Under The Radar

Be aggressive! Be, be aggressive!

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 07:47:00 +0000

I make sure that every other Saturday, the day after payday, is my “me” day. (Don’t you just love rhymes?) Generally, it's when I deposit my paycheck, go to Wal-Mart, and most importantly, get my nails done. Going to the nail salon is probably the most important luxury I get to guiltlessly bless myself with because of the obvious fact that I can’t do it on myself anymore—just one of the jerks of working every single day. I happen to have a very dry set of hands and toes because of excessive hand washing and the no-open-toe footwear rule as a teacher (although I tend to bend that rule when I’m working in the baby room). So thank God I found two of the best nail technicians in the world; Sheryl (who’s my manicurist) and Linda (my pedicurist). But let’s get past the dry skin and nails problem since I’m sure we all have that taken care of. I have been going to Signature Nails for about five months now and Sheryl has always been my girl even before Linda became my next go-to person. But since my resident pedicurist is relatively new, I’m going to tell you about Sheryl.

She’s Vietnamese (I’m sure y’all guessed that right), a nail technician, as mentioned, and has been living in the United States for most of her life. She also has a double Bachelor’s degree. Yes, a double Bachelor’s degree from University of Dallas and University of Texas at Arlington, no less. It’s pretty outstanding, eh? Well, yeah, super outstanding. Actually, it’s beyond outstanding, considering the fact that she’s doing my nails on a periodical basis. It’s quite a shame. I am honestly embarrassed to be paying her $5 tips for every manicure session we have. Because, truth be told, she could be in a laboratory right now, figuring out a way to cure STD, and, not to mention, earning bazillions of greens every year. So I became inquisitive with her—unhesitatingly, I might add. I asked her, “What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t remember exactly what she replied to that, but to get you to the bottom of it, she exclaimed that it’s mainly because of her thick, nasally, won’t-go-away Vietnamese accent.

How pathetic, right? So I began to rant to her face.

“Sheryl, you can’t be doing my nails forever.” She can only give me that "you’re right" grin that’s lightly concealed by her face mask. I started nagging her, like my mom does to me, about her rights as a citizen, and that she deserves to do more than just cleaning out cuticles. But I failed to make her realize something. Perhaps, after years of trying to prove her place, she just gave up on it—which is sad and utterly unjust.

Again, how does a Biology and Information Technology graduate end up in a saggy white uniform with a bottle of acetone? It’s simple. Racism, my friends. Racism, bigotry, prejudice, whathaveyous. Old, white, and narrow-minded people spearhead the corporate and medical fields in this country, which doesn’t make it any more surprising that they’d neglect a thick accented Asian girl an opportunity for a newly graduated blonde bombshell (who, for all we know, failed Math—twice!). That’s why I’ve always been very assertive when it comes to guarding my own color. It seems to be a hard task, but it doesn’t become second nature anymore when you feel like somebody is putting you down just so they can act a certain way to feed their dinosaur-sized egos. Sheryl, on the other hand, doesn't have the guts to do that. For one, she feels like her race owes a lot to this country, and two, that she doesn’t deserve her achievements after all. Very much the wrong mind set. But who am I to push her to do something that she’s not yet ready to confront?

It’s always a pleasure to have Sheryl do my nails. But even if she’s the best manicurist in the world, I still hope that one day she wakes up and decides that being Vietnamese, being Asian at that is no longer a hindrance for her to live her dreams.

But for the mean time, enjoy my big fat nails. You too, Linda! ;-)

Working like a dog.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sun, 03 Feb 2008 08:50:00 +0000

I have worked unforgivable hours for my current job. I never thought I had this workaholic in me! I mean, money is a magnet. But I didn’t expect it to be this magnetic. I underestimated my capabilities when it comes to getting paid. I also have been complaining. My mom and I just had a minor bitch fight yesterday over some undone chores. Ok, I was probably wrong for shutting her down after a 12-hour shift. But her memory kind of spaced out when she forgot that I work every day of the week for about 6-7 hours a day (with no breaks), plus school, and that I only caught 2 hours (TWO hours!) of sleep the previous night for a paper. My mother’s getting old, I get that. But sometimes, I just feel the need to buttheads with her, as often as she wants to burst my the-world-revolves-around-me bubble.

I, for very forgivable reasons, have thought of quitting my job. First things first, my job is very noble. It’s probably one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. But being a teacher takes its toll. Especially if you’re a Kindergarten teacher at noon, a toddler teacher by 3pm, and an infant caretaker come 5. Being a teacher slash floater is not the easiest shit in the world. Don’t get me wrong. I adore those kids like they’re my own. It’s just that, for a couple of months, I experienced working in just one classroom, with the same eight babies, everyday. And being back to the floating arena is not what I had hoped for when I gave up my position for a friend who needs the hours more than I do. [Even if it’s wrong, I sometimes wish I hadn’t told her about my wondrous job. But that’s a sin and I don’t need any more of that.]

How can you resist a smile like Blake's?
But to my consolation, I get the luxury of rewarding my own hardwork with no guilt involved. I get a couple of martinis every weekend, a good serving of fine dining, and some shopping here and there. It’s kind of a blessing to be earning and only paying one bill (and that, my friends, is the cable). So I share. And it’s not just your ordinary “share”. I basically pampered my family on Christmas that I almost (just almost) forgot about myself—which, as you know, is a rarity. I gifted my mom this patch plaid duffel bag from Dooney and Bourke; my bestfriend got a black satchel from her favorite store; and the boys (aka dad and bro) got a pair of tickets for a Dallas Mavericks home game (AND, it’s even against the team they favor most from the opposite conference). Oh my goodness. I know! How special of a daughter, sister, best friend am I?? All together now… SO special! But even if they trapped me in great debt, giving as much as receiving is ultimately the most amazing reward I could ever give myself. I know, right? I’m not so much of a selfish, histrionic, narcissistic bitch after all.

Me and mi hermano after a one-sided Mavs win.
If I was too much of a bitch, to begin with, I wouldn’t stick to a job that requires changing diapers, reading a story, playing hot potato, singing ABCs, and potty training (oh it’s my favorite!). I have been in Primrose for almost 4 months now and although it sucks the patience out of my system, I still kick ass whenever I tell my friends that I am a teacher while being a student.

PS.
I know the NBA tickets were supposed to be the boys' presents only, but my birthday was around the corner too that I just had to give myself a good view of Dirk Nowitzki too. [My mother thinks he’s hot, I’d like to prove otherwise. But he’s a good baller. Very good.]

Just so you know...

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Mon, 24 Dec 2007 17:30:00 +0000

I haven't forgotten about you. In fact, I have been excessively thinking of ways on how to get back on this thing before it forgets about me. Well. I'm still breathing. Healthy and alive. So the pregnancy and death rumors are now safely bound to trash. Ok, I totally made that up. But my excuse is absolutely valid. I now have a job (that I dangerously enjoy), I underwent major full-time-student-ness (by taking 18 credits at once!!), and I insanely morphed both activities and inserted them into my daily lifestyle. Hence the lack of social life. Even this virtual social life.

But I'm back. For good, as I pray. I finally managed to buy a new laptop to take with me wherever winds lead me and that shall help me update this thing in a regular manner as I used to. And before I go any further, I just want to make my apologies. I know it's not a big deal for most of you, but true friends have contacted me over time, and I truly appreciate the thoughts and wishes. You guys rock my face off.

Since the last time we've talked, many things have changed. I have been a success story for the most part, although finding the right job for me became such a task. Mind you, I have had three jobs since my two-week stint at Carino's. I accepted a sales job at my college's bookstore during the remainder of that summer, and while it was convenient to work at a familiar setting, the load of work plus the very unsatisfying pay just couldn't cut it for me. Can you imagine me stacking bottles of Pepsi products on three different refrigerators on a regular basis? I didn't think so. But I was bored, fat, and broke that I stuck through it for four desperate months. During those four months too, I was hired by Kohl's as an associate for the Junior's department. Whoever said working in retail was the easiest job on earth, must be seriously decapitated.

So after merely three paychecks, I quit. Both jobs. But hey, at least I experienced something I've always wanted to do... work two jobs at one time. Looks like I may never try the adventure again. Then enter this teaching job in my neighborhood of Valley Ranch. First of all, I had no idea why on earth I decided to apply for it. Because one, I have no teaching degree, and two, kids and I aren't always the perfect pair. But I thought it would never really hurt me to try, so I did. The same week of my interview, I was also offered a job at an Irving library for an assistant position which pays no less than $13/hr. I was appalled at myself for rejecting that. Who wouldn't be when I could guiltlessly buy a Gucci with a whopping paycheck? (note: I don't pay no bills.) But anyhow, I made a rather selfless decision to work with nrkids that pays a few dollars less of what I could have gotten as a librarian. After all, kids and I started to click like macaroni and cheese.

I'll tell you more about this one in the future. I just wanted to update you about the basics of my life. Like losing quite a few pounds, spending most of my time either at work or inside my car (I can now drive on freeways!! WORD.), and still not having a lovelife (which I'm actually thankful for). How about you? Have you missed me? Did I miss anything out here? I know I missed Kat's pregnancy announcement (Congrats, Katkat!) and Alternati's website warming, but is there anything else? Fill me in.

With that, I leave you with warm Christmas wishes. I hope you enjoy the holiday, I know I will.

Told you. Tennis isn't sopoforic.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 04:33:00 +0000

This palpable void in Roger Federer's resumé is temporarily eclipsed as he marches his way back to the GOAT (greatest of all time—I know, awful abbreviation) conversations. Fifth set, one all, 15-40. I grabbed the rosary randomly sitting beside me, gripped onto it, and started muttering invented prayers to help this forthcoming miracle surface before my eyes. Two smart serves, they were gone. Fifth set, two all, 15-40. I grabbed the prayer book randomly sitting beside me, gripped onto it, and started skimming the pages to look for a suitable prayer for one Spanish David to beat his Swiss Goliath. But forced prayers don't work all the time. The Mighty Fed reemerged and those chances never visited again.

Very stylish, Roger. But it's not the smartest idea to walk after your geared up opponent.

But what a match!! Unquestionably, an instant classic. So instant that it was on ESPN Classic just nearly 36 hours after its completion! What's more interesting about this match, or this rivalry, is the discernible contrast between the two. Roger came out in archaic fashion while Rafa paraded his bicep-bearing dernier cri. Each has his own homecourt; Paris' red clay for the Spaniard, green grass of London for the Swiss. On court, Rafa habitually roars and motions an uppercut with a loud "si" (yes!) or "vamos" (come on!) after each intense rally. While Federer, five years senior of his rival, is counted to be the coolest-headed competitor there is in sports—which is why his verbal discharge yesterday over technology was pretty disconcerting. The match not only had a decent share of drama but it also showcased the best tennis these two played from any of their collection of grand slam confrontations. It's just borderline disappointing that Rafa had to ultimately appear fatigued after hauling Federer to a fifth set. Nevertheless, another remarkable encounter between these two, and I can't be anymore lucky to witness one of the most astounding matches Wimbledon has ever staged.

Congrats to TMF for completing the Borg chase, and hats off to Nadal for fronting an almost shatterproof challenge against the world's greatest player. I hope the loss doesn't dislodge Rafa's focus because with all the ruckus he endured for the past two weeks, this tournament deservingly belonged to him as much as it did Federer. Now that inevitable question arises again... Will Rafa win Wimbledon before Roger wins Roland Garros? I certainly don't have the analytical percipience of Bud Collins, but after what Nadal has shown on Centre Court yesterday, it's almost a coarse disrespect to say he won't. Because if he almost toppled Fed's chances of winning while having to play for the seventh consecutive day and with a nagging knee injury, then one could only foresee his superiority if he competed as healthy and as well-rested as Federer was. Even Roger agrees and I quote, "I think he deserves a title here." But don't get it twisted. While I'm all for Rafalito winning Wimbledon one day, my hopes of a grand slam for The Mighty Fed—although I'm already getting satiated by his consistency in finals—is still very much incontrovertible. Will he win the biggie on clay before Rafa mows his ass on grass? Let's just say, yesterday's probability is now quite unlikely.

Great rivalries include inimitable streaks, golden memorabilias, and very tight manhugs.
Now we're off to the North American hardcourts where Rafa suffers the most. But with his exorbitant display on grass this year, especially at yesterday's final, he is not that far from being in the ranks of potential Feder-threats for the US Open crown. If a player of Andy Roddick's caliber—which isn't really saying much—can strip a set off Federer in the finals, then Nadal's flaws shouldn't be that badly exposed. As an obsessive tennis fan, I adore both Nadal and Federer, and there's nothing more gratifying than for this rivalry to produce more of these nail-biting, spine-tingling, and mind-blowing matches in future times. It's just sad that I'm redundantly pouring my heart out to this very same topic and you, my beautiful friends, are still not into it!! I'm telling you. Jump in before it's too late! Look at me, I'm witnessing history here!! Plus, with all the bonus yummy guys out there everyday.. Ugh, trust me.. You'll thank me later.

Indy Shebang..

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 21:14:00 +0000

So yesterday was supposed to be this country's anniversary of independence. Forget about what they celebrate, I'm just all about the food and the Kobayashi vs. Chestnut showdown! This time last year, I was busy photographing middle-aged nurses who are having a great time in the kitchen with an array of Filipino dishes on the table and loadsome of BBQs to chow down, while the youngsters (and I mean, those bratty little kids) enjoy our backyard pool despite the uncooperative weather. While this year, I found myself alone in the kitchen frying sausages with our cable provider anti-festively cutting the connection (thence, no hotdog eating contest telecast for me). And the worst part? The sun was shining bright outside and rain forecasts were uncharacteristically set aside.

Trust me, those tasted good! After all, they should me smoked, right? LOL.
Pardon my ~~cooking~~ frying skills, or lack thereof. That's one of the main reasons why I stopped pursuing being the next Paula Dean. But anyway, after that meaty breakfast that my mother and brother later feasted on, I was left with nothing but the internet, obsessive video-uploading at Multiply, and the crappy TV antenna to entertain myself with. I couldn't cook up an appetite to make more BBQ'd stuff just to make the day worthwhile, so I just spent the rest of my day chatting up with old friends from the Philippines.

This made me realize how ridiculous I am when I, a Filipino, forgot about my very own independence day a month ago. So with that, I want to segway to Alternati's question #4 in my "Interview Me" post (below). I was being vague for the only reason that there's just a bundle of things I miss about home that I wouldn't have enough space and energy to list them all for you. But since I now feel like I owe Mother Philippines an apology, here's a special 10 things edition about what I truly miss about my native.

1. My friends.
Because it totally sucks how half of my social life now tends to revolve around Friendster.

2. The village bakeries and "sari-sari" stores.
Here, whenever we run out of eggs, we always have to waste about ten drops of gasoline just to get to Kroger or Tom Thumb. Whereas back home, there's always Manang Rose's mini mart to buy or even utang eggs, salt, rice, etc.

3. Taho, halo-halo and sago't gulaman stands.
Diane and I, back in our childhood, would always call each other whenever we feel like buying taho (even during the hot summer) or going to this little burger joint by the church. And it was not just another burger stand, it probably had one of the best burgers I've ever had, plus, they also had halo-halo and sago't gulaman. While here? You can only get halo-halo from Chowking which is about 3-4 states away from here, and hamburgers, though generally cheap, are (per my brother) like heart attack on a platter. :))

4. The summer leagues.
My subdivision had a lame summer league—although John and Camille Prats (you know, those kids from Ang TV!) became regulars there over the years. I always hopped to the next village because that's where my friends were and the cutest guys played. Trust me, there's never a better place to catch the hottest sweating guy than on the courts. Y'all know that.

5. The party scene.
What I like best about the party scene back home is that it's waaaay more subtle than the wild stuff here in America. In Manila, it's normal to have a good time without having to shove one maniac's face to the bouncer because of excessive flirtation. Here? It's not an ordinary night without some horny guy feeling you up like he's never touched a woman in his life!!

6. Divisoria/Tiangge
The place for the cheapest dasters on earth!! And yes.. I wear dasters.

7. Bubble Gang
For some reason, I absolutely enjoyed that show. Especially Michael V.. Haha, I adoooore him!

8. Tagaytay and Baguio.
Tagaytay and Baguio both have the temperature I want for my wedding. Not too hot, not too cold. In Dallas, you get the best of winter and summer that you can barely feel any difference during spring and fall!

9. Tropical Hut Hamburger
Why the hell you never established a branch in America?? Are you blacklisted or something??

10. And lastly, cursing in Tagalog.
I don't get to do that anymore because I only get to utilize my native tongue when I'm at home. I mean, you just have to conceal the foulmouth when you're around the family, right? So just imagine how often I want to pull the malutong na P.I.M. whenever I encounter some bitch around here. Like, seriously. A bitch, go to hell, or fuck you is never more hurtful than that or a gago or tarando. Am I right, Talamasca? :-P

So there.. I've paid my dues. And if that's not enough, my family finally got The Filipino Channel, and I'm afraid, I might be hearing more of Kris Aquino now than ever before. Punyeta!

People, I am alive.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 30 Jun 2007 22:30:00 +0000

As an obsessed blogger... don't you just find it extremely annoying when you feel like you have a lot of things to write about and yet you couldn't figure out a way to convey it, much less, find not one second to start on it? I know. Hiatuses are lame. And I'm pathetic. But trust me, the reasons are valid, and no, it does not include another vaginal hemorrhage.

Who knew Humanities or Fine Arts Appreciation can make up so much of my time that I would even dare to forget about blogging? I had to visit the Dallas Arts Museum twice, listen to some Jazz music while excruciatingly resisting sleepiness, compare Ethan Hawke's modern take on Hamlet against Mel Gibson's (duh, no brainer!), AND watch Troy.. Troy, of all movies on earth!! Thank God, Brad Pitt was butt naked there a couple of times or I would have strangled my professor to death for putting me through all these torture. But fear not, 'cause the end of this treacherous course is drawing near and I simply can't wait.

Now, since I know I've left you hanging for quite sometime, how about some surveys to lighten you up? Oh come on, don't act like you don't want it.

10 things I want to do before I die

"Steer clear from the sappy and redundant. " from Vayie.

1. Visit Mindanao. Just for the heck of it.
2. Go on a safari in South Africa with my loudest friend, Michelle.
3. Try out for The Price Is Right, granted it goes on.
4. I wanna give birth, although that remains debatable.
5. Watch a huge sporting event that does that traditional (and idiotic) Mexican wave.
6. Get a Master's degree from a Top 10 university. See? I also have dreams!
7. Be a vegan... or at least, try.
8. Party in Croatia with one of my closest girlfriends, Petra.
9. Spend New Year's in Times Square. And yesss, even do the lame countdown.
10. Be awarded for something. Whatever that earns me a gold statuette.

"Interview me"

Grilling courtesy of Alternati.

1. If you were stranded in a desert island and were only allowed to bring one friend, one movie, one picture of an athlete, one DVD set of one season of one TV show, one hair/skin product and an eternal supply of one brand of chocolate... What would you bring and why? (Yes, the island has a working home theater and a fridge. hah!)
I will bring the only person I never have awkward moments with, and the one person I can count on whenever I'm starving: my brother. His kitchen skills are out of this world that I'm pretty confident that if we ever get deserted somewhere the aliens only know, he would sharply find a way to make a monkey's ass taste like the traditional beef stew. Plus, we have our own language (aka very twisted humor) that we'd be perfect for that major psycho-bonding. ... Movie? Dang, there's a lot of choices! But I think I'll go with Pulp Fiction. It's one of those movies I can never get tired of watching, and it's got that perfect Quentin combination of bloody action and sadistic comedy. Exactly what I need to scare off potential conquerors. ... As for the picture, which is a random stuff to bring in an island, haha, I guess I'll go with Tommy Robredo's backhand (click at your own risk). Mainly because that shot's hotness longevity can definitely withstand an extended stay in that island. ... I really wanted to go for Grey's Anatomy on the next one, but I'm afraid I might end up sucking my head in a puke bag just in case I ran out of tears to cry. So let's just bring Project Runway's Season Two. Santino Rice is just CLASSIC! ... And as for the beauty product, I assume sunscreen is the most sensible choice. 'Cause if I'm going to die in an island, I and my skin deserve to die beautifully. Am I right, ladies? ... Lastly, I'd love to have a lifetime supply of Twix. It's not necessarily my favorite, but it's actually not too sweet, and I easily get tired of sweet things (and that include boyfriends).

2. If you could have dinner with any four notable personalities in the world (two living and two who have bitten the dust) , who would they be, what would you guys eat and what would y'all talk about?
I would bring Nancy Grace, Mark Cuban, Lady Diana, and Eddie Guerrero to The Riverwalk in San Antonio, TX where we'll enjoy a few beers and the best beef briskets this state has to offer. We would be gleefully chatting about President Bush, Wimbledon's two-man show, The Great Khali, how boring the Spurs are, and a lot more. I would specifically interrogate them with questions that still hover my head up to this point. Such as Lady D's intuition of Prince Charles' infidelity, Cuban's disinterest in Steve Nash, Eddie's true feelings about a particular controversial storyline, and Nancy Grace's secret marriage and pregnancy (because she's a verbal monster, and I can't believe somebody dared to marry her).

3. What do you miss most, and least about the Philippines?
Ugh, there's A TON!! But to crop it to the obvious... I miss the food. I don't miss the traffic.

4. Describe in detail your ideal job. (The laws of logic, economy and physics can be disregarded in answering this question... :P )
Believe it or not, I want to work a 9-5 job. Sitting on a desk infront of the computer, with a colorful corkboard, pictures of my dogs/friends/etc., a cup of latte every 30 minutes, gossiping from neighborhood cubicles, and a workplace that doesn't require sweating. That's pretty much ideal to me. But working on field wouldn't be that bad either, especially if it allows me to snuggle with the cutest athletes, celebrities, starlets in the world.

5. How many Kai(s) does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Let's see... One to do the screwing, one to assist me with the screws, another one to hold the ladder for stability, and three more to stand by the side, with their arms folded, eyebrows raised, and furiously envying my big butt that I can not lie. :))

Now, now... if you want to get your own butt on the hot seat...

Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.” (And leave your email.)
I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

HAH, I'm done!!! YESSS! Haha, I know, it's incredibly ludicrous how updating my own blog now takes an enormous type of time and effort. But I promise, we will go back to the way we were. Until next time, my friends. Enjoy the weekend!

My poppa so fly...

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 05:28:00 +0000

...he doesn't care if we call him Jimmy Santos.
...he confidently believes that he resembles Christopher de Leon instead.
...he doesn't complain when it comes to food.
...he never complains when it comes to alcohol.
...he doesn't mind going to the grocery only to buy his daughter tampons.
...he can't go a day without telling a joke -- no matter how corny it is.
...he repeatedly does a butt flop when he uses the swimming pool.
...he repeatedly causes our backyard a tsunami.
...he calls himself DOTC; as in driver of the century.
...he's as addicted to basketball and tennis as we are.
...he oftentimes shoots an airball even on the freebie line.
...he doesn't care about my obsession over Rafael Nadal.
...he is just as obsessed with Matlock.
...he can't get enough of game shows.
...he worships our cable provider for having The Gameshow Network.
...he even TIVOs The Price Is Right and Jeopardy on a daily basis.
...he still lets me sleep with him when ghost images hover my sleep.
...he snores like hell, which is the best medium of shooing bad spirits.
...he's addicted to chocolates, cookies and polvoron.
...he hates sour food, super cold weather, and the Phoenix Suns.

My poppa so fly, he also once murdered my haircut. :))

Oh Paris!

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Tue, 12 Jun 2007 01:58:00 +0000

It's on newspapers, television, numerous blogs, and even on SportsCenter. This whole Paris Hilton debacle is slowly getting out of hand that I just had to jump in the bandwagon before it dies down. After all, I'm her very own opinionated antagonist. But surprisingly, I'm singing a totally different tune with this one. Paris, as annoying as she has been for the past few years, has done nothing more than to pose without her draws on, and entertain us unfailingly with her dumb anecdotes. She might have been overdosing on alcohol, but not on drugs. She probably has had more boyfriends than the whole Barbados, but she's never had fatal sickness that resulted from unsafe sex. She couldn't have been anymore stupid with her every maneuver, but honestly, she's also never been too outspoken to disparage people underneath her celebrity (ie, you and me).

In other words, Paris has earned my sympathy. I might have, for one second, rejoiced when she was sentenced to jail time, but those tears of hers that were flowing like days-kept pee were agreeably sincere that it's now difficult to turn a blind eye on a woman who feels like morphing into Mother Theresa character all of a sudden. I'm serious, folks. I now firmly believe that Paris Hilton meant it when she said she won't "act dumb" any longer, AND that she "would like to make a difference." I know, it sounds like she's attempting to be Bono or Madonna. But I'm banking on a difference that would teach younger girls that exercising the use of bras and panties is healthy for the nipples and vagina. Ehh, you know what I mean.

Onto Paris, France where the impending GOAT in Federer, once again, failed to show up in another Roland Garros final against the relentless (yet uuuuber gorgeous) Rafael Nadal. I just can't seem to swallow the fact that only three weeks ago, I was shaking my head in complete disbelief while Rafa was losing a third set to Mighty Fed at love (zero). From then on, I was led to the popular myth that this could be TMF's time to shine. That he could finally be the star of all seasons. But I was, then again, proven wrong.

Honestly, Rafa played phenomenally, hence Mighty Fed's still existent consternation over this dolorous puzzle Nadal has trapped him in. As Pardon The Interruption's Mike Wilbon summed up best, "Can you be called the greatest player if another guy owns your butt? -- He owns him!" Ouch! We can make up all the arguments we want to set against that quote, but the fact that Rafa DOES own Fed on clay (and at a particular grand slam, no less) is a firm justification as to why Federer, at this point, doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the Lavers and the Borgs. But unlike those journalists who quickly flip and flop, I digressively don't harbor any pessimism against the poor guy. Yes, Rafa deserved the win (by a landslide!) and that spot in tennis greats history but Fed is still the world's #1, something Nadal is not (yet) and I still consider the possibility of him, even an old hag, capturing that trophy his arch-rival has sank his teeth on for the past three years. If a hairless Andre Agassi did it at 29, then so can he.

And since we're talking about the French... Didn't you just cringe in excessive irate when ABC couldn't refrain from focusing on Eva Longoria's face every chance they got? My professor even had to point that out! Well, he wasn't nearly as enthused by the Spurs' annihilation of the Cavs, he only wanted to see Tony Parker (for some odd reason I don't want to cognize). But I digress.. He also mentioned another Tony he was fond of watching on a Sunday night. We discussed the atypical series finale of The Sopranos and how it resembled usual endings on other mediums of artwork. He's a theater geek, of course he easily appreciated it. I happen to not have watched this series, but I'm very critical of story endings, and this one, I didn't like. I frankly told him, "...it was like requesting a chef-made salad in a fancy restaurant yet being directed to the salad bar."

His geekiness somehow agreed but thwarted it in his favor by saying that it's fascinating how it's entirely open for different interpretations. While that must be arousing to another type of thinker, my inner PMS-ish bitch just couldn't help but murder his analogy at the back of my head. But instead, I politely replied, "But don't you think that this kind of denouement only works in movies? Because it's only like, 90 minutes long? This series has been running for YEARS! Wouldn't it just make sense that the writers could utilize more of their ideas and convey it through a nice little ending, instead of a family dinner fading to black??" And boom.. I think I just got a C in participation. I may differ with your perception of this ambiguous scenario -- heck, I don't even know much about David Chase and his geniuses -- but I would be screamingly furious if Grey's Anatomy, God forbid, feebly concludes the show just like that. Simply put, it's like being dumped by your boyfriend of 8 years with no apparent reason and you're forced to figure out who, what, how, and why.

And just so you know, in the battle of Tonys at primetime, I watched The Tony Awards. I know, I'm so gay. :-P

10 reasons...

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:54:00 +0000

...why I quit my job.

1. I tried serving water once and the humongous glasses almost escaped my fat little hands. 2. Wearing all black from head to toe, especially during Summer, is just completely out of this world. 3. Free food at work is not the greatest idea on earth. No wonder we all looked like twins. 4. I'm currently studying about Francois Boucher, Dorothea Lange, Francisco Goya, Andy Warhol, and Jacques Louis David (people I've NEVER even heard of in my life!!) that there's not much enough space in my already smart-stuffed brains for the different types of cheeses in their variety of pasta dishes. 5. Loud Mexican music in the kitchen is like juicing lemon on a busted wound. 6. A pathetic wage of less than $3/hr is not even enough fill out a 70s car gas tank. 7. Befriending the legacy of Van Gogh, Mozart and Beethoven are so much more important for my future career than making love with lenguinis, raviolis, and rigatonis on a daily basis. 8. I'd rather watch paint dry than to witness every single table luxuriating in their respective dishes. 9. Spontaneous ESPN tv at the bar area will get me fired eventually, anyway. 10. Target pays double the hourly rate of what I was gonna get. If that's not reason enough to quit, then I don't know what is. Bottomline, job this normal is NOT for me. Period.

...why tomorrow's showdown will be an epic.

Besides these delirious attempts at singing which are already YouTube favorites.
1. Roger Federer is closing in on becoming the GOAT (greatest of all time). 2. Rafael Nadal is also gunning to become the greatest clay court player of men's tennis history. 3. Fans have voted Rafa to be the better dancer, now it's time to prove who's the better player on dirt. 4. They're lovers off the court. 5. Whoever wins will cry during presentation. I'm stacking more votes for Federer on this one. 6. Mary Carillo is color-commentating, alongside John McEnroe. You cannot be serious! 7. Rafael Nadal has been scary good at the French. (He's literally unbeatable here, for Pete's sake!!) It will be the match of Fed's life to finally get his stamp on Roland Garros, and more importantly, beat Rafael Nadal for the first time on the Parisian clay. 8. Rafa, on the other hand, should use Fed's recent sluggish performances to his advantage. If he wins, not only he gets to be in the record books, he would also help tennis get back to mainstream popularity. 9. The French Open is Nadal's as to Wimbledon is Federer's. This is his house and Rafa will do everything to barricade those come-ons if he wants a three-peat. 10. And as for Roger, it's practically now or never.

...why you shouldn't worry about me.

1. I'm getting a new job somewhere here in Valley Ranch, and I'm not homeless yet. 2. The pool is clean and working, that should help me shed those pounds I gained from eating too much of those free Italian nachos. 3. Remember that job at the psycho ward with Rue? 4. This is random but The Sopranos ends tomorrow, about the same time as Game 3. What are you watching? 5. I'm buying tons of cucumber tomorrow to erase those ugly dark circles around my eyes. 6. There are three cute guys in my class, that's why I refused to ditch it when Carino's subtlety let me choose between work and school. Only an idiot would take that job over an easy class, with eyecandies in tow. :)) 7. Wimbledon is on is two weeks. That will surely keep me and my hormones busy. 8. My mom was actually the one who persuaded me to quit. 9. Which means, she's still totally fine with me being a pain in her ass. 10. But I'm sticking to my agenda. After fixing my license, I'll be working some place else where there's flexible schedules and no free food.

Have an awesome weekend.

Randomgasms.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Mon, 04 Jun 2007 03:12:00 +0000

I'm in no mood to blog but I might fail to do so in the succeeding days due to a jampacked schedule. But as wise men say, there's no harm in trying. Hence, this pitiful attempt of catering you an entertaining update.

1) As you know, I started my first official job over the weekend. Just when I thought I wasn't gonna complain about anything, here I am again, bitching to a friend of mine, about how small my eventual hourly rate is. My jaws dropped trillions of feet somewhere near jilted planet Pluto the very second I heard that the fat check I'm ever anticipating will only exist IF Mark Cuban decided to dine in and I got to serve him. Or someone else's billionaire character wouldn't mind throwing a big fat tip in exchange of friend mozarella sticks. Otherwise, I will be stuck with such a pathetic pay that could barely supply a car with gas.

The shit to memorize. How much are we getting paid again?

Or maybe I'm just thinking way too much (like I always do). Olivia convinces me that the pay wouldn't really be that bad since we'd be serving an average of 10 tables per hour. But what if I'm in the worst of days and nobody on those 10 tables spares me a single cent? I'm done? I get nothing? Nil? Nada? Zilch? I mean, it's unfathomable to me how someone can be so satisfied by working while only relying on occasional philanthropic aftermaths. I should know, I'm a customer who heartlessly disregards the tipping arena! But I'm giving Olivia a chance to materialize her theory. I will stay, enjoy the free/discounted meals and patiently try it out. But if things don't go my way, like they all should be, I'm quitting. Just like that. *snaps*

2) That film class I told you about was unfortunately snubbed by the students that they had to cancel it. They transfered me to another Humanities course just with a different specialization. Now I have to put up with a professor whose name I can't even pronounce and a class that will talk about Mozart, Houdini, the teenage mutant ninja turtles, and everyone else in between. Oh yay, fun! :-l

3) The junk is the lone American left in the French Open singles draw (men and women). She will be facing the two-time defending champion next so I'm not entirely confident that she wouldn't be the latest casualty to this national embarrassment from Paris. But who even cares about the French Open now? Nadal turned 21 today, he's finally legal, and we can already wed anywhere in the world! Yeee. Feliz Compleanos, Rafa! Te Quiero, whatever the hell that means. :-D

How can you not love? And cream? Ok, that's gross. But seriously! :-))
4) My schedule is inconveniently indefinite at this point. All I know is that I go to school for two hours, 4 days a week and I go to work for another 2-4 hours around dinner time. I have yet to schedule classes for driving (conquering freeway phobia 101) so this Tony guy called up to apparently ask when would be the best time to start the therapy. I could barely understand a word he's saying (he has a thick Indian accent) so I passed the phone to my mother who's seemingly BFFs with those people already. Since my schedule is pretty disoriented at this point, I could only take classes in the morning except this coming Tuesday. I clearly told her that, yet I still got yelled at. I supposedly "made her look like an idiot." I really didn't get that at all.

5) I didn't wanna get into a screamfest with her again so I just quickly left and shut my door. I have been through enough tears the past couple of days that I won't waste anymore Kleenex sobbing over this unworthy fight. I'm an extraordinarily irregular bleeding woman, which explains the seldom visit of that bestial torture. But when it rains, it POURS! (Warning: TMI ahead) I never use tampons, so obviously there's only a slight margin of time in between changes using pads (with wings). I had to call my father who's at work and ask him to buy me a new pack on his way home because I was padding the frantic passage every two hours and I'm running out of clogs!! I hate to ask my father to do things like that for me, but that's the same reason why he's the best father in the whole world! (He got me the maxi, with wings, and some bonus Midol. Now tell me, you'd kill for a father like that!) And as for my mother? She kind of lightened my condition with that disposable hot pack, but after that, I got nothing else. Plus, I should have been the one congested with PMS, not her!! Anyway, after three years of constantly living together, I've finally gotten used to moms. And they will always be moms. They're cursing at you one second, and they'll be shopping shoes for you the next.

6) Is it only me or The Finals suddenly became interesting? The Spurs are gonna win it, that's basic math. But I won't write the Cavs off just like I did to Miami a year ago. (Because that ate me up. Real bad) LeBron is proably one of the most overrated superstars this league has produced in years, but there's no question that his dignified All-Star doesn't deserve any doubt from anyone... for now, at least. I'll be surprised if they go out in a sweep, but I won't be shocked if Manu Ginobli, like the goregeous killer that he is, circusses his way around King James. Now we've got ourselves a show! Spurs in, well, 6.

7) But even if I'm whining about work, school, and my period, I'm nonetheless excited about the busier days ahead. Exactly a year ago, I was enjoying the pool, grilling something bacon-wrapped, and fattening my already fat ass on the kitchen couch. And look at me now? 15 pounds lighter, in school, with a job, and a heckling schedule ahead. Trust me, I really do hate it when I hear myself complaining, that it's even crazy when I tend to imagine that it could possibly be genetic. I know, that's just me, being awesome at excuses. So, to prevent another run at 'Randomgasms' stacked with complaints, I'll be working on a list of mid-year resolutions. I have jotted a few things down, bitching included, but I have yet to figure out what else negative is there for me to eliminate. Narcissism, perhaps? Help me out. It's your only chance. ;-)

Departure from Joblesslandia

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 03:49:00 +0000

It might be too early to celebrate since I haven't even began orientation yet.. but heck, who even cares. I now have a job!!! *happy happy joy joy* Ok, it wasn't easy getting one. Even a normal job. I went from Career Builder to Snag-a-job only to find myself surfing around the infamous Craigslist (yes, I was that hopeless) to find something to do during the summer, and at the same time, earn some greens to feed my luxurious needs.

I emailed that dude who posted the ad, Carino's was in need of hosts, servers & bartenders. I told myself before that I will never work in a bar/restaurant, especially of this class, because 1) my clumsy level is fire-worthy, 2) it'd be embarrassing to see friends and classmates while I work, and 3) they FEED employees for FREE! The latter was reason enough for me to hesitate because Italian food (and margaritas, hello?) is evil and I don't wanna get any fatter. But in desperation times like these -- when I'm in the middle of pursuing a degree, in perfect age to finally finance my caprice, and in total shame for still being under my parents' supervision -- I should not complain, nor resist any money-making machine that shall come my way. Especially when my eventual employer kindly admits my no-experience, no-resume plea.

Shouldn't there be bonuses for online promotion? :)) [photo credit: scladesma]
So I came in, dressed in my usual preppy Sunday self, met the mister I emailed, and started the whole applying process. I've never been in this kind of position before, so you can only imagine the monstrous butterflies that were uncontrollably going bonkers in my stomach. The place was really cozy, so it allowed me to at least settle in. I filled up their form, took the personality test, then talked to another dude, which I later discovered as an actual first interview. It was sort of like a first date; awkward, semi-formal, and a LOT of smiles. At one point, I totally forgot that I wasn't in the middle of a first date that I had to stop my babbling (I tend to do that when I'm already comfortable, which is a no-no on first dates, much less, first job interviews). He was cool though, very accommodating and cute even. Oh gosh, rule number one: NO crushes at work. Thou shalt not. And can I just say, he was Polish. Eeek! Ok, I'll stop.

Then he said afterwards that I would have to come back the next day to meet the GM for a second interview. I had absolutely no idea how that would go. He did mention that Ms. *** was a big girl which was indicated to intentionally make me feel less nervous. I was just like, um.. thanks dude.. for implying that I'm f-a-t! But I wasn't gonna give him a smirk, after all, I was on the brink of getting hired.

So I met up with the GM the next afternoon. Yeah, she was big, but she was surprisingly young and perky! Her favorite word? "Awesome" which was.. awesome, hehe. Contrary to the first interview, this one was more of like a sorority initiation. Questions ranged from "What's your major?" to "How do you define teamwork?" And when asked what was my biggest flaw... I replied, "I tend to slow down just a bit when I want tasks to be perfectly executed." As Lauren suggested on The Hills, you gotta get that flaw question in your favor by making it a positive flaw. Who knew I would learn something from watching a crappy MTV reality show? However, slowing down in the restaurant business is a mortal sin. Oh fuck, did I just self-destruct my already impressive way to employment kingdom or what??

One of the reasons why I wanna work is to lose weight.. And they provide dining privileges??
I was detecting skepticism from her because she knew my lifestyle. I'm in my 20s with no previous experience, and a college student who doesn't shoulder a thing. And the fact that I live in Valley Ranch must have concerned her a bit because people in this neighborhood are the ones eating at those fancy places. But I believe I convinced her that this resident is not the d-a-d-d-y kind of girl. I wash the dishes, do the laundry, and iron everyone's clothes (remember?). So she paused, left with my paperwork, and huddled with the other heads. Thank God the bar TV was on with ESPN or I might have flipped in extreme neurasthenia. She came back with a subtle grin, extended her hand and uttered, "Congratulations, welcome to the team!" For a second there, I was uncharacteristically shut as I could only say, "OH MY GOD!" Angels in my head sang in perfect chorus as my perennial blabbermouth started exploding with excessive and sometimes unnecessary thanks. She was delighted, I was ecstatic! I am finally employed!

This is a normal job. So normal that my mother could probably even hire a cook from that restaurant for her own household. But, as I always told my friends, that's my mom (and dad), that's not me. They earn more than enough, I don't possess anything. I'm way beyond the age of moving out, let alone, having a job, yet I'm still being a torturous pain in their butts. So guess what, I figured it was about time to give back. Maybe not the exact payback I've always wanted to return, but I'm sure paying the cable or internet and my own phone bills (I mean, duh, shouldn't that be #1?) could be a nice start. See? I'm not a bad bad daughter, after all! :-p

Me vs. Blogger

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Wed, 30 May 2007 04:08:00 +0000

My month long penpal-ing with Blogger Help.
After all the stops and starts... We keep coming back to these two hearts... Ugh, totally in karaoke mode. But I can't help it! After a month long of absence from Blogger, I found myself in a fortunate position of embracing it all back. Eira, you've been nothing but extremely accommodating when I needed a place to lament, and I can't thank you enough. But just as I was already enjoying my status as a sassy chique, Blogger retrieves my old blog (this one), not to mention, on the perfect time when Eira's site temporarily shut down. It's no secret that Blogger and I aren't always in perfect unison, hence the frequent change of addresses, but all I really need is a blog. I don't need the extra stuff that a website, like Eira's, offers, and although I really liked it, I feel like the space I occupied was partly to blame for her site's sudden dysfunction. I apologize if my abrupt invasion caused it, but it's been such a delightful stay, and I will continue to be a sassy chique, even only in spirit. :-)

Holyshit! Holyshit!

That's the never-ending chant of wrestling fans when a grappler successfully executes a death-defying stunt. Who would have thought that the inner wrestling fan in me would be chanting 'Holyshit! Holyshit!', with the rhythmic right fist up in the air, whilst watching daytime television??

See for yourselves. And yes, it was LIVE. And in the morning. Catfight!!!
Alright, kidding aside. I'm not American, and eventhough I've been living here for quite sometime now, I honestly could care less about President Bush and his shenanigans. Of course, I don't like the idea of troops still dehydrating in Iraq, I'm pissed that New Orleans still looks like shit, and that my ancestral home, the Philippines, would have to abide this country's needs in times of war. Regardless, I'm not one who'd go out, most especially on national television, declaring my profound hatred on Bush's mistaken decisions. Because in my opinion (I repeat, MY opinion), Gloria Macapagal Arroyo -- as dwarfish as she may appear -- is far worse. Plus, there are countless problems in the world that we, civilians, have to take more care of. Like say, Lindsay Lohan and global warming.

But seriously, the world has enough problems for these two cockfighting bitches -- from the loudest TV show on earth, no less -- to overtake the news and our daily watercooler chatter. Nevertheless, it was strikingly entertaining.

Dear Mighty Fed,

"If I have to lose to someone again... he's the man" - Nadal. Oh, you're in his head, Rogelio!
We counted years until Rafael Nadal's 81-match winning streak concluded, only to be stashed by the same guy he beat more times than anyone on that murder list. And that's you, Roger. You finally broke through by silencing your critics -- and that probably includes the Rafatard in me -- and by beating the one person that has eluded you from winning that glaring void on your already distinguished resume. So Roger, now that you've figured out Rafa and his bicep-bearing greatness, I think it's about time that you confirm to the world that you're indeed the greatest tennis player of all time (or simply, the GOAT). I'm going out on a limb here, because Nadal's my future husband, but I'm rooting for you to win the French not only because you have to, but for my grandma skills too. Seriously, I want to story-tell my grandkids that I lived in the same lifetime (because presumably, you'll die before I do) as you did, and that I've seen you win, lose, eat dirt, and kiss Mirka (which was never a pleasant site, by the way). So Roger, I wish you all the luck in the world, because you're going to need it, and I hope that this time, you won't let me down.

10 babbles about the '07 Miss U.

1. A Nelly Furtado dance number to kick off the show.. How gay.
2. Oh great. Just when I already had enough of Slater.
3. First, his bestfriend teleports. And now Ando's judging Miss Universe? Lucky bastard.
4. Oh my gosh. Brazil is girlcrush!
5. Ms. Photogenic again for Philippines. Wait. From online votes? Haha. Okay. *shuts up*
6. Nicaragua was Jennifer Coolidge 20 years ago. Seriously!
7. Bronze: Carmen Electra, Silver: Rachel Smith, and Gold: Kamilia Wawrzynia.
8. As if falling flat on her butt infront of a worldwide audience wasn't enough, USA gets booed by the merciless Mexican crowd. And they say Chicago has the worst fans ever.
9. I was pissed last year because Japan didn't win it, but now that it did, it kinda bums me out that this less attractive version of Chibana beat out my new girlcrush, Brazil! It only tells you that the panel of judges -- I mean, if you have Dave Navarro judging a prestigious contest, then there must me something wrong -- are easily persuaded by an answer that begins with the likes of "I love dancing."
10. Monday night and I'm watching Miss Universe and Food Network. Oh Heroes, where art thou? :-(

Sanjaya's Swan Song

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 15:23:00 +0000

For some eccentric reason, I found myself on the verge of tearing up when Seacrest announced Sanjaya's departure from American Idol Wednesday night. Especially with that montage that seemed to have been extracted from this week's SNL. That kid was just... um, special? So special he merited a rare standing ovation from Simon Cowell! I repeat, from Simon Cowell!! I can only count with my five fingers how many contestants got that from him. Seriously. This kid's really something else! I mean, in all of six seasons that I've watched this show, no other popstar wannabe achieved the fame that was amassed by alternating hairstyles. Not discounting the teenage-factor and minority vote. 14-year-olds are crazy about him, proven here, which is somewhat confusing because I've always thought of the kid as a pending closet queen. Not to be sexist or anything, God knows how I LOVE gay people. But you know what I'm saying. Little girls can't be that dumb, worshiping a cute guy (in their eyes, and theirs alone) with exorbitant femininity. But he's gone, and shall never be back. Which caters the golden opportunity for the remaining contestants to play tug-of-war for the fame fondue Sanjaya left over. I mean, seriously. Besides Doolittle, Sanjaya was the only memorable thing from this season. Trust me. Our lives are forever scarred by him, his creepy little grin and that inescapable image of him hula dancing.

Movie Meme

Before I proceed, I just want to explain where the heck my header came from. It's simply a manifestation of my pop culture junkie-ness. A hodgepodge of some of my favorite movies and TV shows, from Santino Rice to Vincent Vega. I really, really wanted to add more but I had to stop myself from transforming it into a 3rd grader art homework. I actually thought I've overdone it, but heck, with all the misfortunes we experience in the world right now, I guess it's only fitting that we see colorful stuff around, including pathetic attempts in photoshop.

Snagged from Alternati. I'm a self-confessed movie buff, so in order to restrain myself by going too hyper about the survey, I'll limit myself to one answer per question. Although that's pain. :( But I won't put you through the spontaneous-blabbing-torture. Here we go...

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times.
Legally Blonde (2001) - This movie is a comedic display of false stereotypes in the society. When you're blonde, you're presumably dumb. Not in the case of Elle Woods, a perennial valley girl, who pursues Harvard Law School to prove something to her ex-boyfriend. Her mantra may have been far off from the general goal of law students, but ultimately, Elle proves that all Cosmo girls are much smarter than what people think of them. Am I right, ladies? ;)

2. Name a movie that you have seen multiple times in the theater.
Bring It On (2000) - A movie about cheerleading, with all its cattiness, isn't necessarily interesting, but I was a sophomore then, and I was with Michelle (my super girly-girl friend), and theatres in the Philippines allowed us to stay there the whole day. I watched it so many times that I've got the lines jampacked in my head. Until now. Seriously. Quiz me.

3. Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie.
Leonardo DiCarpio. DUH?

4. Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie.
Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and Jessica Simpson. Just stick to junk-exhibitionism, girls.

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.

"There's this passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.' I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass." - Jules, Pulp Fiction, at the diner during robbery session.

6. Name a movie musical that you know all the lyrics to all of the songs.
I'm not a musical geek. I enjoyed Chicago and Dreamgirls, but that's about how far my interest goes. Does Music & Lyrics count though? "I said I wasn't gonna lose my head, but then POP goes my heart... *higher pitch* POP goes my heart..." There y'go.

7. Name a movie that you have been known to sing along with.
Err, I'll just go with A Walk To Remember. They loved Switchfoot there. Quite awesome.

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone to see.
Unlike Alternati, I'm going to try to be nice. Watch Wild Hogs! It's freakin' genius!

9. Name a movie that you own.
I think we're stacked. But I have a special documentary film on VHS tape of the Backstreet Boys' world tour in the late 90s. Um, just thought I'd mention it. Potential eBay best-seller in the future.

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.
Ok, I'll diminish the one-answer-only rule on this one, because one spot isn't fair enough... First of all, Tina Fey is an expert at her craft but her acting was positively surprising. I really liked her character in -- not to mention, her masterpiece -- Mean Girls, where she played a newly-divorced Algebra professor. It's one of those unpredictable roles in a film that suddenly bursts as an important piece of the denouement. And yes, gotta love the habitual sarcasm. Secondly, Ludacris's acting in Crash was the most surprising. It was very natural, and so believable that I instantly forgot that he was that rapper second-voicing Usher's "Yeah." And lastly, (and I'm echoing Alternati on this one) Jennifer Hudson. She won an Oscar, duh?

11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?
I would love to, but I don't think they still have those stuff in the metropolitan.

~~12. Ever made out inside a theater?~~

13. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven't gotten around to it.
For now, there's just one... Blades of Glory. Please come out on DVD already!! :P

14. Ever walked out of a movie?
Yeah. It was that one with Jennifer Lopez. No, not Gigli. The less apalling one. Um, yeah, I think it was Angel Eyes. I believe I walked out forcibly because my friend's boyfriend was already pooping in boredom on the pool table. But that doesn't mean I wanted to stay put either.

15. Name a movie that made you cry in a theater.
The Notebook? Err, so given. Um, United 93? Same thing. How about "Labs Kita, Ok Lang?" Dare tell me you don't know this. Gee, that movie was such a tear-jerker! I can still remember Royce's abrupt clutch to my arm when Jolina's character, Bugoy, was already confessing her feelings for Marvin's Ned on a cold Baguio night. Haaay. Sixth grade memories.

16. What's the last movie you saw in the theater.
Music and Lyrics. Man, I haven't seen a new movie in two months! This is war!

17. What's your favorite/preferred genre of movies.
Comedy, I guess. I dig serious stuff too, as long as they have wit all over them.

18. What's the first movie you remember seeing in the theater.
I was around 6-8 and it was in a movie theater in Cubao. I have vague memories of what exactly the movie was but I'm sure it had Ogie Alcasid and Michael V. in it. :))

19. What movie do you wish you had never seen.
American Dreamz and Wild Hogs.

20. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed.
Lost In Translation (2003) - Watch this. It's so weird and hilarious, it's almost unforgettable.

21. What is the scariest movie you've seen?
The Eye, bar none. And The Descent was pretty good too.

22. What is the funniest movie you've seen?
I'm not the most sophisticated movie goer, so I'm definitely giving this to the satirical smarts of Borat.

DONE. Relaying this to anyone who have plans of bumming out over the weekend. Enjoy! :-D

Virginia Tech Tragedy

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 10:21:00 +0000

Taking a breather from the usual witty posts, I would like to collect some thoughts on the most recent newsmaker that disturbed the country, and the world.

I'm pretty sure many of you have been hearing about it. The worst shooting in American history to date, and hopefully, ever. Cho Seung-Hui, a 23 year old English major, shot 33 people -- countless times to death -- including himself. I, personally, don't know what to make out of it. One man, successfully accomplishing an obviously sadistic plan (with suspicious beliefs of his girlfriend supposedly cheating on him) is completely senseless, unfathomable, and heinous.

Event descriptions from different witnesses have been piling up since the massacre, effectively convincing that the suspect had methodically conceptualized this plan for a long time, which includes multiple bomb threats in the same community a couple of weeks ago. According to media reports, the killer may have had something to do with recent bomb threats, presumably testing the University's security system. On Monday morning, he supposedly returned to his dorm residence to reload his weapons after killing two students in the same vicinity. He then proceeded to Norris Hall, chained the doors by himself, and started the shooting spree.

Eversince living here in the United States, I have openly expected a lot more from the governance, considering that the place I came from lacked a whole lot of synchronization. I was not disappointed. Malls are clean, public high schools and community colleges are impressively convenient, Airports and flights are friendly, and driving situations are far less hazardous. But one thing that could possibly prevent brutal attacks like this is an intense security system. I'm not saying that VT security's approach to the situation was any less. It might have been on some others' opinions, but I'm sure they've done their part in the best way they knew how. But on the other hand, I think colleges and universities in this country are very driven to ensue independence on students that liberated security is often tolerated. Just like my college which has its own police station (much like all colleges in this country), but we rarely see officers around campus, not even after the morning traffic. I happen to have spent my first high school years in Lorenzo Ruiz De Manila School, where security is as strict as it gets. There's an armed guard in every building, and IDs are firmly required for everyone who enters and leaves the campus, including transportations. I know, it's a high school, a reasonable proximity to monitor. But we all agree that there's absolutely nothing wrong in being a little bit too cautious, right? Especially in a country that leniently sells guns, and has been attacked by terrorism in the past.

One more thing that seemed absurdly funny to me was the method of communication during that very morning. The warning has been sent through email. Yes, Yahoo!, Google, Hotmail. Through EMAIL. I was shocked, totally perplexed at how dumb some people can get under pressure. My friend Brittany said it best, "Who in the hell checks out their emails at 7:30 in the morning?" and really, what person that practically resides inside the university doesn't have a mobile phone? Is this generation really that idiotic to use email as their form of addressing alarm, instead of an instant phone call, or even text message??

Speaking of text messaging. This may sound ridiculous, but I really think that it's about time 9-1-1 gets the hype of this commodity. A phone call is deeply necessary, but text messaging can be really helpful than it sounds. For instance, there was this girl who survived the second shooting by playing dead. While obviously restraining her nerves by not dialing 9-1-1 during the ordeal, she would have had an easier contact if text messaging was another way of asking help. This is me being humorless, folks. I sincerely think the rescue hotline must consider the text messaging system. Seriously.

What's really uncanny about the chain of events was the fact that the suspect even had enough time to keep himself alive after the first shooting, and with no one calling to the rescue, let alone the police -- who admittedly have heard the gun shots -- ignoring the incident in belief that it was just another one of those domestic fulminations. I, myself, have had enough debates and discussions (especially in my HDEV class) regarding this whole story. A lot of what ifs, could-have-beens, and should-have-beens. But instead of concentrating, and dwelling on what really could have happened, I suggest that the society gradually move on, and on the way, perform drastic changes in our systems to be able to protect ourselves in the future. If America didn't learn enough from the University of Texas massacre in 1966, I think now is the right time to learn something from the Virginia Tech tragedy.

My heart goes out to all the victims, the families affected, and the entire community of Blacksburg.

Rodeo Roadtrip

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Mon, 16 Apr 2007 02:52:00 +0000

Pardon my recurring absence, I certainly don't mean it. In fact, I intended to blog a couple of days ago, but my gang was in a hurry, I had to shut down all machines in my room before leaving. On a random Wednesday evening, my mother suddenly decides she'll call sick and evade to Houston with my dad for his high school reunion. If she'd be eating cookies alone in her hotel room, then I might as well go and provide her some entertainment. So I went straight back home after my HDEV exam, and called in sick myself for my math. Packed, rather excitedly, while I watched Idol's results show (Sanjaya's staying power is something else, man) and headed out not before 3.

Houston wasn't exactly as engaging as I thought it would be. Well, the tough schedule, that prevented us from delving the city, was partly to blame for it. The rest would probably be consisted of their sick freeways, stupid street signs, and perilous construction sites. The city might have lacked appeal to me, but its outskirts were definitely, um, interesting.

It was time to exchange driving duties for the boys, as I volunteered to get us some blizzards and onion rings. DQ was easily spotted from the freeway, in the midst of a town seemingly composed of people severely alienated from the colored world. The old lady looked stunned when I opened my mouth and sounded as if I've been living here as long as she has. She was subtlety hostile. Never smiled, even when she did that wacky thing with the blizzards. She obviously wasn't colorblind. But I quickly disposed the nuisance after enjoying my treat. Thank God she wasn't racist enough to poison us.

So, we checked in, dove in our beds, and watched basketball to sleep. It was such an exhausting trip that we weren't even worried about going elsewhere the following day. But my dad had plans of going to San Antonio the next morning, and we just couldn't resist to convoy. It was yet another road trip. Literally. I probably spent more time sitting on my ass than my entire sojourn down there. I wouldn't complain if the view was anything close to my LA-to-Vegas escapade, but it's remotely not! Especially when I would see a house clad with black and white posters saying "Go Spurs! Go!" every once in two minutes.

As cued by Mark Cuban's past criticisms, I expected The Riverwalk to be similar to the bad area of Manila Bay. You know, that part where entrepreneurs gutted restaurants and grills infront of, while there were vacationing used diapers on the shores, and the water smelling like shit. But to Cuban's rare inaccuracy, Riverwalk wasn't anything like it. Although the water wasn't exactly appealing, at least the smell wasn't puke-worthy enough to drive us out of our Texas-sized appetites.

Apparently, you also have to check out The Alamo if you're a virginal tourist in that part of the state. I wasn't necessarily interested because I think, I've already had enough of stories about Magellan and Lapu-Lapu, that these they-saved-our-nation museums and apologue don't juice anymore interest from me. But it was refreshing to go in there. It was so hot in San Antonio that I wouldn't overlook any chances of getting into cemented buildings. Even if it means locking myself in a room of smelly armpits. Yes, it was that hot.

Some random camwhorage with mother. At the River, and after shopping for fridge magnets.
Then we went home that same day. (Sorry Laureen, I passed by New Braunfels, squealed even "I have a friend living right there," finger pointed at that lone freeway that probably leads to your location, but I didn't have enough time to see you. I'll be back though, and I swear, I'll leave you my number the next time.) We then went to this parochial community headed by my dad's high school professor. It's one of those crowded get-togethers, where there's Wowowee on TV, some dried fish's odor sprinting up your nostrils, and a variety of Filipino dialects in every corner of the place. It was social nightmare to the nth degree!! If it weren't just for my dad, I would totally act like those girls from Sweet 16. Seriously. Who wants to get trapped inside a bungalow, congested by eyebrow-raising Filipinos, all asking you the exact same thing, as if griping you to admit that you're a probinsyana just like they once were. "Do you still speak Te-geh-leg?" I'm so sorry, but that question irritates the fuck out of me. Especially when I came in to that very door greeting everyone in sight with a polite (and required) mano to my forehead (even with no clue wherever that hand may have been!) and "Magandang Gabi Po." And they dare ask me if I still spoke Te-geh-leg? If the function wasn't just facilitated by priests, I would have smacked back with a, "Tangek, Manila girl ako!"

So anyway, that's about it. It still boggles me how updating this blog now takes a lot from my time. Maybe because the semester's drawing to an end (translation: more work than usual), or maybe because the playoffs are here and Rafa's hopefully on his way to another unbeaten clay court season. Hay, there's so much going on that I can't even find time to shave my mustache. Ok, that was a joke. But hey, I hope you guys had a terrific week yourselves. Thanks for still dropping by despite my recent lag in your respective comment boxes. I promise to see you around soon. :)

Comfort while chaperoning, ya dig?

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 04:36:00 +0000

I hopped inside the car after a meeting with school stuff last week when my brother said mother rang and asked us to go straight to the mall. She has been shopping. My brother, who had no plans of going elsewhere, was only in his pang-bahay hoodie and denim shorts, while I was dressed quite accordingly. He didn't mind driving me all the way downtown Irving, but he was obviously bored and pissy, pacing around the women's area of Macy's. So he dragged my dad to the Food center (as usual) and waited and waited and waited until he finally pulled out his car keys and decided to leave. Which was completely understandable anyway, he wasn't there to buy anything, not even lunch, and was stuck with women who even seem to have not cared as long as they're grabbing stuff with sale tags.

He'll bite me if he sees this. But that's the best father, AND husband in the world.
So I've been thinking... I really think there should be a coffee shop, or a little burger bar inside the shopping stores, and scattered couches everywhere. For one, a lot of women can't brave the freeways of this big city (and many others), that certainly, the men of their lives would have to stick around during discount days. And like they had a choice, right? (I mean, just look at my dad! Poor him.) Secondly, boys will have nothing else to do at home to begin with. Instead of just eating and watching sports all their days off, the little burger bar can even help hone their social skills by chatting it up with other husbands, boyfriends or brothers while waiting. And lastly, for those loyal ones who choose to tag along the women, (carrying the bags, of course) the couches can only make them feel comfortable whenever they may be lead. Again, look at my dad right there. He customized his own little waiting area while my mom's trying out stuff in the fitting room! I really think my ideas are worth some consideration. Like seriously. Shall I pitch 'em? :P

Coldfront tantrums.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 11:22:00 +0000

Images supplied by my Weather Channel Desktop. And yes, that's 41 degrees in a Texas spring afternoon.
This is insane. It's April 7th and normally by this time, the pool is already utilized due to burning heat. But instead, we're forced to dig into the deepest corners of our closets to bring out (again!) the supposed-to-be-retired sweaters because it's been freezing the past couple of days. The weather had been consistently lingering around the 60s, 70s and 80s the past couple of weeks, and now we're back to the 50s? Even worse, high today is at 38°F, and guess what, even a possibility of snow later in the afternoon! SNOW! In April?? I know, totally weird. Would make sense if we're in the skinny state of Colorado, but we're just right above Mexico, and we're getting snow in April?? I'd be jumping like a kid right now if it's Christmas season. But it's not. And my brother's driving tonight. It CAN'T snow!!!

American Doolittle

I just found out that I haven't talked about American Idol yet since the first few episodes. That's um, surprising. I would normally talk about it every week, make my silly predictions of who should go home or who would have the worst hairdo (this year, it's a no-brainer, obviously), but since my life has gone back to the colorful side, the blogs on reality TV has been apparently limited. But don't worry, my Miss Page Six persona is back to make a furious plea to Sanjaya's voting demographic... PLEASE, take that *insert offensive term here, I can't curse, it's Holy week* off that show!!! It's excruciating!!! ...err, not really. I'm not bothered anymore by Sanjaya's existence. As long as he doesn't stay longer than my favorites, I could care less.

Who cares if she looks like Shrek?? Pssh. Mean. Pokes head.
There's my girl! Melinda Doolittle, the obvious favorite to win the whole thing (once Sanjaya gets off the show, of course). Big voice, big head (literally speaking), and big boobs. Ok, that sounded lesbian-ish. But heck, what's not to love? She's freakin' awesome!! And hey... do you want to win some dolares? I thought I'd throw in a trivia question for those of you, broke pricks like me. Prize money courtesy of leftover aguinaldo... If you can only tell me the name of this Filipino guy my mother instantly thought of upon seeing Melinda for the first time. Clue. They look alike. Duh?

Normally, the boring days...

With no disrespect, I tend to have found the Holy days of Holy week to be the most boring days of my summer childhood. We were not allowed to come out and play patintero, due to our usual clamour that would disturb the neighborhood vigils, eating meat was also, and still is, a big no-no, and cable TV in our area was not yet in existence, that we had to stomach all the Nora Aunor films Channel 2 could possibly air.

But those days are gone. Capped by the annual marathons of Seventh Heaven on Studio 23 (do they still do that?). Don't get me wrong, the Holy week means a lot to me, my family, and the Roman Catholic tradition. Believe it or not, I have my fair share of prayers, repentance, and mass attendance. But I'm not one of those devotees who sorrowfully commemorate the events that actually led to Christ's sacrifice for mankind. I understand, it's their form of recognizing the holidays, but... Ok, ok, I'm not gonna go on and on about this anymore, since it's pretty sensitive for funky me to discuss (and I don't want bitchfights this time of the year).

And just so you know, I have been penitently observing the no-meat-during-Fridays rule, settling on egg sandwiches (who cares about calories? It's Holy week, magtika kayo!), tuna subs from Subway (now, that's "healthy") and dinaing na bangus (marinated milkfish) from the Asian market... with rice, of course, and vinegar dip with crushed garlic. Ugh, I know, it's a sin to be gluttonous, especially this time of the year. But trust me, the bangus just fits the one-meal-a-day penitence. Promise!

In case I get raped again, let me be early and shove you a Happy Easter greeting. Enjoy :)

Foolish Butt

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sun, 01 Apr 2007 04:10:00 +0000

I promise I have an excuse for the recent lag. I have been experiencing extreme nausea and inexplicably constant vomitting over the past few days that I had to take further notice than usual.

I went to our physician and she inquired about my personal activities that led to her hypothesis that I might be sporting a bump (the inflating kind) in the near future. I was shocked. Speechless. Knocked out. Totally flabbergasted. How in the world did I get myself pregnant? As I rewind.

I dated this guy for about 8 weeks before the last year ended. It was brief. So brief that I could barely remember his last name. Or if he was the one who had a silver stud down there. (Man, this was supposed to be a serious narration!) But anyway, we broke up sooner than expected, as I quickly reverted back to enjoying my rejuvenated social life. Just days after my birthday, I was set up by a friend with this mesmeric fratboy from Austin, and we clicked right off the bat. He had mad guitar skills, an enticing sense of humor, and was terribly attractive that only an idiot would pass up the chance of sleeping on those provocative biceps of his. And of course, I fell. Orgasmically. Again.

My predicament not only includes the jeopardy of my inheritance ('coz my parents WILL disown me), but as well as the interminable pause of my studies AND... brace yourselves... the real father of this baby. Yes, you heard that right. I have no idea what hestas-judas-barabas fathered my child. I don't even know how to drag them to my front and inform them that either one would be responsible for buying me some milk and diapers. Like I am seriously clueless. As in no clue at all...

This is no laughing matter, but isn't it just ludicrous how I AM now entangled in the exact same situation as those girls on noontime television?? I mean, I would think so low of them before because they would sleep with different men in a short span of time, not being wholly aware of the irresponsible hobby's repercussions, and now I am one of them!!! What the fuck was I thinking?!! Never, in my wildest imagination, have I seen myself pleading for DNA help through Maury Povich, and hearing the dreadful phrase, "You are not the father!" But I'm afraid I'm on the right track. Without a babydaddy, and a face plastered with embarrassment everytime my episode replays.

Man, I need help. And sanity. And sleep. And forgiveness. And laughs. I think I'm celebrating a little too early (as always). It's yet an hour 'til my labor, but I'll start screaming anyway...

Gotcha! :P

A public figure for 3 years.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 18:46:00 +0000

It all started when an emotional outburst striked my Saturday night (or was it Friday? Sorry, was bit tipsy) that had me looking over the internet for some outlet of major spasms. I was chatting it up with Jo, extremely spazzed out herself, as we tangoed our way to LiveJournal. The website was having its own periodical distraught that we couldn't stand the labyrinth of signing up, hence we settled for blogdrive. It was my home for the remainder of the year, until I discovered blogspot, through Ate Clare. And here I am. With my 107th URL. But who cares.

For three years I've developed from a lousy fangirl writer to a candid, witty yet very sophisticated (give it to me, it's my anniversary!) blogger that loves to argue and hates to agree. My topics have varied from squealing over some Korean walking chopstick to drooling over one certain bicep-bearing specimen. And much to my surprise, a lot of you have enjoyed my imbecilic writing when you could simply turn away or leave a "fuck off" note in my wisecrack box. So I thank you. From the bottom of my bacon-wrapped heart.

So, let's see... I have nothing else to write actually, but I want to make smart use of this time and space that solely commemorate my three years of presence in this community. And since I can only do this once a year, I think I'm licensed to display the uttermost narcissism, and you will have to put up with it for the rest of your daily Kai-dosage.

On style...
I don't have a style whatsoever. I blog as I talk. And just so you know, I don't have any accent. At all. I talk just like any Midwesterner, but I have tendencies of sounding Southern with the infectious "y'all," and like a valley girl with the use of "like," which I have been emphatically avoiding. I don't talk clearly, as my peers would say, I kind of swallow my words. But they suck ass, 'coz I know I'm a good communicator. Just like Jael from ANTM Cycle 8.

On topics...
As I've said, my topics have varied over the years. There was a time that all I was blogging about was everything Asian. I so got addicted to Meteor Garden and the likes that I would blog about it every single day eventhough I knew that all my readers were watching the exact same thing I just did. Then morphed into the new image of being miss page six, as Kat used to call me. With being sidelined from school, and being jobless, and the lack of interesting events to write about, I settled on TV shows, showbiz gossips, and red carpet fashion to entertain those who continually visit my blog. It was entertaining at one point but I eventually got tired of it. After all, it was always Paris Hilton dominating the news and I hate her, and her skankiness, so I just had to stop before I get a heart attack. And now, this blog has grown into the most impertinent hodgepodge of all. What blogger talks like John McEnroe one day and Joel McHale the next? Only me! :P

On overused words...
It would have to be "I," but that's a given. So I guess it's gotta be "seriously." I had a huge crush on Apolo Anton Ohno two years ago that I subconsciously adapted his overusage of the word, which, I assume, was primarily caused by his personal obsession over McDreamy and Grey's Anatomy.

On blog-linkage...
This might be weird but I prefer asking for link exchanges than being asked. For some reason, I don't find my blog worthy enough of admirers that it irks the heck out of me each time a random passerby asks for an exchange. Not that I mind, I actually greatly appreciate the maneuver. It's just that, I think it's best if I make the first move. Internet only, not available in stores.

On cursing...
I don't have a problem with cursing, nor with blogs which have the word "fuck" all over it. It actually entertains me even. Those bloggers who choose to be discreet with their choice of cuss words are fine, I respect their personal restrictions. But I believe that we, the cursing-machines, have a lot more fun with blogging. Because not only we are more spontaneous at it, we get to vent out whatever fuckage we feel inside without being cordial, which doesn't make sense to begin with when you're supposed to sound agitated, right?. So thumbs up to online cursing! Just caution your kids regarding my blog, 'coz apart from curse words, I have countless sexual references on it. Remotely not family-oriented.

On communities and awards...
I joined Ricebowls just around the time I started blogging, to generate hits, I guess. But I found it pointless, so I ditched it and forgot about the groupies shenanigans. I mean, I blog just for the heck of it, and I enjoy it as is. As for those awards thingamaboob and stuff, I think it's too intricate for me. So don't ever nominate me for those shit or I'll pummel your ass like never before.

On life on the radar...
Just as my site title indicates, I'm very reserved when it comes to my personal life. I'm not a celebrity, nor the kind considered to be an actual "public figure" but I've practiced maintaining that blanket of privacy in fear of exposing my personal relationships. But I think I've kind of bended that unwritten rule over time, especially when chaos conquers our very home. So chaotic that I had to categorize it and dedicate one particular section for it on my blog. But that's just for domestic purposes. I still refuse to hold discussions about my past boylets, flings, and birthday prostitutes. ;)

If you have read this introduction, you should notice that I'm celebrating three days earlier than dated. While it doesn't really matter, I thought I'd explain why. I have been bombarded with lab work, Algebraisms, and career-choice dilemmas that would potentially prevent me from posting this on the 27th, so I hope you don't mind. *confetti rain*

Once again, thanks to all of you who have patiently put up with me all these years. I can't wait to start another three years with y'all. Que horror! :))

Spring prints.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 03:13:00 +0000

Spring is here, my favorite season, as you all know. The cold winds, bright sun, and blossoming flowers make up for the dry, itchy, and freezing winter that irked our heels, elbows and scalps every single day. It's the perfect season for picnics, photography, lake dates (too frumpy but who cares), and outdoor yoga (whatever that means).

My prints!! Love 'em or hate 'em.

I was so excited because the pool will be a daily exercise engine again, the highways wouldn't be a battlefield anymore, and I'll be able to wear my favorite tops with no longer messing up the sleeves (that was caused by default mechanism of layered clothing). So I cleaned up my closet over spring break, stacked my winter clothes on the other side, and put the spring/summer clothes on the accessible side. But how about a major killjoy? Just when I was about to jump out with my cropped pants and hippie top, the weather had to be pissy and blow us 50-degree winds. Well, that's not saying much compared to the "spring" New York has been having, but come on, 50s are for early fall, we're supposed to be in the 70s, not some foreplay to winter! But enough with the bitching. The weather has been fairly cooperative today, and I hope that it continues to be like this the following week, 'coz I'm not going back to school with a turtleneck on. Please.

Deuce Prize!

Don't leave!!! I'm not gonna drive my fanaticism up your clueless ass yet again, nor pursuade you to obsess with me. But I just thought I'd share the news here, for women may especially be delighted by it... Wimbledon and Roland Garros decide to pay women the exact same amount of prize money given to men after years of seemingly pointless debates. The old-fashioned grandslam juggernut (Wimby) finally wakes up in the 20th century and realizes that women are already accustomed to wearing pants, driving trucks, and mowing the lawn. The French Open emulated the maneuver shortly after.

Mike and Tony debate. Who's worse, Antonella or Sanjaya?

Now that all slams have committed themselves to equal pay, someone closeminded just had to rain on the parade. Tommy Haas, currently ranked #9, bitches that men are playing 5-setters during grandslams compared to women's 3, therefore he disagrees with the decision. I guess it would have made more sense if somebody like Federer was the one contradicting it, but Haas? Um, by any chance he stumbles upon this blog, or if Lizette advices him that a certain blogger is trying to sabotage his resurging career, here's an open letter that will hopefully avert his selfish opinion.

Tommy,

A five-setter is never compulsory. Just play damn well and you'll easily get a win within three sets. But you're simply not the Top 5 player you were centuries ago, hence you felt the need to unmask your inner sexist and inform the world of your irrational opinion. You openly deprecate women's ability to compete to your level because they never have five setters? Well, how about playing under the exceedingly hot sun, in a crucial first round match, with only a visor helping you continue breathing while tracking the rapid yellow ball. Sharapova, as huge as she appears to be, the teenager nearly died on that match, while you were granted either an indoor court or match suspension. Just try juxtaposing Rafael Nadal's biceps to Daniela Hantuchova's legs. Let's see if that particular comparison can provide anything have your stupid argument make sense.

A female tennis fan,
Kai

Speaking of Rafa...

One more time, please. Just let me write about it. *cue soap opera music* If it displeases you, then I'll let you go. I just have to let it out!!... Ok, so I had been waiting for this match-up for YEARS!! (2 years and 3 months to be exact.) Finally, the draw worked on my horny eyes' favor and set up a semifinal clash between two of the hottest men in sports today. OMG. California desert was sizzling to death!!!

Wherever Andy's hand is remains to be an enigma.
Oh my gosh! You're totally imagining it, hahaha!

Man, was that the spring break? Gee, I'll be back in school with no stories in tow! "How's your break?" "Oh, I just watched tennis, basketball and a lot of VH1. Lame, right?" Yeah, I'll only embarrass myself. Might as well start gathering some ideas now and fabricate a cool spring break story...

My dad's silly theorem and some who's who game.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 04:46:00 +0000

Roger Federer's 41 winning streak was snapped by Guillermo Canas yesterday. Relatively unknown Argentenian upset the world number one in straight sets at the ATP Masters Series Indian Wells. And in ironic circumstances the streak Federer's trying to beat (Guillermo Vilas') was hindered by another Guillermo and an Argetenian at that!

Then 24 hours later, the Dallas Mavericks, who has already clinched a playoff spot last week, had their longest winning streak ended by playoff-desperados, Golden State Warriors (who, according to my brother, actually have a habit of beating the Mavs in their turf).

Ok, it's me I'm only entertaining. I'm sure you all are yawning to death because I'm talking Sports AGAIN. But hey! Don't leave yet! I've got a story. And I promise you, this one's pretty interesting.

My dad has this ludicrous theory about Mafia and dominant figures in sports (i.e., Roger Federer and the Dallas Mavericks). Each time they lose, he'd remind me of this particular assumption he has that's the catalyst of each defeat. He believes that there are money-making gangs or mobs out there who pay these athletes/clubs to lose for their gambling's welfare.

I know, it kinda sounds foolish, right? But now even my brother confirms that this kind of stuff actually happens in reality. For example, a mogul bets on Andy Roddick to win that tournament. He happens to be in the same bracket as Federer, who holds a 12-1 edge against him. For some ignorant reason, that mogul decides he'd go up against the odds and actually take his chances of allowing his money slip away. Now, with all that bazillions on the line, he pays Federer to lose the match, in order to give Andy Roddick a breathing space to win the title. If and when Andy wins, the mogul also does. Big, bigger, biggest bucks. And that's how it supposedly works.

I still think it's a little too implausible. Or maybe I'm just being naive, as I always am when it comes to Sports. I mean, don't take it from the adult who still wants to think Professional Wrestling is real. (Speaking of WWE, The Rock was backkkk!!! But that's a whole other story, which I doubt you'd be interested in anyway.) But I digress. I'm still skeptical about this mafia-buys-results theory, and it lacks sensible proof to be convincing and realistic.

Hmm... That wasn't really that interesting. But I tried. Sigh. I wish I have readers who are sport nutcases too. But anyway, I still love you all. So, to redeem myself from pitching this, how about a survey? YAY!!! (Snagged from Alternati.)

Who is the first blogger you met?
Well, we were not bloggers yet then, but Eira or Shai (as she's popularly known as). We knew each other way back our jolog (haha) years and it was a surprise to see her again, in the blogosphere, no less. But if you want to get technical, I have met none. Because Bone wrote me off when I was in California!! (Just kidding. But seriously mare, why didn't you show up again? Haha.)

Who is the blogger ‘You Most Want to Meet’?
John Mayer, because I'm smarter than Jessica Simpson. I'm not sexy, but I'm a natural brunette!

Who is the ‘I can meet, want to meet, but somehow never got to meet’ blogger?
My virtual sister, Ate Clare, who's my very first blog-friend (eversince blogdrive years). It's actually kind of weird how she's one of the people I trust the most, when I only knew her from cyberspace. That's how amazing this person is. And I really hope she had superpowers like Hiro's, so she could teleport here whenever I boyhunt. At nang mapalitan na din niya ang virtual kuya ko. :P

Do you have any bloggers/blog readers that you would like to meet right now?
Para walang tampuhan, I'll write your names on post-its and draw them from a basket. Let's see who makes up my list. Drumroll please...

Deb, another long-time friend through blogging. I failed to tell her that I was in Eagle Rock the exact same time she was. We could have chatted the night away with some halo-halo (during winter but who cares) from Chowking.
When I get the chance, I will celebrate Chinese New Year with Jaz, as we'll lunch tikoy and idiotically dance along the red dragon. Choopeta style.
I would also like to tour with Lizette, and check if Dmitry really steals Victoria Secret undies during rain delays just to make his locker the subject of ATP's envy.
Kat still owes me White Castles, and a stub to one of her gigs. Heh, I kid. Not really. :P
And Bone, that Chino's you promised!!! Puro pagkain ata ang utang sa akin. Pa-obvious!
One of the things in my to-do list is to hunt Russ down, when I come visit the Philippines. And she will have to provide me the best beach vacation there is. With blog-friend discount, of course.
I've always wanted to lead a solo and yuppie life in New York. And mainly because I hate to drive. Maybe in a couple of years, I'd beg Joey for help to show me around, and hand me tips of what-and-what-nots during 5-minute intervals between subway rides.
Next up... Jen. Um, I actually met her already, I just drew her name from the basket, and I didn't want to cheat so there you go. Seriously! There's some raffle going on here. ;)
[ETA] For some reason, I lost Chas, but anyway... I'm aware that if there's anything we both love during the itchy season of winter, it's not just snow, it's fashion. And I would love to go to Milan, Paris, Madrid with him during fashion week someday.
It was a margin of a day when Laureen and I were in the exact same place (Austin). I really wanted to meet her, in hopes of filling out the number one question before it comes around, but I wasn't able to do that due to uncooperative weather and conflicting schedules. I really hope to see her next time, perhaps next spring break, and we'll be party-ing like real single college babes during South by Southwest.
Vayie is the 1 to my 10. We share the same Kris-Aquino-annoyance, and the same love for Manu Ginobili. One of the funniest persons I've met. (Well, not met, personally, but crossed paths with, if you want to get all technical up my ass.) It would be really fun to watch Ask The Dust with her, and watch her squeal to death. :P
Talamasca. I haven't really known you all that much, but since your name surged from the basket, I'll just propose to you a challenge, when we get the chance to meet. How about a scrabble game only composed of curse words? Game? Lame? Really? Shit. Bitch. :))
I also want to meet Shari. Because she actually knows how to live like me. Big and beautiful!
And the wildcard goes to... Cruise! Ha, I'm so glad I got your name off the basket. (There really is a basket, folks!) You've been a constant visitor for years, even if we both enjoy changing addresses. And I'm actually one of the few who had the chance to know your real name. ;) I really enjoy your snapshots, and I hope your trip queue includes Texas. Because I tell you, we've got the best beef and barbecues. You'll love it here!

I apologize to those I unintentionally left out. Blame the basket! Or your luck. Til next time!

Because I make it work.

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 22:33:00 +0000

As repeatedly publicized, I have this on-going royal rumble with weight. While that may possibly be my lifelong cancer, I don't let it mess with this lifestyle I'm consistently trying to make normal. Let's just say, I'm not your ordinary fat girl. There are numerous things I can do, that most biggies can't (indian-sitting, hand-standing, and finger-licking, to name a few). But most notably, I've always been commended for taking risks, clothing-wise, and how I tweak each get-up to suite a 200-pounder.

When I was in high school, I had always been the fat girl who can't dress. Elephant pants + baggy shirts = the black dude in me. My sexual orientation was even questioned a couple of times. Like, did I really look like a boy? I had braids!! Oh shoot. Basketball players have braids. Snoop doggy dog has braids. So... yeah, fuck, I guess I really did look like a butch. Moreover, affirming the popular myth, my kind of fashion, or lack thereof, back then was unfortunately clueless. I was too preoccupied with pool that I didn't even notice I was slowly looking like my Idol. Only with teeth.

Good thing, I got kicked out. Not that it was an event in my life I can be thankful for (although being dubbed as the "rebel" was kinda cool, ohhh, stop, shussh!!!) but it paved way for me to stick out of that exhausting bubble. I discovered that being fat isn't reason enough to stagnate my take on things, and unmodify my life. I started to LOVE shopping, picking clothes that aren't cousins of trash bags, and make total abuse of under-utilized Fat Fashion stores. But here's the thing. Despite already dressing up like a woman, my new sense of style anyhow flummoxed people who saw me everyday, especially my mom, who simply doesn't get it, and my brother, who thinks I look like a fortune teller each time I dress up.

NOTE: Picture on your left was captured while shopping, inside my fitting room. I know, who takes a picture of herself while dressing up, right? But I just thought I'd supply you with evidence. Half-naked snapshots reserved for MySpace. *wink, wink*

Silly prints, huge dangling earrings, outstretched necklaces, and long crinkle skirts make up my usually unfathomable fashion. Years of sporting the style, nobody has come up to me and complimented how I looked. Until that particular Thursday in school. It's college, nobody would care! Brittany, who has weird but cool taste in clothes herself (*mean girl syndrome* honestly, more on the weird side, but she's blonde and pretty anyway, won't hurt her one bit), proves that overused statement on a daily basis. So I braved the anticipated naysayers and ditched the common jock outfit (sweatshirt + jeans + chucks), and geared up my inner boho.

And let me tell you, I've never been SO flattered in my life.

By my professors, by classmates I don't even talk to, and even by this random woman I shared the same elevator ride with. It was such an Ugly Duckling moment. But whatever, it's been a loooooooooooong time since somebody, unrelated to me, said I looked pretty. *rosy cheeks surge* Trust me, ladies. There's nothing like that feeling of comfotably being yourself, in the superficial public, and actually be showered by overwhelming compliments.

I don't really talk fashion here, but since I'm at it, I might as well share a couple of reminders to all my ladies (and no, I'm not talking to you, sexy bitch!).

• Clothes for plus-sized women cost a lot. Wherever you go, even if you're from Bhutan, clothes for fat people, in general, are excessively expensive. So, as much as possible, stay away from the malls. They have ridiculously beautiful (and branded, but who gives a fuck about brands) stuff in there, but awfully mind-boggling price tags. You may want to try local boutiques, they offer reasonably, and you can even get a pretty good discount if you fill out a couple of carts.

• If you're the extra-extra (or even another extra) large type of biggie, don't be shy and look for that elusive 5x mark. America's obesity epidemic is severely disseminated not to have additional Xs in their dress sizes.

• Gather as much clothes as you can when you fit. It won't hurt trying all at once, while it will going back and forth. Although that's exercise, I won't encourage you to do that. Leave the sweating off the clothes. Please.

• Don't buy clothes and shoes from the internet. Period.

• Be confident. I'm not sure why I'm saying this, because I never intend to be your counselor in any way to begin with, but let me be nice for just one second... You can hear this from a lot of [mature] guys, and trust me when I say that they actually mean it (for once in their fuckin' lives, they're saying something true). Feeling like you're pretty and sexy and knowing that you're pretty AND sexy (yeah, I said it) are two different things. Go figure.

• And most importantly, assure yourself that you're beautiful. Don't dress up, wear make-up, bathe in cologne, just because you want to please your husband, boyfriend, teacher (well, some do that), etc. But do it for yourself. I won't say the inside and out thing, 'coz that's just worn, but every person's made to be beautiful. It's all up to you now to rejuvenate that inert pizazz. *snaps*

In case you're interested...

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 19:46:00 +0000

I haven't blogged for a week (borderline hiatus for the avid blogger in me) because of vexatious school work. Professors decide that they would pollute us with chapter tests a week or two before Spring break with little review and (when they're feeling shitty and their husbands aren't home in time) no reminder at all. But don't worry, I have all the blood in the world to sustain the stress and the variety of Southern accents.

I'll spare you my boring college stories, there's not much to talk about anyway (translate: no boys at all!). So, let's see... I have a crapload of other stories to share with you, but it requires major randomness. I hope it's ok. I mean, you know, I've never really been random here...

I went to the movies with Rutendo last Friday. Ok, let me explain the name first. I mentioned her here before as Retunda, because that's how I always heard her being referred as. Little did I know that I have been mispronouncing (let alone, mispelling) her name all this time! I was editing my phone, in her car, when I finally garnered the guts to ask her the real score.

Me: "So how do you really spell your name?"
Rutendo: "Oh, it's R-u-t-e-n-d-o."
Me: "Oh, so it's R-u-t-e-n-d-a. Rutenda. Right? I've been calling your Retunda, and you don't say a thing? Haha, I'm really sorry."
Rutendo: "It's actually, O. Rutendo. But that's okay, everybody does that."

I was so embarrassed!!! Like fuck! This person's taking me to a girls night out, and I don't even know her name! And would you believe, I also once called her Roshunda? Stop laughing, please.

So anyway, as I've said, the bonding session pushed through, despite my self-produced humiliation. It's your typical girls night out, without the halter tops on disco floors, and vigorous flirtation with the opposite sex. It was just the two of us, enjoying our pink beverages at Friday's, exchanging life's horror in OMG-are-you-serious fashion, and a couple of movies to cap the night off. We watched Music and Lyrics, which was so cute, (I mean, who would pass up a chance to see Hugh Grant half naked, right?) and Wildhogs, which was... ugh, apalling, for lack of a better judgement. I wanted to warn her that the movie would be disastrous (judging from the film connoisseurs), but she insisted. It's her part of the treat, so why not. But damn, 20 bucks for that movie? Trash. That's already four mojitos for the two of us!!

You are gold and silva-ha-ha.
Good thing Hugh Grant's effortless wit was spot on, or I'll forever remember that night as the night I saw four 50-something guys skinny dip. Altogether. Yikes! Nevertheless, we had a blast. If the weather wasn't just chilly, and if my mom wasn't practicing her being a mom (to a 12 year old, as she still sees me to be), I would definitely grab her to uptown Dallas where the real fun is. Well, maybe next time. When the gays are out and about. That'd be crazy fun! :))

Oh, so it's already March. I had to go through my planner first before actually reminding myself that another month has passed and my diet hasn't started yet (like it gets me somewhere). But aren't planners supposed to be helpful, and priority-oriented? Yeah, right!

Who puts Oprah in their gawdemn planner?!?!!
And you bet, I had the exact same thing in my phone. Can you blame me? Ellen and Oprah together, only happens once in a blue moon! It's like hitting two birds with one stone. Ha, there's some American idiom for you. I just thought I'd insert one, since haven't been exercising that part of speech here in my blog so... Anyway, in my HDEV journal, I confessed that I have enormous priority issues. Like right now. I'm supposed to be making love with the ruler (figuratively speaking, you pig!) and the graphing paper, but here I am, talking to you about my life's nonsense. I really have to rehab this... or my mom will bitchfight with me again.

Speaking of my mom, we're finally talking. I overheard (but of course, pretended that I didn't hear a thing) that she was studying something for her new job at Coppell, so she needed an updated Internet Explorer. Being enemies with me didn't benefit her all that much, she was forced to work with my brother's hemorrhaging computer. But can I be any eviler? The softie in me approached her and offered my much more functional machine, I was going downstairs anyway, to find solace in sharpenning my graphing skills. She smiled at me and asked me if I was still mad. Will I nod, hurting her even more by my blunt animosity? (Yes mom, I'm not over your harsh behavior, so be sure you're off my desk after 2 hours.) DUH, of course not! Only bad daughters do that. But she apologized, and for me that was enough. She was the bitch in that certain exchange of abrasive tempers, so I'm glad I'm in the receiving end of apologetic approach. And I love my mom. She just needs to control the nerves when something she wants is not being done right. As do I.

And may I just share... A close friend of mine from way back in the days (Eira, si Donita, remember?) is currently working for the ATP (men's professional tennis chuvaloo). She's my personal connection to Federer and co., and she never fails to message me everytime something interesting happens. Like this most recent one.

sisssss!!!!!

naku isusumbong ko lang sayo si rafa! sinundo ko sha sa airport, shempre sikat sha kaya andaming nagpapicture.. aba nagsumbong ba naman sa atp officials na andami raw nagpapicture sa kanya. at ako ang itinuro nya. nuku... gigil na gigil tlga ako! gusto ko sha kurutin sa pwet. haha!!

If your Tagalog is pathetically incompetent, let me summarize the thing for you... My friend's basically telling me that my favorite player is a dickhead for blowing off fans in the aiport, and even blamed her for his displayed rude behavior. Ok, this seriously turned me off. Not that he had the balls to blame a pretty lady for his excuse, but shove off fans? Gee, Rafa. You're not getting a second date from me. I swear!

Well, that's about it... I'm off to torture my brain cells with slopes once again. Have an awesome week, my friends! And remember, if you're planning to watch Wild Hogs, take my advice. For major boyfriend points, go to a local bar instead, watch some incredible Mavs game, and drown yourself in margaritas. In other words, it's not worth it. Unless you've been craving for a tattooed Ray Liotta and a half naked (with sagging man-boobs, no less) Travolta.

As predicted...

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Tue, 27 Feb 2007 00:42:00 +0000

Jackpot! Well, almost. But 7 out of 8? (Counting my also correct predictions for the other two biggies) That's some redemption! My Auring skills are back! Thank God. I can make a living out of this. No, seriously.

The Hostess, Ellen DeGeneres
I'm a huuuge fan, but I'll keep it unbiased. Ok, not really, 'coz I love Ellen to death and I will samurai anyone who will say she didn't do a good job. She might have been short of racy jokes, but that's Ellen, and that's what her daily viewers like about her. She can produce funny moments without being as extreme as Chris Rock, and without totally choking up after the monologue like Jon Stewart. She was awesome, and again, I will elbow-drop the fuck out of anybody who disagrees. Make me.

Best Picture, "The Departed"
Minus the fact that it holds the most attractive ensemble of the nominees, this movie just had it. It was barbaric, sadistic, surprisingly witty, and overwhelmingly sexy. Recipe for success!

George Lucas must be having the worst time ever.
Best Director, Martin Scorsese, "The Departed"
FI-NAL-LY! Ok, I don't really have the right to celebrate because I barely have seen any other of his work. (I always find myself snorring while attempting to finish The Aviator and Gangs of New York, and I have never seen Good Fellas - boo me!) But I just can't help but exclaim "YES!" when he won, especially when I know that Clint Eastwood is as sneaky as a TacoBell rodent. Ha, he could have snagged that one too! But it's for Scorsese to keep, at last. And it's about time he looks for a new leading lady down here in Texas. (ahem!) It's been a long time coming!

Best Actor, Forest Whitaker, "The Last King of Scotland"
Although he was a condiment to my almost perfect predictions, I will admit that I was still crossing my fingers, until the very last nano second, that the envelope would finally have Leonardo DiCaprio's name on it. But it didn't, and Forest took it. (With thankfully, a non-shaking and totally-made-sense speech this time.) Don't get me wrong, I like Forest Whitaker. He's my homeboy! I might have skipped his film, but not his wit and musical skills... which I adore. But as for Leo, my love? He's gorgeous and all, and I'm afraid he's on track to a Scorsese curse.

Best Actress, Dame Helen Mirren, "The Queen"
I have seen this film, and I tell you, it's creepy how her portrayal is spot on. Enough said.

Best Supporting Actor, Alan Arkin, "Little Miss Sunshine"
I was really pleased to see Alan Arkin up on stage. (Despite being the cost of my 87% prediction results, and putting the trophy ON THE FLOOR upon receiving it - haha, grandas.) But I was just kind of shocked. I mean, his presence on the movie wasn't in its entirety, yet he gets nominated over the more peculiar role given to Steve Carell, (totally not throwing tantrums here, because as you know, I love love love Steve Carell, but just saying...) and beats out early favorite Eddie Murphy (who, unfortunately, tested the Academy's decorum by the early release of '08 Razzie frontrunner, Norbit). But it's Alan Arkin. And he's 73. And his role was a heroin-snorting, foul-mouthed, energetic grandpa that we all wish we had. Of course, he's going to win.

They look like they just came from a wedding. So cute!
Best Supporting Actress, Jennifer Hudson, "Dreamgirls"
Among all winners, this and Best Actress were probably the most predictable of all. If all the other awards (there's a ton) aren't any indication that she had this in the bag, then I don't know what is. It was like watching a Mavericks game. There's a slim to none chance of losing at all. And while Fantasia (the bitch who beat her out on Idol) will forever be introduced as the "America Idol winner" (fine... or "Grammy nominee," let's give her that) J-Hud will now have the "Academy Award winning actress" tag eternally attached to her name. Ha, eat yo' heart out, 'Tasia! Ok, I'm just being mean. Nothing against Fantasia and her duck voice.

Best Adapted Screenplay, William Monahan, "The Departed"
While I also slamdunked on this one, I can't help but notice William Monahan's Forest Whitaker moment in the middle of the speech. I mean, you wrote for Martin Scorsese, your film was nominated a bunch of times, and you appear to have not expected the win? Come on, Willy, who are you kidding?

Best Original Screenplay, Michael Ardnt "Little Miss Sunshine"
I really thought it was a photo finish between this and The Departed for Best Picture. But the consolation prize isn't bad, it got what it truly deserved, a nod for originality and fearless forecast of a real domestic chaos. That's why I consider this my favorite of 2006. Yes, even surpassing the stunning cast (worth twice the mention) and brilliance of Scorsese's Academy Award winning craft. I mean, honestly. I'm a 20-something yuppie. I can't relate my life relations to those of mafia themed movies, although they're sexy (thrice) and enjoyable. Whereas in movies like this, there's this sense of realism that makes viewers feel comfortable of what seems to be abnormal in their own environment. So kudos to the Academy for favoring Little Miss Sunshine over Borat's courageous (and naked) hysterical expose'.

And can I just say...

• Ellen was awesome, awesome, awesome. Can't say that enough. Awesome. She seriously needs to repeat. Awesome.
• Nice choice of winners, (I could care less about the others but still) I commend The Academy for rockin' the votes.
• I so wanted to be Al Gore last night. Besides the multiple wins... Hand in hand with Leo? Ugh, he's overly blessed.
• Speaking of his gorgeousness, look at him with Kate Winslet! (my favorite British person) So pretty. And can you believe it? It's been exactly 10 years since Titanic won for Best Picture! And was it just a coincidence that Celine Dion was also present? Hahaha. You're totally singing that freakin' song in your head right now. We'll stay forevah this wayyyy.....
• And lastly, Best Supporting Actress nominee, Rinko Kukuchi. Our Asian cousin (with couture Chanel) redeems herself from that horrifying Golden Globes freakgown. Good job, san!

Alright. Awards season is over. Back to work for them, back to reality for me. I have SIX chapter tests this week and I've morphed into a bookworm. Yikes, very geeky. If you didn't see the Oscars, and are completely clueless of what I just talked about, I'm sorry. That was just me, enlarging my already bootylicious butt, doing some observations on TV, and gushing over Leonardo DiCaprio's Italian charm. Come back next time, I'm giving out Target giftcards, you don't want to miss that.

2am heebie-jeebies

noreply@blogger.com (KAI) — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 08:11:00 +0000

I've been basically working on a new template for 24 hours. I ran out of gas. So... as lectured by the weekly blue bag... recycle. Therefore, I did. Lame excuse, but I bet you hardly even remember it. Plus, it serves another purpose as a constant reminder to eat more fruits as the new season approaches. Not that I'll be gunning for that bikini body everybody will be obsessing on achieving in 3 months, but I'll simply TRY (again) to lose more. I had been swimming like Marina before fall and winter came along, and I felt lighter afterwards. So I'm planning on doing that again. In my yellow polka-dot extra large bikinis, no less. ;)

I told my dad I would get a job. He smiled. Probably thinking in his head, "it's about fuckin' time!" but I don't know... there's still this little senorita in me that fears the pressure of being commanded. Or being fired when I accidently fried the burgers when they're supposed to be grilled. But at the same time, I've been longing for that simultaneous flow of money. The kind of lifestyle where guilt is in no position to ruin your shopping sprees. If and when I get personal income, I won't have to pester my parents in luxuriating me with stuff they're not obligated to cater me anymore. I will be able to buy my own pleasure, bribe my brother to drive for me, and even pay for college fees. That's gotta be a lot of help to my parents, especially considering the fact that I'm still a palamunin at this age.

And most especially when your mom just recently told you, "wala kang pakinabang!" OUCH.

Did I really need to hear that? Again? Gee. Well, it's been 10 days since the last time I spoke to my mother. It's been awkward. I could tell. We're like not breathing the same air. I'd walk past her, she'd walk by me, we'd see each other in the eye, but we won't talk. Not a word.

I won't make the first move though. I have a really large ego, and when I get hurt, especially if I did nothing... I repeat, NOTHING... that's reasonably upsetting to you, I'm not gonna cuddle your upper thigh and beg for peace. My mother gets pissed at the simplest of things, and you won't even believe why she got angry at me to begin with. It's laughable even. But it hurts... It still hurts, especially when she acts as if we don't coexist. Or when I can't use her dryer, use more minutes on my phone, or borrow her huge pearl earrings. No kidding. Slight.

Tomorrow, or later (if you want to get technical), will be our third time hearing mass without making peace. Usually, I'd go right to her, give her a peck (during peace be with you session), and we'd be completely back to normal afterwards. But it's a different story this time. I felt like I was abused verbally and emotionally, and I'm not going forward again and make what happened seem fictional. This will probably cause me a lot, most notably a shortage of God's faith in my being a good Christian. But I'm really sorry Papa God, if I don't hold on to my pride, I'm afraid I might get into it again... much worse, get my stuff thrown out of the door only for the reason that I din't clean her toilent sink.