That Nice Boy

In a cab, after hearing a commercial radio jingle:

T.N.B.: I don't believe my ears. Did she just say, "I'm a juicy girl"?

Dawn: Yes. I wonder which part of her is juiciest.

~

In a coffee shop, discussing cooking shows:

dark_beloved: I miss Wok with Yan. How old is he now? They should revive his show.

firewomyn: Well, if they ever do, they should call it Wobble with Yan.

 

ME: I don't like condoms.

DAWN (commiserating): I don't like condoms either.

DEN (chirpy): I like condoms.

DAWN (concerned): You don't like condoms; you just don't mind them.

DEN (adamant): No, I like condoms.

DAWN (accusing): You like condoms. You're WEIRD.

ME: *uproarious laughter*

~

ME: Have you ever noticed how everybody's pairing off?

PODI: Yeah, like, is this fucking Noah's Ark?

 
I was at the mass for Jun Lozada yesterday. I was there at my friend Denden's insistence. Now most of my friends know that I'm not the type who goes to such events, but Den doesn't take "no" for an answer. So I went. (I believe a parenthetical explanation is in order. It's not that I don't give a damn about my country, but the belief system that I have does not include active involvement in political affairs. I'd explain some more, but it would go against my apolitical nature.)

I don't know why, but I had an attack of the giggles when the time came to sing The Lord's Prayer. The elderly man to my right must have thought me a lunatic.

~

That night, we were in the parking lot of Shangri-La mall when Denden said that she received text messages from four people saying they saw her on the telly. We tried to remember when the camera from a local network was trained in our direction. Then it hit us. It was during the time everyone was singing "Bayan Ko" in the classic I-am-socially-aware-and-I-am-protesting-something-dammit mode (fists high in the air, teary-eyed, just the right amount of tremor in the voice). Dawn and I were relieved because we both had our arms crossed the whole time. Den had her right hand clenched in a fist over her left breast. She's all right--it wasn't too embarrassing. 

Then Den said, "I hope they didn't have the camera on us a long time."

"Why?" Dawn and I chorused.

"Well, there was a part when I really...felt the words to the song..."

"And?"

"And I had my eyes closed."

Dawn and I start giggling.

"But I really like that song!"

We die laughing.

FRANCIS: You don't love me!

PETER: Yes, I do!

JACK: I love you, too, but I'm gonna mace you in the face! 

- from The Darjeeling Limited

 

It fucking POURS. I am up to HERE in financial woes, and my fucking PHONE fucking BREAKS DOWN on me.

I don't think you'll be able to reach me through my mobile number for about a MONTH.

B-E-A-U-tiful. Just fucking beautiful.

I'm happy to report that things are picking up at work. After a few weeks of nail-biting, it certainly is a welcome change. This new project has given me reason to hope. It may be a longshot, but at least we're doing something to stick it to The Man.

Tanginaaa.
Tangina naman, e.
Tangina. 

~

Malakas akong kumain, at hindi naman ako tumataba, kaya todo-todo na lang ang ginagawa kong pag-e-F.T. ('yung tipong basta tinamaan ng craving, ay hanap naman agad ng makakainan). Kahit malayo pa 'yung lugar na gusto kong kainan, hindi talaga ako mapipigilan. At naghahatak pa talaga ako. (In fairness, minsan ako din naman ang hinahatak ng kung sinu-sino.) Masarap kasama sa ganitong mga trip si Dahlia o kaya sa J-mie, kasi parang mga karpentero din kung kumain! Susunod dito ay isang listahan ng mga lugar na madalas naming puntahan.

1. Hen Lin - kahit saang branch. Basta siomai, Hen Lin.

2. Taco Bell or Mexicali - kung trip mo namang kumain ng pagkaing sagana sa maize, mamili kayo sa dalawang ito. Mas mura sa Taco Bell--subukan mo 'yung Crunch Wrap Supreme. Sa Mexicali naman, mas mahal, pero mas marami kang pagpipilian--quesadilla, burrito, taco, at kung anu-ano pa.

3. KopiRoti - kung hanap mo naman ay matapang na kape at masarap na tinapay, sa KopiRoti ka na magpunta. Cozy na cozy yung lugar, tapos reasonably priced pa 'yung items sa menu nila. Try mo 'yung French Toast nila. Hindi ka magsisisi.

4. Sbarro - may kamahalan, pero busog ka naman. Subukan mo dito 'yung Chicago White deep-dish pizza. Tingnan ko na lang kung makaulit ka pa. Hindi ka makagagalaw sa matinding kabusugan.

5. Amici - sa kahabaan ng Pasay Road, sa gilid ng Don Bosco - Makati. Maganda 'yung lugar (na-renovate na siya mula noong huling punta ko doon), parang high-end cafeteria. Galing lang kami doon kanina, kasama ko si Ron at si Aimee. We had their Fantasia pizza. Thin crust, kaya lasang-lasa mo 'yung mga sangkap, at walang umay. Kilalang-kilala ang Amici dahil sa gelato (ice cream) nila. Subukan mo 'yung mint with chocolate chips gelato nila--dalawang scoop na, para solb.

Hanggang dito na lang muna. Dadagdagan ko na lang ito kapag may iba pa akong mapuntahan o maalala. Kapag may alam din kayong iba pang lugar na masarap kainan, mag-iwan na lang kayo ng comment or send me a message.

P.S. Hindi naman talaga ito kainan, pero ihihirit ko na rin. Kung matinong inuman at asteeeg na sounds ang hanap mo, magpunta lang sa Anthology sa Malate. Rak en' rol.

To say that my first day back at work was hellish would be an understatement. 

First ominous portent: The class started on a Wednesday. It's a five-day training program, which meant (I'll explain the use of the past tense) that the last day of class would have been on Sunday. Nice.

The training's in our Cubao office. I live in Parañaque.

So on Wednesday evening, a little more than 6:00 p.m., I found myself on the bus to the Makati office because I still had to get my training materials. I even congratulated myself for having the strength to shake off the post-holiday lethargy that clung to my bones like so much static. I found myself a seat, and scrunched myself into a corner of the bus. A few seconds into the trip, my nose prickled. It was an acrid smell, and it could have only been...vomit, on the window sill. And still fresh. It was the most disgusting thing I've seen in a while. (Skip this part if you're squeamish.) It was only a few inches away from my nose, as I have a habit of resting my head on the glass of bus windows. It was mostly regurgitated rice and, uh, bile. It was an evil yellow. I quickly moved to the seat across the aisle.

Traffic was heavy. Big deal, right? Traffic's always heavy in the metro. The traffic conditions that night, however, were much worse. There were deep excavations in the road, and vehicles moved slower than an adult snail along the northbound stretch of Roxas Boulevard between MIA Road and Baclaran Church. It was bad enough as it was, yes, but I had plenty of time to spare. I decided to Not Get Upset. I would have held fast to my resolve, were it not for the uncouth woman who was seated behind me. She kept on yapping about just how dizzy and nauseated she felt because the bus driver allegedly did not know how to drive. The bus violently lurched forward and stopped just as violently at odd intervals. She simply would not keep her trap shut. She must have thought everyone was entitled to her opinion, for her wheedling voice carried implacably down the length of the bus. She was also cussing like a wounded pirate. She declared to everyone, and to no one in particular, that she should just get off at Baclaran Church instead of MRT - Taft Station. She didn't. By the time she got off the bus, my nerves were frayed. I was prepared to repeatedly hit her over the head with my file box. It's a good thing the bus doors immediately slid closed after she'd delivered her parting shot to the driver.

<Fast Forward>

I got to the Cubao office just in the nick of time. I had several Problem Trainees, but nothing I couldn't handle. I had thought my string of bad luck was at an end. I was hungry, so I asked a colleague to accompany me to a [insert name of popular fast food chain here]. When we got back to the office, I realized that my wallet was gone. I remembered leaving it on the counter when I was paying for take-out. So we immediately retraced our steps to the fast food establishment, my heart trusting in the Good Will of my Fellow Men (and Womyn) and all that shit. You can guess what happened next.

I made a phone call to the bank that issued my ATM account to have my card (which was in my wallet) blocked. The customer service representative was really helpful and polite and sympathetic, but I was disheartened to know that it took four working days to process a new card. I won't get my card until Tuesday. I knew there had to be a good reason behind my pocketing all the cash I had that day.

After class, before going home, I dropped by the Makati office again to send my reports. I got home past nine in the morning.

<Fast Forward>

I didn't report for work yesterday. All that stress actually made me physically sick. So I called in sick. I stayed in bed, and read Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. It was good. (Thanks, P-chan!)

<Fast Forward>

Tonight, after all that aggravation, guess what I found out. The training has been cancelled. <sob, giggle, sob> 

This entry was edited in a fit of paranoia.

I was having a late lunch at Jollibee when a German family walked in--Daddy, Mommy, a boy about four years old, and a toddler. They were a pretty average family, except the toddler was obviously Asian (probably Pinoy).

The four-year old boy was holding a miniature Philippine flag in his little hand.

You Are a Blue Crayon

Your world is colored in calm, understated, deep colors. You are a loyal person, and the truest friend anyone could hope to find. On the inside, you tend to be emotional and even a bit moody. However, you know that people depend on you. So you put on a strong front. Your color wheel opposite is orange. Orange people may be opinionated, but you feel they lack the depth to truly understand what they're saying.

 
DREW: You're kind of great, Claire. You do know that. Sort of amazing even.

CLAIRE: Come on. I don't need an ice-cream cone.

DREW: It's not an ice-cream cone. [beat] What's an ice-cream cone?

CLAIRE: You know, "here's a little something to make you happy..." Something sweet that melts in five minutes. I'm completely cool with anything you want to say or not say--I don't need it.


-- Cameron Crowe,
    Elizabethtown

 

I don't know what's happening to me. I seem to be just...floating. I catch myself staring out of bus windows, looking at nothing in particular. It is as though the world was shot with time-lapse photography, and is being played back around me at a faster speed. Sometimes I want to scream, but I'm afraid of the possibility of not hearing my own voice cut through the din of the flatline.

Almost everyone I know who belongs to my age group has displaced teenage angst (which was wearing thin) with the more convenient steady lang philosophy. It has worked for me so far, but sometimes I wonder if we all really became better adjusted because of it. The great and terrible passions of our younger years have been vanquished, and now routine is our best friend. We are always grateful for something to do because we are anxious about what will happen to us if left to our own devices.

Nah, I'll be all right. Steady lang, pare. 

"What did she mean to tell him? That she loved him so much she wanted to dismantle him, organ by organ, and hold each part reverently as the sun rose over the tenements."

-- Michael Cunningham,
    Flesh and Blood

"ESFPs are cooperative, 'here and now' people-persons that enjoy excitement and love new adventures. Because of their highly social nature, they are especially lively when they are the center of attention and hate being alone. ESFPs have a practical side that allows them to finish work efficiently and are often good problem solvers."

You sat beside me, and you gave me the strangest look. It was cool, ironic, contemplative--desire laced with disappointment. It was eloquent with sadness. It was deathly.

I remember the heat of your breath, the feel of your lips, tongue, and teeth on my skin.

It stops there. We both know how it goes.

ME:   Shopping galore 'yun, sigurado. Natutuwa nga ako doon kay Dawn, eh. Cool kasama. Hindi pretensyosa. I can see why you two are friends.

DEN:    We balance each other out. Kasi ako 'yung pretensyosa.

ME:   Hindi kaya. You're one of the few honest people that I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

DEN:    Wala na, umpisa na ng bolahan. Sige dagdagan mo pa. The night is young. I need some ego boosters.

ME:    Naku, ha. Hindi yata ako marunong mambola. Totoo lang 'yung sinabi ko. Ang ganda-ganda mo nga rin, eh.

DEN:    Tell me more. Dali.

ME:    Tapos ang kinis pa ng balat mo. Tapos matalino ka, grabe, pwede ka maging Secretary General ng United Nations. Tapos ang bait mo pa--ikaw na yata ang susunod na Mother Teresa. Tapos nakalilipad ka pa, may super strength ka, at kaya mong sumalag ng bala. Tapos hindi ka nagje-jaywalk at hindi ka nagdidikit ng bubble gum sa ilalim ng mesa. Ang galing mo talaga!

DEN:    What the hell is "sumalag ng bala"? Teka, hindi na kapanipaniwala 'yung text. Ayusin mo naman, tsong.

ME:    It means you can dodge bullets. O, sige. Mananalo ka sa Miss Universe at mananalo ka ng Nobel Prize for Cross-stitching. Kaya lang, hindi ka panalo sa swimsuit kasi mas sexy si Miss Dominican Republic. Pero OK lang kasi panalo ka ng Miss Photogenic at Miss Congeniality.

DEN:     Naputol 'yung huling text mo. Bumabawi yata sa'yo ang Globe.

ME:     Ganoon ba? Sandali lang. Send ko ulit.   

 

   "Tell me something, Toru," she said. "Do you love me?"

   "You know I do."

   "Will you do me two favours?"

   "You can have up to three wishes, Madame."

   Naoko smiled and shook her head. "No, two will do. One is for you to realize how grateful I am that you came to see me here. I hope you'll understand how happy you've made me. I know it's going to save me if anything will. I may not show it, but it's true."

   "I'll come to see you again," I said. "And what is the other wish?"

   "I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and I stood next to you here like this?"

   "Always," I said. "I'll always remember."


   - Haruki Murakami,
     Norwegian Wood

Whenever I show my friend Podi a poem that I had written, he always asks me the same thing. "What made you write it?" I can't tell if it's a loaded question, and I never know what to say. It gets me thinking, though. Why do I write? My motives are unclear even to me. I know that it gives me a sense of accomplishment, but is that enough reason? I'm afraid to answer the question. I'm afraid that what will escape from my lips will turn out to be a lie. I'm afraid that the truth may be so simple as to be flimsy, even lame and retarded. So I keep silent or I say something unconvincing, like, "I don't know; it's been sitting in my idea file for the longest time." It's the truth, distilled, with all nuance and meaning left out. So it feels like a lie. Maybe I write because I'm a prime candidate for Prozac. It's a self-aggrandizing cop-out, but it sounds much more interesting and, therefore, convincing.