Summerific

I got home last week at our condo unit after a REALLY long workday. After dropping everything I had with me on our landing area, I grabbed the Meralco bill that was attached on the fridge via a wooden Boracay barracuda magnet. I thought I had a coronary. Four frickin' thousand for the month of April alone. And we didn't even acquire new appliances from the previous month! We rarely watch TV (because we do not have cable), rarely cook (because the exhaust fan's busted), and barely light up our flat (and still use energy-saving light bulbs for that matter).

Hoping against hope that this was due to an incorrect meter reading, I dialed Meralco's call center. Five days later, and a day beyond the due date for payment, I got a response: Nope. Nuthin' wrong with the reading. 'Twas absofrickinlutely accurate. Damnation.

I called the management of the condo unit, to petition for an inspection of our meter...as there might have been some abnormality involved, say a miswiring or something. I was told that it wasn't only our unit that had skyrocketing electric bills; that other units who are barely home got bills higher by two thousand pesos from a "normal" billing; that other units who didn't use to use their a/c's and that used them for TWO days now have at least additional eight hundred pesos on their bills. Great. Like knowing that I wasn't alone in my misery would help ease the burden of being four frickin thousand poorer. Whoohoo! Hallelujah. We are ALL poorer this summer. Argh.

Don't you just detest it when you really cannot do much about somethin? I mean, I could, for the sake of argument, stop using my a/c...but who gets annoyed in the end over a few kilowatts savings?

And to think summer ain't at its hottest yet. Mother of God...let it snow.

To Sleep

That, my dear, IS the answer.

To Sleep Or Not To Sleep...

That is the question.

Went to Davao Friday (April 22) via an almost two hours delayed flight of PAL (Plane Always Late). Bumpy flight. Lotsa turbulence. Only to realize that the turbulence was coming from the precocious imp of a little boy who seemed to have a leisure pursuit of kicking the reclining chair in front of him...which happened to be mine. After several Hail Mary's and silent murmurings for some more patience for the "innocent", I decided I've had it with Murphy's Law (note: prior to getting on the darned delayed flight, my coffee maker exploded [was plugged by my smart roommate into 220V despite the fact that there was a red tag saying "110V'], no-show laundry delivery woman [ergo, not much fresh clothes], rush last minute printouts wouldn't print properly, cab's airconditioner on full blast yet on ala-heater mode, and a shitty-tasting tuna turnover at the airport kiosk). Flip-tucking-in my eyelids to inside-out mode and with matching sinister look on my face, little imp boy stopped kicking... and will perhaps endure sleepless nights with my scary face pestering his REM mode. I just love kids.

Got to Davao and did all work-related stuff. Evening came. Went bar hopping at the supposedly largest bar in the whole country. Sloshed a couple of frozen blue margaritas. Ate crispy pigs ears. Dance a little bit. Got wasted, and went home 2am. Then woke up and worked the whole day conducting a seminar. Evening came. Went to another bar. And another. And another. Went to a dance club that's supposedly posh and "in". Liked the music. Lovely crowd. Excellent flowing frozen [non-blue] margaritas. Sucky airconditioning. People were dancing whilst fanning themselves. Ain't that cute? Got wasted, and went home at 4am. Then woke up and still worked the whole day beginning 830am. Then went shopping. And then some more.

Thankfully, the flight wasn't delayed. Got a seat really close to the rear, so at least we got to board first. The minute the plane took off, I was off to dreamland...until the flight attendant woke me up...rather incessantly: a drink, the paper, some food. What in Christ's name happened to those cutie stickers of olden times that said "Do not disturb" or "Wake me up for meals"????? Argh. Debated whether the flip-tucking-in my eyelids to inside-out mode and with matching sinister look on my face would work or not. I decided to just bite my tongue. And off to sleep I was again.

It's Monday. Yet another seminar to conduct. My eyebags are the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic...or maybe Dolly Parton's boobs. Yes. That is remotely possible. I should know. I have eyeboobs now.

I wonder if I should just give my students reading materials, assign a group leader, do coerced focused group discussion, and just stay at the back and nod off as I await their outputs. Or maybe I should just pretend that they're all in Kindergarten school and say, "OK class, sleep! A star for the fastest one to go".

I should get a star.

I Just Died And Went to Corporate Heaven

Have you ever had those epiphanic moments when you realize that you've found what you're looking for in a career/job?

I've had mine a few years ago (six years ago, to be exact). I realized that training was my thing. Human resources training, that is...and not weight training or something like that (I wish).

Six years later, after taking a chance on several other odd jobs and obtuse stints both here and outside the country, I found myself back in the arms (?!) of the company that actually gave me this epiphany.

Two months after a "re-hire", I now find myself staring at my supposedly top-of-the-line computer's screens, I find myself typing and working away 'til midnight (gasp), just to finish certain rush programs that I have to run by my lonesome.

Today's like the nth time I have been away from my dirty-powder-blue cubicle as I conduct 2 two-day workshops a week, and still only halfway finished. Holy Mother of Christ. Am I still breathing???

I now have 52 unread messages in my Inbox. Thanks to Gmail, I can "star" these unanswered emails and procrastinate answering them 'til...Godknowswhen. So, if you're reading this blog, and you're one of those people awaiting a response for your email that you've sent in the REALLY distant past, whoops, sorry. I'll get back to you.

I likewise now have the metabolism (or whatever freak of nature force) of an abberation: I eat A LOT (say, two cups of YangChow fried rice, lotsa dish, and a few helpings of pastries and/or caffeine)...but still manage to lose serious pounds in days. With a size 33 waist down to a 29.5 in less than two months, and not even working out or dieting, I swear, I'd get filthy rich if only I could sell this metabolism (or whatever freak of nature force) to any Atkins-/Southbeach-swearing dude. Argh. I hate being thin.

Am I complaining? Why, not yet. After all, this is what I do best. That's what the evaluation sheets from this whole week's workshops say: that I was an excellent facilitator. Yahoo. All in a day's work.

Well. That's about all the time I've got for an "extra curricular" activity. Work beckons.

Shopping Therapy

I used to think that people who shop for therapy are freaks of society...until I became one.

Since I started working (and getting my paychecks, including the gold member status plastics) not more than two months ago, I've started calming my nerves with shopping. My then-windowshopping has transmogrified into full-blown kaching-kachings with my plastics.

The last time I was: (a) depressed over a breakup, (b) disconcerted over a seemingly-boring workshop that I've facilitated, or (c) jaded over some family matter that couldn't be solved pronto, I went shopping. From then until now, I've bought stuff that I normally wouldn't buy in almost about the same time frame.

Hello Nokia mobile phone. Howdy square toed shoes. Hi leather wallet. Aloha Swiss watch. Hey Bluetooth laptop adapter. And Hola huge-capacity multimedia expansion card.

Oh dammit. Please don't make me depressed, disconcerted or jaded. I am eyeing a Palm. Argh.

Habeum Papam

Yep. I am now officially a PAPA. (And the sixteenth, for that matter!)

Nyehehehehehe.