He's Coming! He's Coming!

AIEEEEEEE!!!!!!
FANGURL SCREAMS SOME MORE!
AIEEEEEEE!!!!

JUNE 11! GREENBELT MALL!

AIEEEEEE!!!!!!

Citius, Altius, Fortius

Contrary to a Libra's supposed virtues, I am a competitive person.

I like to compete. I guess this is one reason why cosplay appeals to me so much. I like competing against myself, discovering new things, new ideas, new ways of doing and being. I also like the idea of pitting myself, my work, and my abilities against other people. Whenever I win or land in the semi-finals of a contest, I don't bask in the glow of victory. The thought that always runs in my mind is, Oh no, what could I do to top this?

I would like to think that I am a good sport, gracious in both victory and defeat. I am not a win at all cost kind of person, and am more likely to use whatever means is at my disposal. I have used my charm to get into and get out of many, many interesting situations.

However, I draw the line with pageants. Despite my family's continued proddings, I have never been comfortable in competing in events that pit beauty against beauty, physique against physique. That is just not fair. Short of plastic surgery, there is really little one can do with the looks that God gave a person. One can alter looks, but really, being judged with a criteria so subjective, how can anyone say one is more beautiful than the next? How can a competition based on that be fair? It may sound hypocritical from someone who joined (and won) a beauty pageant, and I may eat my words some time in the future, but that's how I feel about beauty pageants for now.

I like competing in events that I can prepare for, with a goal that I can work toward. Today I will be joining the Slimmer's World Olympic events squats competition, where I will compete against several women to do the most squats while lifting weights equivalent to 50 percent of the competitor's body weight. For me, that is equivalent to about 55 pounds. I've been preparing for this for weeks now. I never imagined that skinny me will be asked to lift weights!

Yes, I have many flaws. I am self-conscious, vain, sometimes pompous and self-centered. In joining competitions, I'd like to think that I'm building character, in my true quest of being the best me I can possibly be.

Nitpick, I Must

In order of annoyance:

10) Though it was excellent CG, too much battle scenes.
9) Lines like, "Oh Anakin, you're breaking my heart!"
8) Padme's diminishing control over her intellectual faculties and increasingly hormonal/emotional outbursts with every succeeding movie.
7) Inconsistencies, like, how come Anakin knew that Luke was his son but didn't sense Leia? Was it because she didn't have "Skywalker" next to her name? Wasn't the Force strong with her?
6) Hayden Christensen tries too hard.
5) The lovely couple discover their on-screen chemistry too late. Episode 2 was supposed to be the "romantic" movie, according to George Lucas. If Episode 2 is a geek male's idea of romance, humanity is in trouble.
4) Nobody goes to sleep in a pearl gown, perfectly coiffed hair and a mask of dewy make-up.
3) Nobody actually knows that Padme and Anakin, two very high-profile people, were married? They were living together for crying out loud!
2) With all that technology, nobody knew she was carrying twins? How could Anakin and Padme not know? I guess that shows how involved they actually were in the pregnancy.
1) In ROJ, Luke asks Leia if she remembered their mother. She described her as "very beautiful, but very sad." How could she have remembered her mom if she died in childbirth?

Please, Star Wars fanatics out there, answer my questions. My knowledge is limited to the movies.

***

Carrie Underwood is the new Idol? Bah! Dapat si Bo Bice! Pero in fairness, bagay sila. I hope Bo and Carrie end up together! They look so cute together! I want them to become a couple.

The funny thing about the Idol finalists, they want to make it big in the music business, but they end up becoming famous because they're famous, not because of their music. The musical credibility of past winners have been practically nil. Kelly Clark is the only one I know who is approaching that place. Hope that changes with Bo.

Cosmic Girl

Slaving Away for Slave Leia

Cosplay fever. Lack sleep.

Can't watch the Revenge of the Sith tonight. My costume is only 40 percent done and if I ever hope to finish it in time for May 23, I have to put in a lot of muscle. The universe has conspired to allow me to finish my costume by cancelling my appointments for this week, and am racing feverishly to complete it.

I had a lot of trial and error making the costume, and admittedly, I kind of let other priorities take over the past weeks, hence the cram. Thankfully, my dad has supervised my progress and helped me create things here and there.

I learned that lacquer based paint and plastic insulation for wires don't mix. Stickwel Glue has proven once again that it really is god, and that oh, candle wax is a great substitute for molding clay!

Then yesterday, my cosplay cabinet collapsed. I've expected it for sometime now, since the assemble-it-yourself container I bought didn't seem to be made of the sturdiest materials. I guess the sheer weight of all my costumes and knick-knacks I've accumulated over the years have taken a toll. To count My costumes (costumes only, excluding the wigs and props) are:

From Cowboy Bebop: Faye Valentine and Electra Ovilo
From Anito: Maya and Tinio
Kill Bill: Gogo Yubari (yes, including the mace)
2 Kimonos: 1 yukata and my L5R Kachiko costume
A Spice Girl maxi-coat I made for a school production in 1998
Mimiru/Black Rose from //.hack
1 gothic lolita ensemble I designed.
A Sumomo (Chobits) costume my niece outgrew before she got a chance to wear it.
Sailor Mars
Aeon Fluxx
Kunoichi

Cosplay is really a guilty pleasure: I feel so guilty that I like it so much! Sometimes seeing suffering people make me feel guilty that I can afford to cosplay. Sometimes I feel that the money I spend cosplaying is better spent on other things. But I can't seem to stop! I like the fact that I learn that I am capable of doing things I previously thought I couldn't do. I made the front plate of the Slave costume all by myself! Hooray!

I thought that I would've outgrown the bug by now...but if anything, I've infected my other friends with the cosplay virus! It's great but in the same way...I kinda wish i could find something else more...adult to channel my creative energies to.

As for now...no time to waste. Gotta...finish...the...costume....

Sister Act

My sister and I fought constantly when we were younger. At home, there were hair-pulling, punching, slapping, and even biting matches over everything: toys, attention, sleeping space. Communicable childhood diseases were always a good excuse to keep us apart. My frustrated grandmother would always sigh, "Dapat sa inyo paghiwalayin."

My mother constantly compared me to my pretty sister, poised, popular and athletic. I was the apple of my grandparents' eyes, and she probably also resented the fact that I was their fair-haired child: well-read and articulate.

Battle lines were not only drawn at home, the tension was also palpable in school. I was Daria: The English Nerd perennially on the "Bookworm of the Month" list. She was Morgan: Always a cheerleader during sports events. I could not remember a time she wasn't at the hub of coolness of some sort. She is smart, but her social life got in the way of her studies. She always had boyfriends. People always compared us to each other. "Why can't you be pretty and fix yourself up like your sister?" they'd ask me. "Why is your sister such a weirdo?" they'd ask her.

I became a source of embarrassment for her, I think. I deliberately made myself the anti-thesis of her: I'd go to school in mis-matched socks, kept to myself. Whenever I'd go out, I would manage to find the most horrifying outfit you could conceive. (you won't find pictures of myself aged 14-16: Except for my school photos in uniform, I burned them all.)

I was so happy when college rolled along: I was finally free of her shadow. I became free to experiment, and forge my own identity, which I did, free of criticism and comparison. It was then that I began to see that she wasn't the monster I thought she was, and my distance from home and independence became a source of admiration for her.

I read a column in a paper wherein the writer postulated that it is wrong to absorb the traits of other people people for the sake of social acceptance since it dilutes your essence. Au contraire, my dearest. In my case, I became secure enough in my own identity to see that hey, looking presentable isn't as bad as I thought it was. What's wrong with emulating somebody when it helps make you a better person? Social acceptance wasn't my goal, but it came with my decision to befriend my sister. I saw that being into the things she was into didn't turn me into her clone. I soon became interested in *gasp* boys, clothes, shopping and make-up. Yessirree, I turned into a typical female. At age 17. (sad no?)

I started out clueless in what it took to become female. In the beginning, I was dependent on her for everything: borrowed her clothes, used her make-up. I admire my sister's fashion sense: She's so savvy that anything she wears now would be seen on TV six months to a year later. Yes, folks, very forward taste indeed. Whenever I have to be dolled up for an event, nobody touches my face except for my sister. Nobody can do my make-up without her present. She knows enough about the quirks of my face to know what would make me look good.

Now that she has to leave for the US soon *sniff sniff* I had to learn to pick my own clothes and put on my own make-up. For me, the highest compliment I could think of is my sister giving her stamp of approval on anything I wear or on my make-up that was done without her supervision. Not that I'm dependent on her approval, mind you. It's the feeling that a young Padawan gets when the Jedi Master says that you've come. It means that my sister can leave for the US without having to worry about me embarrassing myself inadvertently with my taste in clothes.

Yes my sister, I have arrived.

---

With this, I announce the beginning of a series of tutorials on make-up for those who are *ahem* kikay challenged? I will demonstrate basic make-up application for the dummies like myself who didn't bother to learn how to put on make-up until I had to learn it on my own. Better learn how to swim, folks, before the time comes when you to need a life jacket.

The tutorials will also feature "Guyspeak," a portion to wherein I'd translate the make-up application techniques to make it more digestible to the male mind. I will endorse products that I swear by at the moment. Suggestions from other females are very much welcome! We are all here to learn.

Jonas suggested that I come up with the series when I showed him my "arsenal." His eyes glazed over when I explained to him the mechanics and uses of the contents of my make-up kit. I held his hand as I re-assured him that make-up is not something to fear, and I helped de-mystify make-up and its application for him. I do understand that all those make-over shows can be intimidating in layering on make-up advice. So I will only feature products and applications that I use and works for me and my friends. Huwag kayong malula sa make-up. You don't have to listen to everything put out there! You don't have to buy everything that's advertised! Try on something. Buy it if you like it. Throw it out when it starts to smell. Otherwise, your drawers will resemble you'r mother's stained make-up dresser.

Till then.

And Good Triumphs Over Evil!

COngratulations!

THE RULES OF THE GAME

1) Married couples do better

2) There has to be a male in the group

3) Play fair

4) Support each other

5) Don't bicker

6) Don't be last

7) Slow but steady wins the race

SUKEBE!

Manila is crawling with perverts.

I have had pevert-stalkers experiences in the past, when strange men would follow me home and I had to take great lengths to hide my tracks so they wouldn't discover where I lived.

Monday last week. I was on my way home from work. I was wearing a pencil-cut miniskirt and heels. I was walking by the Enterprise building when I noticed a man walking beside me. I thought nothing of him since I assumed that he was a fellow pedestrian. He was in a red shirt, grey sleeves and jeans. He looked normal and decent. I noticed that he was headed toward the Greenbelt Starbucks, and I went along my merry way.

I was traversing Gamboa street when to my surprise, I found Mr. Pedestrian walking beside me.

"Miss, anong pangalan mo? San ka papunta?"

I gave him a sour smile and crossed the street. I noticed that he was tailing me until I reached Makati Square. Oh no, I'm nearing home. I need to ditch him fast.

I went into the Don Bosco Adoration Chapel. As I was crossing the street, Mr. Pedestrian turned left, back towards Makati Square. I decided not to take chances and waited inside the chapel for 15 minutes. I thought he was gone by the time I left.

I was walking past Don Bosco School when I felt somebody grab my butt. It was him! I wanted to give chase and kick his ass but I couldn't run very well in heels and a skirt. Besides, I was more concerned that he would follow me home.

Mr. Pedestrian crossed the street and actually waited to see what I would do next. I decided to go into Jollibee Walter Mart and ate what must have been the longest meal of my life. He didn't follow me inside. He can bet I would've called security. I spent around 45 minutes inside the mall before I ventured out. Hopefully, I lost him for good.

***

Today I received this very interesting e-mail. I guess I'm starting to develop a reputation (?)

"I took my hands and spread your legs,
pushing your dress up. My head lowered to your cunt, my fingers spreading you
wide, my tongue plunging deeply into you. You gasped with pleasure as I
continued. I slowly began to undo the buttons on your dress, my hands exploring.
I undid your bra, kissing your breasts, licking the nipples. You moaned as they
hardened, pressing yourself against my mouth. I lifted you from the
couch,letting your dress fall to the floor...(blah blah blah...)

Interested in having that experience
honey? Send me your contact information ... you'll never regret it :-) -Randy"

Wow. I'm actually curious to meet him. His profile reads : 35, Married, PhD in Mathematics, University of Kansas, IT somebody in Makati, yadda yadda. What does Mr. Repressed IT man want with me? And does he really have all those credentials?

On second thought...nah. Too risky. Too weird. Too married. Too psycho. I think he knows me from somewhere.

Of Art and Fearlessness

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.--Sylvia Plath

What is art? Is it really just self-expression? Does art really carry a responsibility to engender a better society? with the purpose of relating to people at the most fundamentally human level?

I am caught between two opposing thoughts. As an artist, I want to push boundaries. At the same time, I don't want to step on other people's feelings.

My writing, my work, and my subject matters are very personal. In cosplaying, in whatever I do, I tend to give a lot of myself. That's the way I do things. I try not to do things half-way because to me, half-way is half-baked, and to give somebody a half-baked version of yourself is unfair. I write about the people I know, things I have been through. Though I make light of a lot my experiences, most of the situations that I write about were painful when it happened. My sense of humor or irony usually pulled me through.

Many a blogger has questioned when to draw the line in revealing information about themselves. How much is too much? How much of yourself are you willing to put on display?

Already, I have been asked by a friend whom I have written about to delete information in a post that included him. I told him that he doesn't have the right to ask that of me, since his marauding girlfriend involved me in that situation in the first place.

It is impractical to reveal too much of yourself, since people with unkind intentions may use that information against you. In my case, it is becoming almost impossible for me to remain anonymous. Most of the people who read my blog know me personally, and I have become acquainted with many of the people who were strangers to me when they first read my blog. It is a fine recipe for the unwitting trampling on sensibilities and sensitivities. Try as I might to limit my readership to a valued circle of friends and acquaintances, I know that posting my stories online also opens my life to strangers, thereby exposing myself to further judgment.

I never hold my opinions, my thoughts sacred, because I know that somewhere down the line I may change my mind. When I write, I write freely, simply. I call a spade a spade. Whatever is written is my opinion, my feeling at the time. I myself will evolve in time. Whatever I write is a snapshot of me at a time, a version of me that will never be the same thing at any other time in my life.

It is getting more difficult for me to post my misadventures without the fear of reprisal or judgment. I am a firm believer of respecting opinions, even those that are contrary to yours. But it doesn't mean that I am not hurt when I hear them, that I don't bleed when they're dished out. I am also not the sort to indiscriminately give away my thoughts. I don't belive in censorship, because I am a firm believer of personal responsibility, of facing the consequences of my actions.

I don't want to write a blog where I feel like I have to censor what I say because Joe Blow has trouble swallowing my opinons. However, I am also afraid that I might end up hurting people who are important to me because of what I say. I don't like lying, or obscuring myself but unfortunately, it is the grease that oils human relations. I think that a lot of my material comes from my unspoken opinions. Whatever I mouth off may be kind, or cruel, but whatever I come up with, I know that there will always be a backlash. Am I ready to face it? Is it worth the risk.

I wish I were as fearless, or as foolhardy, as Tracey Emin.

A Family That Travels Together...Must be Crazy

My family's sensibilities are undeniably middle class.

We spent the weekend at the Fiesta Resort and Casino, a swanky facility high in the mountains of Rizal. I didn't help my family pack since I arrived from my place in Makati on Saturday morning, a few hours before we were to leave. I stood there horrified as the bellhop unloaded eight huge overnight bags (including my own), two bilaos, one filled with pansit malabon and the other with puto, a huge Tupperware container of rice, another Tupperware containter filled with adobo from the trunk of our car. Japanese tourists eyed our full trolley curiously as it rolled by the front desk.

"Ano ba yan, nagdala pa kayo ng pagkain. Nakakahiya!"

To which my sister replied, "eh ano naman ngayon? Nakatipid tayo sa pagkain"

Oo nga naman.

----

My family usually books a room in hotels on birthdays and special occasions. An urban getaway, if you will. My mother's birthday this weekend was no different. After unpacking our things and inspecting our room, we almost immediately got into our swimsuits and headed out to the infinity pool. The vista of the lake from the mountain was very photogenic. My brother, his girlfriend and I immediately went trigger happy with the camera. Megalomanic thoughts entered my brain.

Wow. They denuded this mountain just for us.

Click click click.

----

I was later drafted to keep and eye on my niece and baby nephew, who were taking a dip in the kiddie pool. I thought it would be fun to put my nephew on top of the little inflatable floater and drag him across the pool. Big mistake. As soon as I put him on top of his inflatable island he went in the water head-first. I frantically caught his foot and pulled him up. I was so frightened as my stunned nephew started coughing up water as I pat his back. He cried for the next couple of minutes, and coughed up more baby spit in my hair. I was so relieved that he was all right. I'm not sure if the experience has turned him into a little Achilles, but I am sure that his mother will kill me if she found out. He clung onto me for dear life soon after that. I don't blame him. I felt like I was a bad aunt.

----

An hour later my mother took the baby back to the room for a nap. My brother, his girlfriend, my sister and I lazed in our lounge chairs, chatting as we watched the sun set . Though we had the place to ourselves, the light from the torches and the poolside tiki bar were ablaze. We swam, made fun of each other and sang loudly off-key along with the hip hop and RnB songs blaring from the speakers hidden in fiberglass rocks. My brother and his girlfriend tell me later that they saw a meteorite streak across the night sky.

----

We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant in the hotel. The food was great, the interiors were better: reds, browns and oranges gave the place a '60s retro vibe. Save for us, the place was also empty. The entire family exchanged banter. It was a good time.

We had to pass through the casino on the way back to our room. It was then when we learned where all the people were.

----

I slept early. The next morning, I wandered around and took more photos. We had to take off at noon.

In Binangonan, I saw two dinosaurs in front of a restaurant and the Statue of Liberty in front of a house. I was told that it was owned by the same person, who ran a business making fiberglass statues. I thought it was hilarious.

----

It was a long trip home. My mom wanted to visit some of our distant relatives who lived in Antipolo. We got lost somewhere in the maze of streets. We were all eager to go home, except for my mom. We didn't even know of these people were to feed us. The situation didn't look promising. My parents parked in front of a 7-11 and a Wendy's as they bickered on whether or not to visit these strange people. At the back of the car, our stomachs growled louder and louder.

"Enough!" I said "Sige, I'll pay for the meal muna. Ma, you can pay me later. Please, kumain muna tayo."

Us kids trooped to the Pizza Hut beside the Wendy's and ordered. My parents grudgingly followed us a few minutes later. After the meal, we got lost some more, before finally finding the place at around three p.m.

Hooray to me, the peacemaker.

When we got there, they plied us with fried chicken and sodas. Ugh.

----

These relatives were apparently so eager to meet us that they didn't let us leave until 6 p.m. We were quite happy to go, an exhausted, bedraggled bunch.

Traveling families are crazy, but have fun.

----

All the pretty pictures.

What I Hate About Being a Woman

BRAS

I like breasts. I don't like bras. I do understand the need for and the benefits of a good pair o' underwear. I am a certified lingerie connoisseur. I am willing to fork over a lot of money for a miniscule piece of cloth. If there are two things that women should spend on, it is a good pair of shoes and a good pair of underwear. Other girls are into shoes, others are into bags. I definitely have a thing for lingerie.
Then why don't you like bras?
Because it's so damned frustrating to shop for one!
It's almost as complicated as finding The One. Aside from the fact that no two girls have the same sized jugs, even a girl's own pair are slightly asymmetrical. Flat chested girls are actually the luckier ones. Any full-chested girl has her own frustrating bra-shopping epic to relate.
But aren't bra sizes standard?
No they're not!
Check this out: In a Wonderbra I'm a 70-B; Avon and Triumph a 70 A; Any other brand I'm a 34 B. Every lingerie company has their own idea of how far out is far out. Unlike a guy who can stick their pair in any old pair of underwear, girls have to be more particular.

Yesterday I tried on 10 different pairs in three different stores before finally settling for a pair that I knew was perfect. Price tag: P 750. Yes, that's just for one bra. That's two pairs of shoes.

PMS

Another excuse for guys to pick on the abilities of females. Everything from flakiness to lack of leadership ability has been attributed to hormones.

I hate having my period. I can't do stuff. Changing tampons and pads could be a time-consuming business. I feel bloated, my tummy and breasts feel tender, my skin sucks. I am listless, more irritable and pessimistic in the first couple of days.

SAD MOVIES

I hate the fact that sad movies and news items make me cry. Yes, even those blatantly manipulative ones.

***

On a more serious note, what sucks about being a female is a culture of docility being pressed upon women. Women are supposed to be feminine, willowy, and all that blather. To have masculine traits is considered unattractive. To be anything outside the madonna/b*tch/wh*re spectrum is also unattractive. To stick out of a perceived category or label is considered unattractive.

The belief that women are weak and silent has promoted violence against our gender. I have sought counseling for experiences I have had previously, and learned that rape is not an act of violence that has nothing to do with sex but everything to do with power. A true man, a strong person, will never ever subjugate somebody else to feel power. Rape has nothing to do with the woman, but everything about the aggressor's feeling of inadequacy.

Jac, I feel for you. you should've spoken out sooner. Nevertheless, I'm glad that you have.

Have you Seen Me?

It all started on October 2004. One of The Boss' security men asked me whether I was in Cubao the week before. I said I wasn't in Cubao at the time. He told me that he saw me in line in the SSS building when he was updating his membership.

That was strange, I thought, but shrugged it off. People have told me that I resembled someone they knew.

Three weeks later, I was hanging out with friends in SM Megamall on a lazy Saturday evening when one of them asked me I was there at around three p.m.
"No. I just arrived. Why?"
"I swore I saw you at around that time near the theaters."

Whoa. This was freaky, I thought. Two sightings in a month? I forgot about it until last December, when I had a close encounter of the cloning kind.

I had just enrolled at Slimmer's World Pasay Road. I was chatting with the account executive I had submitted my application to when she told me an unbelievable story regarding my clone.

"Yeah, I thought she was you! She was with a friend, who was a little chubby. Her friend was the one interested in enrolling and I thought it peculiar that you came back the day after you enrolled. I thought you were pulling my leg when I realized that she wasn't you!"

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" I asked.

"Well, you have similar hairstyles, but hindi siya kasing-bibo mo. Mas mataba sa iyo ng konti saka hindi Inglesera. (She isn't as chatty as you are, a little chubbier, and she doesn't speak English). In fact, she seemed like the quiet type. She just sat there, and her friend did most of the talking."

I was so freaked out that I HAD to call my sister. For thirty minutes, we speculated about her identity. I learned that day that her name was Queenie, and she worked for a call center. Unless my mother had another surprise up her sleeve ("but how could you not know that I'm a twin?!"), we felt that she could be my half-sister from my anonymous biological father.

She never came back with her friend, and everything returned to normal, until last February, when The Blurb's Jonas Diego saw her at the diner I frequent!

He said that he was having lunch alone when he saw a girl he thought was me! Jonas would never mistake me as anybody else. We know each other well, and we meet at least once every two weeks. He said that he was in a queue when he noticed the girl, who was a little ahead of him in the food train.

"I was staring at her so hard I think I made her feel uncomfortable. She probably thought I was a weirdo. She really looked like you!"

This was just getting too close for comfort. Could she be my phantom? A clone? My doppleganger? For a fleeting moment, I feared we would melt into each other upon contact like in the Van Damme movie Timecop.

"So what made you stop from wanting to talk to her?"

"Aside from the fact that she might have thought I was a stalker?"

"Well you should have talked to her! You know I've been looking for her for months now!"

"Her hair was a little different. Shorter. Hers didn't flip away like yours do. She was a little taller. More weight. Had bigger boobs too."

I eyed him incredulously. "How would you know that she had bigger boobs?"

He shrugged. "I just know. Guys know."

"She did seem like you personality opposite."

So if anybody who reads this knows this girl, PLEASE contact me! Let's put a stop to this nonsense!

The photo above is just me, approximating what she looks like. I look ugly in it :P

***

I don't subscribe to personality tests but I found this as funny as hell.

http://hokev.brinkster.net/quiz/default.asp?quiz=Better%20Personality&page=1

This is what I got. Uncanny.

You are a WEDF--Wacky Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes
you a Menace to Society.Well, whether you're actually a menace depends on how
you choose to channel your energies. You chew your fingers and have an addictive
personality. Properly guided, you can be enormously productive--otherwise you
run amok, stir up trouble, and generally have a hell of a good time.To your
friends, you are a source of relentless entertainment. You often get into
trouble, but you almost always find a way out. You are strangely popular and
feed off others' energy. You live hard, seize the day, and although your more
sober friends would like to see you settled down, you generally have fewer
regrets and better memories than they do. Your tenet is that, at the end of the
day, one regrets only what one didn't try. You are right.You could benefit from
outside help in balancing your highs and lows. Or perhaps cutting back on the
caffeine.Of the 116881 people who have taken this quiz since tracking began
(8/17/2004), 4.9 % are this type.

Funny thing is, I'm not a caffeine junkie.

The Chandlers

I hate it when my favorite team is eliminated.

Habemus Papam!

Ah, yes I was wrong. I thought the Church was ready for reform, but I was wrong. Rats!

Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger is now Pope Benedict XVI. His name has been floating around for years, the buzz that he will be the next Pope has been going around since I was in college. I am not that impressed with him, though he reportedly has a very good head above his shoulders. He has performed his duties well as one of the late Pope John Paul II's executives. I think it is because I perceived him to be distant, a paper pusher, in contrast to John Paul's dynamic rule. Whenever I see photos of him, I see him hobnobbing with elite Catholics worldwide like the Kennedy clan of America, but not really with the people. Hindi masa ang image niya. Hopefully as his tenure continues, I, as a Catholic, will get to know and love the person who replaced the only Pope I have ever known.

I respect the Church's desire for continuity, being the good Catholic hypocrite that I am. Mabuhay ang Santo Papa!

Cali Boys

Either I need to change something in myself or Manila is getting to be too small for me. I seem to be dating the same kind of guys lately. I'm beginning to think of ways of how to re-orient the way I gauge a guy's attractiveness.

I spent the weekend with my friend Leslie, pulling back-to-back all-nighters. Friday night we went out for drinks with her boss, his wife, and his hot, hot cousin Joey. Leslie and I were griping about our boy problems when Joey said something very illuminating.

"The problem with you guys is that you're never willing to consider dating good guys."

The thing is, I thought that I was dating good guys. For crapssakes, I even dated a seminarian. I have a soft spot for quirky, talky, neurotic guys, but series of these cute oddballs I've dated seem to never work for me.

On Saturday, Leslie set me up on a double date with her friends Bobby and Jeff, Fil-Am Cali boys who spoke with sentences peppered with the words "b*itch, "*@ss" "motherf*ucker" and "It's all good." You know the type: bald, tatoos, biceps and testosterone.

She was with Bobby and I was set up to keep Jeff company. He was huskily built, and he seemed as slutty as the people who join those odd dating shows like The Fifth Wheel. During the course of the dinner, he made several requests that betrayed what he really was after.

That Leslie and I get it on in girl-on-girl action for him.
He asked me how many times I masturbated in a week.
Suck on an ice cube he was holding.
If I "go anal."

You get the drift.

The entire night was spent rolling my eyes and fending off his hands. He kept on trying to nibble my ear.

I thought the night was over when he and Bobby invited their friend Mike over, and we all went to Centro in Libis, a hip-hop club notorious for its cage-dancing contests.

As my eyes adapted to the sting of cigarette smoke, whose acrid smell I was sure would drench my hair and clothes, I realized that I was in a room filled with Jeffs. Overgrown frat boys eager to prove themselves to the world.

Though I no longer go clubbing as frequently as I used to, I can still party with the best of them. But seeing this crowd, barely legal girls stripping for attention, for a trip to Hong Kong, or for whatever reason, and guys secretly taking pictures of their panties, I realized that I have truly outgrown any desire to partake in any of this. I've been going clubbing for years and realized that I have been meeting guys like Jeff all this time: Fil-Am Cali gangsters or wannabe Cali boys out for skin.

I need a change of scenery. Got any clues where?

How To Freak Out a Girl in 7 Days

Work with her for three months and smolder with hidden desire and not tell her.

Spring into action four months later by inviting her to lunch.

While eating lunch, tell her that you're in love with her, and you have been since the first day she showed up to work. Bulldoze that factoid into her head as much as possible.

While at work, be as unkempt-looking as possible while around her. Then after confessing your feelings, try to look like you're spanking brand new.

The next time you see each other at work, stare at her as much as possible.

Put her in potentially awkward situations at work. Especially since you're the supervisor.

Tell her that you're not after her booty, and want to live with her forever and ever, that you'll be a dogged little chap, and you won't take no for an answer. All during your first "date."

During the first "date," insert the words "woo" and "in love" as many times as you could in a sentence. For example: "I told you that I'd woo you. The saleslady said that this bracelet I'm giving you right now is supposed to make you fall in love with me."

Send her freaky stalker-like text messages that sound witty in the head but scary out loud.

Examples:

"I do exercise. And I look fabulous under my shirt. FABULOUS."
"When you can, let's meet. I need to see you. I need to be with you." (and you're not even well-acquainted).

Press her for another date even when she says she isn't available.

Sound as desperate as you could. Look desperate. Act like she has no other choice but to say yes.

And try to ruin the relationships she has with males other than you.

Calling All 'Amazing Race' junkies!

The Department of Tourism is launching the Island Paradise Adventure Race (Luzon Leg), a 9-day auto rally through eight tourist destinations in Luzon based on an "on-time, all the time" system, featuring 35 teams. Each team shall be composed of 3 persons, one of whom will be required to perform certain physical and mental challenges at the control points and pit stops. At stake are top prizes in cash (P 1 million, P 300,000 and P 100,000 for the top 3 winners) and in kind, including trophies and recognition.
The rally proper will be from May 7 to May 15 2005. Registration of participants will be until April 15.
The race is open to the public. Drivers must be licensed with auto insurance and driving "street-legal" cars, and the team must be willing to invest at least P 35,000 for fuel, food, and accomodation. The teams could solicit for sponsors provided that the companies are not direct competitors of the event's sponsors. Registration fee is P 5,000. Please contact the DOT at 523-9031, 536-3153, and 524-2251 from Mondays to Fridays during office hours. Look for Anabelle or Faye

***

So is anybody game? I know I am. Paging anybody who owns a four-wheel drive. I am willing to sponsor the registration fee. :)

***

Speaking of the Amazing Race, I am starting to develop a severe dislike for media brats Amber and Rob. They have an advantage because they're popular, and they're milking it for all its worth. Haven't they won enough money already? I didn't watch them during their particular Survivor season, so I never really developed an opinion about them. But saying that Meredith pushed Gretchen over the cave, that went too far. And not helping The Brothers during the accident? Hmm, excuse my psychologizing, but not helping them seemed cruel. They like playing the game as long as it is to their advantage, but dislike being played. What gives? Again, if you can dish it out by bribing people to give misleading information to the other teams and stealing their cabs, you have to accept it when people dislike you severely. Accept the consequence.

***

Watched CSI:NY. Sorry, no dice. CSI Vegas is still the best. Not because it was the first on the block, but its writing is unmatched. Besides, everything about the succeeding CSI series seems so cliche. Top dog gives one liner, tilts his head, puts on his shades, gives a faraway look, then segue into the theme song. Regardless of sex, there's the sexy ballistics expert, the hot detective, the workaholic patholigist. C'mon people, don't try to infuse too much depth and story about a character during the first episode! You have an entire season to lay the groundwork! I thought I was gonna get into Mac whatever's character (Gary Sinise) during the first scene, anguished in a Church. I was intrigued. But you, you freaking writers, you gave it all away! Couldn't have we known that his wife died in 9/11 in another episode? I thought that having the three teams of CSI writers compete against each other would have motivated the NY writing. C'mon NY is the home of edgy. Give us edge! Not mac and cheese edge!

Billy Petersen (Gil Grissom) is so right. Stop turning the hit into a franchise. The product always gets diluted.

Up Yours!

The thing about being a person who is at peace with with her sexuality is that it allows people around me to let their guard down and confide details about their sexual activities that I feel should really be kept private. Sometimes, people have to learn how to spare me from losing sleep over unwelcome mental images. But then again, if I can dish it out, I guess I also have to take it in.

I have a close male friend, with whom I can engage in sexual banter comfortably. Out of the blue, he suddenly asks me:

"Hey, have you ever tried going anal?'
"What?"
"You know, have you tried getting f*ed in the butt?"
"Hell no! Why would I want to do anything like that?"
"Well..." a sly grin creeps across his face, "I have."
Classic. This is one of the few moments in my life where I have been caught utterly speechless. My jaw dropped and I couldn't stop myself from blubbering.
"Oh my. Oh my goodness! Oh crap. Really?"
"Really," with a twinkle in his eye.
I think the guy is actually happy that he was able to one-up me sexually.
"You mean to tell me that you haven't done it before? How weird! I mean you have been with all these guys. I can count the girls I've been with with one hand. And you're telling me that you haven't tried it?"
"Well, for me, to be able to do something like that requires a lot of trust. I haven't been in a relationship with a guy long enough to trust myself and and be free enough to do that."
He shakes his head. "Really...I can't believe it. All these guys, and no anal."
"Did it hurt?"
"No it didn't. Actually it's great! I mean, I can come more quickly because the hole is tighter. When I am at the point of orgasm, I switch sides. Good for me, good for her."
"Ah...did she hurt? She must be in pain."
"No. Actually, she likes it."
"Aren't you afraid that you might be giving her a hernia?"
He shrugs, "Not really."
"Did you use a lubricant?"
"Nah. Using condoms are fine. Just change condoms when switching sides."
At this point I cringe and my hand unconsciously wanders to my ass.
"No lubricants?"
"No."
Mercifully, he spares me the identity of the girl he did it with. I have had the pleasure of meeting some of his girls, and I begin to mentally take note of my suspects. With his boyish good looks, he didn't seem like the type who would do something like this.
"Really," he shakes his head again," all those guys, and no anal."
"You're making it sound like it's a bad thing."
"Not really. I'm just shocked. I expected that you'd be into something like that."
Curious, I sit there, in fascination, in awe, and mostly in sympathetic pain. Dude, that must be the one of the grossest things I've heard all week. But I choose to be wise and keep my mouth shut.

The Pope is dead

And my mom believes that the end of times is at hand.

I feel that the next Pope would be reltively young (in his 50s or early 60s) and most likely come from Latin America or Africa. Many Catholics interested in what's happening in the Vatican share this opinion. I personally hope that the ambitious cardinals who have vigorously jockeyed themselves to succeed the Pope years before his death would find themseves shut out of the race.

***

I normally don't use my blog for promotions, but my friends have pursued many note-worthy endeavors that need to be announced, and I have chanced upon many things that I really like.

My friend Jac Ting Lim (visit her blog, click PUTINGKUTING at the left) has joined The Slimmer's World Bikini Bodies Contest. She's smoking hot, and help her win the contest by sending in your text votes!

There's this other website I like, www.johnnyhollow.com. I like answering riddles. The website has an eerie Silence of the Lambs feel. Genius.

Watch Closer. If you aren't watching it for the solid material or for Mike Nichols, then watch it because Jude Law and Natalie Portman are in it. Again, I predict Jude Law in my future. And our kids will look fab!

Visit the blogs my friends. Many are comic book artists. Some have launched their own web comics, like Graphic Detail. Trés cool.

Tradition...Tradition!

Easter weekend was a very pleasant visit to my past. I love the rituals and traditions of the Catholic Church. To me, my faith is a light that beckons whenever I am morally lost, usually due to my own stubbornness and oftentimes misguided free will. I do not claim to be the most failthful and perfect Catholic, but I do try.

For an inexplicable reason, I woke up at three a.m. on Easter Sunday. I wasn't sure why I couldn't will myself back to sleep, so I played a computer game on the family PC.

Then I heard it.

The Church bells began to peal, and heard firecrackers being lit, reminding townfolk of the annual Salubong, a procession that symbolically re-unites Jesus and his mother Mary after his resurrection. I decided to get dressed and join the longer procession coming from my part of town, where the statue of the Virgin Mary was waiting. I remember my maternal grandmother would wake me up to join the procession with her every year when she still lived in Manila, and I felt that I should continue with the ritual without her.

I arrived at the barrio chapel, where there were over a hundred people milling around, ready with their candles. I didn't bring a candle, so I bought one from a vendor. A drumroll from the procession's marching band signaled the start of a mile-long walk to the parish church. Upon reaching the town plaza, the statue of the risen Christ had arrived from the church in the next barrio, and sparklers and all sorts of fireworks were lit to celebrate the official start of Easter. Schoolgirls in fluffy white dresses were ushered in to dance the 'bati,' a traditional Filipino Easter dance. Local officials personally hand-pick the girls who would join the troupe, though now usually families who are willing to pay officials to allow their little girls the honor of dancing the Pagbati are the ones chosen. I remember my sister joined the troupe when she was eight, chosen for her natural grace. As I watched the girls, I felt that my niece should continue with the tradition.

Easter mass was celebrated in the town plaza, and I met up with my childhood buddies, the now-aging altar boys who were there to assist the procession. People clapped as a girl dressed as an angel lifted the black veil over Mary's statue. I had been chosen as the angel for two Easters in a row when I was 13 and 14. I wondered why the girl just lifted the veil. How unfair. Under my watch I was made to memorize an entire monologue in Tagalog! And all she had to do was lift the freaking veil. Oh well, she was on a pedestal overlooking the crowd. I remember having to deal with acrophobia then act as if I was used to hovering above people, so I guess I can forgive the perceived slight.

I returned home at around 6 a.m. and slept soundly for three hours when I was roused by my mother, who said I should start dressing up because the family has to go to the Santarin family reunion in Cavite.

Santarin is my paternal grandmother's family, and apparently our esteemed lineage includes Sen. Richard Gordon. I dread going to family reunions. Being an unmarried woman in her 20s supposedly gives people the license to ask why I am not on the family way, unlike my dutiful younger sister, whose fertile ovaries and wide 'child-bearing' hips spit out two children into the world before reaching the age of 25.

The party was to be held at the Santarin family compund, where over 200 people, all bearing the same chinky eyes and square jaws milled about in color-coordinated tables and outfits. Shoot, our branch was supposed to wear green, and I was in white. Nobody told me. No wonder my mother and sister were dressed in green.

And as family reunions go, everybody feasted on the mounds of beef, pork and chicken dishes, all swimming in grease. And as tradition dictates, I was asked for the 4th year running when was I going to bring a boyfriend to the reunion. I have learned to cooly reply that nobody has caught my eye yet. Damn my brother for bringing his girlfriend along.

As usual, talk revolved around family scandals; who was getting married, who was pregnant, who was in the hospital, who was sick, who was on drugs, and who was in rehab. I sought refuge from the heat and the talk with my baby nephew, who had to stay in the family car where there was air-conditioning. I didn't mind baby-sitting him. Apparently my father also had enough of the chatter as well, and joined us. He was probably avoiding his older brother, who had just gotten out of rehab. They haven't spoken to each other in three years, for reasons I have forgotten.

Mercifully, my mother decided that she had had enough a little before three p.m., and said that it was time for us to head home.

In the embrace of tradition and family dysfunction, I felt an odd comfort. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all.