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.

The Kind of Sundae That I am

At first glance, people often think I'm a hard person to get along with, a snob, a greedy beeyatch... Oftentimes, people get to hear me first, before they even get to see what I look like. I guffaw, I burp, I scream, and I viciously curse. Whether these "accusations" are true or not, you tell me. But I've recently discovered I'm actually just a hot fudge sundae.

You Are a Hot Fudge Sundae

Classic, simple, and divine. Why mess with perfection?

Now tell me, what kind of sundae are you?

Tagged!

Chrissy left a message earlier, forewarning me that she's tagged me for this Restaurant Meme, so here I am, ignoring office policies and meme-ing to my l'il heart's content:

The rules:

1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the state and country you’re in.
Nicole (Sydney, Australia)

Velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)

LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)

Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)

Olivia (London, England)

ML (Utah, USA)

J (California, USA)

Curiosity Killer (Hong Kong, SAR)

Chrissy (Manitoulin Island, Ontario, Canada)

Kimmie (Metro Manila, Philippines)

2. List out your top 5 favorite places to eat at your location.

#1 LIYIMEN Seafood Restaurant - every Sunday, my dad takes us on a family "bonding" session over breakfast. La mama does not normally go, but us kids strive hard to wake up as early as possible on Sunday mornings to go to Banawe Street in our part of the metro, Quezon City, and stuff our faces full of dimsum, dimsum, and more dimsum. We don't normally talk ('coz, like I said, mouths are full of usually full of delicious dimsum), but we bond like crazy.

#2 Masas in Greenbelt 2 - Three words: Filipino food heaven! Plus Paul the Waiter... mmmmmm!!!!

#3 Teriyaki Boy - I know, I know.

It's a gawd-awful name, but this "fast-casual" Japanese restaurant has the best appetizer to ever hit the palate - it's a dish with long-stemmed mushrooms wrapped in lightly toasted bacon strips. Yum yum yum... And, its grilled eel on rice? Ooooohlala.

#4 Dencio's - this restaurant is synonymous to one of the Philippines' weirdest and most delicious food delicacies - sisig. I shan't explain anymore, and hope that you could just come over and enjoy Dencio's specialty yourself.

#5 Cirkulo - whenever I have this gut-wrenching urge for paella, there's only one place to be. Cirkulo on Pasay Road, Makati boasts of a fine dining atmosphere, sky-is-the-limit prices, and mouth-watering paella. 'Nuf said.

I can't resist - my apologies to the original creator of this meme, but I've got a 6th and a 7th restaurant that just cannot be missed.

#6 Alfredo's Steak House - I still remember that awesome day. It was my seventh birthday, and as per our family tradition, we went out to find the perfect spot to celebrate it in. We found ourselves on Tomas Morato Avenue in Quezon City (about 20 minutes away from where I live, with heavy traffic included), and Alfredo's Steak House seemed to be calling, nay, shouting, my name. I had my first taste of real honest-to-goodness saliva-producing steak. It's been my ideal restaurant ever since. You know... the "ideal" date place, the "ideal" celebrate-someone's-bday place, the "ideal" engagement place. THE IDEAL.

#7 Chocolate Kiss - my good friend from college, Shella, introduced me to this one. After a particularly grueling final exams' season, Shella said that we just HAD to go there. Located in the heart of the government-owned University of the Philippines' (UP) campus, Chocolate Kiss used to be a hush-hush secret of the creme de la creme of UP faculty members and students with money. During that first visit, I had spaghetti with meatballs, home-made iced tea, and blueberry cheesecake - the best combination to soothe a worried college student's soul. A must-try.

3. Tag 5 other people (preferably from other countries/states) and let them know they’ve been tagged.

I'm tagging:

- PJ: now that you're a little further away from our dear DWH's vicinity, what restos would you recommend there, near your new workplace?

- Danny: I haven't been to Sydney in, oh, 15 years! Tell me what's new there.

- Girlie Monkey: so aside from the thrown dinner rolls in Lambert's and Latino studs, what else is good to eat in MO? :-)

- Ivan: you've been practically everywhere. Give us the four-one-one, then: what are the best places you've eaten in, so far?

- Balikbayan Box: British Columbia's a pretty idyllic spot. Any recommendations?

NOTE: Pictures were downloaded from various websites over the Internet.

Fitness Angst

There’s nothing more annoying than someone else invading your private place. Now, as to how you define what your “private place” is, well, I’d say it depends. For instance, I can say that the condo unit I rent and pay for on my own is my private place, but my mom would highly disagree. She forces me to share it with my two NBSB (no-boyfriend-since-birth) sisters, which is, oftentimes, a deterrent to me, since I can’t just invite anyone over any time. It’ll be kinda awkward if I suddenly bring a guy I’ve newly met from a café over to the condo, and the sisters are there. It’ll be doubly awkward if they tell our mom embarrassing situations such as one cited above.

I also consider the bathroom a sacrosanct space. I mean, who’d want a person entering the restroom when you’re doing the number two??? But there’s a HUGE difference between a private bath/restroom and a public one. I don’t know about you, but I’d sure as hell don’t want to anger a “big momma” look-alike if she wants to use the vanity mirror above the sink I’m using – hence, I’d only take a few seconds to rinse my hands with soap and water and get out of her way as soon as possible. My mama did teach me some manners when I was growing up. One of her first lessons was: don’t deliberately try and piss off anyone who’s bigger, meaner, and bitchier than you are. I took that lesson to heart. Somehow, though, other mamas never managed to teach their daughters this very valuable lesson.

All this angst about “respect for others’ private space” grew out of my frustration with my co-members in the gym that I’ve recently signed up with. Now, this isn’t one of those cheap neighbourhood gyms that I’m now a “proud” member of – in fact, it’s one of the largest and most well-known ones worldwide (its advertisements even have Hollywood celebrities as spokes-models, e.g., Matt Damon, Vin Diesel, The Rock, Janet Jackson, and so on and so forth), so I had some pretty damn high expectations.

I’m cool with the equipment, the trainers, and such. But it’s just those other gym users that make me want to pull their hair out strand by strand.

Think about this scenario: you want to use a particular gym equipment to exercise a targeted area of your body – let’s say, your abs. So, you go to the ab machine, right? But there’s someone there – a perky little woman with abs flat enough to grill porterhouse steaks on is already using it. You think, “Fine. I’ll come back in five minutes…” Five minutes later, you go back. She’s still there, so you try to go find something else on your exercise programme to do. You go back again after another ten minutes, but SHE’S STILL FRIGGING THERE! And the thing is, she’s only used the machine at least twice (each set of ab crunches takes only about a minute to do) in the last 15 minutes! The rest of the time, she just sits on the machine and stare into space!!!!!!!!!!!!! WTF?! And, it’s the gym’s policy and the general users’ unspoken rule to not disturb anyone who’s doing his/her thing on the exercise floor. What are you gonna do? Skip the whole ab thing, and hope to god that you can make up for it the next time you go to the gym.

Now imagine yourself hitting the showers after an hour-long gym routine. Just ignore the greedy people who have dumped their clothes in the changing rooms (even though they’re not inside the rooms to change yet). Strip naked beside your locker (in full view of the unkind vanity mirrors), and cross your fingers that no one whispers about your abs that didn’t get freakin’ exercised that morning. Get a quick shower (coz you never know what cooties you may be getting from the shower area’s floor) and change. Now, try and use one of the two hair dryers that the gym has provided for its members. Go ahead, try. No luck? Ah, that’s probably because two gal-pals are still using both hair dryers while chatting up a storm. Don’t even bother waiting. They’re still gonna be there 30 minutes later, blow drying their super-mega-extra-unconditioned-long-thick-unruly hair while talking about how unsatisfied they are in their sex lives. On another day, you might get lucky and snatch up some precious time to quietly blow dry your own hair before you go to work. Pray to whatever-god-there-may-be that there’s not another person sitting on the chair next to you, drying her own hair. For sure, at some point during her drying routine, she’d whip her hair back and hit you in your face dead-on. Not a nice thing to experience. Believe me - I’ve got a few “hair whiplash” scars on my face that I’m still suffering from.

All these horror stories are making me feel ill about the thought of going to the gym. But, then I think, I spent a whole month’s hard-earned salary on this damned gym membership, and it’s going to be a hard pill to swallow if I stop now. So, fitness angst aside, I’ll huff-and-puff my way back to that gym, and by-george, you’ll see me pushing that skinny bitch off of the ab machine, dumping my stuff in the changing room before I even hit the gym, and pulling the hair of the next girl who uses the communal hair dryer for longer than 15 minutes. It’s plain ethics, man, just ethics.

Microsoft iPod

Sheer hilarity over Microsoft's brand of marketing versus Apple's Zen-like marketing strategies.

(Just had to take a break from work. This market survey thingie's driving me nuckin' futs.)

Kim @ Work

My beloved friend and officemate has officially decided that she's going to move on to new, and perhaps, bigger employment opportunities today. I FEEL SOOOOOOO LEFT OUT! Not because of the potentially bigger (and more profitable) opportunities she has at the tip of her hand, but because she has a firm direction in her professional life. She knows what she wants, she knows how to get it, and she's not looking back anymore. Me? I'm still at loose ends!

Hence, tomorrow, expect Kim to finally have control of her life... sometime after lunch - after a meeting with the boss. Oh, and I should remember to start sending out my CV already, damnit! I keep forgetting that.

Ok, enough venting. Back to my market survey, which is a part of a study/project that I have decided I will no longer be participating in after June this year. Why am I still doing it now if I won't be part of it anymore after this project ends? BEATS ME! Ayayay. I'm too lenient, I know. Giving away my services and making them use my MBA knowledge virtually for free...

Ok, now really, GTG back to work so I can start watching DVDs.

Fooooooood!

Okay, that last entry was a downer. I can't be feeling down when it's almost dinnertime!!! I'll lose my darned appetite, for chrissakes. Can't have that! So, I'm reminiscing and making a meme out of my most favouritest food ever.

1. French bread with honey

2. Adobo (any type - sweet, salty, pork, chicken, plenty, few - any type at all. I can drink adobo.)

3. Dimsum

4. Siopao (this usually falls under the "Dimsum" category in many menus, but I think it is a category all its own.)

5. Shrimp Salad (the hot version that's often served in Chinese restos here)

6. Potato Gratin (I've got such a mean recipe of this and can do it better than Tyler Florence can!)

7. Spaghetti Puttanesca (OMG)

8. Apple pie!

9. Nestlé Crunch chocolate bars (yeah, that's right. You read it right. Crunch bars totally beats out Godiva for me, every time, all the time. Seduce me with Crunch, and I'm all over you).

10. Oolong tea

10. White wine - a hundred times more delectable than plain ol' tea, don'cha think??

The Legacy of the 1940's

Chrissy and Curiosity Killer both wrote about the Rape of Nanking in their respective blogs. People placed comments on their blogs about the history of their families who went through World War II. And, I thought, well, that is just eerie... my mom and I have been contemplating about documenting my grandfather's memoirs for the last couple of years. After reading two Western bloggers' points-of-view about that era, I thought I could start the memoirs here.

Grandfather Geoffrey (let's call him GG from now on, since his name kinda takes a long time to type) was born in China's Fookien province, but was sent here to the Philippines in the 1920's, together with his adoptive parents. GG's folks wanted him (the last of a brood of three) to escape the opium obsession that his older brothers had already succumbed to. He grew up in the city of Manila, but moved to Cagayan de Oro City in northern Mindanao, to avoid detection by the immigration office. By the 1940's, GG had gone back to China, gotten his college degree, and lived again in Cagayan de Oro as a well-respected teacher of English (of all academic subjects to teach, huh?). When war time came, GG found himself using his academic and multi-lingual knowledge to great use. He eventually became a translator for both Japanese and American forces, during friendly and/or hostile negotiation situations. GG knew how to speak a little bit of Japanese - he had gone there already once before - but his main competitive advantage was that he was the only one in the entire city of Cagayan de Oro who can write words that the Japanese could understand and comprehend. You see, even though the Japanese had their own written language, kanji, they could still read and understand the mainland's language, since it was the basis of their mother-tongue. GG was an asset to the fighters in his area, and his "nerdy" skills went to very, very good use.

His war time memories are now hazy. When I ask him about them today, he flicks his hand and pooh-poohs, "I don't remember much anymore, and at this point in my life, I want to remember good stuff. I won't forget the bad stuff, but it's better for me to think of better things today, rather than concentrate on the 'bad luck' I've gone through before." *Sigh* I can't blame him.

The stories of Nanjing are not so easy to read, much less to recall and remember. Similar stories abound here in the Philippines. There are, in fact, still small groups of Filipino women, now octogenarians and nonagenarians (people who are of my GG's age), so called "comfort women" under the Japanese occupation, who call for justice. Apologies have repeatedly been asked for, but so far, nothing acceptable has been given. Their lives have been hell. Is this the legacy of the 1940's?

Filipinos and Filipinas: Biscuits with Holes and Domestic Helpers?

My nimble fingers typed in the word “Filipinos” on Google’s search box one day because I was looking for great and appropriate (i.e., non-porn related) images of my countrymen for a presentation deck I was preparing for my boss. Any stupid Filipino idiot would imagine that the ideal picture would be of a caramel-coloured Malay-descended doe-eyed raven-haired person with a toothy grin and flat nose. And, for sure, there are those pictures available on the Net (albeit ugly ones), but then here’s one that almost made me laugh (or gag, I couldn’t decide). A Filipino eating a Filipino… [now, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d be writing in a non-sexual way (no matter how hard I wish I did though).] Literally, a Filipino-looking man is shown holding some sort of food branded “Filipino.” Apparently, it’s a popular snack – or more specifically, a mass-produced biscuit – made and sold in Spain and Portugal. I would suppose it’s also sold in other parts of Europe, too, but obviously it’s not very popular here in the Philippines, since I’ve just about interviewed every Filipino I know who lives here in Manila about this, and not one said they’ve actually seen or tasted “Filipino.”


Of course, I wanted to find out more about this Filipino biscuit – so, I asked the only Española I was not shy to ask stupid questions to about the snack. She laughed at first and then recounted to me that when her own friends in San Sebastian (Basque Country in Spain) found out that she
was coming over to the Philippines, they gave her package after package of Filipinos. After claiming that the biscuits were über delicious (harrumph! I would have been highly insulted if
she said that Filipinos tasted nasty!), she mentioned that the
manufacturers of Filipinos have cashed in on the little piece of dough they used to poke out of the biscuit – they’ve turned them into “Mini Filipinos.” Imagine that… Mini Filipinos – the weirdest oxymoron I’ve ever heard thus far. My follow-up question to her was if Filipinos were developed and made by Filipinos living in Spain. Funny thing is, she doesn’t know.


So, I went on to the Net and searched for the official Filipinos’ website but there was no mention of who the owners of the Filipinos brand are. Very curious (i.e., suspect) indeed. In a food blog by someone named Steve, though, it said that Filipinos are sold by a company called United Biscuits, a UK company. I checked out the company’s official website, but Filipinos is not listed as one of its brands. Curioser and curioser… Then I found this article entitled “Kraft Foods Extends Leadership in Biscuits Through United Biscuits Acquisition in Iberia; Reclaims Rights to Nabisco Trademarks in Major Markets.” Aha! So, Kraft is the ultimate cu
lprit behind this controversial biscuit. A data point that needs digesting (no pun intended) and analysis, indeed.

With the weird result I received after searching for “Filipinos,” I then googled for the definition of the word “Filipina” that same day. Why? One, because I can; and, two, because I’d heard that in some quarters of the world, “Filipina” is synonymous to “maid.” Lo and behold – there it is… in 1998, news articles about Manila being hurt by the Greeks defining the “filipina” as a “domestic helper” were being distributed in the international market. Ayayay! Another controversy on our hands.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I certainly don’t think there’s anything derogatory or wrong about a woman working as a maid (cue in an image of Jennifer Lopez in that movie with Ralph Fiennes, “Maid in Manhattan”) If one is good at being a maid, that’s definitely something to be proud of, noh! A Filipina-Italian actress, named Alessandra de Rossi, was even able to penetrate a small portion of the international film market by starring in a 2005 horror movie directed by Singaporean Kelvin Tong, entitled… uhm… “The Maid”

(insert ‘roll of eyes’ gesture here). However, there are other nations that export their human resources to work in jobs as domestic helpers and such. Indonesia, for example, is a major competitor of the Philippines in this particular area of HR export and trade.

Being a Filipina, I find myself cringing at the thought of being defined as a “domestic helper.” There are Filipina CEOs, Managers, Presidents, Housewives, Employees, Teachers, Assitants, MBA Students, Actresses, Philanthropists, IT Experts, Engineers, Architects, Designers, Athletes, Entrepreneurs, Chairmen of the Board, etc. Didn’t the Greeks know this???

I presume there are going to be endless debates about these two topics. Regarding “Filipinos,” some say, “Boycott Kraft! Boycott United Biscuits!” while others exclaim, “Filipinos taste good. What’s the problem? I’d only be insulted if they taste like shit.” Anent to “Filipinas,” some say, “I refuse to be defined as a maid!” while others go, “Well, honey, the truth does hurt.” The bottom line for me, though, is this: I haven’t eaten any Filipinos yet (literally and figuratively), and I haven’t met any Greeks either. But this fun and funny blog entry sure took a looooong time to write – something I haven’t been able to do for quite some time. Therefore, I’ll hold back judgement of the “Filipinos” and “Filipinas” controversies for another lazy day.

What do you think, though?

Maria Clara No More!

To the uninformed, Maria Clara is a character created by Philippine National Hero G. José Rizal. Once upon a time, she was the epitome of who a Filipina is: demure, beautiful, mestiza (of mixed blood – typically between Spanish and native Filipino), semi-intelligent, conservative, obedient (sunud-sunuran in Tagalog), and whose life’s mission is to be her husband’s decorative asset within the household. Now, oh god, you’d be lucky to even find someone who even remembers what Maria Clara epitomised.

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of literature, scholarly articles, and research materials have documented the evolution of modern woman. I had watched this documentary on the National Geographic channel that featured the changes Chinese women have gone through – from their formerly highly-revered lotus feet to their power suits to their everlasting overt sexuality. La Oprah had sent people around the world to “introduce” different women of various nationalities to her American audience (*gasp* A Thai woman can go the spa everyday, with overall body massages costing only five US bucks??!! *double gasp* That’s the typical day-to-day outfit of an Kuwaiti woman? Where’s the burdah that CNN claimed all Middle Eastern women wear? Damnit, she looks better than me on any of my normal days). Official institutes of study, non-government organisations, and online groups have been formed to intricately monitor the daily/monthly/annual activities of the late 20^th and early 21^st century women. Books focusing on female romantic and sensual fantasies have been bestsellers in any important booklist in today’s public media (think of authors Nora Roberts and Christina Dodd, whose *ehem* “graphic” novels are perhaps many women’s outlet for sexual deprivation). Inhibitions have (mostly) been damned: clothes are coming off, veils are being lifted, voices are being heard, and looks are forever being changed.

At lunchtime today, I entered into an all-gloves-off conversation about men, sex, and relationships with my two best friends from work (there are only six of us in the office, myself included, so I’m quite lucky to count two of them as good friends). See, both of these ladies are married women – and they see it as their responsibility to educate single ol’ me about the opposite sex and “making love.” We talked about doing it with the lights on and off, with the eyes open or closed, with a mirror or without one, in the house, outside the house, on top of the house, in the car, hand jobs, and blow jobs. I tried not to show it, but sheesh mareesh… I am now realising how pathetic my life completely is.

Hence, I’ve decided. I shall be Maria Clara no more! If someone asks me who Mona Lisa is, I’ll say, “well, she ain’t me, that’s for darned tootin’ sure!” Look out, world – cleavages shall be shown; skirts shall be hiked up; and, nails shall be sluttily painted. I’m pretty sure none of these tactics will work though, not as long as I don’t lose the extra pounds I’ve been carrying for, oh, the last twenty-six years of my life. However, who gives a crap? It’s the twenty-first century. I’ve seen pictures of girls more voluptuous and more horizontally-challenged than me on the Net, baring skin, tits, ass, and all.

My new mantra: “Who’s Maria Clara?!”

íHace Calor! On a Good Friday

Lordy, is it hot, or is it hot?! Today, Good Friday, is supposedly the hottest day of the year, at least in the Philippines, according to my mum. I checked the weather today and apparently, it will be an average of 25 degrees Celsius today, with a high of 32 degrees. Add to that some cloudy skies and plenty of overwhelming family members, and voila! I've got a heck of a day to go through.

It's actually not so hot today, if I were to base my observation on the temperature mentioned above. We go through days that are a lot hotter than these, all year round. I suppose one only notices and feels the weather more succinctly today because one is not usually holed up inside a comfortable air-conditioned office on this Holy Day. There's less to complain about, and even lesser to talk about, other than good ol' fashioned weather.

Rather than fully focus on my un-Christian-ly manners and mistakes, and on the ungodly heat that Good Friday is promising to have, I'd rather channel my energies on opportunities that everyday-living and the Great Man Upstairs have brought me today. To them, thank you.