The Weekend Without Pictures

What a boring weekend it has been. We were supposed to go to Apo Island on Sunday but it got postponed at the last minute so I was left without a plan. I decided to go to the mall to splurge the budget I allotted for the trip on Christmas gifts for the people on my gift list. Yes, as early as now, I'm already doing my Christmas shopping so that I do not have to blow my entire Christmas bonus on gifts. So I went out. And out was like the aftermath of the apocalypse minus the debris and filth that it usually comes with in the movies.

It was the Sunday that Manny Pacquiao was scheduled to fight whatshisname Margarito. A Mexican. Another one who, I was sure, will be added to the long list of Mexican casualties that Manny was responsible for. But to be honest, I'm not comfortable watching a Manny Pacquiao fight unless I already knew that he'd won. I avoided watching the live telecasts as much as possible. It's not that I have no faith in Manny's ability to win his fights. Obviously, his record speaks for itself. It's a superstition I have. I'm afraid that if I watch his bout live, the cosmos will play a cruel joke on me and make him lose. I know, it doesn't make any sense. First of all, I am not superstitious. Second of all, I am an insignificant person, just one out of the billions in this world. Why would the universe single me out for punishment? Third of all, there are millions of people all over the world watching Manny's fight. Heck, there could be creatures from the outer space watching Manny's fight. Why would he lose because I was watching? It makes no sense whatsoever but I am crazy that way.

Of course, as expected, Manny won. He is not one to disappoint. He beat the living crap out of Margarito who looked like he just came out of  a major facial surgery gone horribly wrong. Manny, on the other hand, looked like he could still shoot a movie afterwards, as Janica put it. Or appear on a congress hearing. Or sing on his concert. Or guest on Oprah. Ah, the many facets of Manny Pacquiao. If that is not genius then that's an over-abundance of chutzpah, which is not a bad thing. Filipinos everywhere were proud to be Filipinos. Crime rate almost zero. No traffic. Ceasefire between the military and the rebels. It's almost unbelievable.

The pride of the Philippines. A real modern day hero. I'm so proud of him because I'm Filipino and he is Filipino. Him winning is like giving a finger to everyone in the First World. I remembered another Pacquiao fight which I watched live in the Waterfront because my then boyfriend was a fan and was adamant about watching him live on a big screen. It was against Hatton. I was so afraid he would lose. Hatton was bigger and it was Manny's first fight in that weight division. A lot of people were saying that he needed to get lucky in order to win.Needless to say, the Waterfront was swarming with people. Nobody could hear the commentators on screen because of all the cheering. But it was great. It was communal experience at it's best. And when Manny knocked Hatton out, I wanted to shout, "Take that, you white ape! You arrogant piece of tae from a rich country!" I was ecstatic. But at the same time, I was bewildered. "That's it? That's all Hatton got? He got knocked down on the second round? How can that be? The odds were against Manny. Everyone had been forecasting a difficult fight for Manny. Nobody ever dreamed of a second round knock out. Did Hatton really prepare for the fight or did he think that he didn't need to because he can take on the Pacman easily? This is an insult!" I was indignant. I was probably more insulted than Manny was. I was frothing at the mouth with indignation while the whole Philippines was jumping up and down and never been happier to be Filipino. Which is not to say that Manny won because he is Filipino. Noooo. He won because he is Manny Pacquiao. If he were Italian he'd still beat the living daylights out of his opponents because... he is Manny Pacquiao. Being a Filipino has got nothing to do with it. His victories were brought about by his determination, his perseverance and his intelligence inside the ring. He may claim his victory to be the victory of every Filipino and we Filipinos may claim his victory to be ours. But the truth is, his victory is his alone. We are but a witness to his greatness and legacy. There are about 90 million other Filipinos. If he won because of his citizenship, why is there no one else like Manny Pacquiao? Or Charice Pempengco for that matter?

So this in not entirely a weekend without pictures because in closing, I would like to  post this picture of the champ:

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Let that face be warning enough. I pity all those Mexicans who fought and will fight him. They were all a bunch of pretty looking boys. The difference in the level of gorgeousness is like heaven and hell. Mexicans, heaven. Manny, hell. But at the end of every fight they always end up looking worse than Manny. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You Mexican boys never learn.

Confessions of a Chef Wannabe

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I have a confession to make. I am a chef wannabe.

The people who have known me for a long time would make a face. Or pause in disbelief. Or choke on food. Or die from a bout of laughing fit. That's because of all the people that they've known, I'm the person who would not be caught dead donning an apron. I could not blame them. When I was younger, I would not go to within a 100 meters from a spatula.

My mother is a great cook. There is absolutely nothing that she couldn't do in the kitchen.Give her a whale and she will cook the hell out of it. Her being old-fashioned and me being the eldest, not to mention a girl, she had expected me to take over her crown in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I did not have a thread in my whole body that was interested in any house chores. But we are talking about my mother here, who must have been a drill sergeant in her past life. My non-interest did not stop her from hammering me all the time with house chores in the hope that by constant exposure, the chores would somehow integrate themselves into my being and become a habit. I'm sorry, mother. No can do. Which is not to say that I didn't try. A part of me believes that had she been more appreciative, I'd have a reason to try harder. On the other hand, I could not really blame her for being less adoring. I admit, I totally suck. My cooking had never been just right.It's either to salty or blah. On some occasion, my mother would say, "Wow, now I know how the ocean tastes like." Other times, she would say, "I feel like I'm eating paper." Yes, I suck that bad. On the other hand, my dear little brother, now an engineer, had always been a mama's boy and true to mama's boy fashion, he went around poking his nose into every single one of her business that when he was about 2 year old, my mother accidentally hit his face with a hot electric iron. He was always around her all the time. He was like a shadow she could not shake away. I think that's what made him assume the role that my mother, in her delusion, thought that I would play: the next cook of the family. It was a role that suited him to a tee because he was fat, he loved food, he liked to cook and... he was fat (I am suspicious of thin chefs.). I had actually thought that my brother coming into light with his spatula-welding ability would free me from the pressure of my mother's old-fashioned-ness. Boy, was I wrong.

Mother: Don't think for one second that you could get away from me with the kind of handicap you are harboring. (Yes, for my mother, a woman's inability to cook is a handicap, an offensive handicap.)
Me: Give me a break. mother. Gorick can cook. He would gladly do it for you. 
Mother: I do not mean that you do it for me. Do it for yourself. Do it for your future husband.
Me: Mother, you underestimate me. I do not need to cook for myself. Trust me. Food will make itself available to me, ready to be eaten when I need to. As for my future husband, if he has any decency in him, he will cook for me.

I am so appalled by my mother's lack of confidence in my ability to choose a mate. Mother, I will never saddle myself with someone who is not good enough to cook his meal. At the very least he should be good enough to buy it. That's unfair, she would say, why would you expect him to cook when you can't cook yourself? Because, mother, even if he ends up being saddled with me who is not good enough to cook her own meal, he would still be lucky anyway (ahem).

Mother: That's the point you wanted to make? Oh boy, he is so gonna starve.

But people grow up and change. You suddenly find yourself showing interest for things you have no inclination for when you were younger. That's what happened to me. Maybe I missed my mother's home-cooked meal. Perhaps it's my desire to constantly improve myself. Or maybe I just wanted to prove my mother and myself wrong by doing something we both thought I would never do. Whatever it is, I now find myself wanting to flex my muscles in the kitchen. I'm still not gonna do it for any guy though. If I can cook, I would become too good for any man.

Random Memory: McDonald's and Me

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My love affair with McDonald's started when I was in college. I didn't really know McDonald's that well in my high school and grade school days. But in college, the true love of my life was McDonald's. It was the witness to all my exultation and tribulation. When I was happy, I went to McDonald's. When I was sad, I went to McDonald's . When I wanted to relax, I went to McDonald's. When I wanted to cram, I went to McDonald's. There was even a time when a bunch of classmates and I stayed at McDonald's for six hours straight just to study for an Accounting exam.

Usually, we went to McDonald's after our evening classes to have dinner. During those times, Josh, a dear friend and project leader, could be heard saying, "Our professor is stupid. He gave us an A minus for our group paper that I spent 2 hours copy-pasting from the internet." Plagiarism was no big deal to us back then, we just wanted to pass. We also went to McDonald's for the brainstorming session of our group projects and on those occasions Josh could be heard saying, "Let's stop fooling ourselves with this brainstorming crap. We all know that I will still end up writing this paper all by myself. You should all be thankful that I am good at copy-pasting stuff from the internet." Whereupon we dropped all pretense of brainstorming and proceeded with our pointless gab-fest over french fries and Coke float. Yes, Josh, we owe you for making our academic burdens lighter. You are the best group leader ever. Where was I? Oh yes. In college, McDonald's was a way of life.

When I landed my first job, it required me to move into a different zip code for the very first time in my life. I remembered being anxious while I was riding the ferry that would take me to the place I would call home for the next two years. I was excited and scared at the same time, the magnitude of my choice to be away from my comfort zone just dawning upon me. I looked out of the ferry, staring at Ozamiz City as it drew near when, lo and behold! A McDonald's! That's when I knew everything was gonna be okay. And so the vicious cycle continued. When I get stressed out, I went to McDonald's. When I get the job done, I went to McDonald's.

Now, since moving to Cebu, I have come to know other places that I love to go to when I wanted to eat. But none of them gives me as much comfort and a sense of home as McDonald's. Oh Ronald, if only you were a real man, then I will have nothing more to look for.

My Weekend in Pictures

Another grueling tennis practice session with Vida.

Second-hand book shopping. Another check on my 6-month goals list.

I could stay here forever. I love the smell of the store. It smells like good old paper.

Some of my purchases. It will go on top of my Bara-dur

I also bought a bunch of travel books. I hope I could set foot on these places for real and put the books into good use.

Chicken and Krushers with my dear friend, Nila.

A Crappy Day in the Head of the Goddess

(To document most of the thoughts that fleet through one's mind is no easy feat. I had to resort to saying what's on my mind loud enough to record myself.)

Upon waking up...

What is this pimple doing on my face? It's as big as my head. If it grows any bigger, it'll grow hair. Maybe I'm mutating.

Nice. Only a few of the ladies are up. No mad dash for the bathrooms. No body count first thing in the morning. I love sembreak!

Shit! My period's here again. Funny how most women's reaction to their period depends on their sex life. Active sex life: Yes, period's back! Non-existent sex life: Noooo, period's back! For me it's definitely shit, period!

I feel so ugly today. But I have to keep up appearances.

And now it's raining. This is so not my day.
 

I cannot read jeepney signs without squinting. I'm so gonna get wrinkles in the forehead.

In the jeep...

I hope this guy beside me is not a snatcher. I'm in a foul mood. If he attempts something, I might beat the living shit out of him.

I hate mass transportation. One of the downsides of poverty. Brings you in close proximity to people who had never seen the insides of a shower room before. Unfortunately, we can't all be rich.

Stupid guy from another car blowing the hell out of his horn like there is no tomorrow. Most probably a guy who thinks of himself as macho. With that kind of attitude on the road, he is probably gonna die in a car accident. Or survive but will have both of his legs cut off. Then he can suffer like how our eardrums did when he was still playing Road Runner.

Arrrrgghh. It's  not yet 9am but I'm already incurring the wrath of the cosmos. It started raining cats and dogs just when I was at my stop. This is an attack!

Stupid rain. Now I'm stuck here. My office building right across and I'm soaking wet. Just when I have a deadline to catch this morning. Shit shit shit.

In the office...

My shoes are wet. My feet are wet. I look like a wet chicken. Shit.

Don't be flustered. The elements are never against a goddess. The rain is supposed to be under the control of my whim. Just say that you are sporting the dewy-goddess look. It's a big trend from where I came from. Lesser mortals would never understand.

Fuckin' rain. This is all your fault. I hate you rain.

Now I have to cram for my research deadline. Stupid rain.

Son of a bitch! None of these are making any sense to me. If I don't finish this in the next 30 minutes, I'm gonna gouge my eye out. Or my pimple.

I'm hungry.

Almost done. Then it's good riddance, payday loans. I will never hear of you in this lifetime again. Ever.

I wonder if the food's already here. I'm hungry.

Yes! Done! Sent!

Gotta check on FB to know who are celebrating birthdays today. If it weren't for online birthday reminders, my friends would hate me for forgetting. Lousy memory.

A million other things waiting to get done. What to do next?

Sign above printed name.

Now, what is it this time?

I'm hungry.

I gotta eat or I'm gonna faint.

Lunch...

My gums hurt.

Why do I always finish first when eating? Everybody else always eats slower than  me. This is my mother's fault. She trained us like the drill sergeant that she is.

Back at my desk...

I wonder why he didn't accept my friend request. He must have thought that I'm gonna stalk him. Oh well, can't really blame him.

Shit! What's with webmail?

Shit! What's wrong with my outlook? Piece of shit! Useless! Arrrrgggghh!!!

Unbelievable! Now I'm having a mental block. I just need a starting point... C'mon brain, work!

I really wonder why he didn't accept my friend request. Tsk.

Still can't think. Need to find another diversion.

Maybe I should eat something.

Oh goody, somebody volunteered to go to McDonald's. Monster coke float and twister fries for me.

What's taking so long? Maybe he got buried under the burden of my monster coke float. *evil laugh

I love McDonald's.

I'm broke. Thankfully, payday is tomorrow. Whoever said that you don't need money to survive is grossly naive. Don't need to have a lot. But you definitely need it. Come to think of it, only rich people say that they don't need money. That's because they have it in abundance that they really don't realize how much they are using it.

Dumb Briton! I need an assassin on the other side of the planet.

6.00pm...

Wow, it's less crazy now. At least I got a lot of stuff out of the way. Yey! I think I deserve a reward.

Shucks! I forgot. I'm broke. Oh well, looking at beautiful things won't hurt either. I'll drop by the mall later.

That's it. Au revoir, work. I'll deal with the rest of you tomorrow. 

At the mall...

I love National Bookstore.

I'm gonna buy a copy of this book.... And this book.... And this book also....And that....

I love National Bookstore.

I wish somebody would give me a P1 million worth of shopping spree at National Bookstore. I would thank him to death.

Oh, so many beautiful stuff. Can't buy any. Time to go.

At the dorm...

Everyone is watching "Magkaribal". I hope Bea dies. I hope Gretchen dies. I hope Derek dies. I hope Angel Aquino lives happily ever after.

Can't bear to watch it with one million girls in the common room though.

Lousy day. Tired like hell. Got to sleep now.

I wonder what tomorrow will be like. It's payday tomorrow. Even if tomorrow I get hit by a speeding vehicle, because it's payday, it would still be better than today.

Yey! Will play tennis again this weekend after 2 weeks of sloth.

Why did he not accept my friend request?

(That's the last thing I recorded. I fell asleep after a few minutes.)

Venus Rules

During my teenage years, the concept battle of the sexes was very rampant. Almost every discussion would always lead to a girls-versus-boys thing. Now that I’m an adult, I realized how inaccurate that concept was. There is no such thing as men versus women because aside from the fact that there is “too much fraternizing with the enemy” (Jessica Zafra) going on, men are not evolved enough to be on the same level as women. In boxing, you cannot fight someone who is not from the same division as you are. Men are not only not on the same weight division so to speak, they are not even in the pros.

Here’s a newsflash (I’m not gonna hold back so here goes…): most men are stupid. It’s a fact that almost every woman knows. What’s funny is that, even with this knowledge, women still find that men are essential to live a fairly interesting life. So what does a girl do? She pretends that she is even more stupid than her guy. No, we would not want to hurt their feelings. We have to make them feel like they are in-charge or they’ll feel emasculated.

But let’s be reasonable here. Most guys are probably saying, “WTF! How can you say that?” Because, guys, number one, you walk around with the delusion that you are God’s gift to women. You are not. You were created first. But God saw that you were lonely, wandering all alone in the garden. Oh, poor little boy, so helpless and miserable. So God, who is all-powerful and knowing, created us, which in effect makes us women God’s gift to men. But nooooo, you would never admit to this. You are so full of yourselves that you feel like it’s a sin to be keeping yourselves from other women even if you are already with somebody else. Tsk, bad, bad boys. Number two, you think you are smarter than us. I would not even have to elaborate the obvious. We just let you think that you are smarter because, let’s face it, what fun would you guys be if you go around with a long face, moping and feeling useless? Plus, we have a longer lifespan, have higher EQ’s, can give birth to the next generation, are generally more pleasant to be around… the list goes on. But more importantly, men are easy to read. The moment you show yourselves and utter a single word, we know what you want, even if you go on painstaking lengths to hide your true motives. We know. Women, on the other hand, are deceiving. Because it’s what men want, we make you believe that we are damsels in distress because it feeds your machismo to be thinking that you will save the day. You cannot even prove your worth without having to do something physical.

Poor boys, frothing at the mouth as we speak. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, to be the one to shatter the rose-colored glass that has blissfully shielded you from the truth. Don’t worry, you are not completely useless. Yet. Just as long as nobody invents a more viable replacement. A dog would have been perfect. Unfortunately, we need it to be able to stand on two legs and lift heavy objects. So don’t lose heart, guys. You will still find countless intelligent women who will laugh at your not funny jokes, show interest at your boring stories and act impressed by your uhmmm… man stuff. It is so hard to find a good source of entertainment nowadays but one has to make do with what is available, another characteristic which makes women better than men. We adapt and we adapt well.

In conclusion, women are superior. If you guys know what’s best for you, don’t piss us off. We are holding your balls in the palm of our hands. You would not want us to crush them into oblivion, would you? What then would the source of your macho pride be? Oh, the tragedy.

My Weekend in Pictures

A whole afternoon with nacho chips and tomato salsa dip. Yum!

Finished my book. Yey!

Coffee ice cream, music, pen and paper on a rainy night.

My all-time favorite: double cheeseburger, fries and Coke float.