Balentayms

delayed posting from February 16, 2007 1:32 PM

A week before Valentine's Day, our über-kwela-gimik Internal Comm gurls came up with yet another gimik for the company. To save me from the ball-buster task of paraphrasing it, here's their actual announcement/advertisement:

WOWing The World with LOVE
Voices. Posted February 7, 2007

It's February once again and it's time to WOW people with LOVE!

Put your thinking cap on and come up with the sweetest and most creative way to WOW your loved one (sweetheart, dad, mom, friend, etc.) this Valentine's Day!

Tell us how you plan to WOW a loved one this Valentine's Day. And if you're the chosen one, allow us to WOW you by saving you from the Valentine rush. Planning to send roses and chocolates to someone? The roses and chocolates are on us!

Click on the link below to send in your entries. Deadline for submission is on Tuesday, February 13.

THINKING HAT??? Hah! Dr. Seuss borrowed The Cat's hat from moi!!! So....me and my ultimate-saccharine self sat still (or was I shifty?), took one good look at my Valentine's miniature photo in my phone's address book, smiled my widest smile (no more than six upper teeth showing, mind you, otherwise that will not be a smile anymore but a "grin" HAHA), closed my eyes momentarily, took one deep sigh, and typed away.

This was my entry:

Hi Kay!

This is my entry to the Valentine contest. I hope it's romantic enough for you. Hehe.

I will WOW my Valentine TONIGHT by sticking a packet of tiny glow in the dark stars (or dots, whichever's available at the bookstore later) on the ceiling above our bed to spell out the message "thank you for coming into my life". When we turn off the lights, my message will be read.

The next day, I'll leave (inside my Valentine's office bag) a Valentine card with six inserts: "gift certificates" that I made myself (see attached samples), which may be redeemed from me at any time...and have no expiration date! The beauty of this is that I will be the one providing each and every "request" in the certificate...and it cost me almost nothing.

These are the "gift certificates"...

I didn't win the contest...but ask me if I got laid 'cuz of all that. [Insert sinister laughter here]

Love In A Stub

delayed posting from December 26, 2006, 12:34 PM

The one thing more agonizing and LESS "fun" than the actual Christmas shopping experience is the PLANNING. Being the obsessive-compulsive freak that I am, I usually make sure that my Christmas (grown-up and kids alike) list is done WAY ahead of time, i.e. approximately two months before Christmas. Once the very first Christmas carol starts blaring in the radios or shopping malls' PA system, I almost in-sync start "making my list and checking it twice"...just to beat MY own deadline. There's always categorization, of course--Family, "Spouse" (assuming, that is, that I am attached at the moment), Close Friends (which usually covers my college pals, the Astrokids, Sheila, Chrissie, Maita, Earl, Patrick and Serp), Officemates (which I further subdivide into close colleagues and those who I have a purely professional relationship with, Tenants/Roommates, Business Contacts (those I do "rakets" with), and "Generic" Friends and Acquaintances. These are subdivied into price ranges--sky's the limit (usually reserved for Spouse if the Spouse had been REALLY good), pricey, 200-500 range, "vaue for money" (those packs that can be given away to big groups of "homogeneous" people), and the tiangge price (usually for the household help, Manongs ang Manangs).

As soon as my list is complete (or at least almost finished), I start doing my bargain-hunting, window-shopping, and Sale-visitations...and often grab an item or two so I could already tick off someone's name/item from The List. My experience with this, however, is that--despite my OC-ness, I always end up buying something else...or more than what I've planned or budgeted for. Nevertheless, I don't mind a bit...as long as I know that my recipient will love what I have for his/her Christmas gift.

When it comes to what *I* want, however, I can't seem to tell. Like when people make me do those wish-lists or ask me point-blank what I want for a gift...I just feel stumped. I'm not saying that I have everything I want--oh, hell no. If I did, I wouldn't be drooling over point-and-shoot top-of-the-line SLR digital cameras, outrageously priced iPods and other media players, or any makaagaw-pansin messenger/gym/office bags.

Does it have anything to do with one's age? Here, I can't speak for others, but in my case, I can actually say that that seems to be the case. Since I started moving up from one Age Checkbox to another, I've stopped expecting anything (gifts, that is) during special occasions from friends, colleagues or relatives. For birthdays, I'd rather have an intimate dinner or a rowdy pizza merienda with no presents. Yes, it's rather nice receiving, that still applies...but now, there's just simply no expectations. I guess that works out better for me, because the less expectations, the more delighted I get if and when there's actually a present for me!

But since I'm being asked anyway, here's my response: just give me a gift certificate from a department store such as SM or Rustan's, or from The Spa, or even David's Salon. You'd be absolutely certain that your present will be much appreciated and put to real use, as I would've wanted it in the first place.

I am, however, having some serious drooling over that Black and Decker Power Saw...so, howzabout a gift certificate from Ace Hardware? Any takers? Hihihihi ;-)

When It Rains, “It’s Raining Cats and Dogs”

delayed post from December 16, 2006, 2:11 PM

If Janice de Belen is known for her being the Queen of Quotable Quotes (e.g. the immortal “God was with us when we did it”), I have every reason to believe that I am her bitch. And my extensive knowledge of quotes—ranging from the most intellectual (e.g. “Man’s greatest need is to be understood” [Stephen Covey]), to the most self-righteous (e.g. “My feet are still on the ground; I just wear better shoes” [Oprah Winfrey]), to the most irreverent (e.g. “Must you always begin with sarcasm first?” [Grace Adler, Will & Grace]), to the most ME (e.g. “I can only please one person a day; today isn’t your day, and tomorrow’s not looking good either” [Scott Adams]), and to the most real (e.g. “Never argue with an idiot; they drag you down to their level, and then beat you with experience” [Some anonymous wiseass])—have proven useful to me during my countless workshops. And thank God for the net, I can just Google any quote, and incorporate them into my PowerPoint slides whenever I need some.

And speaking of quotes, here are just some of the quotes that have been most useful not to my participants, but to myself…because they have been immortalized with some of the most recent developments in my life:

Patience is a virtue. Ask and you shall receive. If you want something, the whole universe will conspire to give it to you. Ask, believe, and receive. Success/luck comes in three’s. Good things to those who wait. And…When it rains, it pours.

You’d remember my 360-degree turn on my luck with the perennially defunct career in the modeling world. Two protracted years of waiting, and as I was taking flight from it, Fate stepped in and gave me such a great blessing, beyond what I wished for.

On December 3, my online techy group Mapalad (a group of Palm handheld owners in the Philippines) held its Christmas Party at Gilligan’s in Makati. Prior to that, the thread of conversations in the online forum got longer and longer, more and more animated…all because of the official launching of the Palm Treo 680. Add to that, a major raffle will be drawn, and the winner will come home with a brand-spanking new T680…or at least a certificate that you can hold on to until you can claim the handheld at the Philippine distributor’s office (it’s called Microwarehouse). A few days before the party, Microwarehouse pledged to add another major raffle: a brand new Palm Treo 650—already being phased out by the manufacturers and distributors, but nevertheless still valuable (at P32k/brand-new handheld). We were all totally excited to party hardy…and go home not empty-handed.

I headed to Gilligan’s straight from Sheila’s event at the Mall of Asia (tell me again why this mall is such a hit when it’s in actuality a monstrosity??), where she played umpire while we ogled at the beautiful bodies of the Brazilian Jujitsu competitors. ‘Twas dinner time and, being a virtual newbie at the event, I started mingling so I’d familiarize myself with the old-timers. We played several games and raffles…and there was no game where I wouldn’t win a prize (like a limited edition PalmOne shirt or a box of cheesecakes) or a minor raffle where my name wouldn’t be drawn. The whole time, the members were jeering at me, saying that since I’ve won most minor prizes, I’d never get any more luck to get the Treos. I just grunted and fixed my mind on winning one of the two. I said I didn’t care which phone, as long as I won one. And hell, I did. When Sharon “singkit” Agoncillo, the president of the org, pulled the name of the winner of the T650 and said “Oh, my god, this member is so going to be happy! It’s a HE, people!” I felt a thud in my chest. I knew it was going to be my name. And true enough, she called out “shiaolien”, which is my member/user name. The crowd erupted into cheers and chants of “Donate! Donate!” which I countered by sticking out my tongue, a beaming grin, and a dash to the photo ops on the stage. A Palm Treo 650. And all that for just a 300 peso ticket.

I was still marinating in my lucky streak when I was given the requisite directorial role for the Christmas Party presentation cum inter-division competition. For years, I’ve been directing the presentations, and my groups had always won every single year…except for the years when I left the company when I worked in the US. So you can just imagine the pressure of having to direct yet again. We had a very limited time to rehearse, coupled with some unwilling participants and rehearsal schedules not matching our free times—these all spelled failure waiting to happen. I gave it my best shot nevertheless; and worked my ass out with the remaining committed participants.

Come Christmas Party, we were all asked by the organizers to come in costumes—that is, something inspired by school uniforms. A majority of employees came in their old high school standard issue uniforms, including their gym uniforms. I decided not to do the same because my old UST Pay High uniform consisted of nothing but yucky chocolate brown gabardine pants and perspiration non-resistant white chifonelle short-sleeved shirt, with matching UST Pay High patch replete with stitches of bars indicating our year level. I came as a confused school boy (read: my costume was that of an Ivy Leaguer crossed with a retarded high school dropout hehehehe)…which in the end won me my Best in Costume Male Category award: a P1500 gift certificate from Penshoppe (tell me again what REALLY nice ensemble you can buy at Penshoppe for that price!). And, as they were announcing the winners of the Christmas Party presentation—it was down to our group and the Operations Group, which to my knowledge would win 1st place because of the relevance of their presentation—I lingered at the buffet station outside by the foyer area to munch on some more desserts, because I was already prepared to accepting defeat. But as I was biting my 3rd helping of flan, the room erupted to the announcement of the grand prize winner…our group. I semi-choked, almost dropped my plate, and dashed to the event hall. I haphazardly hugged and beso’ed, high-fived and shook hands with people, and hurled myself to the stage…only to realize that they were still calling the 2nd place winner and I just ruined the “surprise” element by being onstage way before it was time for the official announcement for the 1st place. Talk about major embarrassing moment. Hehe.

As if that overflow of luck wasn’t enough, my hosting job (for weddings and debuts, that is) skyrocketed during the Christmas season…with about one or two hosting gigs per week (which is way over my monthly quota of two). Again, I got more than what I bargained for.

Ah, yes. 2006 wasn’t half as bad. When it rains, it really pours. It poured on me. Who knows, maybe next time, it’ll be your turn.

Hundred's Place

100! Yes. that's what this entry is. It's my 100th blog entry.

71, 534 words total.

406, 106 characters in all.

1, 123 paragraphs and 6, 155 lines since my first ever blog entry.

So much has passed. So much said. So many people met--whether in person or through the cyber world. So much more left to say.

Here's to 100 more. :)

Me and My Construction Worker Fantasy

delayed posting from November 27, 2006, 7:25PM

Some time in July or August 2005, I clocked out early (read: "early" would mean exactly 530pm, as I would normally kill time at the office and leave at 6 or 7pm) to go to the gym. After all, the early bird does get to use the locker of his choice and hog all the hangers he could get his claws on. And although summer was over—ergo, the "seasonal" gym rats would have already laid low on the supersets-to-get-buffed-for-the-beach and thus were elsewhere—I still thought arriving early at Gold's would give me a head start on all the other "regulars" like me (I use "regular" loosely, not to mean as if I was regularly [or daily] working out, but to mean I was one of those "regular" and not Lou Ferrignoish gym freaks [oh, shut your twat. YOU know who Lou Ferrigno is!]). So after shutting down and double-checking that I had all my requisite gym stuff—padlock, heavy-duty Old Navy backpack, freshly-uploaded House mp3s in my Creative (I don't dig iPod as much as you do), and all my gym clothes inside the damned bag (trust me, you wouldn't wanna have gone through the hassle of walking all the way to Ayala Center, surviving all three bag-checks at every mall entranceway, finding just the right locker, unpacking everything and cramming them into the really tight locker space...only to realize you forgot your gym shorts or a pair of white socks)—I headed out the door.

The night was breezy, lots of people were partying that early at the promenade area of Greenbelt 2 (that's where I normally pass through to get to the gym)...and all of a sudden I had an urge to just call my friends from the Makati area and ask 'em out to drink. I let the momentary feeling sit for a while, and then I continued walking. When I got to the walkway escalator, I had a feeling of being followed. When I looked back, a man in his 30's seemed to be rushing and making his way through the crowd to get to me. I *knew* he was targetting me because we locked gazes and he did that wait-up -for-me gesture, and I was the only person within his eyesight's range. I made a really quick mental calculation, an "experiential scan" if I may, to be absolutely sure who this fast-approaching man was in my life. A former officemate? A classmate? A student from one of the hundreds of seminars I've conducted? Or was he one of those goons with a modus operandi of faking their identities and either robbing or murdering people? I opted for the last profile. It was, after all, better to keep my guard up rather than let myself be an easy prey. So, I casually continued my stride, pretending I didn't really see or recognize him and then slowly made my way to the general direction of the entrance, where there were two guards. The man, however, was fast and caught up with me. He was almost catching his breath when he got to be face to face with me. He seemed to look me from head to foot and back again. I was a tad insulted, so I gave him my classic nonchalant, "yes?"

What Mark (that was his name, by the way) said totally made me crack up. "Hi. I was wondering, do you already have an agent?" I replied, "Agent?" And he said, "Yeah, an agent...as a commercial model." I replied in my half-funny, half-sarcastic tone, "You're kidding, aren't you??" And he goes, "No, I'm inviting you to come to our office, take a VTR, do a file, and sign as our talent. My boss and I spotted you from Havana, and we thought you’d make a good model." I was one-third stunned, one-third struck with hilarity, and one-third Twilight Zone-meets-Punk'd. Still a little bit dazed and cracked up, I went ahead (after he had convinced me to give him my phone number) and went to the gym. I was half-smiling and shaking my head as I walked through to Landmark. And the day has ended there for me.

A few days later, an unknown number was flashing in my mobile phone. It could be one of the many dates my friends have been setting up with me. I picked up using my oh-so-sexy modulated voice. It was another guy's voice on the other end. Hmmmm. It was Mark, following up when I was going to their office to do my VTR file. I decided to go that same afternoon, considering I had nothing pending in the office...and to get this over and done with. Was I ready to go back to the showbizzy lifestyle that I turned my back on after the dreaded pox hit me in college? I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. Or just maybe.

It was one VTR after another after that. Project toothpaste, project fast food, project seasoning, project beer, project paint, project realty, project canned good, project bank, project shampoo, project etc etc etc...but never have I gotten any. Yes. Almost two years of going to countless VTRs, sometimes making “footloose” (that’s an old term I picked up in the Mariana Islands to mean “takas”) from the office for a couple of minutes to an hour. From being the no-frills, no-arte person that I was (with my face that is, considering ‘twas already “damaged”, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the “beautification”), I got into the “requisite model regimen”—facials (which I totally dreaded, especially the pricking and shit part), moisturizers and sun blocks in the morning, cold creams at night, and of course, the magic “bulag” tool: the 3-in-1 concealer stick, or the mousse-type foundation cake...all for the darned VTR, with the hopes that one of us hundreds of hundreds of men in the cattle would land the coveted lead or supporting role in one of those commercials.

Perhaps, I have said my name, age and height, my last commercial done (duh, none), my hobbies, sports, thing I do for a living, and all those other stuff, endless times. Add to that, my acting—ahem—prowess had been put to the test for countless audition dramatics and workshops. I have likewise been paired with a great number of women (as their “husband”), men (as their “kuya”, “son”, or buddy), and children (as their “dad”). I’ve been on “stand-by” and “final casting” and “for fitting” and “for consideration” and “for presentation” forever…yet I got nothing. The worst was always the “stand by for final selection by client” which would get your hopes high, make you hold your breath, hang on a string and freeze-frame your entire life…only to be told last minute that you did not quite make the cut. Bummer.

It was nowhere but downhill for me. No commercials, no print ads (with the exception of that almost hardly non-gratis photo shoot for Earth + Style's real estate magazine ad, which was to appear in the June 2005 edition of MyHome magazine, it was really NADA for my so-called print ad career), no voice overs (except for that one "barya-barya" VO job I did for a pharmaceutical distribution firm, which consisted of almost nothing but "Win Your Battle, Win Your War"...and thus using my sexy, bedroom voice to be a commanding general to the "army" of the sales force), and no other even remotely showbizzy rakets in sight.

Somewhere in the middle of all the VTRs and auditions, my agent Mark met Floyd through me. I gave his number to Mark so that he (Mark) wouldn’t have to bother me when he needed Floyd for a VTR of sorts (which the latter hardly attends). I told him, “Hey, I’m not his manager. Go contact the goddamned guy, and talk to him yourself.” After some prodding (Mark is REALLY good with being pesky, lemme tell you that), he then asked him to file a tape for presentation to their clients, which he did. You must know at this point that Floyd has never done these things, and so is really new to the craft. But let me tell you this…not even six months later, he landed a big-ass budget print ad for Coca Cola Bottlers. And he hardly went to VTRs! I was like, “what the fuck?” Where the hell is my luck? How come everyone else gets something and I get nothing??!

I was in this state of thinking when I got another “stand by for final selection" from a VTR of some food seasoning. I made a little agreement with myself. I said, if this oh-I-can-feel-it-in-my-bones-it’s-my-upcoming-TVC-now goes out the door, I’m definitely gonna park it. And when I received a “Sorry, Ben, someone else got it” SMS from Mark—yet again—I decided showbiz was not for me (or must I say, not AGAIN). And so I quit…not that it had been my career anyway.

Some weeks later, Floyd’s very first newspaper (and later on magazine) ad came out. More than him, our friends and me, it was Nanay Yolanda (his mother who’s based in Bicol) who was overjoyed…replete with a framed version of the newspaper clipping hung on their living room. I, however, was in a reflective mood. I got to thinking: I’ve been doing this VTR and auditioning for almost two freaking years while Floyd’s done it not even half a year, and yet he seemed to have all the luck. Yes, at the time, I was a little jealous. But more than just that feeling, I was consumed by a strong feeling of dejection. I was mad at someone…something that caused all this. Why was Fate being so generous with him (and other people, for that matter) but with me, was being so parsimonious?! I retreated to my shell—the true blue Cancerian that I was—and refused to talk about anything related to my now defunct (AGAIN) career: I stopped replying to text messages from all my five agents from different casting agencies, and stopped going to VTRs altogether. Talk about absolute denial. I was Freud’s and Jung’s biggest nightmare in sheep’s clothing.

That episode lasted for quite some time and I was doing “well”…or at least a rejection-free existence. What was better than that? Absofuckinglutely nothing.

Some time in October, our agent Cheng SMS’d both Floyd and I for “Project Telecoms”. It was a weekend, the DVD marathons were on a hiatus at the moment, and I was bent on going out to get some fresh air…and some sanity from claustrophobia. Floyd soft-soaped me into going with him, and after some convincing and pleading and reassuring that we were just gonna do it to kill time and do fashion policing with the auditioners, I yielded. Thirty minutes later, we were queued up in one of the casting agencies at Citiland Towers—together with about 50 or so other men…all to just fill a lousy 3-male roles requirement of the client. I rolled my eyes as I sat to wait for my turn to VTR yet again.

An hour and a half later, I heaved a really bitter sigh and headed for the door. I’ve REALLY had it with these pointless VTRs. That was when the caster called out our names. WTF? It was almost literally in the nick of time. So we stayed on for a few more minutes. Ten minutes later, our VTR was finished. I knew I sucked big time, but then again, who the hell cares? I wasn’t interested anymore, and I couldn’t care less if some other model wannabe got the role.

Four days later, I got an SMS from Cheng. It was the “Stand by” text I was getting oh-so-weary of already. I didn’t even bother replying. By the end of the day, I received a “final selection” text from her, saying that there were just two of us being pitted against each other. My sister, who happened to be staying in my condo at the time was excited, and told me that that was a good thing. I just gave her a grunt, and texted Cheng a curt “OK”. An hour later, my heart froze at Cheng’s message, “Congrats. You got the role. You’re gonna love me for the TF, kuya. Let’s just say it’s A LOT. Fitting and workshop three days from now. Regalo ko ha!” My whole world spun for at least 30 seconds, and it took the doorbell (Floyd just arrived home) to snap me out of my disorientation. I told them about the good—no, GREAT—news and we were all excited all of a sudden. I was finally getting my big break.

I still couldn’t believe my new fate…until I was already signing the contract with my name, and—YES—the several-digit figure for the talent fee. I was still in disbelief while the PA’s were fitting me with my jailhouse orange construction worker overalls and Doc Martens safety boots. I kept half-expecting the director to shout “Cut!” and then I’d wake up on the same seat Floyd and I were seated while miserably waiting for our name to be called for that Godforsaken Project Telecoms at Citiland Towers. But it was all real. My time has, indeed, come.

After almost 11 hours of taping and makeup and costume changes and re-fitting and dubbing and eating (you would not believe the catered food!) and chitchatting with the co-models (did I just say “model”??? Yeah…I did!), I packed up, left the rest of the co-models (there I go again!) who were yet to finish their TVC shoot, and headed for home. Two weeks later, the photo shoot session was scheduled. The pictorial for the print ad took shorter than the TV commercial shoot. Way shorter.

December 9 was when the print ad and the TV commercial were supposed to simultaneously launch. Because of that, I mass-texted everybody and their mothers in my phonebook on December 8, and told them to grab the Sunday edition of the Philippine Star and wait for the primetime screening of the TVC. December 9 came and no TVC came out. I was advised the morning of the 9th that, apparently, editing took much longer than they anticipated, and their reels are still in Bangkok, where the editing was being done. The print ad was, however, where they were supposed to be. The funny part was, my shot was so tiny (read: barely 2.5 inches, in relation to the whole spread of the paper), one can hardly recognize me as me. Even my sister couldn’t make out my face. But I didn’t care. After all, I knew that that guy in the orange overalls superimposed on the majestic Burj Al Arab background was, indeed, me. A week later, the TVC finally did its debut. My sister and practically the whole world have seen it, but I have yet to see it…after two days still. Like the print ad, I was hard to make out. But again, at that point, I couldn’t care less. What matters was that I finally made it. And, yeah, yeah, the moolah was more than what I bargained for. So, no complaining there.

Two weeks later, the people of Globe and their agency re-edited the layout of the ad, conspicuously removed me from the whole collage of OFWs calling their loved ones in the Philippines. But before I could raise a WTF?? to my agent, a full spread of me, myself and I—ALONE—was in the Sunday paper, now plucked out of the Dubai role and placed as the requisite construction worker cum engineer of Oman, Qatar, and Saudi Arabia. With this new layout, where I was about almost one foot, in relation to the spread of the paper, you have got to be fucking blind to not recognize my face.

Two new, additional contracts were drawn by the agencies to have me sign again. More moolah, on top of the first contract, was consequently on the way. Luck (or blessing or good fortune or God knows what it’s called), after all, was just taking its sweet, sweet time. All I needed to do was wait…and it would be given to me…in my own time.

Yes, Lord. I know I failed You in the Patience test. And I apologize for that. But I am deeply beholden by your graciousness…of still giving me my reward despite how restless I have become. And for that, I promise to be more patient. I may still fail, but I will do my best not to fail you again. Amen.

Eeeeeeeeeekkk...EK!

delayed posting from November 21, 2006, 7:37 PM


I hate surprises. Yeah, I do. It’s just one of those things that make it high on my pet peeve list. If you don’t believe me, read my old blog entry “Bushwhackers”. Yeah, call me a retard, but I just really don’t see the point of almost literally pulling the rug under my feet, and while at it, marvel at the sight of my bewilderment and/or frenzy. And for what??? I scoff at the idea.

Having said that, I’d like to point out, however, that I hate being on the receiving side of the surprises. But if I am the one doing it, it’s perfectly OK. Hehehehehehe. In my defense, I hardly do surprise “attacks”. I just happen to have very sporadic attacks of pulling tricks—or in this case, surprises—off my sleeves. And when I do try and pull one off, boy, I tell you…it’s one hell of a production number.

Cut to next scene…some months ago at an Astrokids gimmick (not sure if it was the Tagaytay adventure, the Batangas getaway [wait a minute…why the hell haven’t I blogged about that???? Hmmm…I guess I’m making one shortly] or one of the Starbucks sessions). We were planning where we were going next—yes, that’s how and what we are: we live for the “lakwatsa”—when the idea of going to Enchanted Kingdom (EK) popped up. If I remember correctly, it was Carissa who blurted that out…because she hasn’t gone there. Ever. So while we “frequent visitors” raised our judgmental-but-not-necessarily-shaved-or-plucked eyebrows, Carissa insisted. What boggled us even more was that she wasn’t alone in wanting the next destination to be EK. Turned out, the other peeps who haven’t been—ever—to EK were Indy, Bong, and Floyd! These people have literally been around either the country or the world…and yet haven’t—ever (I dare say it again)—been seduced by the Sta. Rosa Exit attraction that is EK.

For some reason, the plan to head for EK had been botched not once, but twice (waiiiit a minute…that eerily made me feel like Susan Roces). Either someone’s child was sick (Indy and Bong are both fathers), or one had to go out of town—up North instead of in the South where they could just hook up with us at EK after their gig, or one couldn’t go because of budgetary constraints, or simply because the weather was really bad. Not that we were planning to have the entire Astrokids completed…but we all thought: if these four can’t join us at EK, then, why even bother? That was months ago.

Last Saturday, after carefully planning with Sheila, Neil, Jon and the kids a surprise Wala-Lang-Let’s-Head-For-EK-Day, one of the four Astrokids finally graduated from the EK Virgin category: Floyd. For like three weeks, I have secretly teamed up with wives or boyfriends of the four of them EK Virgins so that we could "distract" them into thinking that we were planning to go some place else. But what with the busy and conflicting schedules of almost all of them, I ended up concocting our "evil plan" only for Floyd. After all, he's the one who's so ultra-super-dying to get to EK like 'twas THE place to be. Poor baby. So we decided, he's the chosen one.

It was Sheila, her kids, her boyfriend, her brother Jonathan and I who masterfully crafted the whole thing: she texted Floyd and deluded him into thinking that they were passing by the condo with the kids on their way to the mall, and that we should feel free to join them malling. I also faked a "mild" migraine to cancel our earlier plan of going on an out of town trip. So a couple of hours beforer they arrived (we were already exchanging SMS and telling her to forbid her kids to even mention the words Enchanted, Kingdom, and Surprise to their Tito Floyd). I have prepared a seemingly light messenger bag for "malling"—but what was inside were a change of clothes (for possibly getting wet in one of the rides), water, and my ever-dependable (and strong!) Hawaiian Tropics SPF 75 sunblock lotion.

When Sheila and the rest of the gang arrived downstairs, we boarded her brand-spanking new car (Jonathan was driving), we did our customary kids-screaming-TitoBenTitoFloyd-at-the-top-of-their-lungs-as-they-are-hugging-us routine, and got introduced for the first time to her boyfriend. After that, we almost in unison declared "Let's hit the mall!" Everything was going according to plan!

Upon reaching Pasong Tamo, Sheila asked where we could find a BPI ATM facility, and Jonathan casually replied, "E di sa Enchanted na lang". Doggammit. We have successfully brainwashed the kids to block the existence of EK in that day's event, but conveniently forgot to tell Jonathan that it was a surprise thingee. Great.

Having blurted that, the surprise was already botched. And after having heard the word Enchanted, Floyd all of a sudden stopped talking (he was animatedly telling some story about his work), kept quiet for about five seconds, and upon apparently getting hit by the realization that we weren't really going to the mall and instead going to his ultraspecialsuperdooperovermegablockbustertothemaximum special place-to-be, and blurted out in his sheepish boylike demeanor, "Pupunta tayo sa Enchanted???"...and started crying. Lemme tell you...Sheila, the kids and I started cracking up. Although prematurely revealed, I'd say, the plan was a success. ;-)

About an hour later, after deciding--rather gripingly--not to pass by the Nike Outlets, we found ourselves traversing the Sta. Rosa Exit pathway to EK. A couple more minutes later, we were looking—a tad desperately—for parking. After settling for an undesirably remote spot, we began slathering ourselves with SPF70 sun block lotion, armed ourselves with a digital camera, hand towel, water bottle and trusty shades, and started our journey inside the enchanted kingdom.

Floyd was ecstatic...but Sheila, Neil, the kids and I were mesmerized by the sight of a first-timer—a virtual virgin, that is—who's enthralled with the sight, sound, and the experience. But aside from that, I was likewise busy scouring the EK horizon for the official mascot, the wizard. Why? Let’s just say that a good friend—who we will call ”Erick”—once told me that he has had some wild sexual activity with the Enchanted Kingdom Wizard. Whether they canoodled while Mr. Wizard still had his mascot costume on or not was something I really wouldn’t care to know anymore. But for that moment, I just wished to see him (the mascot, not Erick) in his full mascot glory, look him straight in the eye, grin my evil grin, say ”Hi”...and then tell him Erick sends his regards. I swear I will never look at mascots the same way again.

The kids were having lots of fun, but not as much as Floyd was. I gave them all the ultimate challenge: ride the Space Shuttle, which is by far the only really thrilling ride in that park. I got a no from everyone except for Floyd. Aaah. Brave boy. I guess we’d see about that later. So upon realizing that the queue (which snaked about 50 feet from the starting line up to where we were standing) was going to take more than a hop, skip and a giggle, we bid goodbye to Sheila, Neil and the kids and told them that we’ll meet them in an hour at the Food Court/Stage area. How we killed the more than one hour wait at the queue is something I can’t seem to imagine down to this day...but miraculously, I kept my cool, held a ”nice” stance, and made it to the railing next to the roller coasters. I could already feel the rush of the centrifugal force—nyehehehe...I know that wasn’t the term to use. I just felt like using some old Physics term. LOL—er the wind literally slapping my face and throwing my hair back and away from my scalp (wait, did I have bangs then? Damn right I did!!!). Floyd was pale and smiley and God-knows-what-other-emotions-he-had. We made it to the coasters, sitting at the second car, missing the front row seats by three seconds to those jologs ripe-guava-smelling kids from some school having an ”educational field trip” at EK. Two minutes later, the thrill of the ride was over. And so was the light of day. The Goddamned ride ate about an hour and a half of our schedule. Bummer.

After a couple more rides, a fireworks display later, a boring Grand Carousel time-waster, and a wild spin at the Rio Grande Rapids, we headed for home. At the South Luzon Expressway, Paolo cried out that he was hungry and that he was craving for some Pancake House food. We ended up stopping at the nearest rest stop/gas station. After ordering takeout food at KFC, we decided to hop to Starbucks and bless my 2007 Starbucks planner sticker card with not one, not two, not three, but FOUR Christmas-themed drink stickers. After all, I have once and for all succumbed to the gaga over Starbucks planner fever, which I have successfully shunned for the last two years of its promo. Hah. Nothing like a good smell of genuine leather and the feel of brown recycled paper in my planner. Once we’ve ordered our four steaming hot cups of Tall and Small and Venti and Grande caffeines, we settled in on one of the tables outside of Starbucks to have our coffees and eat our KFCs. We barely opened our KFC bags when the guard—in all his I’m-so-powerful-I’ll-whack-you-with-my-batuta glory and stance—reprimanded us and told us that we were prohibited to eat ”non-Starbucks food” on their tables. Putangina. That’s when I snapped. But being too exhausted to even bother giving in to the guard's delusions of grandeur, I let Floyd and Neil deal with the poor scum of the Earth. First things first: there was NO signage saying that bringing in of food—from a nearby resto, which by the way belonged in the same compound as where their establishment was—was prohibited. Secondly, I bought four freaking overpriced cups of coffee from them...and if my lack of Mathematical expertise wouldn’t influence my mental calculations, I’ve spent double what I spent for my fricking burger and soup from KFC...which means that my Starbucks purchase automatically trumps my KFC receipts. Thirdly, it wasn’t as if we were eating sinigang na bangus belly or inadobong pusit at halaan...ergo, we were not going to mess up their charming and prissy tables. Finally, they belonged to a fucking rest area/stop...and they were right beside at least four fast food chains. Why on Earth wouldn’t they anticipate that this was going to be a non-avoidable given? Mother of God. And to make matters worse, some other personnel from Starbucks—when asked why we were being shooed like basang sisiws—gave us a canned response, saying it was in compliance with Starbucks worldwide campaign of standardizing their look. Bullshit. I teach Customer Service, and I say standardizing never works...that you, as a foreign establishment in a [local] country need to adjust your ”standards” to the local branch’s quirks—in this case, the Filipinos’ love of food (mind you, we don’t just eat pastries and overpriced pastrami). The store supervisor came at the right time, i.e. barely two and a half seconds before I really gave those bullies an earful, which would definitely be heard by everyone else and their mothers having coffee outside, and told us that they will allow us to eat. My Lord. As if our basang sisiw at nauulul na sa gutom looks didn’t help us at all to effortlessly appeal for sympathy. I guess argumentum ad misericordiam never works anymore. Sad. Remind me to try bringing food at Starbucks Greenbelt next time...and see if this same routine holds.

EK down. Baguio to go. Ask Floyd why.

Auld Lang Syne

Oh bummer. Two frickin' months of no entries? C'mon.

OK. I'm back. And I've got a basketful of goodies to upload soon.

But remember: patience is a virtue. (Loosely translated: move along, go on with your life, read someone else's blogs for now...until my laptop stops flashing those fucked up "dumping physical memory" blue screen thingees and I am able to reconstruct my corrupted blog drafts--which may take a while...a REALLY long while still.)

Oh, happy new year. Oink oink.

Cable Paralysis

After Sky Cable (or whatever cable company) did an audit of the entire condo block and found out "glitches" in subscription (read: a helluva lot of illegal connections in our building), they decided to cut everyone's lines...and reconnect each and every one after "investigations" and "confirmations". As our subscription's just about done, with another month's worth forthcoming, me being broke, and my roommates on some extended hiatus from the house, I realized I wouldn't need another renewed cable TV subscription--considering I myself don't watch much TV; and I found it distasteful that I'm paying so much on cable subscriptions while the others aren't, yet still enjoys the same (or hell, more of!) channels that I paid for. So, I just ignored the notice for reconnection/renewal, spliced an old antenna wire, plugged one end of it into the back of the TV, thrusted an old fork at the other end of the wire, and hung the dratted thing on top of the blinds' tension rod. Voila, a makeshift TV antenna that receives local channels...and clear, too!

With this cable paralysis, it dawned on me: what about the Special Features, Movies of the Night, Feature Presentations, etc. etc. etc. of HBO, Cinemax, Starworld and AXN? Well, we have a trusty DVD player (THREE players, to be exact...including my notebook). That should quench our thirst for a motion picture. And with Makati Cinema Square being barely 20 minutes away, and 8-in-1 DVDs costing under a hundred, I'd say fuck the HBO specials and pop in a new, DVD- (or cinema-, whatever) copy disc, and we're in business.

Bless these movie pirates for coming up with these 8-in-1's (which come in boxes and boxes of 'em!), I wouldn't have to shell out lotsa bucks just to watch a new movie, nor would I need to pay lotsa moolah via Pay-Per-View for some classics of other box office hits that I missed in the big screen. (Oh, c'mon. Stop giving me that self-righteous, judgmental stare as if you yourself haven't purchased a contraband DVD!)

Got the Charlie's Angels collection. Loved the remake of the classic, but found the Matrix-y treatment rather over the top. Also bought the Miss Congeniality anthology. Snorted like Sandra in both parts. Played the Mission Impossible series. Tell me again, why I fell asleep watching the movie? Ooohhh...Tom Cruise. And, there was the Harry Potter collection: from the Sorcerer's Stone down to the Goblet of Fire. JK Rowling had me hooked and in anticipation of the next installment. Also watched the non-anthologies, i.e. the "solo" movies, mostly new, others ancient. And here's a "mini-review":

The Sound of Music. Oh yeah. THAT The Sound of Music (wait...I don't think there was ever a remake). I just figured, I've watched it one million years ago, it's time to kill some more hours doing nothing in the condo, with cable paralysis. Funny, Floyd and Jun-jun (er, Ronald) have NEVER EVER watched the film, and thus made me and Arvin feel ancient. Whatever. So-do-la-fa-mi-do-reeeee.....

The Lake House. WTF? Inconsistencies, sappiness, loopholes, predictability. And did I mention implausible? Geesh. Talk about The Twilight Zone (which I'm still searching to date).

Closer. WTF x2. I felt like I watched Pride and Prejudice AGAIN...which is SO unlikely. Sorry, Maits, but I just don't dig stories about women preparing themselves to be wives. I guess I've broken bread with way too many feminists.

Mga Pusang Gala. More than anything, it's the quotable quotes: "Even a goldfish has a heart...blahblahblah...because a body without a heart is just a carcasssssss". Yeah. Bring it on. So reminiscent of Temptation Island, with killer quotes like: "Rub-a-dub-dub, two bitches in a tub" or "That's a lot of shit (pronounced SHEEEET)". Note to self: gotta stock up on more of those kitschy movies...

Yours, Mine, Ours. Cheaper By the Dozen 1 and 2. Oh god. I failed to check who the script writer was for each movie. Wait a minute. Maybe it's one and the same. Go figure.

And as the single title CDs came pouring in, I found myself lurking by my suki DVD stall and looking at boxed sets of seasons-by-seasons of TV series. Could I handle the marathon? Would I have the will power to cut a season/series four-, five episodes short of the ending when sheer exhaustion would creep in? Should I choose X over Y or over Z? Decisions, decisions...

I ended up with my pioneer TV series: WB's Smallville. For 500 bucks, I got all five seasons...in five DVD-9 discs. I remember watching the first episode of Smallville on a legit dvd of Season 1 while I was staying with my friend Willard in Vegas, by Sahara and Nellis. I started watching, and before I knew it, I was already on episode five. I was hooked. But sadly, 'twas time for me to get going back home, so I never got to watching it. So, with this boxed set, I was able to catch up and make up. And boy, did it get me, Floyd, Ron, and Daniel hooked. Thanks to Smallville, we all got insomniac and would blabber about characters and storylines for hours. Superpowers? Damn. I'd patiently lay on cornfields waiting for falling asteroids if I could get just one of 'em powers. But seriously, Lana Lang's just overstaying. I think the network should just axe her. Now that hottie Lois is in the picture, I say get her and Clark doing some REAL HOT action (OK, OK, sorry, I got carried away). With Zod finally getting released and Clark being banished into the Phantom Zone as the season finale of Season 5, I find myself these last couple of days downloading episodes one to five of Season 6. Thank God for DivX, a nifty filesharing forum, and high-speed cable.

After getting Kryptonized with Smallville, we called for a two-, three-day marathon hiatus. And then me and the girls from the office footloosed to my suki DVD stall again. Maits got Supernatural, Sex and the City (ALL SIX seasons) and Bones, Ella got Friends (ALL TEN seasons) and I think The OC, Grace got some Koreanovela boxed set, and I ended up with Dora the Explorer pack (well, that one's for Jasmine!) and 24.

The same night, Jack Bauer was introduced to us in my condo and the first 4 of the 24 hours unfolded so fast our dirty dishes already crusted in the sink as we sat watching. 24's all four seasons (that's 96 hours or episodes!) came in five discs and cost me 450 bucks. Night after night, Jack Bauer and the whole of CTU would be with us in our living room. I realized at some point that it was bad for my health--not just because I couldn't seem to press Stop/Eject on the remote because I'd get too giddy to get on to the next episode despite the ungodly hour of 2 or 3 in the morning, but because I find myself vicariously watching how the story unfolds. And I'd feel very much involved in the story--the deceptions, the treachery, the greed, the pure evil. I'd catch myself cussing and yelling at a character, or worse, hyperventilating and getting REALLY angry at a character. How's that for empathetic?! We followed Jack from an abduction, to a virus, to an assassination plot, to a sacrificial plane crash, to a terrorist bombing, to a nuclear bomb, and to a consequential arrest-and-shipment to China. And now, yes, I am awaiting its season premiere on January. In the mean time, I'm contenting myself with watching the previews for Season 5. So now, I'm holding my breath...as I use the CTU telephone ring as my mobile phone's message alert tone.

In an interim from one boxed set series to another, I came across the trailer of a now defunct, "one-hit wonder" pilot episode of Aquaman from the WB/CW network merger. I struggled to download the DivX rip of the one and only episode via my trusty Limewire Pro, and managed to complete the whole AVI file after nights on end of downloading and/or staying on queue to get the download ticket running. I wondered...why did the network axe the life and the subsequent episodes of Aquaman (who, incidentally, plays The Green Arrow on Season 6 of Smallville, and is a love interest of Lois Lane. Two hot people on to each other. Yum) to make way for Veronica Mars? Like, duh?

While going through the DVD marathon break, Alet swapped dvds with me--my Smallville for her 2 seasons of Desperate Housewives. Maits, likewise, loaned me her Supernatural DVD. So I guess that should break the hiatus.

Floyd and Arvin started with their Desperate Housewives marathon. But since DH is actually considered a rerun to me (I've watched some episodes back in the US already, then watched both seasons on my computer via DivX downloads courtesy of Yayie-gurl), I started watching Charmed. I got all eight seasons for just about 600 bucks. And while I'm at it, I'm also downloading seasons 3 episodes of DH, which have already started showing in the US. So far, I've downloaded and watched episodes 1 to 4. I've also finished downloading all episodes of season 3 of the 4400, which we've already started watching, too. And as soon as I'm done with Charmed and 4400, I'm heading back to Makati Cinema Square to get The Dead Zone, CSI: NY/Miami, House, and Grey's Anatomy. Unless someone's already got 'em and would loan 'em to me for a couple of days.

God. What the hell am I going to do with all these boxed sets that I've watched already? Hmmm....ebay USA? Yeah, right...and see me go to prison for infringement of the copyright laws. Yaiks. So I guess it'll be my own personal mini-library then. Reruns ain't too bad, are they?

Now if you'd excuse me, I'm queueing downloads of The Last Temptation of Christ, and Como Agua Para Chocolate...and Phoebe's starting to show skin in Charmed. So, THE END.

Kneel Before Me

I thought getting incapacitated, movement-wise at least, would yield me more time to blog. I guess I was wrong. But I'm back, I've got a couple of drafts in my Blog Dashboard, and I'm planning to finish and post at least one or two. So stop whining already.

As part of my company's work-life balance program (which, to this date still has to be formally launched), me and my cohorts from the Training Department banded together to make a fitness program take off. After all, the Bonds and Legal Department have already joined forces and came up with their own Tae-bo class every Thursdays. Taking that as our cue, we reserved the executive lounge on a Monday after work (and all subsequent Mondays, until the Christmas give-aways arrive for stacking, that is) and organized a yoga class with none other than me, myself and I as the appointed yogi. Well, I was qualified: although I lack formal yoga lessons, I've had substantial involvement and attendance to yoga classes back in Marianas, the US, and Guam, and not to mention a stack of books on yoga and pilates, and videos of the same type. So, with our CD player and makeshift yoga mats/towels in tow, we marched off to the lounge and perspired the hour away, capping the session with a five-minute advanced abdominal exercises.

A couple of days after session one, the sides of my left quadriceps (I believe that's thighs to non-anatomy lingo folks like us) started hurting, some sort of a burning pain as if I was stretching it overextensively. I dismissed it as a natural reaction to the stretching, and I went on with my daily routine--including regular every-other-day workouts at the gym. Little did I know that that almost-negligible pain was going to do a maximum overdrive weeks later.

I was sleeping on my bed, and the kinetic, rootless me unconsciously moved into a fetal position and thus bent my knee. It snapped. Or at least that's what I thought I heard that snapped, which woke me up in the first place, next to the excruciating pain on my left leg, that is. It took a while to get my knee straightened up, and as soon as I did, it wouldn't bend back. I came to work the next day limping, with every step seemingly causing more pain than the first. I decided all the Ben-Gay (yeah, yeah, laugh at that, you ass) and Alaxan Gel and Salonpas and Advils/Ponstan ain't gonna cut it for me anymore, so I headed to Makati Med.

Doctor Number 1 told me that I should have an MRI done because she couldn't quite figure out what was wrong with my knee. And since an MRI test wasn't covered under my company's health care package, I decided to ask for a second opinion. I went to Doctor Number 2, an orthopedic surgeon, in St. Camilus Polyclinic in San Antonio Vill, Makati. After a one thousand bucks X-ray and a quick peek at the plates, I was told by Doctor Number 2 that I had a case called Patellar Subluxation. Patel... Subluxwhat? Patellar Sublaxation. That's the technomedical way of saying my kneecap (patella) is fucked up and is a crazy fidgety bone that wouldn't stay in its axis. Apparently, this was either due to trauma (for a while there, I thought it was emotional trauma...but then after all the operations and trips to the hospitals I've had in just less than a year, trauma doesn't seem to be such an alien word) or is a congenital condition. Nothing major or serious...it's just that any maladies with the word "genital" scares the bejeezus out of me, that's all.

Doctor Number 2, after saying that I need to immobilize my knee for three months, gave me two options: buy a knee immobilizer and use it as long as I can, or have my left knee cemented with plaster of paris. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the hassle I went through the last time I had a finger on my right hand cemented, and I decided to choose the former option. The next day, I was headed to Bambang, Sta. Cruz to purchase the damned knee immobilizer, as medical supplies are generally cheaper in that area. About an hour later, I was onboard the LRT wearing the knee immobilizer and having such a miserable time descending the flight of stairs (tell me again, why doesn't LRT1 have any fucking elevators???!). Even hopping in and out of a cab was such a tormenting experience. My only consolation was that I get to remove this contraption everytime I had to take a dump and take a shower.

After some time of wearing it almost 24 hours a day (and going to work while in the process...what a fucking loser), I had this strange feeling of calcification in that area directly behind my knee. I could just imagine how painful my subsequent therapy was going to be if it hardened any further. So I decided to visit Doctor Number 3, a sports therapist recommended by Chrissie, who happened to be her therapist for her acute scoliosis.

After showing and orienting Doctor Number 3 on my condition, he casually but seriously told me that the immobilizer must go, and that I should go forward with my therapy. Fuck the almost two grand I spent for the immobilizer, but it had to go. So I went to my scheduled therapy, thrice a week and shelling out 1200+ per set (three sessions, that is); underwent mild electrocution of the knee, hot compress, and a series of painful exercises. Even bought ankle weights from Toby's so I could do the exercises myself at home. After two weeks of no improvement, I was advised to have a steroidal shot directly on my knee. I said I'd give it some thought...and I ran to Doctor Number 4 at Makati Med.

Doctor Number 4, after being briefed of my now pretty much memorized spiel on my condition, advised me to go directly to an orthopedic surgeon at Makati Med and talk about the possibility of going under the knife. Yaiiiks. So went to friends, contacts, nurses, relatives and other concerned people, looking for advice. I was finally referred to Doctor Number 5 at St. Luke's.

Doctor Number 5, apparently, is a renowned sports therapist and is the surgeon/therapist of the Professional Basketball Association players. More than the fear of a painful operation and therapy, it was the possibly exorbitant professional fees I was terrified of. Double yaiiiks. After having given him an abridged version of my patellar spiel and having shown him my X-ray plates, I was told to not worry about surgery...just yet. He gave me some sets of exercises (which are EXTREMELY and EXCRUCIATINGLY painful, mind you) which I can do at home for the next three weeks. I have to do it religiously lest I might really go under the knife.

It's been two weeks, give or take, and so far I've seen some improvements. It still hurts like hell when the temperature/weather gets cold (yeah, yeah, arthritis/rheumatism my ass), and it refuses to unlock at times, but at best, I'd say I'm better. At least now, I don't have to lug with me my four-footed steel cane or wear the fashion faux pas of a knee immobilizer. I can walk better, but still can't run or kneel or sit well. In time...in time. But for now, I'd have to settle with the improvements, no matter how minute or negligible. One thing I know for sure: I am doing this self-therapy religiously rather than do surgery. In a couple of days, I'm scheduled to go back to the gym after two months of rest. I bet Gold's Gym hasn't changed a bit...

A Mélange of Q&As

More of the slightly more mature version of the grade school and high school autograph book questions... Feel free to cut and paste, change the answers, and email/YM 'em to me.

* Your guilty pleasure.
Eating sinfully sweet ice-cream and/or (how about AND, not or?!) cake while being a couch potato.

* Cat or dog?
Neither. I can't have 'em in my condo anyway. Bummer. But if I really had to choose, I'd say dog. Specifically? Siberian Husky.

* One gadget you cannot live without.
Make that three: My Palm LifeDrive, my Creative Zen mp3 player, and my Sony Ericsson W810i phone.

* One person you can't stand.
Kris Aquino...and occasionally, Regine Velasquez.

* Most risqué thing you've ever done.
Have sex in a public beach, and also sex at the UP Lagoon. Hehehehe

* Most important person in your life.
I'd have to say personS: my family.

* One place you'd rather live other than where you are right now.
Italy or Greece.

* CD playing in your CD changer.
You mean in my mp3 player? I'm on random mode, but right now, it's Kenny Lattimore's For You.

* You cook?
You bet your brown arse, I do. My specialty? Grilled Black Tiger Prawn Vietnamese Wraps.

* A movie/song that would immortalize your life.
Movie: Mr. Holland's Opus
Song: Bagay Ba Sa Kin Ang Kulot (NYAHAHAHAHA); I'd say Stronger

* Biggest fear.
Terrified of spiders and cemeteries. Fear of getting caught doing something bad.

* Sexual fantasy.
Threesome, in a public place. Yeeeeaaaaah.

* Biggest frustration that you'd want to do something about. Soon.
Not being a pilot. I'm seriously considering doing laser surgery of the eyes to achieve 20/20 vision, and then enrolling in a flying school.

* One decision/act you wish you could undo.
Having stayed in the US longer than I should have.

* One thing you don't have anymore that you wish you could have again.
My ME time, where I didn't have to worry about anything or anyone...where I can just read a book or surf for hours or sleep till 3pm cuz of a hangover.

* Your fashion sense.
I'd say I have a pretty good fashion sense. I'm more a street to casual to formal getup.

* Most fun thing you've ever done so far.
Whitewater raft in Cagayan de Oro.

* One thing that grosses you out the most.
Sight of exposed feet and open toilet doors while eating.

* Your biggest talent.
I'm a performer--I dance, I sing, I entertain.

* Biggest turnoff.
Physical: Bad breath and body odor.
Attitude: Incorrigible liar.

* Worst habit.
Depression shopping.

* Part of your body you wish looked better.
My flabs, my skin, and my teeth.

* Career/business you want with all your heart.
Career: I am doing it already--Training...just hoping for a bigger pay and greater employment package (sigh)
Business: I have a foodcart right now. I'm planning to become a supplier of gourmet food to a restaurant, or join ownership of an espresso bar.

* One thing that ticks you off.
I have really low tolerance for incompetent and dull people.

* Type with the right fingers on the keyboard?
Oh yeah. FINGERING's my thing. LOL

* Idea of a perfect date.
A walk by the beach, barefoot, either sunset/sundown or nighttime under the stars. Champagne or martini would be nice. And maybe cap it off with making love right there.

* Current hair color.
Dyed it Thai Tamarind.

* Pairs of shoes that you own.
Including the ones that I left in the US, I'd say 40-50 pairs. The Kenneth Cole's my favorite.

* Do your own laundry or bring it to the cleaners?
Cleaners. Don't have time to do it myself.

* Signature clothes or generic brands?
Signature and a handful of generic. Hell. As long as they're comfy.

* On a scale of 1-10, how evil are you? (1-Satan's distant cousin ten-times removed; and 10-devil incarnate/anti-Christ)
I'd have to say 6. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

* Vanity or necessity?
Vanity. Ehehehehehe

* Ever taken drugs? What kind?
I've tried doobies and E. Only once, though. And I'm not an addict! Hah.

* How much you love your job.
Scale of one to ten, nine and three quarters. But I'm not talking about the company.

* Single store you've ever maxed out your credit card(s).
That would be Banana Rep, or the Gap... but then again, eBay always maxes me out. LOL

* Obsessive-compulsive?
Hell yeah.