting it, just in case I don’t ever get to the same place with the same people again. Blogging about it seems like a great way to keep mementos.

What to do… what to do? So many things to do in so little time. No conclusion yet to this minor dilemma, but I’ll probably get to the bottom line of what mineistheearth is all about by the time June 2009 rolls around. For now, I’m off to watch Dr. House conduct medical diagnostic wonders on my DVD player. Maybe he'll be able to give me a clue on what I'm supposed to do here.

Friendship faux pas

I made a booboo a few weeks ago, and I can’t seem to forget about it. A friend, whom I thought was a good friend, is still pissed off at me about it. Yeah, yeah, sure – she recently relayed to a mutual friend of ours that she’s “okay” with me already, but my female gut instinct tells me that she still thinks I’m the pus that feeds the fungus at the bottom of an extremely mucky and muddy pond (just gotta paraphrase that line from Julia in My Best Friend's Wedding; it seems so darned appropriate at this time).

I’ve analysed and re-analysed this black hole that I’m stuck in. WTF happened?! I set up a dinner with my friends one boring Wednesday evening. Two, Jane* and Kiwi* immediately replied. Both said yes to the invitation. So, I meticulously noted down the date on my calendars (that’s how obsessive-compulsive I can be – having several calendars, I mean: on my MS Outlook, my mobile phone, and my PDA) and wait for Wednesday.

The day arrived. I texted Jane and Kiwi to confirm the dinner. Kiwi texted back: “Sorry. Am sick @ home. Can’t believe it! But y’all still have fun tonight.” Jane never bothered to reply. Another friend, Diane*, texted me that same afternoon, wanting to hook up with us, too. So, I called Jane’s office to again confirm her attendance. No answer. “Her mobile, perhaps?,” I thought. Nope, no answer there either – just a pre-recorded network voice message saying she can’t be reached. Hence, I texted Diane back, “Sorry, sweetie. Dinner not pushing thru tonight. Jane hasn’t confirmed anything, and Kiwi’s sick @ home. See yah soon anyway!”

I arranged a dinner date with another friend, then, and had a blast, sans Jane, Kiwi, and Diane. At eleven o’clock that evening, though, I checked my mobile, which has been buried inside my gym bag. Hmmm… Seven missed calls and eleven messages… the latter, unfortunately, are mostly composed of Jane’s ire (no pun intended). Last message went something like this: “Where are you?! I’ve been waiting for more than an hour here already! I’m going home. If you wanted to cancel, you should have contacted me first.”

WHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!!!! Bu… bu… but I did! So I texted her again once… twice… three times. Two apologetic text messages were sent that night. Another one was sent the next morning. I tried to make the apology sound serious. Tried to make the situation sound funny, yet the apology sincere. Tried to be assertive about it. Tried to reach out and be friends again – after making an apology. And, also tried to take any and all blame for what had transpired… Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Pfffft. That’s what I got as an answer from Jane.

I feel like the queen of all bad bad bad people in this cruel world. I told myself that I’ve done my part and that I should get over it. If Jane can’t see past it, then that’s the end of our friendship, I suppose. It sounds so girly and high-school-y, to me, but what the heck do I know? I’ve accepted this major faux pas, acted on it, and charged it to experience, but it still irks.

Therefore, this is the key lesson I’ve learned and wish to publish in blog history: check your damn mobile phone every five seconds, so you don’t feel like crap if ever somebody does miraculously call or text you especially when you least expect it. Your version of Jane would sure appreciate it.


*Names changed, for the sakes of propriety and of mine.