The other night at Walmart...

I usually check out the board by the entrance of Walmart to look at photos of missing kids. One girl caught my eye, the photo was a teen's self-protrait most likely taken from her MySpace profile (you know, that shot taken from a strange angle, a super-model pout and with one corner of the photo taken over by a glimpse of the outstretched hand that held the camera). It dawned on me (again) how far our picture-taking has evolved, including its uses.  I knew that one day, missing person's files won't just contain ID pictures or cut-outs from birthday party pictures!!! Now, if ever I go missing, please don't post my photo in that hula outfit even if I'm so darn proud of it!

Seriously, do you ever take a close look at photos of missing people?  Next time, can you please take some time to stare at their eyes, say a prayer and hope that one day you or someone else will find them and return them to their loved ones?

Uh-oh, Have I Just Sold My Soul?

        *This post is really not meant for this site, but I'm posting it anyway*

        It's been what...3 weeks? 4? since I became official with Payperpost and Blogsvertise. The only two income-generating seas I've so far waded in where blogging is concerned. There's still a huge chunk that doesn't fit snugly in my heart because I feel that I've sold some precious little pieces of myself. I'm just a bit apprehensive that those avid readers *yeah, wishful thinking* who have somehow followed my posts because they found themselves resonating to my thoughts, picking up something good if not learning a little lesson or two, will lose interest because of a slight change in flavor (or lack thereof).

         I have nothing against monetizing the blog, nor those who do it. In fact, I'm a puppy of the same litter and I'm so darn proud of it! In these times where the economy goes nowhere but plummet south and the power of money is shrinking to a nano-size particle, monetizing the blog is a really clean venue where one can earn extra with a little effort, especially for those who are inclined to write. My other feelings about this (the ones that aren't as pleasant) are purely personal though.  I just realized that the plant I'm growing is getting more and more different from the seed I have planted when I started to blog.  This "Coffee, Anyone?" is the product of a dream, born full of promises...both the good and the bad, the crazy and the sober, the fascinating and the mundane facets of my journey.  I am happy with the readership that has developed, it's not that many but quite an appreciative lot. That's something I didn't expect but I am so grateful for. After all, I'm an ardent crusader of the "Starfish Story" principle --- it doesn't matter if what I do can't change the whole world as long as it affects one tiny soul in a good way.  That's one of the life purposes I have been embracing for a long time now.

         I'm in a quandary because a little drop of buzzing or advertising seems to dilute this purpose. On second thought, won't they pass as part of it all, like additional spices in a stew that you are allowed to add but may also do without? I only write about those whose pieces fit into my current plot anyway, although I admit I'm forcing some in with a passion.  I don't know, maybe this is only an initial feeling that is part and parcel of first-time experiences...like that of a virgin's after having sex for the first time. Pardon my example but it's the best thing I could come up with at the moment. Yeah, talk about forcing some in with a passion.  Right. Right.

        One option is to create yet another blogsite specifically for that purpose, but this will bring me back to square one in terms of building up Page Ranking and other related ratings to qualify. Perhaps I should plant another seed without any intention of monetary gain again. Maybe it will evolve once more into something that will bear "fruit" down the road. Definitely, my original site, the one I always refer to as my "birthplace", Thoughts at 3am, will remain unadulterated for life. This niche, on the other hand, will be a collage of sorts for now where I run the risk of people giving my updates the cold shoulder expecting each post or each link to be of commercial nature or people having doubts about my integrity debating if the things I claim to be passionate about come with a fee or are genuinely mine . I have always been passionate in sharing every little discovery in my journey.  So either way, trust that everything is made with the purest intentions. In this case perhaps, the means justifies the end...(and vice versa). Besides, "pure intention" is another strong principle I always try live by.

         Perhaps I should start linking up this post as an epilogue to My Disclosure Policy too.

Saturday Night

Today, hubby and I did a pretty good job with stuff pertinent to our move. We're going to our favorite bar tonight in the city.  He "asked me out" yesterday. Date night, for a change *woohoo*. So I'm sitting here on the bed, writing this post in full "going out" regalia, make up, dangling earrings and all, and I'm still wearing my worn-out flipflops.  He's still in his casual highschool reunion a few blocks down and I didn't go because I needed time to shower and change from work clothes (fresh from the garage). He should be coming back soon. Good thing most of the wives didn't go either (I've hang out with most of them in his clique). I started sipping some wine by myself too.  Hopefully a little alcohol will cure my toothache which has been bothering me for two days now. I know, I know..I should make that long overdue appointment already!

He's Back!

Thank God my Dad's brachytherapy went well. After three or so hours of torment, he woke up, regained sensation after being numbed (for the first time ever) by spinal anesthesia and asked our driver who won the basketball game on TV.  I tried to wake up and say the rosary for him at 3am which was 6pm in the Philippines, the start of the procedure. Then I fell back asleep, but I fell asleep praying hard so I know that God heard me anyway.  The comforting part is that we know that 66 tiny radioactive seeds have been implanted and are now at work inside him -- oh God's little army! A few weeks from now, he'll be undergoing external radiation, which buys me more peace of mind at this point. Peace of mind. But that's not what I need. I just need him to have a new lease on life.  I just want him to live. Period.

Isn't this just a perfect example of the saying -- or question -- why do bad things happen to good people? But it's not my question to ask. I will just keep praying and hoping that he pulls through. I hope this is just one of those hurdles that will pass, a nightmare we'll eventually forget, and drama that won't leave an indelible mark (nor a permanent empty space) in our hearts.

On the lighter side, here's something funny.  As I was told, when my dad was in the recovery room, he was so bored and needed to look at the time frequently.  He asked for his prescription glasses and my sister (or was it the driver ---loyal Mang Romy, thank you for always being by my family's side!) handed it to him. He put them on and instantly got very alarmed saying that his vision seemed to have totally gone bad.  They had to ask the doctor if it was possible at all as a side-effect of knocking him out, my dad bugged the puzzled nurses, worried my sister and subjected himself to some self-inflicted horror trying to figure out why all of a sudden he had impaired vision. Then my mom, oblivious to the situation, arrived and complained about misplacing her own specs.  They later realized that my dad was wearing hers after all! That's my funny family, folks!   We are all walking unpredictable comic reliefs, you know.  And about my dad, this is his way of showing the world that he's back.  You see, nothing can keep a good man down.

Birthday Time!

Happy Birthday, Rocky!!! You are a rare friend. Someone I can trust,  someone who knows exactly how I would feel about things, and someone who holds genuine concern for my interests and the people I treasure, someone who knows a lot about me yet holds my secrets dear, someone who already knows what I need before I even realize it, someone who's there to find it before I look for it, someone who always wants the best for me. You are rare. I love you and I wish you your own slice from the happiness pie. It's about time...

Mixed Nuts

        What a crazy week...mixed feelings...mixed emotions. The schedule is not as wild as my craziest thus far, but I'm feeling kinda in the dumps. The 90210 re-runs that I've gotten attached to for the past months have just concluded last night and I'm suffering from separation anxiety.  I miss Kelly, Dylan, David, Donna, Steve and Janet already (they were my pseudo-friends). Maybe I'm just being hormonal. LOL. We're finally moving to the new house hopefully by Labor Day and I haven't gotten anything organized. There’s this little garage sale to start with hopefully next weekend. We don't have a handful of projects for the new house so I guess there’s nothing to be stressed about but I do want the kitchen repainted into a beautiful shade of Rustic Red. Then we’ll work from there -- shots of Contemporary Tuscan around the house. Wrought-iron décor...chunky candles everywhere, a good selection of subtle accents with tuscan colors like copper, terra cotta, tuscan gold, paprika, sage green, luscious olive, deep burgundy, chocolate brown, soft gold, tan, rust and dark red…

        It's all good. Not really. Miles away, Daddy’s getting in the hospital for his Brachytherapy and he has been telling me that he’s so terrified, this being his very first major medical treatment in all his 71 healthy and youthful years. (last year, he considered Botox treatments! – but I think he meant it as a joke *I think*) Seriously, I remember when I was 8 years old, the bank transferred him to a branch so far away that he’d come home only on weekends. He told me how he would drive across railroad tracks everyday (regular city tracks but at 8 years old that made me very fearful) And I remember praying so hard almost every moment that I could make God deaf just so he will be kept safe from incoming trains (and I guess in general), for me. I’m praying like that 8-year old all over again…So hard I can trade everything else that’s special.  But I know that God doesn’t work that way.  I hope He’ll keep my dad as safe and healthy as He has kept him when I asked for it more than two decades ago.

        At work, we have this big nationwide project that’s launching on Friday where I’m in charge of the Southern Pacific region with about 30ish branches to take care of. We are expected to implement in 4 days and all I have done so far is checkout the main company’s website and stare at it for hours.

        I’m in this phase again where I hope that time will fly faster so I can rush into the new house and do all the beautiful things I’ve planned, and at the same time wish the clocks will stop so my dad doesn’t have to go through his medical ordeal.

        I’m so antsy at work right now. I’m going nuts, big time.

Merry Christmas

For the second time in years, tears rolled down my eyes without following a surge of angry or hurt feelings.

The first time was a year ago when I was driving home from work and I spotted a woman with a dog by the intersection.  The dog looked and moved exactly like Milo – my sister’s pet back home who I found myself being a full-time stepmom to. I realized how much I missed the happy bonding run and fetch moments I shared with that hairy mutt. Cheesy, I know but nonetheless sent tears streaming down.

Last night was the next. I continued to catch up with my 90210 re-run recordings and they featured an episode where Donna’s mom was selling their family house and Donna told David about her happy childhood memories and how Christmas was her favorite time in that house. Long story short, David arranged for an off-season final Christmas in the house with the giant Christmas tree, the ornaments, Christmas carols in the background, the eggnog, family and friends wearing Santa hats. I could almost smell Donna’s Christmas…Donna’s final Christmas in that house.

And I suddenly smelled my own memories of Christmas past. Growing up in the  ancestral house, midnight mass in a private convent, new clothes, new shoes (that hurt because they haven’t been broken in), Christmas carols on the radio, our giant tree, Christmas eve (and “Noche Buena”) treats, cheese(!), the twinkling Tivoli lights, waking up on Christmas morning, the cool breeze, and spending time with family. 

FAMILY.  I miss my family. Is homesickness making its way in? Is it slowly creeping through tiny holes and gaps of the box that houses my heart? Through the cracks on windows that have been boarded up and doors I have nailed shut? I’m not dense, but I try to keep emotions at bay as much as I can, trying my best to live up to being the anchor of strength in my family that I can’t fold and will never intend to. Or perhaps, I take after my grandmother, the matriarch, who indirectly showed me how to be a real lady in emotional moments –calm and “seemingly” unaffected, zealous in her love but strangely distant; keeping it together to try and keep everyone from crumbling…in full control but straining hard not to dangerously collapse inside. 

I make sure every long distance phone call to my parents is a cheerful one – to leave them laughing and their spirits high until the next one, or to distract them and make them forget about me not being close by.  I’m miles away from these special people in the treasured Christmases of my childhood. Memories that make you ache to experience all over again but you know you can't. A hundred little pieces of homesickness pierced through last night.  Or perhaps, just being far away pushes one to wax prematurely nostalgic at age 35.  For whatever it was, this steel magnolia finally cried…

Second Chances

I'm so sleepy again you will have to hook me via a concentric catheter in the external carotid artery to an intravenous drip of 20% Red Bull, 25% Monster, 20% Rockstar, 25% Coffee, 10% Diet Coke. My schedule is still out of whack and I'm dog-tired.

Anyhoo,  I still can't fathom why for days on end, I would pay the coffee pot a visit on my 3pm breaks when I know that nobody makes coffee at that hour anymore.  And each time, the same repertoire of motions vis-a-vis feelings transpire: I waddle dazedly to the lunchroom bearing my prized coffee mug that contains nothing but a faint brown stain of coffee that dried up on a straight line as I desperately hang on to the last drops of morning fix with my mouth wide open and head tilted back so far I could fall off my chair, then I aim the mug under the spout of the thermos as a drought-victim would upon seeing an artesian well for the first time in 50 years, I press on the pump with so much faith that never seem to remember days and days of no coffee in the coffee pot at 3 o'clock. Then the spout manages to cough up air (or bubbles on good days) that so much sounds like but is definitely less productive than a person with a mild case of bronchitis. Then I turn around, embarassed for the almost imbecile show of hopefulness, and head for the water dispenser to get some cold water as an after-thought. And to dilute what remains of the stain.

Last week, as I was walking back to my desk, Anna (my co-worker inhabiting the cubicle next to the lunchroom) blurted out, "And what makes you think there's coffee at 3pm?" She heard the thermos cough. Several times. I don't know. Perhaps, I'm stupid that way. I'm stubborn that way. I persist and hope and anticipate change despite repeating disappointments. I know I can send Pavlov turning in his grave.

Today, at 3pm, I marched into the lunch room again but lo and behold, this time I emerged triumphant, with a mug full of coffee (not as hot but warm enough to tide me over). No one finished the morning fix! I showed my prize to Anna, she was on the phone but she gave me a smile and a thumbs-up sign.  You see, I'm very trusting and forgiving that way.  I don't lose hope on anything. Or in most (I didn't say all) cases, anyone. I believe in the innate cosmic goodness in things, events and people as long as we give them a chance (even if you need to turn them inside out, or shake, twist and squeeze...there's gotta be something!) You see, I don't give up easily. You see, you'll never know when you're going to hit the jackpot.

Hotline to Heaven

How can one explain that on the same day that I wrote the deposit check for the house we're buying, not even an hour after our agent picked it up and I started having qualms about the cost of this humongous California mortgage causing a major revamp in our monthly budget, the President of our company comes calling me to his office, hands me my payslip and says "thank you for your wonderful service to the company, we're giving you a raise and it's already incorporated in this pay period". My hair was raising all over as I walked back to my desk.

I don't remember praying for it but I do remember throwing this silent question to God in one of my passing thoughts: Lord, I don't know if it is the right house, or if it is really the ripe time for us, just show me when you can.

What a wondrous and beautiful language he speaks to us in. Isn't it?

631,152,000 seconds of friendship

OR 10,519,200 minutes and counting – I think that sounds fascinating too!

Hi Ali!

It’s August 8, 2008 in the Philippines (the 7^th over here) today. I don’t know if there is such a big and official thing as an anniversary of friendship but I hope you remember that at one point, we officially recognized August 8, 1988 (8/8/88) as the start of our friendship. It was a lucky day for us alright!

Twenty years, brother! Twenty years of knowing that I have the kind of friend  who will stick by me even if I will be the Most Wanted criminal in the world. You are that kind of friend. And that’s one special lesson on friendship that I learned from you.

I still find myself visiting that happy place in my heart.  A place that tells tales of long hours on the phone, breakfast meals at 10pm, round trips on the train just for kicks, a long list of things to do together scribbled on a folded piece of paper tucked in our wallets (way before PDAs and cellphones became popular), movies, shared tears, road trips, food trips, caffeine and nicotine trips (a-huh!), our RC cars…and even deeper down memory lane: painting and sketching together in high school, the dance number we did (ulgk!), the endless exchange of letters when I went away for college, the unspoken agreement to celebrate the day after Christmas (my mom’s birthday) at my house each year. And you know what I miss the most? Those endless philosophical musings and intellectual conversations I shared with you.  That has been pretty scarce in my circle lately. *sucks*

It’s sad that the road we used to travel has reached a fork that split our ways physically, but hopefully not in any other way.  People evolve, lives do change, and we cannot stop the wheel from turning.  The happy thing is that you’ve found your own bestfriend in your spouse, and so have I in mine. My hubby  doesn’t get jealous when I talk about memories with you. He knows that you are my brother, and are now also his. At any rate, I am at peace with knowing that we are both happy where we are now, and in a good place which we only used to dream of.

I just want to thank you for being my bestfriend through those years, really the “bestest” friend, although there is no such word, only such meaning...and it applies to you. I have been so blessed to have that kind of friendship with you. The same still goes out from my heart to you, and now to your wife, and my godson. I look forward to seeing you all on my next visit.

*squiggles* whatever that means, boy!

PS. I'm posting pictures I stole from your friendster! Hahaha. I know you wouldn't mind LOL =P because for some reason, I have no "digital" pictures of us to post right away.  That's how ancient we are. YIKES!

Wanna hear something funny?

Okay. So I ended up pulling my husband’s hair (not the sexy kind) like one wicked and enraged witch the other night (AARRRGGGHHH!). IN MY SLEEP.

I had this dream that someone I knew who’s always been so stubborn and never respected my words and feelings in the past has dunnit again! And if I used to be patient, understanding and tolerant with her, I certainly was the exact opposite in my dream.  Talk about suppressed feelings!  Aggressive and revengeful tendencies! In my dream, I was so frustrated I started yelling at her (YES! finally, after all those years of torment!) then I grabbed her thick wiry hair and started pulling it (like in an overly-dramatic soap opera with flames almost churning out of my nostrils).  GGGGGRRRRR!!!!! ARRRRRGGGH!!!! It was almost cathartic. Aaah, the pleasure of finally letting the floodgates loose!

Then suddenly, I woke up because my husband shook me.  He had this big astounded and bewildered look in his eyes...no, make that thunderstruck ... stupefied...flabbergasted...PETRIFIED... as he nervously chirped, “What the hell did you do that for?” I was pulling hard on his hair with such adrenaline-powered grip and his eyes were as round as golf balls.  Oh the poor innocent sleeping thing...

It was hella funny.  I ended up laughing my way back to sleep.  Maybe I should start seeing a therapist for a sleeping disorder (aggressive tendencies in dreams) hahaha or for some minor problems while fully awake (suppressing anger and stuff).  Nah, I prefer to transcend and stay calm.  Too much drama makes one ugly and sick.  Besides, I must admit I enjoyed that hair-pulling drama and I'm not about to let that go *LOL*.

I still can't stop laughing! Hell, yeah!

"Compassion and tolerance are not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength." - Dalai Lama

Aloha Festival (Presidio, SF)

I had a blast last weekend.  We performed at the Aloha Festival last Saturday.  I just remembered how last year, I promised myself I wouldn't be just watching at the festival anymore, I would be performing. Well...

Here's something to scratch off my list again! But I'll keep doing it. See you next year! Mahalo...

Out of Whack!

        It's been a week since my last post and I have been "itching" to write but my schedule has been so way out of whack lately...The whole week had been busy but it was so much fun too that I can't complain.


        My stepdaughter's staying with us for about three weeks or so this summer and that means, we have the rest of the nieces and nephews with us too! It's as if hubby and I are running a huge and chaotic teen/pre-teen daycare adventure with 6-8 kids in tow, depending on who gets dropped off or picked up. We want them to bond and make great memories together so they don't grow apart.  Well, with them, we don't really have to make much effort.  I believe that family members should be friends you grow up with and that really makes all the mayhem so worth while.   Hopefully, by being a part of each other's happy memories, they can be there for each other when they get older.


        And they are getting older!  Yesterday, I was shopping with my stepdaughter in downtown SF (my happy place) when she said "Remember when we used to look for Size 1 pants for me? I can't believe I'm now a 5." Wow.  I've only been here a few years and these kids have shot up like crazy.  One of the cousins is already going to college.  And boy, how they can all eat now too! Each day that they are with us, it's like I'm cooking for a big banquet. Little portions just don't work anymore. But though it's a total rip-off, we still find it cute at the end of the day.


        The house is utter bedlam too.  We're talking of a gazillion colorful Nikes and Vans by the front door;  overstuffed backpacks strewn around, blankets and sleeping bags piled up in the family room like it's one small refugee camp, our bedroom (with the flat screen, laptops and other gadgets they all flock to) turning into their clubhouse, an array of ringing tones from different colored cellphones, kids talking to you while texting (is that a word, by the way!?!) with skill and speed that only teenagers can master, 101 personal issues, concerns and questions about life that mean the world to eight different voices but seem so little to us.  Paper plates, playing cards, hair straighteners and late nights.


        Every night after my chores, hubby and I would sit down (when we're too tired to mess around with them),  drink wine and watch them.  It makes us remember our own youth.  There is a certain fondness in our hearts that we cannot explain.  Time flies so fast.  We're almost two decades away from that kind of carefree fun, that juvenile experience when we were still uncertain and discovering so many things through hits and misses. Our treasured memories are still fresh and we still light up remembering them. That's why we tend to give back to the cycle what we have once gotten and probably have not even given up just yet. After all, we won't lose anything in the process, there's only a lot to gain. Pretty soon, these kids will be in our shoes, reminiscing their own youth and wishing it just ain't over yet.       


        Maybe that's why hubby and I enjoy giving them wonderful summers.  He and I are not done with ours.

A Different Perspective

I read this from a bumper sticker as I was pulling off the parking lot after church last Sunday:

We are all spiritual beings having a physical experience.

Cool, huh?

Identity Crisis

Eureka! But I’m not running out to the streets of Syracuse naked.  I found it at last!

        I thought I had lost my California ID card (not the driver’s license) when I had my right ear cartilage pierced (the same spot that closed up) late last year.  I went through the whole painful process of reporting it to the concerned agencies fearing that someone else might use it, and fearing the worst: harm my credit; or get my identity entangled in some gruesome murder case. Eventually, I got used to the idea that somewhere out there, someone (hopefully a hot-looking minor) might use my ID only to buy some liquor (quite responsibly if it was possible!) and that’s it. 

        Can you keep a secret? I mourned for that ID because I ADORED my photo there.  I was maybe 25 flipping pounds lighter then, my long hair was brushed more than once that day, and I was wearing a good amount of war paint on my face…a definite “hot girlfriend” version of me.  The Driver’s ID that was left with me spoke of hideousness and nothing else.  It was taken when I didn’t know the photo was going to be taken.  I had a house-shirt on, I didn’t brush my hair twice that day (LOL), and I don’t think I took a shower that day *joke*. And oh yes, I was 25 flipping pounds heavier, and I squeezed the shot in between washing dishes and doing laundry…a definite “horrendous-looking wife” version of me! I remember praying for some nice soul to mail that beautiful version of me back to my address but nothing ever came. Then I remember blaming people for keeping it in light of their malevolent motives.  And of course, I also accused the finder for keeping it just because I looked really “hot” there *dream on*.

        Hubby and I went clubbing last weekend (Plug: Bruno’s in SF) and I took one of my tiny black “clubbing” purses.  I was putting my Driver’s license in the inner pocket when I felt another ID card in there.  It’s my long lost ID!!! I still don’t have any recollection of how it ended up there. Maybe I took it to Blue Light (another favorite) one time.  But I do remember showing that ID to the Piercing Pagoda several months after that.  I’m positive! And I remember coming home without it. How on earth it happened remains a mystery to me.

        But I’m so happy and relieved that I have my “hot girlfriend” version in my wallet once more.  Now, if I can only go back to looking the part.

I can't hear trouble (but I smell it!)

Our office is supposed to be a scent-free environment though I’d sneak in a spritz or two of the faintest smelling body spray whenever I wake up too late to wash my hair in the morning (me filthy thing!) I hope I don’t get written up for it one day. And I think someone’s doing the same thing!  Once in a while, I would catch strong whiffs of pomade in my cubicle. Old man’s pomade—the scent that you’ll get if you mix coconut oil with old dried up garden soil. I’ve been secretly accusing someone for it. He’s very nice, funny and very smart by the way, but just the quintessence of the pomade-slathering league. But lo and behold, this place is reeking of that odor today and he’s not even here! Hence, I’m moving on to Victim…er…Suspect #2: the co-worker in the cubicle next to mine. There is nothing conclusive yet but if I’m right this time, then I therefore conclude that not all women who come to work clutching an original Gucci purse have good taste in the fragrance department. (If my co-workers can read my posts, I will soooo get in trouble).

I digress. 

Suspect #2 got in trouble with The Manager lately. If my eavesdropping data is accurate (which most often isn’t especially when relying on audible data---in other words, I’m biologically deaf aside from having Attention Deficit), she has been lagging on some important tasks involving BIG accounts.  Aside from that, I heard from Suspect #3 (she doesn’t stink, I just don’t know how to refer to her---but since she works on the cubicle across mine, she’s not fully acquitted just yet) that Suspect #2 got into an argument with The Manager while she was being reprimanded for not doing her job.  It allegedly graduated into a yelling match with Suspect #2 coming out of it claiming that she felt “harassed”. Suspect #3 and Suspect #4 (I don’t think this one should even be a suspect at all) asked if I heard it myself because they only learned about it from the grapevine; #3 was off sick that day, and #4 was on vacation. I could swear I didn’t hear any yelling at all so they figured it must have happened on my lunch break. But I never leave on lunch breaks! I eat my lunch in my cube while I write blogs like this one! I must have been in a different “realm” that time…

But it could be true. I hate taking sides but I believe that the manager had a point. I hear her yakking on the phone with friends for long periods of paid time. So seriously? It only proves that how we behave dictates how others will treat us. Our attitudes and behaviors in the different aspects of our lives court how we will be treated back. Give out sh*t, and you’ll get some sh*t back. Love and you will be loved back. Maybe not in all instances, but it improves your chances. But this shouldn’t even be the main goal. Be nice, just to make the world a better place. Love, just because.

And don’t wear stinky pomade.

Sunblocked in Reno

          I’m drinking pepsi today.

(The rest of this post will have nothing to do with drinking Pepsi).

          Hubby and I went to Reno last weekend for his softball  tournament.  A really welcome respite from it all.  But it was so darn hot out on the field last Saturday, I practically melted over my flipflops while I screamed and cheered and nurtured a deep-seated anger for sticky sunblock. I wasn’t being little miss quirky, in fact, I had loathed anything that was smelly, waterproof, sticky or greasy  (especially that altogether in one formula) on my skin eversince I was a kid. The scent of Coppertone would always send me running for my life and nothing has changed thus far. But I guess, you can’t hate what protects you.

        Enough about sunblock.

        The rest of the weekend went really great. Had two buffets in a row (Silver Legacy on Saturday night, Atlantis for Sunday’s lunch---crab feast!!!)… in between was a series of relentless unproductive “alcohol-infused” affairs with the slot machines at The Nugget where we  stayed for two nights and at Harrah’s downtown. Man, these things guzzle up bucks like crazy! I’m not really the gambling kind. I would rather see my money vanish on good margarita…or food…

       Yeah right, food… I just impulse-bought a small princesscut diamond pendant in one of the pawnshops in downtown Reno.  I wasn’t intending to buy it but we made an offer for a hundred bucks and the guy agreed. I figured, since I could have been seeing that same amount chip away in a thousand little pieces while betting on the merciless Wheel of Fortune machine, I might as well turn my remaining gambling allowance into a girl’s bestfriend, and for 1/4 the price of the real value!

        So in principle, “we” sort of recovered what we lost and it’s on my neck right now (not to mention the rainbow-colored stuffed  butterfly, the anemic monkey and the powder blue teddy bear from Circus Circus).  I’m not really materialistic. I liked the diamond because it was cute (and cheap), not because it’s a status symbol.

        Plus, I think it’s a reasonable reward for putting up with sunblock. Yes, I hate it that bad.

Frozen Banana

Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.

Frozen Banana coated with chocolate and crushed almonds. Tucker's Ice Cream, Alameda CA

My Third Fourth

America was lighting her fireworks when I arrived the first time and I always choose to look at it as a glorious personal welcome. Since then, Fourth of July always had a different meaning for me; every firework sent up in the air is a celebration of my new life. I’m not a different person, just an evolving one. And I’m only in a different place but my heart is always where it’s supposed to be. It rests in the people whose hearts I also carry in me.

I won!

I have a "brave" little secret...I maintain another blogsite with pretty much the same posts at Bravenet. And guess what! I won the Journal of the Week Award (click it while I'm still on the Main page!!!) Here's my site: Coffee, Anyone? and I'm happy it's finally getting a lot of hits. I was so surprised that I won when I didn't even enter the contest.

I want to celebrate but I can't party just yet. I'm waiting to "win" in a more important area of my life right now. Dear God, please don't let my Daddy get ill.  At least let me win this one too.

Reflections from a Turkey

         I saw it the instant I came out the front door of my workplace. There is a small parking lot in front of our building adjacent to a 25 miles/hr road. It was moving about lazily in the middle of the road in slow turkey waddle. What was it doing there, I mused. A wild one, perhaps. Since I work close to the ocean, I get my regular dose of ducks tapping on our glass doors, seagulls crying in the distance…hawks (hawks?) hovering up above. It was a turkey alright, even if my close encounters with a whole turkey are limited so far to #1) the zoo when I was 5 years old #2) Thanksgiving dinners – the turkey sandwiches and ground turkey I use a lot in lieu of beef don’t count. Maybe it’s just my imagination, this one almost had a personality. "He/She/It" almost had a name. ALMOST HAD.

        I went straight to my car, fumbled for my phone in my purse (shucks, I thought I left it again) and then pulled right off the lot and unto the road. To my shock, when I was almost at that part where the turkey was, I saw instead some bloody turkey pieces...mashed and unidentifiable turkey parts. I’ll spare you the other gory details. It bothered me like hell, like a heavy dark cloud was cast upon me and followed me. At home, hubby gave a loud “What? Who did what!?! What the f! What an irresponsible son of a b! What was he thinking?” – it could make tree-huggers and animal rights activitists grimly jealous.

         Poor turkey. One moment he was lounging about oblivious to his impending demise, 5 minutes elapse and he's a random roadkill. It seemed more like a gruesome murder to me, if there is a difference at all. Did he have parents? Did he have a spouse? Did he have kids? Uhm...Grandkids? Hahahaha. Is there turkey heaven? or turkey hell?  LOL. Is someone gonna miss him? What was he doing there? What was he thinking? Did he have dreams? Did he have goals? Did he have a list of things to achieve before he dies? A turkey's brain is about the size of a walnut and it is said that is has fewer brain cells than a cockroach. So the tragedy he met probably didn’t mean much. They are somehow predestined to be on someone's dinner plate anyway (sorry, vegans). But the scarier part of it was…the incident jolting me to the eventuality and randomness of mortality. It could have been our pet dog. It could have been my neighbor. It could have been someone close. It could have been me. 

         I didn't mean to ride the hype of the now cliche "Bucket List" when I started to write this. Oh the ever-proverbial list of things one wants to do before he kicks the bucket!    Maybe it matters. Maybe it doesn't. It's your choice. It depends on how you see the world and life itself. I'm just creeped out by the turkey's misfortune.I do have a bucket list but I prefer to call it dreamlist...I wrote one before the movie came out (click to see my old list). Yes, it keeps growing. And yes, Tiger Woods is still part of it and I'm moving closer and closer to that one. Woohoo!

        But I believe that everyone's list should include: 1) Forgive ALL those who wronged you, especially those who didn't really mean to; 2) Say sorry to those you've hurt; 3) Thank the people who did a lot for you (even the smallest things) throughout your life; and THIS ONE SHOULD TOP THE LIST: 4) Tell the people who mean very much to you that you love them. Now. Really.

Friday

It's 3 pm, I'm on my coffee break...(uhrm, non-coffee break).  It's the second time this year that I pulled caffeine off my system before my body could protest. And now, I'm as lethargic as my neighbor's fat pitbull. I thought if I offered my abstinence from coffee (something I like so much) with my prayers, my utmost wishes will seem most legitimate and sincerely desired, and hence, answers will be expedited. I'm just praying for someone really really dear to me. Which reminds me, I listen to Catholic Radio AM1260 now on the way to work and back. A couple of days ago, they were talking about how prayers are in essence expressions of love. You pray for someone because you care. You ask others to pray for you because you trust that their prayers can help. You almost trust your lives to them. You pray to God because you resign to His designs or bargain with Him because you know He won't let you down. It portrays loving relationships and how we nurture these.  Anyway, right now, I just feel like sticking my head in the freezer.  Just thaw me when I can drink coffee again. I'll tell you when.

It's Friday! I adore Fridays! I'm going to my cousin's tonight for a pots and pans party or something like that.

***

Apparently I didn't finish yesterday's post. The pots and pans party was impressive. Surgical stainless steel cookware...no oil or water needed.  It sounded like fun but definitely pricey. They had air and water purifier/ionizer systems too. I would definitely buy if I had 3 grand readily dispensable. I mean, we do but it's definitely not a priority right now. Anyway, the fried chicken was really great! I had a great time together with my cousins, an occasion we barely get now.

Today, we woke up late and stayed in bed til noon. It's hubby's HUG WIFEY SATURDAY. Later this afternoon, I'll be spending time at my sister's for the Pacquiao fight. Right now, hubby's picking up food from Carl's Jr. Been craving for them fried zuchinis lately hahaha.  What a lazy Saturday, I'm not cooking...I'm not even doing laundry.  I'm not doing anything!

Hubby and I are smelling the flowers. Til then!

Skin-deep...

        So we finally meet after 5 years. She finally meets the woman who her ex-boyfriend fell head over heels in love with. I finally meet the woman who loved and cared for the man I married for more than a decade before I came (pun unintended) into his life. She finally meets the woman she referred to as the “fat b*tch” and I finally meet the woman I referred to as the “ugly b*tch” (Out of disdain, I always thought, well you can lose “fat” but what do you do with “ugly”? Plus, she wasn’t so skinny to begin with).

         It wasn’t so bad. Just a bit of formalities here and there, a shaking of the hands (I offered mine first –brownie points!), uttering the automatic “nice to meet you” that goes with the handshake (did we really mean it?), partying with the rest of the crowd and maybe scrutinizing each other in stolen glances. Simple. So bitterly peaceful. It has been five years anyway. I guess we both anticipated this meeting. It is a small world after all.

        At one point, we were all singing and “Dancing Queen” came up. I announced to everyone, in between sips of beer, that it is my song. No one, except for her, volunteered to sing it. And I danced to it. I know, she wasn’t doing it for me…she was just having fun singing. I wasn’t doing it for her either. Dancing Queen is my anthem, I will heed its call anytime. I am a Dancing Queen --which I know she isn’t! I must say though, even if she doesn’t sing as good as Cristina Aguilera I definitely pale in comparison. I should give it to her. (uhrm…)

         Two concerned guys asked me if it was okay that she was at the party. And because I wanted to prove unfazed by the situation, I confidently said “No worries, you're asking me now when I finally proved to myself with my very own eyes that I’m really a lot more beautiful than her?”  My husband always said too that I’m 100 times nicer.  Better inside and out.  But I kept that part to myself.  Good thing.  I should have kept my mouth shut to begin with. I really wanted to kick myself for not screening my words. I hate it. I just put myself down. I was embarassed with what I said even if it was supposed to be a self-appreciating joke directed to two carefree guys. I stooped too low. It was definitely a self-defense done in poor taste. Look who's ugly now???

         How can I be so proud? How can I make fun of being prettier than someone else, even just as a joke, or to casually prove a petty point…when we all know too well that beauty is only skin deep.  What matters is what lies beneath. What is important is who the person is inside. As the days go by since that meeting, there is a ball of guilt that keeps on swelling in my heart about having said it. She didn’t do anything bad to me anyway. And even if my husband and a lot of other people who both know us tell me I’m a lot nicer, observing her…I saw that she couldn’t possibly be too far behind. I know for sure she is a great friend to her friends. She's probably great with the kids in the facility she works for. Maybe. It takes one to know one.

         I don't want to hurt people. I should take care of this inner beauty. It is what is important. It is what is worth preserving. It is what is worth being proud of.

         When the party was over, she said goodbye and if smiles were worth ten seconds to a dollar, she flashed me a 10 cents worth.  Good enough.  Then I said “Goodbye, drive safe”.  Did I mean it? YES.

Excuse #542

I’m about as sought-after in the softball field as a tall glass of ice cold Coke on a hot summer day (doused with two tablespoons of mashed-almost-liquefied lamb pancreas, 1 1/2 shots of Parigoric and topped with a generous sprinkle of Borax and 3 pieces of Mentos--ground). I had the privilege to play with my hubby’s co-ed softball team last summer on Tuesdays when their team is short. Me, whose skill is confined to a batting average of 100% -- in hitting flying invisible balls. The only thing I can recall now is how I dragged the team to a few pathetic losses (“You’re already out, Clarisse, you can let go of the bat now…easy..easy…”), because toward the end of the season hubby started coming up with 1001 Time-to-Spare-My-Spouse-(and-me)-from-Embarassment Creatively-simulated Realistic Excuses. One time, his friend J asked, “Do you want to play with us next Tuesday, Clarisse?” and as soon as he overheard this, hubby ran toward us like a victim of an uncontrollable downhill-rolling shopping cart, thereby butting in before I could exercise my freedom of speech, “Her Carpal Tunnel has been acting up and I don’t want her hurting herself any further.”  There goes my softball career.

Fast forward to a year later. Last Tuesday, I was sitting on a bleacher after hubby’s softball game when I overheard the boys talking about the upcoming co-ed league. J (as if he never learned) blurted out, “You're playing with us on co-ed tuesdays, Clarisse!” giving me that “You better do” stare. Or maybe he was just trying to vie for an Oscar – the Most Polite Script Ever Delivered to a Teammate-slash-Friend’s Wife in a sports film Award. Hubby quickly said to me in a loud and thunderous voice audible to anyone within 20,000 miles, “But you’re dancing at the Aloha Festival in SF, you’ve got other shows lined up for the summer, and your classes…your practices fall on the same day!” He even muttered vaguely about a hula competition that hawaiians probably haven't even thought of (LIAR!).  I don’t know if he’s just really being proud of me, OR he is trying to pull off Excuse # 542 of the 1001 Time-to-Spare-My-Spouse-(and-me)-from-Embarassment Creatively-simulated Realistic Excuses. Because I’m pretty sure that if that one didn’t work, he will plot to make my lactose intolerance act up by putting powdered milk in my multi-vitamin pills on Tuesday mornings. Pretty soon, he will be traveling into the future, inventing excuses for sports-related proposals I haven’t even received yet.

I rest my case. I’ll be dancing my way all summer then. I’m about as sought-after in a hula show as gobs of hot white rice anyway.  Plain, but edible at least.

Whew!

Obviously, I am floating merrily at a lucid interval these days. Not exactly bouncing off the walls, but still oooh-ing and yeah-ing at being able to outdo myself in some demands of everyday living, that being a small issue in my daily hum as a workin’ wifey---sans little rascals to contend with at that!

So what’s up with us these days? We’re trying to put an offer for a condo/townhome! TRYING…It’s really a leap of faith for us. We’ve been waiting for Daisy for soooo long (Daisy- that foreclosed house on the next corner from where we live, which I drive by EVERY afternoon after work to make sure no one has bought her yet --apparently, the bank has yet to quote a price-- I named her Daisy the day I found myself talking to it *really* –which I still do everyday…*insane*). Well, we found this small fully-fixed-ditch-the-sweat awesome townhome in Bayfarm…let’s call her Frankie (http://www.pacunion.com/40343677). She’s got more pizzazz than old approachable and conservative Daisy. And like any well-dressed woman on Manolo Blahniks (I can’t believe I’m riding the SATC hype), she will potentially rip us off. But it might be worth it over the long haul. May the best girl win! This house-hunting is truly exhilarating but it does shove us into a state of desperation at times. I do see a light at the end of a tunnel. Do you see that flicker? Over there! Oberder!!!

I’m still having a love affair with the crockpot. And my hubby was cleanin’ scrapin’ and washin’ until his grill went a-shinin’ last weekend. He made grilled steak for supper last Sunday. We’re still gastronomic slaves and we’re liking it!

We’re quite done with long-overdue spring cleaning in “our little studio” (LOL). Quite. Mess throws my mind off-kilter most of the time that I always have to battle a strong urge to retreat to one corner of the room rocking back and forth as overwhelming disorganization abounds. Really. But we’re finally getting ahead, with a better schedule and a slower-paced social life. We’re still working on it. You see, I’m a big fan of flickers at the end of the tunnel (think positive!)…and now a big fan of humongous (and duly-labeled neurotically color-coded) plastic storage bins.

Work. It’s been slow and the economy is going nowhere but plummet south. There’s a soft buzz about shifting into more economical “4/10s” (4 ten-hr days). 3-day weekends forever and ever! Just the mere thought of it already sends me astral-traveling to the mall, the gymn, to Joey (our little bedroom studio--I like giving names now hahaha) to do my sketches and wire craft, and all the way to Hogwarts—that last unread Harry Potter book that’s probably bored-to-death-it-wants-to-set-itself-on-fire on my shelf by now, among others. Or sleeping in on Friday mornings! What joy! Maybe I can find a part-time job on Fridays too! I’m thinking too far. 4/10s will work for me if it happens. As long as everyone’s happy. Well, they gave me this huge box (it was on top of my desk I thought hubby shipped me a present or something--- nice try) of my own personalized business cards last week. I’m casting a good spell on that.

I haven’t bought a single thing for our implement dance in hula class. Not even an ii! I guess I’ll be dancing with imaginary ones again tonight and hope I don’t get penalized for it. I’m pretty good at this pretend stuff anyway *jk*. Imaginary friends like Daisy and Frankie. And dear ol’ Joey.