Small Things

19 02 2012

Perhaps it really was time to finally let go.

We tried far too many times to rebuild and take detours.  It just wasn’t working.  There were just far too many nonnegotiables.

She’s all about the big things and blanket statements.  Big things that seem to give license to not take care of small and seemingly menial acts.  Blank statements that give assurance of a smooth-sailing journey without the need to even talk about the stops, the bumps, and the one-offs.

I am, on the other hand, all about the small things.  My reason: if you can’t even take time to make sure you take care of the small stuff, how can you handle the big things?

For some reason, I can make allowances for the big stuff.  My capabilities to understand major pitfalls, shortcomings and oversights–even those that were not too unintentional–are quite expansive.  But the wick gets a tad too short when it comes to the small things.

I’m a physical and touchy-feely person.  A hug can solve pretty much most of the world’s biggest issues for me.  I’m also a hopeless romantic, whose notions of love and romance are pretty traditional contradicting my other libertarian and radical principles.  I’ve mentioned this somewhere in my blog but I can no longer remember where–women always love flowers and to me, along with hugs, they just do it for me.

Being in a long-distance relationship is awful.  When you’re close to 8,000 miles apart, it’s terrible.  So you make do with what you can do because you can’t possibly hang on to something for over 2 years despite the turbulence here and there if you don’t love each other.

In this day and age, relationships are supposed to be easier.  We have online gateways.  But what happens when there’s an earthquake?  Or when you are trying to cope with the loss of a family member where you cannot go on video call or are practically offline? You take the traditional route and make sure you can be within reach by phone.

On special occasions, you make do with “talking” through any means possible because it’s humanly impossible to go on a date to watch a movie or do anything physical together.  So what can you do?  I’m also a girl.  I want flowers too.  And I want to be the first person that she greets on Valentine’s Day, with the difference in timezones in mind.  And because we’re relatively new, I feel special when my partner remembers the starting date of our relationship month on month with me, especially if she picked the date.

Having to deal with the frustrations of not being together at the moment and then having to deal with things that are disregarded because they are not as important to the other person as they are to you is ultra-devastating.

Love will always be there.  Especially when the person you’ve given your heart to is your soulmate–one person that you just know was meant for you.  But being in a relationship with that person just doesn’t cut it.

I haven’t crossed 8,000 miles to see her.  And it’s my issue.  Every time I say I didn’t get this or that, I have to hand slap myself because I may not have gotten flowers but I haven’t gone out of my way to see her either.  I haven’t made that ultimate sacrifice yet. But for how long will I suck things up because I haven’t done anything?  Isn’t being in a relationship all about doing things for your partner without expecting anything in return?  Don’t you just go all out for the person that you love?  It’s paradoxical because you don’t want to be in a one-sided relationship.  At some point, you too have to be at the receiving end.  I guess it boils down to when you notice that you really don’t get anything because your partner clings on to the idea that she has already made that major investment to see you so she can overlook simple gestures, like making sure her phone can reach you when you most need her, and you feel bad about it, it’s all right to yelp.

But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  Sure there are wonderful times.  But when the weight of the painful small oversights gets a little bit too much, you give in to your humanity and just say, I give up.

Nevertheless, I long for something… deep within me, I wish I’d wake up to see flowers at my doorstep.  Or a note saying, “Come home.”

But then again, I’ve always been just a dreamer.

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Coke Anyone? Juicy Tales from the Online Rumor Mill

15 03 2008

If you haven’t heard/read about it yet, then you must have been nursing a Jun Lozada fever still.  For some who have been fed up with all the heady (no pun intended) theatrics, the latest catfight online is a welcome distraction.  Beautiful release, Ms. MacLachlan? 

I’m talking about the whole Brian Gorell vs. Delfin Justiniano “DJ” Ocampo and the whole “Gucci Gang” hooplah that overpower the much hyped about Sergio-MariMar wedding, Lobo’s much-awaited transformation, Leo San Miguel’s not so surprising surprise, and the widely monitored Clinton-Obama race.  As Le Superstar Fabuleux Bryan put it, it’s “bigger than the Edison Chen scandal in Hong Kong.”  That’s quite something considering the last one’s really huge too!  I almost forgot Governor Spitzer’s major mishap!  Move over Ashley, we’ve got a new star.

I actually just stumbled upon it by accident.  A few clicks here and there later, it unfolded before my very eyes.  It’s sad for shallow gossipy me to have missed the Comments section of the now uber-popular resurrected blog but what I have read pretty much gave me a clearer picture of the whole hubbub.

Let me try to sum up the now much talked about scandal.  Brian Gorell, a man from Down Under, created a blog in (dis)honor of his ex-lover Delfin Justiniano “DJ” Ocampo Montano II.  He dissed the guy and his friends because the ex-boyfriend allegedly still owes him $70,000.  He said in his blog that he won’t stop until he gets his money back.  Now what’s shocking, other than the staggering amount of money, is that the blog talks bad about people move around in Manila’s party scene far more frequently than the rest of us mere mortals.  They, the Gucci Gang, according to the blog, are the young set of the Manila alta sociedad.  I’m sure you’ve heard of Celine Lopez (Philippine Star writer and daughter of former solons Albertito and Emily Relucio-Lopez), Marcel Crespo (Lopez’s ex-fiance and Mark Jimenez’s son), Wendy Puyat-Hotung (a swimwear designer), Tina Tinio (a L’Oréal executive) and Tim Yap (another party animal and entrepreneur).

Everyone loves a juicy tale.  Well, not in huge doses and snorts(!) but every now and then, we lurvvv it.  Schadenfreude after all, is a guilty pleasure.  But this one’s wild!  Not only does it talk nasty of a love affair gone sour, it also talks of the massive and reckless use of cocaine.  If it were to be taken in without question, it will definitely crush to pieces what remnants of reputation these people have left.

A few days ago, the blog was closed but it went live again sans the comments section because apparently it got nuked because of that.  Not that they can’t touch it now.  I mean anything is possible ’round here.  Hell hath no fury than a woman (and the like) scorned indeed but by golly, it gets really uglier by the minute!  Brian Gorell is HIV positive, by the way.  He said so himself.  He claims to have given up his farm in Australia and a lover of 20 or so years.  But he’s back there.  I am not sure how he’s getting on though.  I have one word for him.  Thailand.  The others?  I’m not really sure.  All I know is that they’re getting their share of the limelight one at a time.  And I’m sure they don’t like it this time.  I wonder if ABS-CBN will run this story if this blows.  Or PhilStar.  Tim Yap has been very visible in GMA but I don’t think he’s got that kind of power on the news and public affairs turf.  Gorell said the blog will close as soon as DJ Montano pays up.  I wonder when he’ll post the Western Union receipts.  That should somehow make a case.  This drama marathon is addictive in coke-like proportions!  LOL. 

Sniff.  Snort.  Aaah!

Before the blog closes again, you can check it out here.

Qué horor! Qué barbaridad!





Those Commonly Mispronounced Last Names

21 12 2007

Having worked as a publishing consultant for a Canadian-owned, Random House-affiliate publishing services providing company was the closest that I ever had to working for a call center.   Because we catered to mostly North American clients, we had to speak, well, at least passable American English.  Not having undergone any American accent training, I still felt that my English (and other Anglicized words)-speaking skills are somehow above average. 

I never liked trying to sound American by talking nasally.  I’d sound like someone with speech problems like some people I know.  Hehe.  So, I went into training and since I am not at all an idiot, I learned what I was supposed to learn within the period allotted for the process, far more quickly, I believe.  Our trainers were a bunch of characters.  But then again, trainees—and students for that matter—always make fun of their trainers and teachers. 

The first month was a lot of fun.  Our American department head gave us the permission to take 10-minute breaks in between 60-minute of straight serious work.  Those were on top of our lunch breaks and two 15-minute breaks.  That was pure heaven for smokers like us and for non-smokers who took the same breaks as we did to chat and talk about the “characters” in the office.  Since we were told to speak English at all times then, we did.  So breaks were a bunch of breaks indeed filled with funny anecdotes in English.  There were 9 of us in our batch.  We were supposed to be a part of the first batch of 12 but since the first three—who later became our supervisors—were taken in before the Christmas break and they needed hands on deck (not on the dick, you, you!) then, we were considered the 1 1/2 batch.  Hehe. 

So anyway, the main criterion for the beauty contest—er—for hiring us was our English speaking skills.  Our American department head conducted one on one interviews and if you pass his standards—meaning he understands the way you speak and you get to deliver the answers to his questions the way he wants to hear them—then you’re hired.  So we were super proud to have been hired into a position that promised at least a basic fee of twenty grand, well, not in dollars, but in pesos.  We were also given the chance to earn commissions.  It was a good deal!  I will keep mum about what went on after that in terms of monetary concerns because I don’t want to rouse the sleeping monsters here and there. 

The first day we went live—call potential clients—we got lost.  One of the major problems?  Pronunciation of last names.  Pronouncing places wasn’t much of a problem because somehow, I already knew how to properly most of them, like Tucson/TOO-sahn/in Arizona,  Cayce /KAY • see/ in South Carolina, Des Moines /dih-MOYN/ in Iowa, Leicester /LESS-tur/ in Massachusetts, Reading /RED-ing/ (not like READING from the base verb READ!) in Pennsylvannia and many others. 

Nope, we were not given any help in that department.  What I did was create my own pronunciation guide.  Well, it all boils down to etymology for some.  And if you really can’t pronounce it properly, it’s best to politely ask the owner of the name.  I once looked for a Miss Augusta Something only to find out that he’s a HE.  Some countries don’t go by the usual Filipino convention of names ending with (Mario) O or U for men and A (Maria) for women.  By the way, my parents names are Gregorio and Gregoria.  Talk about soulmates!  LOL. 

My research enabled me to learn some new things and to affirm those that I already knew.  I thought it would be nice to share the fruits of my research here.  How’s that?  Most of them are from Inoglo, About.com and The Budget Fashionista.

I started with author’s names. 

Paulo Coelhopaw-LU ko-wel-YU (my own version based on the IPA guide)

Chuck Palahniukchuhk PALL-uh-nik

Ayn Randine rand

Roland Barthesroll-AH(NG) bart

J.R.R Tolkien“TOLL”-keen

Ivan Illichih-VAHN IH-lich

Jodi PicoultJOE-dee PEE-koe

Marcel Proustmar-SELL proost

Kathy ReichsKA-thee ryks

Jon Scieszkajahn SHESS-kuh

Fyodor Mikhailovich DostoevskyFYOE-dur mih-HY-loe-vich dahs-tuh-YEF-skee

J K Rowling—“rolling
 

Then artists:

Jan van Eyckyahn fuhn ike

Caravaggiokar-uh-VAHJ-o

RembrandtREM-brant

Eugene Delacroixuu-ZHEHN deh-lah-krwah

Edgar DegasED-gar duh-GAH

Claude Monetkload moe-nay

Paul Gauguinpall go-GA

Jean-Auguste Ingreszhahn-o-gust angg

And what last name pronunciation guide would be complete without fashion designers?  So here’s a not-so-complete guide from The Budget Fashionista.  They’re divided into A-G, H-M, and N-Z

Giorgio Armani: Jor-ji-o Ar-ma-nee
Manolo Blahnik: Muh-no-low blah- nick
Andre Courreges: AN-Dre Courreges
Balenciaga: Bal-en-see-AH-gah
Bottega Veneta: Bo-TAY-ga Ve-NE-tah
Roberto Cavalli: RO-ber-to Ka-VA-lee
Chanel: Sha-nel
Chloé: KLO-ee
Comme des Garcons: KUM de Gar-SOHN
Christian Dior: KRE-shtaan DEE-or
Dolce and Gabbana: DOL-chay and Gab-BAH-nah
Ellen Tracy: EL-lin TRAY-see
Salvatore Ferragamo: Sal- va- tor Ferr-A-ga-mo
Gianfranco Ferre: Gee-an-fran-ko Ferr-ay
John Galliano: Gall-lee-a-no
Givenchy: Gee-von-she
Halston: Hall-stun
Hermes: Air-mez
Hugo Boss: He-you-go Bo-s
Imitation of Christ: Em-ma-ta-shun of Cry-st
Marc Jacobs: Ma-rk Jay-kob-s
Betsey Johnson: BET-see JON-sun
Calvin Klein: CAL-vin KLYIN
Donna Karan (DKNY): Don-NAH KA-ran
Michael Kors: My-kal Ko-ors
Karl Lagerfeld: Ka-ral La-ger-fell-d
Helmut Lang: Hell- Mut Lay-ng
Jeanne Lanvin: John La- vin
Ralph Lauren: LORE-in
Nanette Lepore: Na-net LA-pour
Christian Louboutin: KRI-shtaan Lu-bu-TAHN
Louis Vuitton: Lu-wee Vee-tuhhh
Catherine Malandrino: KATH-er-in Mal-an-DREE-no
Alexander McQueen: Al-ex-AHN-der Mac-KWEEN
Isaac Mizrahi: Eye-zak Miz-ra-hee
Issey Miyake: E-say Me-ya-kay
Zac Posen: Zak Poo-zen
Proenza Schouler: pro-en-za skool-er
Emilio Pucci: E-MEE-lee-o POH-chee
Tracy Reese: TRAY- cee Ree-s
Elsa Schiaparelli: EL-sa She-a-pa-REHL-lee
Anna Sui: AN-na SOO-ee
Gianni Versace: Gee-a-nee Verr-sha-chie
Diane Von Furstenberg: DY-an Von FUR-sten-berg
Vera Wang: Veer- ra Way-ng

About.com also has an audio pronunciation guide on how designers’ names and brands are pronounced.  Check it out here.  It contains the correct pronunciation guides of Balmain, Byblos, Ermenegildo Zegna, Jean Paul Gaultier, Les Copains, Yves Saint Laurent and many more.

As a largely English-speaking country, I believe that pronouncing these foreign names and last names—English and Anglicized—are not merely about sounding good or whatever but it means giving respect to people from other countries whose names are not that easy for us Filipinos to pronounce.  My name is constantly mispronounced and misspelled either and while I have gotten used to it, it still gets annoying sometimes.  So, I think learning how to pronounce these names properly is a way of giving respect to others.





My Latest Favorite Word (Phrase?): Oh, Position

17 12 2007

I’ve been busy bloghopping lately that I have been writing more comments than blog entries but it’s awesome because I get to see a lot of things that have been written by really brilliant people in this virtual city that we live in. 

There’s this nice blog entry that I share sentiments with.  Lemme post it…

The ‘Wala na bang iba?’ Manifesto

People who want change: hear us.
• We scoff at the actions of Trillanes and other stupid politicians, celebrities, church figures et al BUT we are not necessarily pro-GMA.
• You are making a big mistake if you assume so.
• We are also frustrated at how things are going but doubly so thanks to your bumbling idiocy. To the various oppositionists we say– hello? Can you see how funny you appear to us? Do you even know and hear us? Do you know that we just want to live a peaceful life here?
• By criticizing those who dont care, you fail to win us over.
• Making stupid Trillanic and Guingonic moves doesn’t help either.
• It also doesn’t help that there are too many opposition leaders but all with the collective IQ of a door knob. At least yung door knob may silbi.
• The more you squabble and bungle, the more GMA looks smarter than you. You don’t deserve to lead us if you can’t even lead yourselves.
• Ano pa nga ba ang pwede naming gawin? Sino mang ipapalit nyo ngayon all look puny compared to how GMA has handled the crisis you’ve been trying to stir since day one. Nung una, okay lang. Pero you guys have all proven your incompetence.
• What really miffs us is every time you disturb the peace, di naman kayo ang immediately affected eh. KAMI!
• So please– we won’t even ask you to get your act together. We’ll just wait. We advice na tumahimik din kayo at baka sakaling may lalabas na better leaders than all you selfish brats.

That was posted by Ben C. in Ang Tagal Naman.

As for my title, Durano, my latest favorite blogger coined the term Oh, Position.  In his comment in this same entry that I mentioned, he said, “The current anti-GMA politicos are salivating for Malacanang Palace. They can”t wait to get their slimy hands on the country’s coffers just like GMA. They are of the same breed! We should refer to them as Oh,Position! No one has credibility. You’re right, lets wait for someone new to rise above these scum. These politicians should all make like a fart and blow. After that stink, we can have some fresh air.–Durano, done!” Very well said, comrade! 

You should check his blog out. He’s got really nice whips and spits. 

Another blogger, JC Smith created an ID for Trillanes.  This one’s really funny.  Check it out at his blog

The Philippine Comedian made me laugh with his own Trillanes Fans Club entry

Gotta rest now.  I’ve been hopping around all day that my virtual feet hurt.  LOL.  This is better than getting the eBay fever.  Jeez, that one drained my piggy bank!





Giggles and Flirtation

2 12 2007

I used to actively chat via mIRC when I started out in college.  I guess it was around the time when the now extremely popular IRC client took its babysteps too.  Then came ICQ (an oronym for I seek you) but I never really liked it for some reason.  It was around that time when I first created my Yahoomail and Eudoramail accounts.  Looking back, I can never really believe how far everything has gone.  During that time, sending SMS was limited to the rich kids.  But later on, mobile phones have become almost an extention to our body parts.  Even the families who could barely eat three square meals have at least one. 

When my father’s aide asked permission to buy a cellphone, I had a long talk with him.  I told him that while I don’t have anything to do with whatever he does with his life and his money, we definitely hope that buying a gadget that would test his priorities, would not affect his priorities.  He came here from a far-flung barrio where his father would beat him up if he couldn’t hand over a few coins to buy booze.  He came here because we need him as much as he needs us.  My father is paralyzed and because old men are the most hard-headed patients in the world, he has never recovered from his stroke.  He has become totally dependent to the not-so-young boy for even the simplest of things—from scratching his back to feeding him—to the messiest of them all, like wiping him clean after defecating, sponge-bathing him, and doing covert ops just so he could eat ice cream in the middle of the night when my mom specifically told him not to and so many other things.  My dad, even when he was in tiptop shape, has always been a handful.  That’s where I got most of my traits, I guess—his gene pool.  So anyway, we all know how it felt like when we first had our first ever mobile phone with SMS capabilities.  I kinda expected the changing of ringing tones, message alert tones, the horrendous volume, the non-stop-I’ll-trip-over-but-I-dont-care-just-so-long-as-i-can-finish-this-message thing, etc.  Because I am nocturnal, I get really hot-headed in the morning a few minutes before I sleep or when my sleep is interrupted during the day.  And because he had his message alert tone changed to some pop tune, the darn phone pumps up the volume non stop after lunch when everybody in the house is asleep for siesta, including him.  And because I’m a light sleeper–that depends actually on the kind of noise–I always get to be the one who hears the alert.  After three consecutive messages, I rush downstairs and try to find the darn phone and lo! and behold! it’s right near the landline phone in the living room.  So I looked for the owner of the loud phone.  And my, oh, my, the good boy is in deep slumber, with his mouth wide open as if waiting for manna from heaven to fall.  So there I was, fully awake after around just 3 hours of sleep after almost 36 hours of working.  In a very bad mood.  I make it a point never to do anything when I’m all angry and pissed.  And so I tried desperately to go back to sleep.  So sleep I did until around 7PM which made my head hurt real bad.  I don’t like sleeping till around that time because it always makes my head hurt like hell.  I went back to work and downed a whole pint of vanilla ice cream.  God, that was heavenly.

And so one day, I called him and asked him to sit down for another one of my attempts at diplomacy.  So I said…I understand how it is to have a new phone and to be new in the SMS arena but if could just put his phone in silent mode when he’s in Papa’s room, that would really be great.  Or he could leave his cellphone in his room so it won’t disturb anyone if he doesn’t want to change the alert tone. 

A few hours later, I heard the phone screaming mercilessly.  So I called him and asked him what’s going on.  He had the volume set to 5 so he could hear it even from Papa’s room.  Now, isn’t he wise!

So anyway, our houseboy has expanded his vocabulary, thanks to text education, to a few more English words.  He has also acted like a male dog in heat.  He has since become (and became) the boyfriend of almost all the housemaids in the subdivision and in the nearby bakery. 

Much to my mom’s utter disgust, of course.  But I try to tell her that I understand.  It’s so easy to flirt over the phone, online and even over the good old snail mail—pen pals anyone?  We all have different worlds and for people who do not have to think of anything else other than waking up and serving his bosses, I think he deserves whatever surge of lust or something like it that he’s been indulging to these days.  SO LONG AS IT DOES NOT AFFECT HIS WORK.  Well, there have been lapses but I think things have been addressed pretty clearly and I am keeping my fingers crossed that nothing bad will happen.  What is a little concession like that for days of peace and order!  If it makes him happy, then it causes a chain reaction.  Happy employees are more effectively productive and that means happier employer.

So, now, let’s go back to moi.  I once had a two-year relationship with a guy I met online way back in college.  Well, make that three.  The other two were merely sinfully wonderful and memorable flings so they don’t really count as relationships but just for the sake of statistics, let’s count them in.  There’s something about exchanging naughty and teasing comments with someone who’s not physically near you that makes things a whole lot more, er, tingly. 

When the cameras were integrated into mobile phones, my then boyfriend asked me to send him “sexy” pix and he returned the favor.  Since I was in a semi-long distance relationships, the ooohs and aaaahs over texts and later phone calls sufficed.  Then with the advent of more modern tech, um, simultaneous indulgence of self-help developed cult-like support online.  Sad to say, it has degenerated the nature of flirting and harmless chatting with strangers. 

I traverse the long and winding information superhighway every day and because of that people constantly ask me what cybersex is, or if I’ve met someone online who will whisk me off poverty in the Philippines to some sugar-coated gingerbread house in the land of milk and honey or somewhere far from this Pearl of the Orient.  Well, I can explain in a very clinical and academic way what cybersex is and how it is done but in terms of chatting with someone who will eventually become a special part of my life, the answer is a resounding, eeeeeenkkkkk! 

NO.  As a single (Asian) female, I do get into those moods when I feel like I really want to be with someone.  My former landlady tells me I’m on NPO for now—medical practitioners, go figure—and for someone who had been not on NPO for a collective and straight seven or so years, it’s quite hard.  They say you don’t crave for something that you haven’t really tried.  Well, I have and so I crave.  But despite being a cosmo girl who understood Carrie’s consternation at the prospect of losing her Manolos to a “shoe-napper”, I think my quick tumble in the hay days are over.  I am not into that anymore.  Well, if the opportunity presents itself, why not?  But I have made my circle so small that even I could not turn around that easily.  So what opportunity are we talking about?  I’m not complaining, mind you.  But the thing is, I meet people online.  From work, through blogs, through wherever.  And while I am a natural tease and flirt, being asked for a cam view and for something to start a few minutes after you even say hi, is a tad too weird for me.  After a long hiatus from chatting, I tried getting into one of those chatrooms in Yahoo and jeeez, people seem to talk in one language and all they ask and talk about is sex, cams and cums!  Whatever happened to friendship and getting to know you while we flirt occasionally without really meaning anything much?  It’s just me getting all cheeky and clenched butt. 

I remember one masseuse who’s a friend of my mom.  She’s quite talkative—a trait that I really do not appreciate while getting a massage.  But when conversations turn green, even in my half-awake, half-asleep state, my ears still perk up.  So anyway, she just got widowed and so she’s been the brunt of jokes about looking for an “American” (the word is enclosed in quotation marks because sometimes we have this penchant of calling all foreigners American) husband.  She said she tried chatting but she gets uncomfy when the guy that she chats up with shows his dick right out and asks her to show her boobs or slit in return.  So she makes up excuses about not having a cam and all that jazz while she and her relatives watch while the “American” on the other side of the internet touches himself till everything limps down and the guy excused himself so he can “dry off” and “clean up” that usually means going to the bathroom or grabbing a roll of toilet paper for some. 

While I do not want to sound prissy, this simply does not turn me on.  I don’t know.  I get turned on by witty conversations that are peppered with flirtations and naughty innuendos but being other than that, I can always get into the part and just type some “motivational” lines for the other party. 

Needless to say, I’m not on a serious quest to find someone who’ll treat me like a princess and not for anything else.  When I’m 30 and I’m still not “in a relationship” as Friendster puts it, I will panic.  But only for a moment.  I think I have a healthy enough self-esteem to know that it’s not being in a relationship that matters—it’s in having fun while we can in a way that we will have fun indeed.  Perhaps, I still have unresolved personal issues to take care of and I think I will not make a good partner until I iron out whatever ugly wrinkles there are in my shirt. 

I have recently been getting proofs how big a liar my ex-boyfriend is and his audacity of continuously denying so many things even when I know what the real score is have been such huge downers lately.  Well, there’s work.  It gets me down but not emotionally so occasional online flirtations with people that I don’t really know, help big time.  Well, I’m choosy.  I don’t like wimps and younger guys.  And I have very little time.  So when I do get into that kind of mood, I’ll go for knights (or badass chicks!) in rusty armors while I wear my French maid’s costume.  Don’t get me started on how to use the feather duster!  LOL. 

But well, I miss blogging and even if I’m not making any sense, I am quite happy that I have blabbered a thought too many somehow. 

Oh, and I’m not in THAT mood right now, with over 70 web pages to revise, I don’t think I can afford to let out even a lusty sigh.  So, a piu tardi! Molto grazie! Ciao! 





Harry Potter–Bisaya Edition

25 10 2007

This is a Harry Potter spoof from a fellow Ozamiznon.  Way to go, Bai.  Hehehe.  LMAO gyud.

Warning: 

May be offensive to some.  This is just a spoof and should not be taken as anything otherwise. 

This is in Cebuano and I believe I can’t do justice to it by translating it to any other language so…

Watch at your own risk.





Yadda Yadda

22 10 2007

You know what jumpstarts my otherwise mundane daily routine to make it totally different from my now caffeine-operated robot of a self?  Reading something really good online.  And the extra spice?  When it’s for me. 

I’m not talking about romantic or even semi-romantic stuff.  I’m just talking about e-mails, notes, comments—anything.  I probably don’t get much attention in that department these days save for follow-up for deadlines, questions about agenda, queries about the new concept, etc—nada for the life underneath this gorgeous robot. 

So when I read something so simple yet so finely chiseled, I am blown away and it makes me happy and giddy and more inspired to work.  In the few months that I have reared my head into the blogging neighborhood, I’ve met a few interesting characters—some are very nice and friendly, others are purely vicious and bitchy (typical of us, girls), some are naughty and nice, and some are downright snob.  It’s a free world so there’s nothing to get really hyped up about.  In a world where cliques reign, a non-conformist and sociopath like me, likes to stay away from the maddening crowd and to keep everything under the street—the way the Beast did in the old Beauty and the Beast TV series with Ron Perlman and Linda Hamilton. 

So to all those who have made my day, thank you.  Hope to see you more often, in my inbox, in my blog, in my cosmic path, anywhere.