My rules on getting drunk

My love to party is not unknown and at parties, it is very likely that I drink. And yes, I drink. A lot. I could easily pull off a David Hasselhoff drunk but instead of lying topless on a bathroom floor, I would probably just dance until I can't stand up anymore. I enjoy being drunk because alcohol is a wonderful solvent for my inhibitions and it just destroys my sense of time.

But of course, I drink responsibly. A lot of people think that drinking makes you a bad person. That shouldn't be a shocker because drunk people smash cars, throw fists and vomit(ew). But not all drunk people have to do those. It just happens too often for avoiding making a stereotype.


Tomorrow, I'll be off to Cagayan de Oro and I'm pretty sure there we will have a party. So to consider partying and drinking responsible, I have a set of rules:

1. Never lie about it, especially to your parents. When my mother asked if I already started to enjoy drinking, I said yes. If she asked for a detail, I wouldn't lie about it. When she asked if I have already tried this and that, I never lie. When I go to overnight parties, I make it sure that they know.

What I learned about my parents is that when you never lie to them, they will be very lenient. They allow me to do all the crazy stuff I want to. I just came to realize that I should always remember whatever happens to me is exaggerated by their ability to worry and that I just be very honest. My parents enjoy not being lied to and I fear that when I lie, they might ban me from partying and all other unnecessary things I love to do.

2. Study your metamorphosis. Drinking really plays with the brain and it is not rare that people change after alcohol ingestion. You should know about what you become after a few bottles.

Yours truly turns into a French tourist and a loner. I just dance on the floor. In fact, I just want to dance more than anything else I turn down any offers to socialize. If my name is requested, I reply with a David or Patrice. Trust me, you'll shit bricks laughing at it when you become sane again. This step is very crucial because what if you turn into a Chuck Norris when you're drink? People who turn into war freak brutes when they're drunk needs companions to actually turn them into less threatening drunks. If you were born to be an alcoholic gladiator, there is still a wonderful chance that you can be turned into something more benign.


3. The way home. When you're drunk, parties might seem like they could go on forever but trust me, they don't. So before hand, you must be well aware of where you will be sleeping tonight and be sure that when your vision resembles a blender, it will be still safe to travel back home.

The most irresponsible thing you could do when you're drunk is when you need to drive and you actually drive. The second is when you let someone who is also drunk drive you home. The third is when you let your car ride you. Just be sure you have a safe way home no matter how brutally drunk you are.

4. Never give out your number.

Instead, ask for numbers. Hahahahaha

5. Limit the amount of money you bring near the bar.

Pulling out cash and handing it over to the bar is far easier when drunk.

6. Remember that the worst thing you could do in life is make people who care about you worry.

That is one of my major mantras so I really think twice before doing anything because of all the ugly things you could be in life, I wouldn't be a source of worry the most.


I know that alcohol is not really kind to the body but after a party night, I just make sure I eat very healthy (all greens and a matchbox-sized portion of meat) plus I sleep a lot. So the seventh step is to make sure that the night after the party is dedicated to recovery.

When you catch yourself crawling for alcohol, actually needing it and having mood swings just to have a sip. That means your addicted. You can stop yourself from addiction. When you just start falling in love, stop in the middle and just remind yourself, alcohol is only a friend. A friend shouldn't be abused.

Shopaholic

Living in a municipality with a convenience store called Shopaholic, you just don't expect boredom.

I'm with my cousins, Titas and Titos here in Zamboanga. I'm having a lot of fun watching movies, listening to jokes, being the joke, and doing everything else you can do with a joke. Plus I'm eating the regular 3 meals a day and I'm gaining weight!

A little backtrack: Well, usually I never eat three meals a day. I lost a lot of weight doing so and even though how hard I try to regain some pounds, I would still prefer eating once a day over reporting to the table three times a day. My appetite was walking away from being extant.

This summer is too happy to prequel my migration to the capital city next year but, I remind myself: I will enjoy Manila. Just not the first few weeks.

La Merde

I still have an hour and I just ate an outrageously small serving of spaghetti carbonara served by one of the many coffee shops here in the airport. This is the perfect time to rant about money hoarding, food servers in the NAIA Terminal 3 airport.

The coffee shop claims of having French descent. I will not be shocked if a French-Filipino war emerges next week. I believe that the French take food seriously and that damned coffee shop can easily be considered as a huge threat to their security. The cashier and the person who prepares the sandwiches share the same set of hands so I opted to take their spaghetti carbonara which was already on those plastic, microwaveable rectangular containers. It looked like cheap take-out but at least I'm sure my food won't taste like coins and peso bills.

The pricing is just crazy. In fact, it could only be sane if diamond grindings were included in the white sauce. Yes, the sauce was creamy. In fact, IT WAS ALL CREAM. While airlines are lowering airfares for those who dream to fly, airport food stalls are stealing from hungry, in-transit passengers.

I am not being very cheap. I just spend money wisely. Would you spend a day's allowance on a mixture of poor pasta and a peculiar white substance that can only be ketchup with white paint diluted in tap water? Yes, maybe. If it includes a stick of soft, dense garlic bread. The garlic bread, if only it was the size of a rhinoceros (their definition of a serving is synonymous to the size of my thumb), could have made up for all these anger.

PS: My joints are trembling. I drank a strong brew of caramel macchiato after an elephant serving of black coffee at home. I'm learning the effects of caffeine over dosage all by myself.

at the airport. waiting. without feathers

You have to trust me on this one. That man up there is funny as hell.

I bought Without Feathers for 5 pesos at a book sale in the mall. What a joke.

Now, I'm in an airport, nodding my head and even sometimes laughing out loud. Woody Allen requires more than a smile or a giggle. He demands a whole-hearted, gaping, laughing mouth. You should read this book in private lest everyone will have an idea of what your tonsils look like. Its a bible against boredom.

I'll be in Manila for FOUR HOURS, just waiting and probably blowing off money on pricey airport food. Spare a few second of silence. Pray for my sanity. Everyone knows how much I hate just being stagnant.

Binge night

I'm too lazy to upload my own picture so I just grabbed this one from here.

Tomorrow, my parents and I will be going home to our barangay. That means I won't have constant internet connection and in the barangay, staying inside the house for weeks is sane. The lack of physical activity will be overwhelming.

I went to SM alone and bought Selecta-Hershey's Reese's flavored ice cream, cotton balls and Sweet Corn balls (the chichiria). Tonight, I'm planning to eat all of the ice cream together with my parents. I have to celebrate my temporary migration to the boondocks.

Honestly, I think the loss of internet will be hard on me. I probably won't be able to blog all the time which, on the brighter side, means I'll have more time to read. The rural is a good backdrop for consuming literature about brain medicine (bough a book about psychiatric drugs). In the urban, I find it hard to finish a book being officially addicted to the internet.

Everyone knows how Lady Gaga loves to make it into the front page. Her song Judas has just been released a few days ago and if you remove it from any religious context, its a fairly addicting song. I listened to it once and it was repulsive. I forced myself to giving it another chance until I realized my iTunes was on "Repeat One".

I can't wait to hear the Church's reaction on this kind of music. I find it really amusing to see pastors and priests bash a meat-wearing pop superstar.

Better than Prozac

Prozac can make you happy. So what is better than what can make you happy?

I bought this at a booksale for a staggering, earth-shaking 5 pesos. Psychiatry is a challenging field. I bought a book about psychiatric drugs for less than a jeepney ride. Wow.

There must be a Republic Act requiring a minimum number of book sale outlets per hectare.

a reminder from Quench Pure Water

Only Christ the Living Water can Quench our Spiritual Thirst

Welcome to the religious Philippines where even water bottles can preach.

I bought this from my doctor's assistant. I had another two doses of immunizations for the Ateneo enrollment.

The pain doesn't bother me at all. It is the feeling of having another end of the needle entering your muscles that makes me queasy.

Movie rush

Its been at least a decade since my family leased something from a movie rental store.

There is a Movies 'n More branch inside SM City Iloilo so using my Student Driver's permit and school ID, I applied for membership and left the store six movies richer.

The movies:

Part 1. The DVDs

NOY - Dondon S. Santos

My family were supporters of Noynoy Aquino during the past election that we could have tied yellow ribbons around all our limbs to show our support.Too bad the ribbon makers couldn't catch up.

It is about cameraman Noy who is assigned to document the rise of his namesake and top presidential bet Sen. Noynoy Aquino. There was a lot of talk about the movie but I never really got myself into watching it. Maybe because we were too happy over our presidential bet's victory that a movie house is just too quiet.

Boracay

Fashion bloggers do this. So I will do it too.

Sailor-inspired shirt from Mundo- The Ramp Crossings, dark blue shorts by Maldita, white slippers (not in the photo) from Havianas. Smile from Colgate, cheekbones from calcium and genetics, skin tone from melanin, beach and sand from Boracay, Aklan. Hair by keratin.

I can't make a good blog post because I'm just in the middle of recovery from too much partying.

• I still can't distinguish an early morning from a late afternoon. 
• Coffee provides only temporary relief. 
• Even the amount of buttons on my keyboard makes me dizzy.

Boracay with my cousins was fun. Very fun!

let there be light! after my booty shakes.

The photo above was taken at Boardwalk, a popular route for joggers in the city. We went there before 6 AM this morning because my parents, who had made it a ritual to jog at this part of the city almost every morning, probably thought my legs are already too fat. They really need their own fitness shows on TV or else they will be releasing all their expertise on me. Shivers.

I have been a slave to technology lately. Blogging takes a computer and the internet. I have been using my phone a lot. Even play counter-productive games on my devices. I noticed this 'slavery' because of an event with those hi-tech lights that have motion activated switches. The one usually installed on walkways. They save electricity because they only turn themselves on when someone, or something, is moving in front of it.

This is what happened:
 

My mother unloaded the washing machine and hanged my socks at a spot in front of the light before we went jogging. 

We went home from my tito's house a little bit late at night and she remembered the socks. I volunteered to bring them in. 

Of course, the light went on but then, while gathering the socks, it was only my arms that moved. The lights turned itself off because there wasn't enough motion going on. My brain started to work for solutions. And tadaaaa.....

I SHOOK MY BUTT! I shook my arse in the open for a hi-tech halogen lamp to light on me. This is an ultimate form of slavery (or prostitution) to technology.

But to give myself a little justice, I just watched Rio, which is primarily about birds that can salsa and sing with Hispanic accents. The butt-shaking idea must have been influenced by the still ringing visions of birds dancing on my head. 

So to reduce the butt-dancing instinct I have built inside of me, I'm removing technology from myself (or is it removing myself from technology). You need not to worry if my rate of blog posts suddenly decreases (My first driving lesson today suggests I would survive). I'll be on a trip early on tomorrow. It would be fun!

Enough lament over the immunizations.

I got this temporary hiding place for my cash and all small things I carry. This is until I see a wallet that could represent me - of course, with a price tag well below the clouds.

All, including the 'Susi' keychain, is by Team Manila. I bought these at the airport in a kind of split-second decision because I didn't want my coins and bills hiding themselves in the dark creases of my antique backpack.

There is a funny story behind the 'Susi' keychain. When I saw it, I just wanted to have it. I was thinking it was made for someone named Susan, which eventually everyone will start calling 'Susi'. Parallel to Rodolfo Vera Quizon being turned into 'Dolphy'. I am really an un-sharpened pen in the pencil case of Filipino language mastery (wut?). It was only later that I realized 'Susi' also meant key. susi. Not all words with a capital letter is a proper noun.

If you look closely, you will see bills. It also shelters my LRT Stored Value card (I lost the one which was truly mine. This one I got from mother), and my Student Driver's Permit from the Land Transportation Office of the Philippines.

Hide yo' mothers, hide yo' children, HIDE yo' husbands because tomorrow would be my first day at driving academy. My driving school is so cool, they specified a key rule in their well-distributed hand-out. See for yourself:

RELEASE GAS, yo! Then I'mma be murdering your speed limits or something, more brilliantly, with flatulence.

Not a good day

I can only put Ma'am Aquino's photo on this post because it [the photo] does not remind me of the horror I have been through today, in fact, it doesn't remind me of anything.

The horror:

I just had two immunizations, one for each upper arm. Its the worst. I can blame no one. It was needed for the Ateneo enrollment, my doctor was the best in town (a Rizal awardee in medicine, for public service and skill I presume) and the needles were new and the thinnest I have ever seen. The penetration could not be over half an inch and the pain was bearable.

It was the anticipation that got the best of me. I'm just sad.

But soon, I'll get over this and realize that two, minute puncture wounds shouldn't rape my humanity into shreds. In a few moments, I will be happy again. Till then, I rest my fingers because my arms are still high on the deactivated parasites.

cultural backgrounds give the best shirt discounts

Look at my zebra-crocodile transfiguration shirt. I wore it for a very small part of yesterday and today. The fabric is just so comfortable!

I bought it from a store in Singapore. The two salesladies were Filipinos and I remember them ask me, in Tagalog, what was I doing there. I said I was on vacation and they responded with an offer: two shirts for the price of one. Wonderful.

A lot of worries come when your kababayans are all over the world given the amount of grief and horror we endured during the executions of our fellow Filipinos in China, the earthquakes in Christchurch and in Japan and the civil wars in the Middle East. If ten percent of the population you belong to are overseas, a problem anywhere in the world becomes your problem -  but if you look at the brighter side, everywhere also becomes your home.

I love being Filipino.

For Breakfast

I woke up 4:30 AM today. Its weird because I'm starting to like waking up in the wee hours of the morning to see everything change color from before and after sunrise.

Still, our house is lacking of someone who can cook so my father brought us to the nearest Jollibee branch. For breakfast, I had burger steak with egg and hot chocolate. Good enough.

Over the meal, my father outlined our plans for the day. First, we will bring his friends to the airport, then have the holy rite of oil-changing for our car. The last one was to enroll me in a driving school.


It is true that I am going to driving school. Now you have enough reason to get the best car insurance package or better yet, cover your vehicle with platinum because I'm going to hit the road in a few days, or even hours. 

Perfect timing. I'm in daredevil mode.

Anvil Publishings

I recently found home in the books born into this world by Anvil Publishings.

A lot of Zafra, Pam Pastor, a couple of Youngblood books and a recently purchased copy of Death By Garrote. Written by Ambeth Ocampo, it is a new genre of history writing. One that appeals, educates, entertains and scares the hell out of me.

Verdict: BUY one for yourself.

PS: I look like crap! You will if something like this happened to you.

After taking a bath.

There is nothing more insomniac than major caffeine intake after 7 in the evening. For Starbucks, I named myself "David" because previous circumstances suggest that hearing and spelling "LEO" properly is harder than I think it is.

I then went to the mall and walked around. Entertained myself with deep thoughts of "am I even normal?" while blank-staring at displays. I also enjoyed guessing if people would give me a second look. I am worried the answer to that is yes.

After a few more rounds in SM City Iloilo, a mall so classic I could probably map it by memory, my father called and told me he was going out and that our home being deficient of any other human who can cook (actually, of any human at all), I had to eat out.

Kenny Roger's was vertiginous when I was younger. The smell inside the food chain was enough to burn my insides through my nose. A few years after, I learned to love their version of roasted chicken. So for dinner, I ate this meal:

There was a part during the consummation of my meal that I worried about not chewing the corn and carrot mix properly. What if a chunk of the hard carrot cuts would end up in my appendix? Would I die? And what a sad way to die but bookworms would probably enjoy a title "Murdered by a Carrot".

I went home immediately after I gathered myself in the bookstore.

Unbeknownst to me, the horror that waited inside the walls of my own home. Will I still sleep at night, I wondered. Consumed by thought, I began to sleep - but sleep was then consumed by thought: Is this sleep, or just a false rest, a faux by longing? The argument regurgitated me. The teeth, I'm sure, was my own. (blame the caffeine)

The sum of all hell

I have arachnophobia and a bunch of all other common fears (cockroaches, heights etc). What just happened a few minutes ago almost sent me to a psychiatric ward and I'm just blogging it in an effort to remind myself that it is already history and it will probably not happen again and again.

Straight from the mall, I walked into my room. A welcome committee emerges composed of a 1.5-inch cockroach lying on its back on the floor, waving its feet like it wants me to cuddle it. I freaked out. I thought of ways to make it go away without having to kill it (cockroach blood is like pus, ew). Being the smarty pants that I am, I went out of my room, grabbed the broom, stuck a double-sided tape to its end and walked back to the cockroach. While I was trying to make the double-sided tape reach the cockroach, a big, dead SPIDER, the biggest I have ever seen, falls off the broom and lands less than a ruler away from my feet. I called out God a few times. The dead spider was the one I asked my mother to murder for me from our bathroom.

I was freaking out so I ran around and ended up beside my bed. I tried to sit down until I saw another spider, a small one, running around the sheets. I called out for God a few more times and went out to the kitchen, peeking at the chocolates on our fridge to help me calm down.

This is not the best welcome my house has ever given me. Now, I fear entering any small room. What if this happens again in a smaller room? I am sure I would die painfully.

The Scream by Edvard Munch

Starbucks Iloilo just opened

I started my career as a coffee junkie long before I turned 10. The addiction began with dipping hot pandesal in the strong brews of my parents. It eventually evolved into having my own cup everyday. Then a few months, I gave up on the bread then I let go of the creamer - which I never really liked. Now, I can drink coffee even without sugar. I am not after the taste. I am after the aroma and the caffeine.

Starbucks came along, together with their heavenly caramel macchiato. Boom! But it was a long distance relationship, a hard to maintain affiliation, which instead of increasing fondness, withered.. The nearest branch is an 8-hour drive and a 30-minute boat ride away (Boracay Island)!

Just imagine how happy I was to be greeted by Iloilo with a local Starbucks branch opening!

So today I visited the Starbucks and lining up in the counter, I fell into worry. I already drank two gigantic glasses of solid brews today. 

The first one was at about 5:30 AM. Still in Manila. It was the Nescafe instant, powdered coffee you can mix in with whatever you like. My ideal proportion is a tablespoon of the coffee and half a tablespoon of sugar. Just add hot water and I would be content.

The second one was after a petite lunch. This time, it was instant, pre-mixed coffe. Sugar-free and loaded with a lot of antioxidants from fungi (like mushrooms). It was the rare, herbal-ish type. It had creamer in it. I swear I contemplated the idea of pulling out each crystal of the powdered creamer from the mix using tweezers. But creamers are bearable so I just finished a serving.

I ended up not buying a caramel macchiato at Starbucks. I heard trembling can ensue from too much coffee and that is scary ("What if it will never stop?!?"). 

My fears can be comforted by frozen yogurt. So instead of a caffeine fix, I dissolved in fermented milk. Topped with God's great blessing, the chocnut.

Yum. I bought a newspaper so when the insomnia kicks in, I can slap the boredom with news.

Not going to die because of you.

I just landed in Iloilo from Manila.

Its my first time to ride a plane with the built-in music players. All you need to bring are earplugs. You can choose the channel and set the volume. Problem is, in the genuine desire of Cebu Pacific to lower all costs, they do not use this plane's feature.

Moving on to the post title.

I was eying this peculiar woman/lady/girl/child who is about 20 years old. The catch is she owns a Hello Kitty clam-shaped phone. The whole time we were boarding the plane, she was talking on the phone and she was using her hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes loitered as if they are discussing the final touches of a plan to take over the world and secrecy is a top priority.

On the plane, we took about an hour to get a slot in the runway thus a painful delay. It is SOP on planes that all cellular phones must be off. This woman/lady/girl/child, living up to my adjective of 'peculiar', decided that her phone's temporary termination is an abomination of all things sacred. So she decided to leave her phone on. She even managed to take pictures using her Hello Kitty phone of the view from above. She did so in a manner obnoxious to the worry of the other passengers.

I myself do not believe that phones can redirect planes. I have seen the episode on Mythbusters. It is quite impossible that an exchange of SMS would suddenly direct your plane to the Pacific Ocean -- but rules are rules. And there are some risks not worth taking in using phones on an airplane. Plus the old woman beside her was worrying.

Some humans can get really insensitive. Using a phone in an airplane is like waiving a knife, at a safe distance, at a baby. It has risks and is stupid . Some are just stupid enough to take the risk.

The whole time this woman/lady/girl/child was smiling so I would not let go of the idea that she is actually cuckoo. I am sorry if you are but please, learn the coordinates of the off-button on your phone.

Creative License

The short film above is the Overall Best Film of the Film Racing Tour 2010.

The Film Race is a filmmaking competition where filmmakers are given 24 hours to create a masterpiece. The creators of Creative License are Filipinos and the film is a light tour of a dark truth.

Double Dutch Ice Cream

I just managed to watch Gwyneth Paltrow on "The View from the Top" without throwing up. I started to crawl towards the freezer to get a serving of double dutch ice cream. On the way, I coughed and my mother suggested I take mucusolvan. I declined.

I have a mantra of no medicine intake unless it is extremely needed. I have to train my body to heal itself and feeding it with exactly what it needs will spoil it. Spare the double dutch ice cream. Gwyneth Paltrow, I mean "The View from the Top' just corrupted my consciousness. I need some sweets or else I'll drown in my own vomit.That is an exact example of extreme need.

When I started to open the freezer, I coughed again. You know how coughs make you bob your head forward. So I bobbed a little bit too much that I bumped my head on the freezer handle. Wait. Don't laugh yet. I was about to burst in laughter when I coughed again, which meant bumping again. It became so funny I choked. And I kept coughing a few hundred more times - which means a hundred more bumps. The pain was too much that what was supposed to be funny and embarrassing progressed to be a scandal. A true Filipino scandal and I was a victim

For the first time in a long time, I felt so .... ashamed. 

Breakfast at Tiffany's

Just watched my first Audrey Hepburn film as a teenager late last night. It was nice. Just finished Jessica Zafra's Twisted 8 and I'm planning to start reading, page by page, a French dictionary I defeated my friend at owning. I bought the dictionary for 25 pesos.

Now, Breakfast at Tiffany's.

My favorite parts were 

when they went to the bar after they sent off Holly's (Hepburn) ex-husband at the bus station. They were watching a girl dancing on stage. Holly then ends disc one with "Do you think she is handsomely paid?" I have then to load disc 2 in under 5 seconds. 

The part where VCD's cut must be between a life-changing question and the answer to ensure the viewer actually finishes the movie.

when Holly learns her beloved brother Fred dies. It is perfectly placed. Perfect timing.

when Paul Varjak (George Peppard) declaims the fear of wild things to be owned and to be the responsibility of others and when he tries to find Holly's nameless cat, which Holly claims to be no one's, not even hers. That almost made me cry. But I never cry watching old movies.

I am too distracted and I haven't done anything related to my 'job' yet. I keep on stalling and stalling. Now with the French dictionary and The View from the Top where Gwenyth Paltrow is in. My ability to focus is such a parody.

(Because I think everyone deserves to know, this is my 300th post and what other way to spend it but with Audrey Hepburn whom I admire and my exceptional ability to lose focus? Please subscribe to my blog. Check out the subscribe via e-mail, subscribe in a reader options on the top right of my blog.)

I'm blogging about Manila

WTF!! Why do I always get this at restaurants? Was the previous birth certificate hassle an impending warning that my favorite place in the world (so favorite that I have payed at least 1,650 pesos once for a singular serving of their hot chocolate which they claim, and I believe them, the best in the world) would replace a letter in my 3-letter first name? That is like murdering 1/3 of me. It is LEO, not DEO. This is not vanity, this is giving honor to official documents and you don't know how official a cup of this brew is for me.

While I was enjoying my caramel macchiato, my mother bought her own comfort chews. Fresh pineapples. And all the while she was talking about why we need to eat fruits just because. I will have to design her Ambassador for Fibers I.D. so she can wear something at home. And car stickers saying there is an Ambassador for Fibers on board. I am proud of my mother - so I bought a slice of banana cake in honor and submission.

PS: Dairy Queen's Caramel Cashew Blizzard is heaven. It was too yummy I didn't have time to take a photo of it.

SUPERNANNY and NSO odors

This is to give thanks to my Supernanny who goes by the name Bon (not her real name, used to protect her bloodline of super people). She is super and this is a chronicle of why I owe almost all of my future to her.

To put everything in context, I went to Manila to confirm my slot in Ateneo. I'm from Iloilo. Confirmation requires a birth certificate. The cosmos wants to give my supernanny an earth-shaking opportunity to flaunt her superiority - so I ended up here in the capital city with the birth certificate back at home. Then:

Supernanny is contacted through phone. She is obviously not feeling the urgency. She is confident she can do what she is tasked to do. Using x-ray vision, she located a photocopy of my birth certificate dating back to 2008 in our home. She brings the photocopy to the town proper, realizes the scan of it looks like  a wasteland. It could not be understood. She needed the originals. So she rode her super vehicle, the form of a public utility bus which will travel the 100 km she needs to burn in two hours.

After two hours, she arrives at the city. Her x-ray vision fails to penetrate the cement walls of metropolitan Iloilo. She has a hard time looking for the originals. Then she remembered her fling with the super hot security guard at NSO. She remembers his perfume which he enjoyed using as hand sanitizer. Using one large inhale,  supernanny detects the perfume. Two seconds later, a birth certificate is procured from an old, abandoned plastic folder. Supernanny jogs to the the nearest internet station, gets the file scanned and alas! I have confirmed a slot in the Ateneo.

Supernanny got me covered.

This story is non-fiction. My exaggerations and use of proper terminology (such as x-ray vision) doesn't really alter the truth for the truth is an exaggeration and should only be proper. I may have added elements to increase interest (fling with a security guard, cliche).

Inday, the chambermaid extraordinaire, can speak with killer words. My super nanny can cut her tongue out.

Manille is really crazy

We rode a public utility van to the airport. The trip takes about 30 clock minutes but the driver successfully stretched half an hour to sixteen days. He only had Willie Revillame's CD. Too bad they didn't provide barf bags. My centavo-sized iPod earplugs can't compete with their 12" speakers. Hell. 

I flew a little over an hour on an airtight plane beside a guy who unfortunately lost his deodorant, shampoo and soap weeks ago but is still hopeful for a reunion. No, early morning flights do NOT give you the right to ride airplanes smelling like vomit and sweat. Buy your own plane if you are afraid of hygiene. I swear I could have smashed through the airplane windows with my fist.

Halfway the flight, I couldn't deny that I still have the rhinoceros up my sinuses. The saltwater solution only provided temporary relief. 

We (my mother and I) went straight to Ateneo to confirm my slot. Ateneo's campus is a temporary escape from the toxic air of fast-paced Manila. Nice. I pulled the requirements out of my bag and I realized I left my birth certificate somewhere halfway the length of the Philippines away.

Optimism at this point means suicide. 

Then my phone beeped because I received an e-mail. It was good news. I just got myself a job in writing.

I listened to a Willie Revillame album, my nostrils are poisoned, the rhinoceros in my sinuses is still there, I still have no confirmed slot for an Honor's course in the Ateneo. Let's flush those down the toilet and embrace the fact that I don't need to be a sloth this summer. Yahoo!

A die-hard traveller

For the life of me, I wanted a job that requires skills as a traveller. So as early as now I am trying to make an amazeballs traveller out of what I have, which is not good enough. And what futile days it has been.
I checked the weather forecast because I've seen people do this when they travel.

I guess a wise traveller would bring an umbrella. An even wiser traveller will not bring an umbrella. He will buy a souvenir umbrella to add to his collection of a thousand souvenir umbrellas.
But a traveller like me will not bring an umbrella because my gut has feelings more sensitive than what they use to forecast the weather. I will not be rained upon. My gut is sure, but I will have to resist urges to cut it out when it fails me.

Will be heading out to the airport in a few hours!

Blog post via IPod e-mail.

Warning: Gore and Stupidity

This is a gory true story. It just happened. Stop reading if you can't take it anymore.

I just learned the proper term is rhino-sinusitis. Its a rhinoceros in one or both of your sinusitis. Imagine and you will get the picture. Pressure, headache, body ache and an annoying, constant feeling of something is wrong. I just got so full of the symptoms of this rhino-sinusitis plus I can't find my remedy which is Nasonex that my brain started to spiral down into madness.

" I felt like I was in a jungle, far from any other human. No help. Just me - with a rhinoceros up my nose. I knew it would be my last night if I did nothing. So I grabbed a small Cetaphil bottle just like the one pictured above (I don't know why this jungle had Cetaphil bottles), cleaned the remains of the cleansing solution and started to gather my courage. I filled it halfway with distilled water, which was surprisingly available right on the center of a cluster of mahogany trees (although I had to wrestle with a unicorn to get it). A jar of salt was to my right so I pinched some salt and put it in the Cetaphil bottle.

I shook the bottle. It was life-changing. Every thrust, back and forth, of the bottle hollered my will to live. I'm going to live. I'm going to survive this jungle.

Then I popped the cap open, pushed it agains my left nostril, bent my head and started pumping the water, hoping it will reach my sinuses. I never had any medical training and I don't know where I got the idea of seawater up your sinuses will heal sinusitis. But it did. Now I feel brand new. "

No. I am not crazy. Somewhere in the four units of biology I took in high school, I learned that salt-washing your sinuses is good (totally unsure). If it is not, I wonder why I feel brand new right now. Apparently it was a good move. If this gets worst tomorrow, I might have to eat my words.

Please don't do this to yourself. Be happy you are not me.

its Rhinitis

Rhinitis (pronounced /raɪˈnaɪtɪs/), commonly known as a stuffy nose, is the medical term describing irritation and inflammation of some internal areas of the nose. The primary symptom of rhinitis is nasal dripping. It is caused by chronic or acute inflammation of the mucous membrane of the nose due to viruses, bacteria or irritants. The inflammation results in the generating of excessive amounts of mucus, commonly producing the aforementioned runny nose, as well as nasal congestion and post-nasal drip. According to recent studies completed in the United States, more than 50 million Americans are current sufferers.^{[clarification needed]} Rhinitis has also been found to adversely affect more than just the nose, throat, and eyes. It has been associated with sleeping problems, ear conditions, and even learning problems.^[1] Rhinitis is caused by an increase in histamine, which is most often triggered by airborne allergens. These allergens may affect an individual's nose, throat, or eyes and cause an increase in fluid production within these areas.

From Wikipedia.

 Or simply having a rhinoceros up your nostril. Its uncomfortable and I don't want it. My rhinitis doesn't have nasal dripping but I could feel pressure in my sinuses though.

I lost my Nasonex. Its like perfume for the walls of your upper nostril. Its weird the first time I had it because you had to spray it up your nose and sometimes it gets stingy but now, I can't complain. I need it. The rhinoceros is there and I feel like its digging a whole. Aaaaaaaaaaaah!

I'm going to Manille early tomorrow. The air there is not cleaner that Iloilo's. Its like having burns on your hand and dipping it in boiling canola oil.

Bags and wee hours.

One of the things I never learn to do is pack.

When I was young, I would bring out all my things and force them into a bag. My supernanny will then unpack the bag and do what I did all over again neatly in a manner synonymous to saying "You don't know how to pack. You will never learn and you just wasted everyone's time." I'm not really sure if that is what she is trying to say but that is what came through.

The bag above is mine. Its a man bag. I've seen boys on TV wear it and boys in print sport it. Still, I never got the hang of using it. I am more of a hanger-person which means I prefer man bags with longer straps I could hang on my shoulders. From afar, I would resemble a hanger.

My mother is already nagging that I should pack because we will be leaving to Manila about 5:30 AM tomorrow, which unfortunately also means we need to be at the airport at around 4 AM to check-in without having to run around. Its my fault because I booked the tickets and I have the tendency to sell our comfort for even just 2 dollars.

I use this bag whenever I travel:

It looks like shit already. I know that its tired. Especially during the vice versa part because it gets filled with soiled, shmelly fabric. Its the day just after laundry day and I'm head-to-toe in confusion over what to bring and what to never wear again. Ever.

For this trip, I will go after comfort. My body is under too much already. Watch for the next post because I'll be sharing what I am suffering now and what will probably explode into something bigger in Manila.

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They know who your parents are, they know your friends

I decided to get my picture taken today for my late dorm application to the Ateneo. A friend and I visited a photo center in the mall. She needed her picture too. If I remember it right, for UP.

We entered the store and got our order slip. The lady in the counter told us to wait for our names to be called so we can enter the studio and get our faces photographed. We sat in front of their line of computers where customers get their digital photos copied for printing.

We waited and saw a lady from the store walk in front one of the computers. She browsed to a customer's folder (I've had printing done here before - I know what a customer's folders look like) and started browsing through the photos. She was 20-25 years old and I was disturbed when she started looking at the pictures one-by-one, but with a sense of caution and rush often brought about by guilt. Its as if she did not want to get caught.

Intrigued, I joined her feast. It appeared to be pictures from a trip to some domestic location that includes a blue shore, white sand, statues of lions, a church and finally, a basketball game. I am sure she had nothing to do with it except she wanting to look at photos of strangers.

She was enjoying herself until a customer on another computer said the virus scanning of her disk is done and asked if she could start choosing which photos to print already. She said yes and closed the photo viewing program. I expected her to move to assisting the customer. No, she didn't. Instead, she viewed the photos again. This time from the bottom up. She was noticeably taking more time admiring the photos from a basketball game. That is one naughty photo store worker.

From now on I will have second thoughts on having my pictures printed. Yes, you print them to show to people but of course, you don't invite random strangers into your home and present your photo albums to them.

From now on, if I see a person wearing an ID from a photo printing service I have used before, I will fall into paranoia. "Maybe she/he knows a lot about me. She knows who my friends are, she has seen my family. Worst part is: I don't know anything about her. *gunshots*"

I'm sure this plot already has a movie.

for the Fish is not a Chicken

I ordered this:

But I got this:

Fate is trying to turn me into a sumo wrestler. Of course, I didn't eat the CHEESY bacon Twister. Again, I am trying to get myself to consume zero chicken, beef or pork. I can only load up with fish and vegetables. This is not because I want to lose weight, it is because I believe I can actually avoid eating chicken, beef or pork..

I have been trying to convert myself into a vegetarian and the idea that it is impossible has been slapped on my face a few times already. When I say slapped, I mean menus that follow rules of at least a kilo dead meat per viand - no highway options, and lines of family gatherings at houses or restaurants that feature butchered animals floating in authentic Pinoy brews of greeneries or soaking in oil.

Yes, fish is an animal but I will still eat fish because I have observed that it is okay for a fastfood chain to not offer fish meals but it would insane if they didn't serve chicken, beef or/and pork to their customers. Those are essentials. Just like music, fish is a lot more indie than the other meats. Just like music, it is the meatiest of all, almost free from mass-production jinxes which are rather suspicious.

So for dinner, I just ate teren-teren. 

Fastfood

Respecting my efforts of living a life devoid of rest, my mother decided we buy take-outs instead of cooking dinner at home.

No, it is not because we want to rest instead of cooking dinner. It is because we have better, bigger things to do than cooking dinner. The Twister (just fish fillet inside) sandwich is mine and my mother will finish off the Snack Box which is filled with fries, chicken balls they call Fun Shots and gravy.

These are just like the meals people in the fast lane would eat. Look at the packaging. Who needs to use extreme hand-eye-mouth coordination with spoons and fork when you can just rip some paper apart and bite or even simpler, just pick up and toss?

I have to be honest. I will die a little if food that is pre-chewed becomes available in the market. "You will only have to swallow! Perfect for the 2 minutes of lunch break you have."


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is your tongue tongue enough?

Earlier today, I had about 8 servings of 10-minute power naps. That is what happens when I try to wake up early for no reason at all.

My mother was already on her 300th loop of "Get up already. We're going to church!" dialog but still I was in bed, preventing myself from answering that it is still too early. We're going to attend the 10:30 AM mass and we have 30 minutes before it starts. My definition of early was possibly taken from another time zone. 

After the mass, we headed to Uncle Tom's. Their menu could be easily mistaken as campaign against vegetarians. Last night, I have decided that I will reduce my consumption of meat -- except fish meat so I ordered tangigue steak with buttery lemon sauce. 

Its exactly the type of food that has no magnificent flavor. Sadly, this dish is forgettable and it will go down the plumbing almost unnoticed but it is perfect for one thing: conversations on top of eating. At least your mind will not need to process heaps of flavor information.

This day is weird because I feel really excited to blog about everything.

Pam Pastor: Paper Cuts

I ran into the bookstore yesterday to pass time while waiting for my mother. I was browsing titles and decided on buying the latest installment from a book series I was obsessing on -- until this title caught my eye:

Yes, that is Facebook on the background.

I picked it up. It was under my favorite genre: diaries. I was technically drooling at National Bookstore and then I saw this:

SOLD!

I would love to read the diary of someone who experienced all these! Especially the first four words which I later found out was a drama/thriller story involving a mother. Now that I am more than halfway through with the book, I am contemplating on my purchase.

Did I buy this book because I expected it to be similar to the series I have been reading?
Maybe. 


Well, is it similar? 
No, but this kind of different is the best. Like when I just started listening to The Vines, The Foo Fighters and just found out about Bjork.


In my previous post, I told you about how I slept past 1 AM in the morning. It was because of this book. It is heavily entertaining and even one essay ends in 3 pages, you just can't put it down.

Pam Pastor wrote this book. She is addicted to blogging, does cupcakes and nail polish. Visit here blog.

I did it

Its 5:57 AM. I am wide awake and blogging. Its summer and usually, only grandpas wake up this early. Its also a Sunday which means I really have nothing to do this morning or even for the rest of the day. Even crazier is I just started sleeping about four hours ago.

I woke up not entirely because of my father's ringtone. I woke up because I miss a lot from waking up 12:00 noon for the past few days.

For example, yesterday I was supposed to be with friends around 10 AM but I woke up at 12:30 PM with a long line of angry text messages. The grogginess didn't wear off until about 4:30 in the afternoon where I finally got to meet them. The supposedly whole day affair turned into 30 minutes of watching back episodes of America's Next Top Model. Karma's a bitch - and also most of the contestants on the show.

Now, I will become an ambassador against oversleeping but to become an ambassador of something you must be good at everything about it. Under-sleeping is not good so maybe tonight, I can sleep at around 9:30 PM to get 8 hours of sleep while maintaining my grandpa wake-up time. Sweet. Except that I'm a self-diagnosed insomniac.

We Like To Question

And now I am asking, is my generation still entitled to true love, or did it even exist in the first place?

This is from the May 2011 issue of Awake! magazine. Why do they have their May issue out already?

its a new chapter

It has been almost a week after graduation and I am thinking about starting a new blog. This is about 'moving on to a new page' literally.

Do I really need a new blog? And what would it be called? Should it still be free or should I start writing under a topic?