100 Things About Me (26-50)

26. Given my intense, palpable hatred of Ortigas, it’s not surprising that I hate Megamall as well. The place is simply too large for my comfort. I never fail to get lost like a bloody idiot everytime I go to the damn mall. I don’t know where Mega A ends and Mega B begins. And don’t bother asking me about Mega C. It’s hopeless. I can be stupid that way.

27. I’m a kuya’s girl. He became my sole parent when my folks separated and my mom had to go abroad. The man’s a martyr; he was the one who had to deal with my coming-of-age angst, developing breasts and my first monthly period. He is the type of brother whom you can coerce to buy you sanitary napkins at the sari-sari store because you ran out of supplies and you are already menstruating all over the place. When my mom lost her job in the Middle East, it was my brother who supported me all throughout college. Tuition fee in UST even back then, especially for my course, is not exactly cheap. His sacrifice was immense. As far as I’m concerned, my kuya is the best brother in the world. He deserves a monument. This is why I’m more scared of him than I am of my mom. If my kuya tells me to jump off the top of a building, I’d do it, because I’m certain that he installed a safety net for me to land on.

28. My favorite dessert is Blueberry Cheesecake.

29. I can’t eat balut. I just can’t.

30. I had quite a nomadic childhood. Sort of. I was born in Manila, and then spent a considerable part of my young years in Alabang and BF. Alabang Town Center was Alabang Twin Cinema back then, if I’m not mistaken. When unfortunate circumstances forced us to leave the south, we settled again in Manila. I spent my elementary years in Taft Avenue, studied for one year in Quezon City then went back to Manila again. My endless relocating stopped when I entered high school. My brother and I gained control of my grandparents’ house in Malate, and we stayed there until the house was destroyed by a fire sometime in 1998.

31.I have chronic biyahilo. I’m very sensitive to motion, especially when inside vehicles. Everytime I take a cab, jeep or bus, I pray that the driver is not some maniac whose idea of a good time is to step on the breaks every five seconds with all the force he’s got. Because if he is, then I would surely step off the vehicle later on with a roaring headache. This is probably why I haven’t taken road trips or have gone to vacations that much; I may throw up in the middle of the journey. My friends told me to stop being a wuss and start taking Bonamine.

32. I used to sing. Before my voice box turned into the pathetic croaking machine that it is today, I had a crystal-clear voice that can hit the high notes of the Whitneys and Mariahs of the world. I can belt out “One Moment in Time” without any trouble at all. What happened, you may ask. Some traumatic experience in a competition made me stop singing altogether. I ate all the ice cream and ice candy that my teeth could handle and stopped training. Thus, the tragic end of my “singing career”, one that never was.

33. I used to sing in a church choir.

Yeah. You heard that right. Not because I genuinely wanted to ruin a solemn  celebration of God with my horrible croaking, but because some community service requirement forced me to. I was prepared to hate it, but the darnedest thing happened – I actually liked it. Soon, I was singing not only during the morning but also during evenings as well, whenever I can spare time. Now I have to be honest with y’all, lest you think that I’m dishing out a steaming pile of horseshit here. It’s my flirtations with the altar boys that made me stick with it for as long as I did. Hehe.

34. I picked up my first paperback when I was in fifth grade. The book is from the Sweet Valley High series, I forgot the title. Needless to say, I practically became a walking encyclopedia of all things related to Sweet Valley High and Sweet Valley Twins. Back then, I could probably make a diagram of Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield’s relationship with everybody else in the book. The Wakefield twins with their sun-bleached blond hair, size 6 figures and matching lavalier necklaces. Their dad is Ned, who is a lawyer, their mom is Alice, an interior designer and they have a brother named Steven, a law undergrad. They drive a Fiat Spider and their favorite hangout is the Dairy Burger. They go to school with lotsa people, including Lila Fowler and Bruce Patman. Lila is new rich and Bruce is old rich. They can’t stand each other. Lila lives in the Fowler mansion with her dad, George. Bruce drives a black Porsche with a vanity plate 1BRUCE1.

Go ahead, feel free to scrawl NERD across my back. I deserve it.

35. I read Sweet Dreams too. If you are a true scholar of Sweet Dreams novels, you MUST know the answer to: What does P.S. in P.S. I Love You mean? More points for you if you still know the title of the novel that followed this one. Nyahahaha!

36. Other women shop for clothes, shoes and whatnots whenever they are depressed. Me, I go shop for books. My retail therapy involves me going to the nearest Booksale branch in my pambahay outfit and browse the store’s shelves relentlessly for my bargain babies. Secretly, I want to be a mysterious book dealer, just like Olivier Martinez in Unfaithful. Not so secretly, I want Olivier Martinez’ hot Gallic ass.

37. I love pearls, real or fake. I keep several pairs of faux pearl earrings in my jewelry box. I plan to buy a set of ridiculously expensive South Sea pearls for my 30^th birthday.

38. I can hear our bank agent dissolving into fits of uncontrollable laughter now.

39. I’m a cat person. I love all animals actually, but feline creatures have the ability to make me go softie. Seeing a sick, maltreated kitten shivering in the rain is enough to ruin my day. I used to have a puskal named Batman. He died because he got into a fight with a humongous rat. My cat killed the rat alright, but not before the filthy rodent scratched my Batman’s eye with his rabies-filled claws.

40. Question of the day: Am I in love? I don’t know. Not a yes, not a no, not even a maybe. I just don’t know. Denial? Maybe.

41. I was forced to restrict the access to my Friendster profile. Some uber religious relatives in Canada have been checking out my risqué, feeling-bold-star photos, and I don’t like it. They must think I’m living a life of sin. Which is not far from the truth, come to think of it.

42. I think British men are very sexy. Their sense of humor is the best, plus their accent is enough to make my G-strings melt. Bloody hell.

43. I love Spaniards too. Hello, Javier Bardem? I’d let him fuck me in the ass. Heehee.

44. I don’t believe that Brangelina is in Bora right now. Please prove me wrong.

45. My bestfriend’s name is Mona. Nowadays, she spells it as Monna. What’s with the double N, I dunno. Some vanity thing, no doubt. We’ve been buddies ever since high school. A lot of people think that we look alike, although she would always point out that I’m way ahead in the sex appeal department. Now you know why she’s my BFF.

46. I dabbled in theater acting while I was in college. No, I wasn’t part of Teatro Tomasino. Rather, I volunteered my shameless ass whenever there is a class play. When we were tasked to stage Tatarin, a Nick Joaquin classic, I auditioned. The part calls for someone who could portray a sexually-repressed woman who is dying to let it all out. During audition, the actors were asked to produce the best masturbating cries and moans we could muster.

I got the lead role.

47. I wear white clothes only when I’m indoors. My favorite pambahay and sleepwear (next to naked, that is) is a clean, white sando, the kind that you wear under a flimsy school uniform. Everytime I go to a department store, I raid the pre-teens section for those sandos. Yes, I can still squeeze into those tiny underthings, believe it or not.

48. Oh, I was a tomboy back in high school. During the first couple of years, anyway. I gave white roses to a girl because she was so darn pretty. Now I’m hotter than her. Brag, brag, brag.

49. But you know, I don’t really brag that much. It’s not necessary. Other people will do the bragging for me.

50. Are you starting to hate my guts now? Good. Because I don’t care. And remember, there are 50 more left on this list. Suffer.

100 Things About Me

Let’s start with the first 25…

1. I hate confrontations. I’m not the confrontational type, despite my angas attitude. I’d rather seethe or break bottles in private, or with someone I trust.

2. I like smashing/throwing bottles when I’m mad or totally frustrated. It doesn’t have to be a glass bottle; a mineral water bottle will do just fine. But of course, nothing beats the thrill of violence associated with breaking glass bottles into pieces.

3. But this does not mean that I’m a dominantly violent person. Yes, I can be violent, but I throw things only when there is a very valid reason. For example: there is this one time that I saw some naughty messages on my then-boyfriend’s YM…and they were not mine. The unfortunate hombre was not able to come up with a reason good enough to placate my legendary temper, so I gathered all his remote controls and threw them at him and his very expensive Mac desktop. Totally understandable, right?

4. I’m a stickler for privacy. This explains why I choose to live alone. I don’t like people coming over my house unannounced, unless they are close friends of mine. And unless you brought a bag full of money with you, I’d be royally pissed if I see you on my doorstep without me knowing you’ll be dropping by.

5. I’m a book addict. Booksale, Powerbooks and Fully Booked are some of my most favorite places in the world. I prefer to buy books at bargain prices because I’m such a cheapskate. If I can’t find a book at Booksale or those stalls along Recto and University Belt, that’s the only time I will get it at those high-end bookstores. I also love bidding for books on e-Bay.

6. I’m a voracious ukay-ukay shopper. Whatever designer items I have I got from the ukay at prices you’d never imagine. The only thing I won’t buy from those shops is footwear. I like my shoes brand-new, no matter how cheap or expensive, thank you very much.

7. My favorite drinking holes are Anthology Bar and Blue Room, both in Malate. An ice-cold bottle of Red Horse is my favorite poison.

8. I love swearing. It’s an outlet. And I don’t care if you think that’s disgusting. Fuck you.

9. I can drink tap water and survive. I will resort to drinking mineral water only if the liquid that is coming out of the faucet has a suspicious-looking color.

10. I love aviator sunglasses, no matter what brand. This is the only type of shades that I’ll wear. None of those oversized I-look-like-a-giant-bug pair of shades for me. I’m praying that some generous soul will give me a pair of Ray-Ban aviators for my birthday. Hehe.

11. I’m a closet Britney Spears fan. I dance to “I’m a Slave for You” when I’m home alone, complete with the hand-twirling bit. And I never get tired of watching her performance of “Baby, One More Time” during her Las Vegas concert, the one where she danced in the rain. It’s the sexiest Britney Spears performance I’ve ever seen. I love it to death.

12. I’m a proud Guns n’ Roses fan. Of course, I’m referring to the original band. Back in high school, I’d scrimp on recess and lunch money just to save enough to buy the Use Your Illusion cassette tapes. Yes, cassette tapes. I’m one of those stupid fools who placed a mirror beside the album cover to see if there is a picture of the devil cleverly hidden within the blue and orange portraits. I wore cycling shorts and a bandanna across my forehead because I wanna be Axl. I strummed our pitiful walis tambo because I wanna be Slash. I was THAT crazy.

13. I can never have enough black tank tops. I can wear them everyday for the rest of my life.

14. I can be very frugal. When you’re writing for a living and you have to support your mom, yourself and whatever vices you have, it’s only natural.

15. I eat like a man, especially when served with my mother’s cooking. Place a bowl of hot and spicy sinigang on the table and I will eat a minimum of two plates of rice in one sitting. I can eat sinigang everyday for the rest of my life.

16. The best way to my heart is through my stomach. I had a boyfriend who loves taking me out for breakfast, lunch or dinner. He would cook for me whenever I’m staying over at his pad. He made it his responsibility to fatten me up and make sure I eat right to put some meat on my slender bones. I loved that.

17. I hate Ortigas, as in I really hate the place. Ortigas is hell for commuters, especially if you work in the area. I’ve worked at Tektite for a couple of months and I loathed every minute of it. Recently, I’ve had several job offers from there, all promising attractive remuneration. I turned them down as soon as I learned they are located at motherfucking Ortigas.

18. I love fucking. C’mon, who doesn’t?

19. I have moles in um, strategic parts of my body. The biggest one is somewhere down there and it’s kinda hard to miss. If a lover doesn’t know where they are, then he really doesn’t know me. But then again, I don’t normally fuck with the lights on or in broad daylight, so maybe there’s an excuse.

20. I like kissing girls, especially very pretty girls. For me, that Katy Perry song is so ten years ago.

21. I’ve had sex with a woman and it felt really nice. This does not prove that I’m a lesbian, or a bisexual. This just proves that I love to experiment.

22. I only had a couple of boyfriends in my 28 years of existence. I know this is fairly surprising, considering my so-called “experience,” but it’s true. Lovers, (remember that I’m using the term in the most general sense) I’ve had plenty, but boyfriends? Probably because I consider relationships as a serious matter. Or maybe I’m just hopelessly repulsive, I don’t know. I take relationships seriously. When I’m in a commitment or just plain head over feet in love with someone, I give whatever I can give. I make effort. I try to make him the happiest bastard on Earth. I love to fuss over my man. Maybe that’s why I’m choosy.

23. Another surprising fact: I’m truly a monogamous person. Really. If can I find somebody that I’m totally compatible with sexually, I can forget about sleeping with other men. No matter what the setup is.

24. I have a hopeless habit of denial everytime I fall in love. Some deeply ingrained pride refuses to believe that I have actually fallen for someone like a ton of bricks. I try to fight it until it becomes obvious that I’m just wasting my time denying it. Then I exercise the most extreme act of cowardice: disappear on the unsuspecting guy. I do that because I’m chickenshit.

25. I don’t like faking orgasms. It’s stupid and pointless. It’s totally unnecessary. If he can’t make me cum, then he can’t make me cum, period. I’d rather teach him how to satisfy me than make him think he is fucking Casanova. I’m with the guys here – I would be hurt if you try to fake an orgasm with me, if that’s actually possible.

My New Year’s Resolutions

Now I might not be able to do some or ALL of them, but I will definitely try my darnedest. Good luck sa akin, haha.

• PROCRASTINATION, I must get rid of.

• Get to work on time. For the love of God, I must learn how to wake up earlier than 9 am.

• Regulate my sleep. AVOID OVERSLEEPING.

• Cut back on smoking.

• Work on my abs and do sit-ups regularly.

• Start on some anti-aging regimen. I don’t really need it yet, but I’m in my late 20s. I’d rather practice prevention now. Those wrinkles and crow’s feet are not gonna be lovely.

• Lessen my intake of Lucky Me Pancit Canton. The MSG will kill me.

• Learn how to cook lutong bahay dishes. It’s about time that I get in touch with my Kapampangan side.

• Watch more movies. Build up my DVD collection.

• Read more books. Buy more books. And yeah, start reading the untouched stack of titles that I have at home. I hardly have time for reading these days and it’s so depressing.

• Make my apartment more hospitable. Wehehe.

• Lay off the fashion magazines and buy more worthwhile reads, such as Time and Newsweek. In my profession, knowledge is power. Besides, those recycled articles churned out regularly by Cosmo are not worth my 150 pesos anymore.

• Put more stuff on my resume. Increase my professional marketability. Naks.

• SAVE, SAVE, SAVE. And make more money. My bank account must contain cash other than the Ninoys coming in from my salary. I humiliate myself whenever I check my account balance.

• Pay all my debts. I plan to be debt-free by the time I hit my 30^th birthday.

• Visit my mom more often. Accompany her whenever she wants to go around God-knows-where in Marikina. Sigh.

• Get her a health card.

• Remind all of my relatives not to name their daughters Portia. I reserve this name for my future little girl. But yeah, I still have to consider whether Portia will go well with the surname of the future daddy, whoever he is, hehe.

• Eliminate unnecessary people from my life. No, I’m not gonna clean their clocks, I’ll just spend less time with them, if not avoid them altogether.

• Know who my real friends are. Will avoid those jerks who profess to be your friends just so they can get what they want from you.

• Start looking for a regular guy who won’t go asshole on me. Just ONE guy. (Man, this is gonna be HARD).

• Learn how to love again. And be loved in return.

A little older, a little drunker…

There’s no better way to greet your birthday than getting drunk with your closest buds. Exactly what I did the other day when I bought buckets of Red Horse (San Mig Lite for the wusses, haha!) for several of my MTC friends at Esquinita somewhere in Sgt. Esguerra. Thanks for burning my pockets and getting my “Armani” blouse wet. And yes, pangarap nyo na lang talaga ako, sorry. Hahaha!

Thanks, guys! We’ll see each other on the 29th

How NOT to Approach a Woman

My bestfriend Monna and I were having some serious drinking at the Anthology Bar in Malate last night. Since it was Sunday, there weren’t too many people burning their livers on that particular night, but there were a handful of guys seated at the tables around us. To my left were two guys in black, one with metal studs decorating his lower lip and nose, the other with a face so boring I couldn’t even remember the details. To my far left is another table with three guys, one sporting a skinhead and a grey body-hugging shirt. I noticed that the hombres were stealing glances at our table, but of course, we paid them no attention and carried on with our drinking.

So there we were, minding our own business amidst the to-die-for memorabilia that Anthology is famous for. After an hour, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I got back, there was a slight smirk on my BFF’s face.

Monna: Oy, bru. Yung guy dun sa table on your right…lumapit dito at tinatanong kung taga-Benilde ka daw.

Me: Huh? Anong sinabi mo?

Monna: Sabi ko hindi. Syempre, hello.

Me: Duh. Adik sya. Style nya bulok.

After downing a couple of bottles more, Monna got up to take her turn at the restroom. Guy with the metal studs came over to our table.

Him: Uh, hi. I just wanna ask if you’re from Benilde.

Me: Uh, no. Why?

Him: Ah, wala lang, I just thought you look familiar. What about your name?

Me: What about it?

Him: May I know your name?

Me: Can I not give it?

Guy with the metal studs walked away.

Twenty minutes later, when we were deep into conversation about heartbreaks and all that, the Skinhead guy sauntered over to our table and asked me pointblank:

Him: Miss, can I get your number?

Me: No.

Him: Oh, okay. Excuse me.

Skinhead guy walked away.

At this point, my bestfriend was doing a supreme effort not to burst out into fits of demented laughing. I was shaking my head and trying my best not to laugh out loud too. I don’t know who was worse, the guy who used a stupid question to get my name, or the guy who went straight to the point and had the damnedest nerve to ask for my number outright.

I signaled for the waiter and ordered more beer. Geez, guys. Whatever happened to “Can I buy you a drink?”

Alone, at last

Finally, after several years of planning and waiting, I moved into my own apartment. Although I’m still unsure whether to really classify the pad as an “apartment,” because it’s actually one big unit split into two, in which I now occupy the top part. Still, my house has a small living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and a small bedroom. So yeah, I guess it’s an apartment.

After I got my pretty hefty backpay from my previous employer in Alabang, I wasted no time plunking down a big portion of it for my rent money. I practically winced as I handed those crisp 1000 peso bills to my new landlord, but I told myself I’m doing the right thing. If the cash stayed in my ATM much longer, I would have spent it on beer, clothes, some fancy gadget, or worse, piles and piles of books from Booksale or Powerbooks.

A worthy investment, I must say. Although nothing beats buying your own place, renting is the most I can do as of the moment. Unless some ultra generous employer doubles my salary, buying property is not an option for me right now.

Actually, I’ve been “alone” for several years now, meaning I’ve been pretty much living on my own and out of my family’s jurisdiction. I’m pretty smug about it, mind you. Living alone is terribly hard, especially for the first few months. Aside from my own expenses, I also give cash regularly to my mom, who is already past sixty. Stretching my paycheck for two people is serious business. I had to sacrifice a lot of luho for this endeavor. But as hard as it is for me, I don’t regret it. My type of personality (and lifestyle) makes it necessary for me to be live alone, because I don’t want anyone, especially parental units, to meddle in my personal affairs.

So after living on dorms, rooms and cramped studios for a couple of years, I’ve finally found a pretty comfortable nest that I can call home. Sure, it’s still pretty bare, because I still have to save for major furniture and appliances, but it’s habitable. When I say habitable, it means I can sleep comfortably, do bathroom business, drink instant coffee and cook Lucky Me Pancit Canton, haha. I don’t have to be a domestic goddess just yet – I’m single. And the most important thing of all, I can do my writing stuff and work with practically no disruption from noisy housemates. I write for a living, and I’m willing to pay premium for absolute peace and privacy.

Downsides, I can name a few. Aside from the huge dent it’s making on my budget, there are times that being alone gets to you emotionally. Let me tell you, going home to an empty house can be depressing. There are moments I wished that there’s a lover waiting for me in my bedroom, who will take off my shoes from my tired feet. There are times I wished that someone can do my house chores for me, who can do the laundry, the cleaning, and have dinner ready for me when I get home from work.

But this is the price I have to pay for living on my own terms. After all the momentary doubts, I must say it’s worth it. It’s absolutely priceless being able to do any goddamn thing you want to do. I can walk around the house naked, drink beer and smoke inside the bedroom, or just stay in bed all day and forget about doing the dishes for a while. And yes, I can bring people over whenever I want. Be it friends or lovers, it doesn’t really matter. The stone walls of my domicile can contain the shrieks of ecstasy induced by the greatest of lovers, or mask the most heart-wrenching sobs during moments of depression.

So right now, I’m sitting pretty on my bouncy Airbed, merrily typing away on my laptop, drinking beer and taking it easy. My eternal favorite Sade is crooning in the background, the stereo speakers are cranked all the way up, but nobody’s going to scold me and tell me to keep it down. This is my domain, and nobody tells me what to do. I’m happy as a camper, and I love it.

Bato-bato sa langit…

So sue me, I’m in a bitchy mood. The following goes out to:

Incredibly stupid people:

We all do stupid things in life, but we should not do it on a regular basis. You do not make a habit of stupidity. I am constantly amazed that some people do not think before they do something that is obviously stupid, which will, of course, turn out to be the seed of their downfall.

People who rub their filthy noses in my business:

I will say this now and I will say this again and again and again – Mind your own goddamn business! Keep your grubby paws off my affairs!

Conservatives who get turned off with my artistic photos:

No one invited you to check out my Friendster profile and I really don’t give a damn if you see it or not. If you don’t like what you see, and if you think what you’re seeing is beneath your lily-white ass, you are welcome to close down that window and tend to more important matters, like growing a brain with a wider perspective of things.

People who criticize my sex life and my lack of so-called morals:

Lubricants, you want?

Men who want to sleep with me:

Eight inches?

Milquetoasts who think they are better than me because I have a dirty mouth:

Oh man, you haven’t seen the worst of it, believe me.

Other people who think they are better than me:

Hey, maybe you are! Let me see your NASA certification!

Another one who thinks she is better than me:

You’re right, Mom.

People who think I’m a bitch:

Make that a capital B, please.

People who think I’m a good person:

I owe you a burger.

People who want to mess with me:

Oh, please do. Just so you know what I’m talking about.

My Pet Peeves

Things that irritate the bejesus out of me.

1. Women who can’t go to the restroom on their own

This phenomenon of females flocking together to the restroom, which leaves men scratching their heads in total disbelief, started in high school. Girl bonding, which is often borne out of peer pressure, dictates that girls should go to restrooms in groups. Now, I will not pretend that I did not succumb to this practice when I was still a clueless, pimply teenager trying to fit in with the rest of the gang. I did, but I started cleansing my hands off the habit as soon as I entered college because it’s so goddamn irritating. Grown women should not be caught dead whining and coercing her girlfriends to go with them to the restroom. Okay, it’s perfectly excusable when you have to gossip about someone and you think the restroom is the most private place in the world to do it (we’re still women, after all) but it shouldn’t become a habit, especially if you want to go because you HAVE to go. You don’t need an audience for your peeing and defecating, right? I mean, you’re not actually scared of going to the restroom alone, are you? Because if you are, it’s just downright pathetic.

2. People who use extreme text language

Look, I use text language myself whenever I’m trying to maximize the space for messages, cheapskate that I am, but there is a fine line between tolerable text language and the type which can be likened to nails scratching a blackboard. Here is an example:

Example A: dto nko.
Example B: d2 na me.

Needless to say, Example B makes me want to reduce the sender’s face to a bloody pulp using his fancy 3G phone. Those who have patiently read my Friendster profile are aware that I have an intense, palpable hatred towards interchanging and substituting “me” and “you” in text messages. Same with over-abbreviation, with words mutating to:

d2 – dito
ba2 – baba
dnr – dinner
brkfst - breakfast

Removing some vowels is fine, but removing them all is way too jologs, I’m sorry. Same with using the number 2 to suggest that a syllable should be repeated.

So, when a guy sends you this text message:

Kmsta n u? Eat na u? Tpos n me. Gud nyt, labs. Swit drms.

Reply with:

Get lost.

3. People who can’t commute and those who don’t know how to cross streets

I don’t buy that but-we’re-so-rich-and my-mommy-and-daddy-won’t-let-me-commute-lest-I-get-kidnapped-or-

inhale-pollution excuse. I know a lot of seriously moneyed people who can afford all the cars that they want with all the gas that they can guzzle and still know how to commute. I scoffed at my schoolmates in college who were completely clueless when it comes to getting from point A to point B without their trusty manong drivers to pick them up. I mean, they were in college, for chrissake. I’m not saying that they should forego the comforts of being driven around in posh, air-conditioned cars, but they should at least have the smarts and the initiative to experience commuting once in a while, especially if the driver is taking too long to arrive or simply stuck somewhere. This ineptness in taking public transportation is sometimes linked with the inability to cross the street without getting hit by a car, which further increases one’s idiot points. In this country, crossing the street is a skill that is as basic as knowing your right from your left.

4. Women who go on wild shopping sprees, buy clothes, jewelry and expensive shoes…then declare that they don’t have food money until the next payday comes along.

This should be self-explanatory, but I couldn’t resist sharing this conversation with a friend of mine.

Friend: Dear, wala na akong pera, I swear.
Me: Bakit, anong nangyari sa pera mo?
Friend: Eh kasi, nag-shopping ako yesterday. Di ako nakatiis, I bought this gorgeous shoes from Janilyn, yung tinuro ko sa yo last week? Grabe, ang ganda nya talaga, bagay dun sa dress na binili ko sa Trinoma recently.
Me: Eh bakit mo binili, limited lang pala budget mo, ikaw talaga. Labo.
Friend: Hello! Gorgeous shoes? Need I say more? Waaaah. Wala na akong pang-lunch sa office for the rest of the week.
Me: Well…subukang mong kainin yang sapatos mo. Malay mo masarap. 3k yan, di ba?

The Wish List

I’ve noticed that lots of bloggers have posted their own wish lists, with items that range from the reasonable to downright insane (ambisyosa ka ha?). Well, since I’m emotionally empty nowadays and unable to think of anything dramatic to post just yet, I will jump on the wish list bandwagon and let you in, dear readers, on what my humble heart desires.

Generous individuals can choose from the following:

From the possible…

-All of the Pugad Baboy books. Most of the books in my collection got lost when I moved out from my old house. Don’t ask me the whole story anymore, or else I’ll just weep unabashedly because of the profound loss. It’s a good thing I managed to save the most important of them all, the Ink and Politics, which has a drawing of Polgas (created by the great Pol himself, with a blue ballpen) on the inside cover, with Polgas saying, “Good buddy ko si Justine!” Pugad Baboy fans, go purple with envy! May I gloat even further that he was my thesis adviser several years ago, and we’ve been to his house. Basked on his talent. Ate his food. Slept on his bed.

Joooke.

The thing is, I want to replace all of them. Pronto. And you can help. Hehe.

-All of Jessica Zafra’s books. I practically worship the woman. If there are two Filipinos whom I’d gladly play the hopeless, drooling groupie for, it’s Jessica Zafra and Pol Medina. Except that if I am indeed lucky enough to be granted an audience with Jessica, I’d probably just sit across from her and say nothing out of sheer terror. I’d probably even be too petrified to breathe.

-Guns ‘N Roses, Use Your Illusion I & II albums

_Alice in Chains, MTV Unplugged DVD
-The Vampire Chronicles
-Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind. Throw in the original DVD too, alright?
-DVD series of Shark
-Tickets to the Eraserheads reunion concert
-Tickets to the Alicia Keys concert
-Directions to the best ukay-ukay shop in Manila
-Any WWE DVD
-A subscription to National Geographic magazine
-An eat-all-you-can treat at Mr. Kebab in QC
-A pair of old-school Ray-ban sunglasses, the classic aviator style
-Boots. Lotsa lotsa boots.

To the quite impossible (Man, you’re dreaming...)

-Tickets to Wrestlemania XXV in Houston, Texas
-A lifetime supply of Red Horse
-A ringside seat to Manny Pacquiao’s next fight, close enough to be rained on by his million-dollar sweat

And the ludicrous (You’re ILL.)

-Ownership of the Anthology bar in Malate
-Convince U2 to have a concert here. Pleeeeaaassseee. Oh, and have Bono meet me backstage. Just the two of us.
-Christian Bale
-Marriage to John Legend
-Bring back Heath Ledger from the grave.

Awww…

 

This is Flocke, the latest super-cute, superstar polar bear in Germany.

Soooo cute!

Reminds me of the stuffed polar bear my Mom gave me when I was a kid. White, fluffy and sooo adorable I wanna bite it!

 Aww…