I Am Woman, See Me Blog!

Inspiration and Salvation from the Deep

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 18:19:00 +0000

I don't know about you, but there are times when I feel overwhelmed up to my uvula with the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life, yet feel overwhelmingly empty at the same time.

I guess my mind is filled with things that shouldn't bear thinking about, things that make me go d'oh! and d'uh? Things that I know don't make sense, but which still drive my one poor remaining brain cell into needless overdrive. Things that leave me questioning, unfulfilled, and empty.

It's during times like these I want to just dive into the deep, deep, blue. To leave my cares and worries up on the surface, where they can do the Macarena with the sunlight on the waves. To go deep, deep, deep, where they can't follow me. I just want to go where it's calm and blue and peaceful, a place where even the cold ceases to be a bother, a place where I can blissfully not give a shit where up or down or left or right is. A place where I don't have to care. A place where uncertainty, expectation, frustration, and disappointment don't exist.

Then my mind goes back to the time last year, when I did dive into the deep, deep blue of nothingness. (Well, I snorkeled actually, but what the hey.) I didn't do it to escape anything; no, not at all. I did it to see whether the creatures I had previously only read about and seen on TV were as awesome as they were said to be.

They were more than awesome. The first sight of them made me suck in my breath -- which isn't a good thing, something that dumbass snorkelers like me manage to forget. I ended up with lungfuls of seawater the first few minutes. But I'd had my glimpse of the first of those wonderful animals, and I wasn't going to settle for just a peek. So down again I went.

Swimming with those magnificent creatures -- it was an experience I will never, EVER forget. Mimi Lenox, the Queen of Bloggingham Palace (yes, she's royalty *curtsey, bob, bow*) dubbed me the woman who "Swims with Whale Sharks." You know, something kinda like Kevin Costner's Dances-with-Wolves or maybe Linda Lovelace's Swallows-It-All. (OK, I made that last part up. But she did, didn't she?)

I jokingly asked a friend to call me "Mistress of the Universe," but that's a title I can hardly live up to. I just thought it sounded super cool.

Before the encounter with the whale sharks, the guide told us that the whale sharks weren't to be touched. But I couldn't help myself, especially since they seemed to play with me, rising up and up until they were just inches away from me, letting my fingertips stroke them. Then they sank into the deep where I couldn't follow, to swim away. (Their skin felt like mossy stone to the touch, btw.)

In the video clip above, you can hear me uttering something like "Uhhhh-ooohhh-uhhhh-hmmmm-ahhhhh-ohhhhh" in at least two octaves to the whale shark. I was actually saying something like "you unbelievably beautiful, magnificent, unbelieveable gorgeous creature, you! Ohh you're incredible." That was just one whale shark in this vid; I swam with several of these awe-inspiring beings in one hour. And I crooned orgasmically to them all as well.

In those timeless, saltwater-soaked moments, the world as I knew it ceased to exist. Or maybe I should say the world shrank to something that was a lot smaller, but something that took on an awesome and awful dimension. In a way, it scared the hell out of me, but it liberated me at the same time. It was like I had found myself, at the same time finding something bigger within and without me. For a few moments, for a few deafening heartbeats, it was just me, that space of sea, and the whale sharks undulating inches from me. And I was unspeakably, ineffably happy.

Those whale sharks and the experience of swimming with them taught me a lesson. So now, whenever my world seems heavy and grey, I shut out everything I don't need and revel in the moment. That moment can include a child's slobbery kiss and tight hug, or maybe a friend making me laugh so hard I'm waking up my kids from their sleep, or maybe just watching the clouds turn pink, then russet, then a breathtaking orange at sunset.

It doesn't matter what it is or where I am. Deep blue sea or not, problems be damned, I'm learning to find happiness in the here and now.

Offspring Envy Schmenzy

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 18:41:00 +0000

I've heard there's such a thing. I even know some people who suffer from the affliction. Offspring envy is when the mom or dad -- or both -- feel envious of their child's characteristics and/or achievements. Then there's second-degree-offspring-envy. An example of this is when Adult A refuses to believe that the child of Adult B is better than Adult A's child; that whatever the child of Adult B has achieved, he or she couldn't have done it without the help of Adult B.

Confused? No worries. I am too.

What I am NOT confused about, however, is my near-absence of offspring envy. I say "near-absence" because there is some envy I feel, somewhat. I do envy my progeny to an extent. I envy them their youth and innocence, their fresh start at lucid life. I envy them the time where they are now in their lives, that still-pure and carefree period wherein any mistakes they commit, any wrong decisions they make, will have no lasting impact on how they live, laugh, learn and love.

But my so-called offspring envy is ultrananomicroscopic in comparison to the overwhelming blessedness I feel when I look at my children.

I don't feel sorry for myself because my daughters will grow up to be more beautiful than I ever could be. Their beauty becomes more evident as time passes, and I rejoice in it.

I don't feel insecure because my teenage son is now writing lines that go "I don't mean to be lazy, it's just that I have those moments that I don't realize that I'm being lazy. Perhaps I'm too lazy to even notice." -- a thought I could never have articulated that well when I was his age. The first time I read his blog, it took my breath away.

What I am is someone who is so proud of her children -- yet at the same time someone humbled by the hints of greatness that are emerging from within those beings who will and are becoming more than she could ever become.

Blind Spot

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 19:17:00 +0000

Sometimes, for one reason or another, you very nearly miss things of unbelievable beauty even when they're right next to you.

Case in point, the sunset in the picture. I had taken a photo of what I thought to be a beautiful sunset just a few minutes earlier. So I put me camera in me bag, sat down, and commenced licking my chops in anticipation of the early dinner we had ordered at the beach restaurant.

Just as we were finishing dinner, one of my companions (I don't recall which one exactly) said something like "Ohhh, look at that!"

Whereupon I swiveled 180 degrees in my seat, and saw this.

The riot of colors, their vividness splashing across the sky, simply took my breath away. The picture doesn't do justice to what was actually there in front of my eyes.

My beer and pizza lay forgotten on the table (something that doesn't happen frequently, believe me) as I stared transfixed at this blazing celestial photo-op. Dug for me camera in me bag, and skipped a few steps to attempt to digitally capture the moment for personal posterity.

Well, maybe not for posterity. Just an attempt to capture something so unbelievably beautiful, something to later reinforce that what I had seen wasn't just a figment of my imagination.

And to remind myself that no matter how pleasing or attractive whatever it is that is in front of me at the moment (e.g., beer and pizza), that I should pause every now and then to look around me -- to catch things of unexpected beauty that exist silently, which I would have missed because of my other, more earthly, preoccupations.

Picture taken in Tanjung Aru, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia. October 2009

Fine Times

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 17:59:00 +0000

Young people can be so funny.

They don't get fazed by new places. They don't care about how quickly the tides seem to turn. They don't care about sand being blown into their faces. They don't care about long walks, about hobnobbing with strangers.

I was in Boracay with some young people, members of my family, a few weeks ago. What I mentioned above are just a few things I observed from them.

So what if Boracay is one of my country's most pernicious tourist traps? So what if it wasn't the right time of the year to visit? So what if it isn't quite what the local and foreign websites make it out to be?

The first-timers had one hell of a time enjoying themselves, nevertheless.

So did the older-timers.

The experience was made even more pleasurable for me the older-timers seeing as how the first-timers were enjoying themselves in a new place, and, more importantly, experiencing a new place with people they love and who love them.

They danced.

They sang.

They laughed.

So did I. I couldn't help it. The dancing, the singing, the laughter, they were all contagious. OK, so maybe I didn't dance at all. But that doesn't mean I didn't feel my young relatives' exuberance. Even when I was convinced it was all a big conspiracy and the young ones were out to kill me.

I kid. They are good people, kind people, who manage to screw up sometimes (perhaps unwittingly)...but then, who doesn't? I'm proud to call them family, and I'm happy many of us got together recently to celebrate fun, happiness, and even some not-so-pleasant drunken moments with each other.

Amazing how the people you're with can color your experience of a place.

{Yes, DaddyP, I did get some baby powder-fine white sand in between my toes again...and perhaps in my undercrackers...right along with soothingly-aquamarine sea water.}

Heaven knows

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 20:41:00 +0000

Yes, I do identify with this song somewhat.

I've been a fan of Morrissey -- or the Smiths way back when. I was a lot younger then, just like Morrissey. I was perhaps a shade thinner than he is in the video.

I also had a mile-high coiffure that maintained its height and stiffness, thanks to hairspray. But I never left my shirt unbuttoned to the middle of my chest -- though I was as flat-chested as Morrissey back then (still am), nor did I have a sprig of anything in the back pocket of my jeans.

I was never a Morrissey lookalike, but I loved his music. That hasn't changed. Until today, more than 20 years after I was introduced to the music of The Smiths, the lyrics of many of their songs hold true for me.

In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I
Live or die

Save me some extra-hold mousse and a sprig of thyme, and happiness in the haze of a drunken hour. Let's make Caligula blush.

To Have and to Hold

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 18:30:00 +0000

There are some hot things I love to hold.

And to hold it in the shower!!!! Mmmmmm...

I gotta go visit this hotel soon.

Adios, Michael

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 23:16:00 +0000

After everything else has been said and done, one thing remains true -- at least for me: that he was a truly great performer and entertainer. I saw him in concert once, many years ago, and the experience blew me away to smithereens.

R.I.P., Michael. Thanks for the music and the memories.

Awoooo Wooooo Woooooooo

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 17:43:00 +0000

I was in the car with my friends Rudy and Marnie a few nights ago. The radio station was playing old, sappy love songs. A certain old song started, and we sang our hearts and lungs along to it.

The rainy night became even rainier.

The windows were rolled up, but I'm sure that outside, where we couldn't hear, all canines within a 10-kilometer radius inexplicably started howling.

What I found amazing (and for which I was endlessly ridiculed by the bastards I was riding along with) was that I knew the song's lyrics word-for-word, down to the last ohhh and ahhhh, when I never even owned a copy of the song. Hell, even I didn't realize I knew the words by heart. The realization emerged only that night.

Marnie and Rudy sang their hearts out, but they mangled the lyrics. Then they had the nerve to laugh at my ability to be word-perfect when it comes to sappy love songs? Even songs by *gasp* Billy Ocean? Sing along with me, c'mon, you know you want to.

I used to think that love was just a fairy tale
Until that first hello, until that first smile
But if I had to do it all again
I wouldn't change a thing, 'cos this love is everlasting

Suddenleeeeeeeeeeeee
Life has new meaning to meeeeeeee

Oh man. If I'm able to remember the lyrics to this song from so many years ago, a song that wasn't even a favorite of mine, and one that I don't have a personal copy of, what other things are lurking in my subconscious?

Whatever they are, I'm glad they're there.

There are so many things -- so many memories -- I don't want ever want to forget. And if even just one of them comes out one of these days when I feel the wind blow my hair a certain way, when cold beer slides down my throat in a memorable location, or when an obscure song plays on the radio and rekindles dormant memories that are important to me, making me sing like there's no tomorrow even when I can't carry a tune...then I'm happy.

Even at the expense of my dear friends' eardrums.

Fame Is Rot; Daughters Are the Thing

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 18:33:00 +0000

*mad applause to you if you know where the title comes from, and who said it (and no googling!)

Her nickname is Kitkat, but I call her my mini-me, because she's the one who resembles me the most physically.

When it comes to temperament and attitude though, the resemblance between me and her older sister is more evident. Shy to a fault, preferring to listen than to talk, content to sit unobtrusively somewhere and watch and absorb everyday sightings.

Not so the mini-me. She probably should've been christened Action.

She makes her opinions known, either through speech or body language, or both. And her body language is so very dynamic! Any moment she sits still somewhere, I worry that she's sick. That girl is one heck of a dynamo -- even when she's feeling a bit under the weather. I remember one time when she was running a fever, and her pediatrician asked me if she was getting up and walking. I replied that I hardly ever see mini-me "walk." Most of the time, she runs, or skips, or hops, or sings at the top of her voice, or wiggles her generous behind, or waves her arms. Quite often, it's a combination of several of those things.

She is pediatric poetry on steroids.

She's also the kind of person who can make you shake your head in exasperation or cause your brow to wrinkle in consternation -- and at the same time have your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest and shower the world with goodwill-plasma out of sheer love.

She's so very affectionate too. I can't count the number of times I've awakened to her sweeet butterfly kisses on my cheeks, eyelids, forehead, and lips. Her personal well of hugs is seemingly bottomless, just like her wells of laughter and love.

Happy 8th birthday, my baby girl. May your sparkling, buoyant wells never run dry. I love you.

I think I want a spanking...

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 16:46:00 +0000

Your Daddy Is Johnny Depp

What You Call Him: Old Man

Why You Love Him: He's the Mack Daddy

Who's Your Daddy?

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah...

My other virtual daddy isn't so bad either. I'm talking about none other than DaddyPapersurfer! He's crazy (that's why he's constantly under threat of being disowned by his family) but he's cool too.

I won a DaddyPapersurfer T-shirt in April, and he sent it over to me from the UK. Poor old git was complaining about how he had to take out a mortgage to cover the postage.

It was worth it, DaddyPee! I promise to love and cherish the shirt, and maybe will it to one of my children -- if they do something bad.

Which reminds me, one of them asked, "What's a DaddyPapersurfer?"

Me: You mean THE DaddyPapersurfer! There's only one of him, thank God.

(And I left it at that. Didn't want to scar their young minds.)

(Daddy Papersurfer stoked me and I liked it!)

A-weigh we go!

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 21:58:00 +0000

50 kilos. That's 110 pounds to you, my Americanian friends.

That was my heaviest weight when I was in college.

Today, I weigh considerably more than that. And earlier tonight, at a reunion with old college buddies, I heard one old friend say, I'm "fucking fat." He hasn't seen me in nearly 20 years (good lord! 20 years!) so I imagine the comparison between what I looked like in my late teens and the present reality is quite an eyeful.

Strangely, I wasn't at all offended. The way this old decades-missed friend said I'm fat was the same way he would've said I have black hair, or that I have two eyes or two legs. Very matter-of-fact. No malice or offense intended. My reaction (crybaby) was so very different from comments made in the same vein by the friends I go with regularly now.

Getting together with old friends you haven't seen in eons is sooo good -- BMI notwithstanding.

**********

I spent a few days last week in a place called Boracay here in the Philippines. Expensive tourist trap that it's become, it still holds an allure for me. Maybe because I have delightful and yummylicious memories of previous times I spent there.

More Boracay pics I took last week here.

Testing

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 28 May 2009 15:11:00 +0000

This is just a test. Connection is choppy, but San Miguel beer is nice and coool -- cold, in fact. They call it "sub-zero" because the bottle is all nice and frosted outside.

Oh, well. I'll try again tomorrow. Cheers!

Tits

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 27 May 2009 18:34:00 +0000

So here I am, sitting in a beach-front bar, enjoying a cold bottle of the golden stuff.

Lots of nationalities here. The guys at the bar are talking loudly in some incomprehensible language that's known in some quarters as the Queen's English (volubly arguing for or against the merits of Manchester Utd. and/or Barcelona as they watch the game). My untutored ears find the accent funny. Wot? Wot? WOOOOOO! But in a GOOD way, so no offense meant, DaddyP.

The French guys sitting at the next table are more subtle, murmuring and stuff. I know they're French because once in a while, I understand what they're saying (I speak baby French).

Then one of them said something like tetons. Some of them looked at me and smiled widely. I smiled back tentatively. My tetons are nothing to write home about, nor are they worthy of any kind of conversation! Moi, paranoid, much?

I need another beer.

Hey, DaddyP, here's a nice pic of a tit for you! (Not mine though)

First Decade

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 25 May 2009 18:35:00 +0000

Several decades ago, I remember waking up and thinking, "today I'm a decade old."

I distinctly remember thinking that word, decade, and I'd like to think it made me feel more sophisticated about growing older. Who was I kidding, I knew next to nothing about sophistication at ten years old.

What I do know is that there was a sense of importance attached to the event, like turning a decade old was somehow important in the relative smallness of the-child-I-was-then's life. For reasons I still can't understand, it was a milestone of sorts.

Today my daughter reaches that milestone.

And suddenly I feel decades older than my usual decades...but I'm happy.

I love you, my Noni, my Noni (there's a certain inflection or tone there that only her mommy is capable of accomplishing, and she loves it).

Happy 10th birthday, my darling.

A Midsummer Night's Dream, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 21 May 2009 17:30:00 +0000

If you like the Beatles, you'll probably ~~like~~ adore this.

If you're a Shakespeare fan who doesn't mind parodies of his plays, then you'll probably appreciate this too.

I'm both of those creatures, and the clip below never fails to crack me up. (Besides, a British accent always makes me giggle...but in a GOOD way, so don't get your knickers in a twist, DaddyP. You and your non-existent Liverpudlian accent[?])

John's my favorite Beatle, for many reasons besides his being a kickass Thisbe. But I think if I ever took any quiz about Beatle personalities, I'd probably be a George. I love John's humor and wit, but George's (mostly silent) depth and enigma touch me in places I didn't know existed within me. It really is too bad these two talented men are no longer here with us.

I posted a similar clip before, I think, but I think it was in black and white. This one is in color (or colour as those who follow the Queen's English spell it). And I still laugh.

Laughter can bring so much color, vividness, and extra dimensions to some of the things I previously thought of only in black and white. Amazing.

Happily ever after and all that shit

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Tue, 19 May 2009 22:23:00 +0000

Technology is so amazing. It can bring back to life moments so truly wonderful -- even if I had been there to witness and feel the experience firsthand in all its sweaty, exhilaratory glory.

And I WAS there. But seeing it online again is a pleasure I can immerse myself in over and over again.

They didn't show this song in the television network telecast a few weeks after the show took place. It was understandable having the network forgo showing the band's performance of their groundbreaking song "Pare Ko," since it includes lyrics that some might think of as profane. (Personally, I think the "profanity" is not at all out of context. I, for one, have thought at least once that being in a fool in love is a son of a bitch. That's what the band said in the song.)

What I didn't like about the TV network's telecast was that they left out a lot of the band's songs. Songs that weren't hits in their eyes. I'm so glad someone put up great-quality clips of the less popularly known Eraserheads songs that I love.

I wish I could go back to those fairy book tales
Forget the real world awhile and seek the seas of the talking whales

Where everything starts out once upon a time long, long ago
And ends happily ever after

Or so the uncommercially-popular song I love goes. It hits a sensitive spot, strangely.

Someone point me to the place of wishing wells and magic spells? :-D

Hey, Andy, Did You Hear About This One?

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 13 May 2009 20:14:00 +0000

Once upon a time, my now-16-year-old boy was just a wee, chubby toddler. During those wee, chubby toddler years he had a best friend -- another chubby little one in the person of his cousin, Andrea. She was a few years older than him, but that didn't make a difference in their friendship.

They truly were the best of friends. That isn't to say the friendship was trouble-free; like most BFF's at that age, they had their petty squabbles. But most of the time, they had a blast doing all sorts of things: from playing Playstation games to watching cartoons together to just hanging out and just talking.

But change, as it is known to do, entered the picture drastically some years later. Andrea and her family relocated to Australia several years ago. Earlier this year, they became Australian citizens. In the years since their move abroad, other changes occurred: Andrea learned to drive a car (and soon bought a car of her own), she developed a penchant for body piercings, and cultivated a taste for all things "gothic."

The friend she left behind (my son) underwent quite a few changes over the years too, since they've been apart. He grew A LOT taller (he's taller than my 5'8" frame now), his voice has become A LOT deeper, and he has experimented with piercings too -- though nothing beyond his ears. I feel sad that he and his cousin Andrea (now known as Andy) didn't go through all these changes together, especially since they were so close when they were younger.

The closeness has prevailed to a great extent, I'm glad to say. Thank heavens for modern VoIP technology; they chat in real time, share what's new, and just talk. Milestones are never forgotten; in fact, when my son graduated from high school, Andy and her older sister even sent him a graduation gift. He appreciated that a lot, but I could tell he wanted the presence of his cousins even more. Long-distance loving can strike a chord of dissatisfaction sometimes.

This post is a tribute to my beloved niece Andy. She leaves teenage-hood today, kicking and screaming in protest, but in vain. Relax, Andy. In just than ten years from now, you'll be saying bye-bye to your twenties. Bwahahahaaaa...

But no matter how many years go by, I believe you'll still be an angel, a gorgeous one that Josh -- your BFF -- and your other cousins, will always love and adore. Happy Birthday!!!

Exotic Food a la Americana?

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Mon, 11 May 2009 16:44:00 +0000

I hope this isn't the American fast food industry's contribution to solving world hunger.

(Though I can think of a fellow blogger or two who'd probably have no qualms trying out this particular cheeseburger.)

[Image courtesy of SPOGG (Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar). I think Martha's site is awesome, check it out!]

A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 07 May 2009 18:20:00 +0000

So what if there's a typhoon coming in? There's no stinking storm that has been able to stop the young ones from creating weird faces underwater so far.

It can't stop mother and teenage son from smiling for the camera beneath gallons and gallons of water too.

Nor does it keep them from being effervescent and bubbly (or ectoplasmic maybe?)

"Mist" messages take on a new meaning during glassy, chilly, rainy evenings

Sorry to say Mama's half face is nowhere near as gorgeous as Mimi's

But that's OK. She still manages to maintain her cool.

Until the next time a bastard typhoon in her life tries to bring her spirits down.

Take Your Cat and Leave My Sweater

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Tue, 05 May 2009 21:10:00 +0000

...metaphorically speaking, of course. My thoughts are jumping hither and thither, so I apologize if this post makes no sense.

Pretty boys, ugh.

I like 'em scruffy. Makes me want to give them a long, hot, loving bath. If they have a talent with the guitar, so much better. Bassists, oo-la-la.

I have a soft spot for bass players (bajistas); I look at the bass player (and perhaps the drummer) first when I'm watching a band's live performance. John Taylor (play that fuckin' bass, John!) and Flea...oh yeah, yeah, yeah.

Finding out that my teenage son loves bass too -- indeed, he's the bass player for the ragtag band he and his friends formed -- was such an unexpected pleasure. I told him he was driving me crazy by playing "Stand by Me" all the time, but I really loved it.

But back to scruffy men. Did I mention I like 'em raw, unpolished...manly? (Though I'm sure manly, polished men like DaddyP have their own following.) Keith Urban is all these and more in this video. (And he has a guitar.) Yes, I am thinking naughty thoughts about Nicole Kidman's husband. He won't go to hell, because I'm the one who's doing all the thinking.

I'm not country music's biggest fan, not by a veeeery long shot. But this song, I'm a big fan of. Doesn't matter why. We all of us react to music (and most anything else) differently from other people. What's corny for one man is a tear-jerker for another. What's icky for one woman is criminally hot for another.

Mr. Urban is sizzzzzzzzling hot for me. In this video, at least. (Did I mention I'm liking the song very much too?)

Cry, baby

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 19:37:00 +0000

I was talking to a friend who loves to watch movies and the conversation turned to how certain movies affected us. He said he can't recall a movie that ever made him cry.

I'm cut from a different cloth, because I can't even remember all the movies that have made me cry. Not just drama movies, mind you. Home Alone made me teary-eyed, so did Monsters, Inc. (That one was particularly sweet.)

Movies aren't the only ones that can activate my tear ducts. Books can do this. So can some TV shows. (I remember how almost every episode of ER and more recently, Brothers & Sisters made my eyes fill up.) Certain songs bring a lump to my throat. Hell, even TV commercials, like this very touching local McDonald's ad, can set my mouth a-tremblin' and start the tears a-rollin'.

The ad is in Tagalog, but you don't have to know the language to get the message. I also love this commercial because they used one of my favorite songs by the best Filipino band ever! (according to moi)

Media aside, it's easy to make me cry. I cry when someone I love is hurting, or when I receive a touching letter or spontaneous hug from my children, or when I'm at a funeral, or when heartache rears its despicable head. One thing I've never experienced though, and which I hope I never will, is something that's so bad that it's beyond crying about. Something like what Wordsworth referred to in his Intimations of Immortality: thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

However, it's also easy to make me laugh. Yeah, I know, I'm an easy girl. :-D I've laughed so hard so many times that my eyes became red from crying. Thinking about all the wrinkles I'll be getting from it is almost enough to make me cry now.

But back to movies. The last movie I can remember that really, really made me cry was I Am Sam. I was alternating between hyperventilating and hiccupping from sobbing so hard. What about you? Was there ever a movie (or TV show or book or whatever) that made you bawl like an abandoned baby?

Exercise in futility

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Fri, 24 Apr 2009 17:12:00 +0000

Has this ever happened to you? You see or hear or experience something during the course of the day, and you think, "man, I gotta blog about this!"

Then a measly hour or two later, when you get access again to your computer, the brilliant idea is gone. Just like a snowflake with its nanosecond of fame in hell.

I've been racking (wracking?) my brain the past few minutes, trying to recall what this terrific idea I had, was. Let's see if going into regression mode will help any.

Spent the evening with one of my beloved brothers and his wife in a bar. We drank beer.

Nope, my idea wasn't about beer. Now that I think of it, though, I'll mention that the staff recommended we try Coors light. We politely declined. No offense to Coors fans out there, but we've tried Coors before and we did not like its taste at all. Not one tiny bit. So we stuck to our local San Miguel Pale Pilsen (whose taste and flavor kicks Coors' AND San Miguel Light's asses in a major way, but that's just our opinion).

(I can't help saying that San Miguel Light is a poor excuse for a beer, but again, that's just my personal opinion. It sucks! It's an insult to the beer that San Miguel is known for. OK, enough of that. Shut up already, Lizza.)

So my idea didn't have anything to do with beer. Did it have anything to do with the food? All we had was calamari. It was OK, but nothing to write home about. Scratch the food idea.

Did it have anything to do with the band that was playing? Hmmmm. Perhaps. I do remember they performed a cover of a certain song that's something like a national anthem for drinkers, bar-goers and strip-joint-goers here. Hardcore bar- strip joint-goers will practically stand up and salute when this song plays. :-D

I never realized until tonight that I could actually sing along to it. Jeez.

The band at the bar tonight did an awesome version of this song. It's called Luha or "Tears," by a band called Aegis. It's a Tagalog song, so apologies to my non-Filipino friends since you won't be able to understand it. It talks about tears and love and get-the-hell-out-of-my-face, yadda yadda. Still a great song, though.

I, for one reason or another, have never visited a strip joint. But I did enjoy this night's cover of that song in the bar I went to. The routine they do (or so they say) at the local strip joints for this song has been described to me in great detail. I could probably do it, if I weren't laughing so hard. (And if I didn't have to use the pole, and if I had the type of awesome body to do it!)

What was the point of this post again? Ohh, the awesome post thing. Nope, haven't recovered it.

I'll let you know once I do.

EDIT: Now I remember!!! It has something to do with voice, so I'll talk about that one next.

It's raining men...oh no!

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 22:21:00 +0000

What does one do when she is in need of some ha-ha-ha moments? She goes to CelebMatch.com, of course. You lovely males can have fun there, too.

What I did was enter my birthdate, and they came up with several male celebrities I'm most compatible with, according to their biorhythm computations.

Ergo, my results.

I live under a rock (or its metaphorical equivalent) so I have absolutely no freakin' idea who these men are. But hey, they're supposed to be the best men out there for me -- and they're celebrities to boot (though I'd never heard of them), so the least I could do was to check them out.

Celebrity Match #1: FERNANDO COLUNGA

Jeezus on a rusty bicycle. This is the man that CelebMatch.com thinks is my best bet??? Can I just pass Go and collect $200? Notwithstanding the impressive bulge in his swimsuit, he just isn't the type of guy who I'd invite to warm my waffles. No offense to bodybuilders, but Terminator-type men leave me cold.

CelebMatch.com proclaims Colunga and me to be 100% physically compatible. (That does sounds promising.) Emotionally, he and I are supposed to be 94% compatible. (He's as much of an emotional basket case as I am?) We do even better intellectually, at 98%. (Maybe he's even more of an infuriating smartass than I am!)

The other men I'm supposedly compatible with:

Celebrity Match #2: JASON O'MARA

Not bad, but the milk-and-cookies guy isn't my type either.

Celebrity Match #3: MATTHEW LILLARD

See comment above.

Celebrity Match #4: JASON KIDD

OMG. Please, oh please, all the powers that be, I'll do anything, just please, spare me!

Celebrity Match #5: SCOTT SPEEDMAN

He kinda looks like the venerable JC, doesn't he?. Maybe if I pray to him, I'd be spared from someone like Celebrity Match #4.

These are the men who I'm biorhythmically compatible with? If so, shower me with the damn hellfire & brimstone now because I am doomed I tell you, doomed! (And so are they, if each of these men's significant other is someone like me.)

I also did a search on one of my ultimate celebrity crushes, and this is what CelebMatch said:

I'm probably too dumb for Ryan Reynolds, but physically and emotionally, he and I are a match! Yeah, right, in my dreams. Doesn't seem like he's classic Oscar Award material, but I don't care. I still think he's way yummy-licious. More importantly, he never fails to make me laugh, especially during his deadpan moments.

Oh, Wade! Prolly my favorite male mutant after Logan.

Perchance to dream (3 in 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 20:44:00 +0000

Runaround?

I've heard tell that the more we love, the greater the returns. But if you truly love another without reserve, how can it even enter your mind to expect something in return? Maybe some kinds of love require some form of reciprocity, but what the hell do I know.

What I do know is that I have the utmost regard for one of my dearest blogger friends who doesn't let his/her love for a certain person adversely affect his/her psychological health. He/she continues to love and be supportive, but he/she doesn't just sit around and wait for him/her to come around.

(You/you know who you/you are. I hope I'm doing OK to protect your/your privacy. Inom na lang kaya tayo.)

*****

In the Darkness, the Trees Are Full of Starlight

I'm such a lucky bastard. I have three children whom I love with my whole heart and then some, and who adore me. I have a mother who'd (almost) brave hell and high water for her children's benefit (double that power if my dad were still alive). I have two brothers and a sister who have nothing else but been 101% supportive. I have a handful of friends who are TRULY friends, deeply and sincerely.

So...

Why this overwhelming feeling of bereftness, of isolation, of abject loneliness during my darkest moments? In those moments, I'm truly on my own... pretending, making believe, wholeheartedly missing someone and something. At just the right moment, my saving grace enters the picture. Thank you. You have no idea how much you save me from myself. But you probably know how much I love and appreciate you, my sweetie smartypants, my terrific friends.

By the way, I blame the woman in the following video for my lack of singing ability. She and I share the same birthdate, and she probably caught most of the singing talent here in the Philippines that God was giving out that particular time. I, on the other hand, was probably out scouting the best beer sources that day. That's why she sings like an angel and I can drink like the devil.

Seriously, her voice moves me. As it has so many others. She is a recipient of a Tony Award and a Laurence Olivier Award for her role in the musical "Miss Saigon." (She was the original Kim.)

*****

Bokeh Dreams

Lately I've again started having vivid, colorful dreams that both exhilarate and scare the shit out of me. I call them "bokeh dreams." This is how Wikipedia defines bokeh:

Bokeh (derived from Japanese, a noun boke 暈け, meaning "blurred or fuzzy") is a photographic term referring to the appearance of point of light sources in an out-of-focus area of an image produced by a camera lens using a shallow depth of field.

So many of my bokeh dreams, vivid as they are, are slightly out of focus in that they don't come true exactly as I dream about them. For example, one time I dreamed about my gang coming together from all over the world because one of us died. In reality, a few weeks after the dream, we all came together because a member of one friend's family died.

Do you understand what I mean about my bokeh dreams? The reality is there, but it's slightly out of focus. Now, if only I can teach myself to dream more accurately and target winning lottery numbers. :-)

My latest bokeh dream was so vivid I actually smelled the sea and felt the sand on my legs and ass right after I woke up. I'm going again to a place with white sands and aquamarine waters in a few weeks; I don't know, though, what the dream bodes.

But if there's nothing there in store for me other than lovely aquamarine water, fine white sand, and breathtaking sunsets (and happy hour!) I have no complaints. Questions, oh yes. Complaints, no.

Eye and soul candy

noreply@blogger.com (Lizza) — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 18:55:00 +0000

Chaos, turbulence...uncertainty at the very least.

These are only some of the things we feel at one point or another in our lives. Sometimes it can even feel like we're drowning in despair, or maybe feel like our lungs are bursting just trying to stay in place.

So what if the world seems off-balance every now and then? So what if we feel like [insert the appropriate derogatory adjective here] once in a while?

Then you go do something you love, or go do something different.

What I love about being a Filipina and living in the Philippines is that there's no shortage of new things I can do. Heck, with more than 7,000 islands in my country, there's always something novel for me to see and do.

My recent trip to Bicol is awesome proof of that.

I got my toes -- and the rest of my body -- immersed in fine, white, powdery beach sand, plus warm ocean waters in Bicol's Caramoan Peninsula.

Feasted my eyes on yummy-licious eye candy at the 2009 WWA Wakepark World Championships. *slurp*

But, by far, the best part of the holiday had to do with the non-legged creatures.

I'm referring to the whale sharks ("butanding") in Donsol. They were so big, they boggled my mind. Around 40 feet?? I read somewhere that the great explorer Jacques Cousteau saw just two whale sharks in his lifetime.

Lucky bastard that I am, I swam with SIX in one hour.

I could've swum with even more whale sharks, but my legs were shaking from exhaustion after just one hour. I am neither an endurance swimmer nor a strong swimmer by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I'd love to do it all over again. But next time, I'll try not to make my crooning to them sound so orgasmic-like.

If I can help it. They are such magnificent creatures.
(The rest of my Bicol photos here: My Flickr page)