As I write this post I suck on some strawberry Strepsils and sip more water. I should be sleeping already. Like it's quarter to two in the morning on a Saturday but I am still up. And it's not because I have been in a party. No parties for me, no margaritas, no boys, or girls for that matter. I decided to stay home after bringing some chocofudge cheesecake to my foster parents' place. 

But I'm still up and listening to Gnarls Barkley, a gift from Mr. Gigolo, with a scratchy throat and wishing and hoping I don't get sick because hello, I'm Unemployed. I have to pick up my friend who will be staying with me over the weekend. Since the ship is arriving at 6 AM I decided to sleep early because I could never wake up at 5 in the morning even if I set an alarm. But this waiting is making me more sick.

Me and my friend haven't seen each other for years and while I like to hang out, I am feeling grumpy and bitchy because I just want to stay in bed and get better. The thought of having to entertain and be cheerful is giving me a foul mood. I want to stay in bed. I. Am. Sick. Leave. Me. Alone.

The past few days I've been going to bed and waking up sicker than the previous day and this is troubling because I remember feeling a scratch in my throat the day before I flew to Cebu. And the fact that I don't want to spend my money buying medicine or seeing the doctor goes to show how broke I am. 

And I know I should stop smoking while I clear myself from this possible cough and cold and sniffles. And I am disappointed at myself for not having the discipline to not light a stick. Maybe I can try not to light up this whole weekend. Or maybe I should go back to sleep to get better and let my friend wait until 10 AM.

~o~o~o~o~

Update: I didn't make my friend wait. I was prompt and was at the pier at 6 AM :-) I think my Strepsils are helping but a nagging feeling is telling me it's more my happy pills that is making me feel better... Anyhoo, all's well, I never realized how much I missed her til I saw her and got to laugh with her again.

I heard his name said a lot of times even before we met. Usually it came from women. Sexy, chubby, confident, shy, long haired, short haired, even lesbians. All these women say and act the same way when his name gets mentioned, “Do I know Neil?!“ eyes would widen with excitement and a smile would break their face then they would say “Yes, I know him“ and in a tone lower they would whisper “He's so cute“ and then a giggle would enthuse. 

They said he had boyish features like a freshman and nerdy glasses that made him cuter and his forever tousled bedhead made all my female colleagues want to get closer to him and get his number. When he smiles at snappy clients they quiet down and relax. This made me curious, I wanted to meet him. But I've learned to rein my curiosity already and not to ask for any introductions. A few weeks later my boss said that I will be working with him for a year. Cool. 

My boss introduced us and as I smiled at him and looked at his face, his eyes conveyed curiosity and doubt. I on the other hand agreed with the rumors but (yes there is a BUT) he was not my type. Something was off, I can't put a finger on it, but I knew that something is different about him. As we both stared at each other with cautious smiles and a firm handshake we both wondered what kind of relationship lies ahead of us. 

We became a good team, better than most. His charisma was able to increase clientele. My cut throat attitude and decisive nature ensured delivery. Together we had the customers all smiles and coming back over and over as new customers became regulars too. He balanced my temperament with his good natured laugh. I handled emergencies and roadblocks as he watched helpless. It was one hell of a tandem. It was a match made in BusinessManagementLand. People got curious. And then the rumors of an office affair started. When Neil and I heard of it we laughed and work more like conspirators on a big cover up. All along, I had the feeling that I was not his type too. That meant peace.

And like all good things, the year was over. I said goodbye to the industry to start fresh somewhere else while he stayed and decided to become more competitive. There was no formal goodbyes, no exchanging of number, no false promises of emailing each other. 

That was five years ago. Today, out of the blue, I decided to see him. I knew where he worked all these years but I was too busy to visit. 

He was smiling when he looked at me as he stepped out the office. I invited him for lunch and we tried catching up to each others deeds and misdeeds all the time laughing at each other's fiasco. He still looked the same even if he has no bedhead anymore... cute, boyish, sweet. I was looking down on my fish when he asked “So do you have a boyfriend?“ I paused for a second and tried not too look too focus on my fish but at the same time wished I would be able to pick a bone out this fillet tuna so that I could change the subject make him forget he asked and move along to a safer topic. 

The opposite sex doesn't ask if one has a beau without any intention behind the question. And the intention was something I wasn't prepared for. And I could not find a single bone on the fish. Damn. Just eat the fish and try not to teeter over his questions, Darla.

Me: “No I don't have a boyfriend.“ 

Neilski: “What!? No boyfriend?!? You!?!“ 

Me: *groan* “I don't“

Neilski: *still looking shocked and in disbelief*

Me: “Okay, I had one. We broke up. We're still friends. But it's over.“ *bracing my shoulder*

Neilski: “Why did you break up?“

Me: “He was getting started to do things that I want to retire from already. I respected his choices. I love him but I love myself more.“

Neilski: *looking quite solemn* “What are did he wanted to start?“

Me: “Be a gigolo.“

Neilski: “Like being paid or just the regular playboy?“

Me: “I didn't ask him that. Maybe the latter.“ 

Neilski:*extends his arm and holds my left hand* “I'm sorry“

Me: *grinning but my mind was climbing up my defense wall* “I'm not sorry. It was sad but it's better now.“

Neilski: *nods and let my hand go*

Me: *sighed because my mind was being prodded by a societal taser* “Well, do you have a girlfriend?“ *chews a forkful of fish, it tasted bland*

Neilski: “No girlfriend...“

Me: *looked at him and waited* *my mind hoping he would say anything besides getting on my pants or shredding my clothes, he's not my type, he's not my soul mate*

Neilski: “I went out“

Me: *poking on my fish* “Mmhmm“ *did I hear him say he went out?*

Neilski: “I went out“ *saying it a little slower*

Me: *looked at him* “Okay“ *did he mean out like I think he meant out?*

Neilski: *pulls at his phone and starts clicking then passed it to me* 

Me: *looked at the screen and then smiles*

Neilski: “He's my boyfriend. I went out.“

Me: *looked up grinning* “I think I knew all these years.“

We planned to get drinks later tonight and meet his boyfriend. I felt suddenly ridiculous for worrying, foolish of my presumptions and relieved to hear the confessions. As I said goodbye, he kissed my cheek and I felt safe. He said he will call me later so he can pick me up but I couldn't concentrate because I can feel his hand on my butt.

I was meaning to blog about the challenges of eating (the Darla way) as soon as I opened my computer but something distracted me as I logged in to Friendster.

My mind gave a silent gasp when I saw the number under “Who's Viewed Me?“. 97 times since 3/1/2008. Don't get me wrong, I am self-absorbed as any person in the same block and enjoy the attention. It wasn't the number of views that got me distracted, it was the faces behind the number. Okay, not really faces. Lest I hurt the people I love and adore. It was only A FACE. Just one person who got me distracted and opened up emotions that are still raw and painful. Seeing her face made me want to obliterate her. Seriously. 

I started pep talking myself.  No need to go to a corner and rock back and forth while my blood boils. It's not right to hate that bovine bitch. Even if until now, months after, I can still feel the knife at my back. Even if she bragged to her subordinates that she has no weakness BUT her greatest accomplishment in the Corporation was having “removed a manager“. Oh wow! What a feat indeed. That would cause a hullabaloo in a résumé. It's all water under the bridge, bitch.

There's only one problem: hi, I'm Darla and even if I have love wedged somewhere in my name, I can hate. Exceedingly. Hate.

I figured a good dose of walking and shoe hunting would do the trick. Ayala was just 2 blocks away. That should clear my head.

So I got primped and glossed. I'd never know who I could come across so I gotta be ready. But even if I didn't meet anyone familiar I was with an arm candy and I sure want to be able to match him. 

Me and my arm candy were talking about where to get our super delayed lunch and we decided Japanese   because of my eating preferences (yes, I have preferences now. Darla the Wrester's diet is dead) as we climbed the stairs from the basement parking.

When we turned to walk to the escalator, I got distracted again and my mind uttered a single word.

"Bitch!!!"

Oh not that bovine bitch that I saw in “Who's Viewed Me?“ but another bitch. A knocked up bitch. I guess she's now formerly knocked up. But who really cares.

I should commend her because she looked at me directly and smiled. She smiled like we are friends. She smiled like she was glad to see me. What the fuck?!?

If Mr. Gigolo hears me he'd cluck at my potty mouth. 

I felt my facial muscles tense and for a good second I stared down at her which made her look away. Yeah right bitch. We're not friends. We used to be but the knife you stuck on my back is actually longer than the knife stuck by the bovine bitch. I remember you said before, “I forgive but I don't forget“.

Here's a newsflash for you, I don't forgive when I won't forget. And what you and other bitches did is something unforgettable. You will always be in the top five of my hate list.

So don't smile at me. Don't small talk to me. Don't make me one of your references. If by happenstance you and the other bitches stumble on me online or offline, shut your pie hole and leave. I made my amends a long time ago and I have no guilt.

~o~o~o~o~

On a positive note, I did ask my arm candy (who was a silent witness when I was ambushed by back stabbers) why I have so much hate. He smiled and said he doesn't know. But he added, “Maybe coz you're Darla.“ How comforting.

~o~o~o~o~

On a more positive note, Bitter Bastard (BB) chatted me that I should have made small talk with the (formerly) knocked up bitch and said, “Will you take the knife from my back? You'll probably need it again.“

Traveling is still something that I have yet to master. That's too broad. Packing for traveling is still something that I have yet to master. Either I am too scatter brained or I need lists for me not to forget something when I pack for a trip. I always leave something behind. And it's something that I would need. 

Take for example my previous trip to Boracay. I packed hours in advance while I was still sober just to make sure I don't leave anything behind. I was pretty positive I brought everything and was enjoying this success of finally being able to take with me everything that I brought to Boracay only to receive a text message from Tanduay Babe that I left my favorite bikini. 

I was able to retrieve it when I came back but I badly missed that bikini.  Right now I'm waiting to board my plane to Manila and I realized I left 3 things: my hair brush, my cold medicine, and my shades. How can I possibly leave my hair brush? My hair will be all over and it would tangle up. Thinking of borrowing The Colonel's comb is making me groan. I suppose I can do without my cold medicine but my shades... I'm going to the beach and this is not going to be fun at all. 

I have now started a mental list of places to go so I can get shades but reality hit me...All shops are closed on Good Friday. This is giving me an unshakeable sadness. I try convincing myself that it won't matter but it doesn't really comfort me. I need my happy pills...if I can just find it.

On a rare occasion you may just make me speechless. In my 28 years, and more recently the last five years, I have caught my self speechless so far on these three occasions:

• in a fight
  
• offered a really sweet compliment
  
• after being given an indecent proposal
  

Today, I add one more to the list that makes me speechless:

• in an uncalled for opportunity
  

Sometimes, despite the noise I am surrounded with of the absence of silence, I mentally retreat from everything and go inside a room with parquet floors and wood grain vinyl walls. In this room I am eight again and I walk towards a wooden study table and pull a drawer and start picking a piece of oslo papers and a brush. I pull down the foldable table and sit down. Then as i grip the paintbrush and wet the tip with water I am brought back to my present surroundings and my room vanishes only to reappear again later.

Yes, I used to paint using watercolors, dry and oil pastels, tempera. And I used to draw using charcoal, colored pencils, crayons, and silverpoint. I had stacks of papers of landscapes, still life, and abstracts. While other children enjoy playing with dolls and patintero I was contented painting and drawing. When discovered calligraphy I was mesmerized that I could make beautiful letters and numbers compared to a typewriter. My brushes and paints were my closest friends because they open up a different rabbit hole that I can explore at my own pace without the rushing and without forcing.

I wanted to learn from the best painters in the country. I dreamt people would look and be captivated to explore the rabbit holes that I have seen and been. These art works calmed the tempest moods in me and the I felt unique and special like Tanduay Girl and 3rd Mate. Being middle and invisible to my parents eyes and affection didn't matter when I am bent down mixing colors and my sure strokes hide the whiteness of the paper.

One December family reunion, I noticed a small painting on the wall of my uncle's house. It was a still life and the paint looked fresh and wet. We were taught not to touch things without permission but I couldn't contain myself and my small fingers reached up to touch it and was surprised to discover the paint was actually dry. I asked my uncle if I could hold the painting and he brought it down for me to look more closely at. I stared at it for a long time, my eyes exploring every inch of the painting. I asked if I can touch it and he said yes. My fingers slowly touched the the painting try to feel every bump and enjoying the texture of it. That was the day I fell in love with oil and was excited to explore it. It had no rabbit holes it was a movement of color and strokes that can bring me very far. 

On the way home I asked if I they can please buy me a canvas and oil paint. I was told that those were expensive and that I should consider some other hobby because painting doesn't feed. If I become a painter I would surely be hungry, I was told. When we got home, my paint, my brushes, my pens, my papers were removed and thrown. No more painting, no more drawing, no more rabbit holes. 

Eight years after, I was bent over with a scalpel on my right hand and a Kelly forceps on my left. As I made the first cut on the abdomen of the frog I paused to check if my sleeping frog was bleeding, the lab work required that no blood vessel be severed in order for us to watch the heart pump blood to all blood vessels. My professor peered at my work, "Good. Carry on." I bent over again and whispered to my frog my gratitude for his sacrifice. I was about to go out of the room after lab when my professor stopped me with a question, "Do you paint?" I whispered I did. He nodded and said that explains my wrist and steady hands. 

Today I visited my foster parents and was greeted with tall canvases. I stopped at the first canvas and said that this is a beautiful watercolor landscape. My foster dad looked at me surprised but pleased. He said that he wanted me to meet the painter and there I met in person Siegfredo Rosales Galan. A half painted canvas was in front of him and we both looked at it. A single word escaped my lips, "Oil". 

I felt Mr. Galan's eyes watching my face and after a couple of minutes he said "Yes. Would you want to learn? I can teach you."  

I looked at him incredibly a thousand words and a thousand fears sprang in me but I could not say a word.

I had a night out last week with my friends in The Corporation. My pathetic life was, for a couple of hours, packed with people who I once worked with and smiled with and really mean it. Except for a minor blip of questionable characters popping up once in awhile and exclaiming “Darla!!!” and would sit with us to hob nob everything went well quite smoothly.  

These minor blip of questionable characters who popped once in awhile saying my name and would sit with us to hob nob are really a piece of work. You would love them. And I mean reeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaally looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove them. They're the kind of people who would smile when you're riding on the top but wouldn't hesitate to devour you like vultures when you go down down down your lofty place. I wanted to shoo them off the table but out of respect to my friends who still work there I didn't. Sure I probably froze some of them, but I couldn't care less. Not then. Not now. Not ever. As they sat with us I can see the hunger in their eyes. Mmmmm...I think I'll throw some juicy scraps to these vultures for fun.  

Despite the sudden abortion from The Corporation 3 months ago I am still very much gossiped in the office and this was something I shared to AA. I feel like I am on some extended leave because people still talk to me about the latest office rumors and I am still talked about. There is an invisible umbilical cord attached to The Corporation and me and I can only wait until it dries up and get severed. She exclaimed that I have worked there for almost 4 years and I can't expect things to change yet.

Nothing surprising about that. I am not one who shies away from controversy and quite recently I used a primary picture that confirmed a controversial issue. This had my Friendster account suffer tachycardia and I waited until my former fallen angel for a boss checked my Friendster account himself before I killed the picture. I've reposted the picture for those voyeurs out there, I'm sure my Friendster won't suffer a heart attack. That was a fun game. 

But AA topped my prank by telling me a juicy tidbit that tickled me pink. I dunno how true this is but it sure is funny still. This time she shared about a featured video of me and my partner in crime in the old primary picture taken while we were strolling in the mall. This scandal was shown in my former fallen angel for a boss' Christmas Party last week. Up until that moment I had a strong belief that people celebrate the birth of Christ and give love on Christmas. This information made me laugh because of the irony of the entire Christmas celebration. They should have celebrated Hanukkah instead it would make much more sense.  

One of my former supervisors chatted me earlier and he and I got to talk about that scandal. If there is anyone I am concerned about being affected by such subject it would be him. I asked him if he felt betrayed when he found out. He said that it's a personal thing already and not part of business for him. This person who was one of the few I valued close to my heart when I was still in The Corporation suddenly moved closer to my heart. I must admit a sigh of relief escaped me comforted by the thought that the people I have picked before had never failed me. The people who stood by me in my darkest days in The Corporation are people I would never hesitate shedding blood for.  

As for the vultures...find another corpse. I owe you nothing.

I walked the familiar sidewalk heading towards the Arts & Science Building and climbed the stairs towards the Office of the Faculty. Nothing has changed. The cement walls are darker though due to smog and aging which added more to its dreary look. I opened the door of the Office of the Faculty and sighed with relief as the cold AC caressed my face, at least there are improvements. I inquired to a petite forty-ish woman of the status of my clearance form so I can get my grades. I had to wait for her to finish rummaging around her messy desk and drawers. I realized then she lost my clearance. She told me to ask Sir Ian if he has my form because she gave it to him. I looked across the room and saw a small man wearing a red shirt who was talking to a student and then I knew I had to wait some more. Time for me to sit down and look up the ceiling as I listen to Silent Poets transport me to the sunshiny place of Boracay only to be brought back my a noisy ceiling fan that has seen better days.

There were a group of students waiting like they always do every year at this time of the year only this time it was of different clothes but if you look closely on at their eyes they are all the same. Faces of people waiting, tired expectant faces, hopeful faces, desperate faces. As if at that moment their souls are laid bare and they are to be given judgement by their deeds. But there is no God to judge them here. Only professors and faculty members who adjudicate without consideration of how much allowance they have left or their personal issues that tend to clog their reasons at times. These undergraduates are judged by what they write, about the survey results, of case studies, of their thesis. Their testimony is black and white, double space, font size 12. Or so I hope to believe.

I like to believe that I am no optimist. I walked in this office with dread like I've always had six years ago. It hasn't been that long ago, has it? Six years ago when I gave up on this silent form of prison. That was how I've always looked at college, a prison without walls but only long stretches of expectation from my parents whom I have defied. I felt trapped in courses I did not want but I am certain The General would have 10 sentences to negate mine. She couldn't understand why I left university when other people clamor to be given the opportunity. She let me go through psychological test after test to know if my IQ made me unfit to the University of the Philippines (UP) - the most prestigious university in the Philippines where people are labelled intellectuals, ideologists, reds, and gifted. Different adjectives that still resulted to greatness no matter what. Apparently, she said, I am borderline genius, no reason whatsoever to fail. 

I was once one of the many proud who had their left hand formed to fist raised to the air while singing UP Naming Mahal. I used to walk the road to the University with my head held high while I smiled and greeted my professors

who come in late in class. I used to be hopeful that I would be illustrious, influential, and impressive. But after so many years all I am known in the records of UP is a number...I am merely 96-53408. I had so much promise, so much talent, so much potential. I heard this said and I still hear it being said once in awhile. What happened, you asked? Simple. One phone call on 1998 made me indifferent. I realized then that family didn't care if you are intelligent or you have high grades or you have friends who accept you for who you are or if you want to follow the desires of your heart. They base your success if you did as what you are expected and put whatever you want in a backseat. When I realized this I knew that I would not be able to contain myself and while my siblings will always be afraid of the Power Couple I refused to be dictated on what defines my happiness. So I removed my tiara packed my bags looked at the General and made a promise. As she looked at me with anger and betrayal in her eyes I turned around and left. I ran away, I ran fast and far, I ran without fear. 

For four years after I ran I tried to still finish my degree out of pride. I will never allow them to have the audacity to even say, “We told you so” they expected me to come back begging for forgiveness. But professors cannot understand the difficulty of going to classes while balancing an 8-hour job. You can only serve one master, they said. And so I served my job. Because of this I failed, so it seemed. I failed their standard of success. I am, of all my siblings, at the bottom of the pit hole without a ladder to bring me up with only my nails and gut to push me upward. The woman who had the potential but was stupid enough to run away. I had a different notion of success, yet while I feel liberated I can still feel the shackles of disappointing my parents weighing down on me. 

A silent voice echo over and over in an empty room in my mind, “If only...” but these words though it is said over and over is left unfinished. Often times I challenge it and think, “If only I finished my studies” but my experiences mock this thought. “If only I listened to them and tried harder” but my growth disqualify this wishful thinking. What do I really regret about, I wonder. Nothing. What I feel is yearning. I yearn to keep the promise I gave the General ten years ago. But it isn't a form of regret that has crippled me. It is a silent longing that doesn't wane or wax at times goes by. Yes, despite by foolhardiness it is something I aspire not for the Power Couple to enjoy but for my own personal satisfaction. If only...

I have the patience to wait. To wait for professors to come to class on time, wait for faculty to sign clearance forms, wait long lines as I enroll on prerequisites and required courses, wait for faculty to criticize my thesis, wait for classmates stop gushing about who got the high scores, wait for grades to come out at the end of 5 months. Because in the real world these things I should wait about isn't as important as when I make things to happen. 

As I look up from my computer a 20 year old girl with windblown hair walked out the internal faculty office and half ran to her friends saying her thesis was accepted and she just have to wait for finals. Like a voyeur eager to share other's pleasure to build my own, my curiosity made me stop what I was doing and watch their exchange of pleasantries and congratulations punctuated by questions of how it went and what were the questions asked. The windblown hair girl parried their questions with futility, she was a bottle of Dom Pérignon uncorked all bubbly and tinkly and pink.

They caught me staring at them and they smiled shyly but lowered their voices  the same time. I looked back down at my computer and tried to remember what was my fingers spouting. Ah yes, waiting. I asked myself if I am willing to wait again like a sixteen year old waiting to grow up. I can't, I shouldn't, I refuse to. I am not waiting again. But the yearning will never end. 

Sir Ian came by my chair and I asked if he has my clearance. He said he gave it to the the secretary a couple of days ago. So she really may have lost it. Alright. I am not waiting. I am going to run like what I have been doing for a decade now. But this time I won't be running away. I will be running towards what I yearn. And there will be no more third party expectations to try to reach. Just mine.

Weird nights and funny days! I was dreaming last Saturday night that I was thirsty. So in my dreams I would grab water and gulp it down but I would still be thirsty so I gulped Gatorade, Coke, more cold water but I was still thirsty. I woke up really thirsty and my roomy, Pi, gave me a glass of water.

Don't even try to psychoanalyze my dream, Dr. Freud, I went to bed thirsty and woke up more thirsty because summer is here. That's the rational explanation of it all.

Sunday was a big day to all my boy friends. It wasn't because of me. As a matter of fact, no amount of prodding to go to the beach or watch a movie can make them get up because their demi-god was fighting on TV. Sunday was the day Manny Pacquiao fought with Juan Manuel Marquez for the (correct me if I am wrong) WBC International Super Featherweight Champion title. Never in my entire life was I able to captivate hordes of men for an hour. And this was done by a topless man wearing boxing gloves. How was the fight? I've seen better fights. But I pout my lips because I get no love. 

And since we're in the topic of no love, Mr. Gigolo (formerly Mr. Sizzle) sent me a message yesterday...

“Hey D, I miss the most sexiest girl in the Philippines :( I hope u r well and behaving. I miss ur smile and watching ur hair blow in the breeze. XOXOXOXO“

I have a feeling... I'm not sure what though. I suppose I have no feeling, actually. The little things that I used to find cute about him I take with suspicion lately. I suppose every human eye has a blind spot and we look at things only how we want it to or when we want to or how we want it to be. But when additional pieces of our life falls into places it wasn't there the first time we look our perspectives change --- whether for better of for worse --- irrevocably.

He asked me today if I was misbehaving. I said no. But he laughed and said I have this look that I am misbehaving. Doh! And as he was sharing to me about his weekend and his upcoming week my mind went to a double reverse to one particular day and stopped and played slow motion of our past and what he said. As I looked at his beautiful face smiling across the miles, a single thought froze my smile, “I don't care.“ But his eyes makes my heart go tippity tap and I sooo wanna hit him and kiss him at the same time. His question brought me back to the present and I said, “What?“

“So have you been misbehaving?“ he asked. My mind muttered, “Why do you care?“ and I can sense a pout forming but I smiled instead. And he said, “You were.“ I shook my head and smiled some more, if he gets jealous because of my smile then so be it. “Oh, you are“ he said some more. I gave it a little more effort, for old times' sake. “I wasn't doing anything nasty-nasty, if that's what you wanted to know.“ 

As I said these words, I realized that a part of me still see him in romantically rose colored glasses and I will wear it once in awhile for sometime until it will break or I lose it. Somehow, I know, additional pieces have fallen into place. My blind spot is slowly shifting and while I can try to protect him from the pain of my rejection, I would only protect myself from the pain of denial. I am an undercard, sparring with an equally intriguing alpha male. 

I don't want to be knocked down. I want to do the knocking down. Even if he has yummy lips that I want to kiss.

Ooooh, today has been pretty fun. I had a chance to catch up with Tanduay Babe and we shared a few laughs. Don't bother asking  about what, it's a sibling thing. We caught up in Yahoo Messenger which is a good thing because no one has to spend their load on cellphones and she is hoarsy from cheering for the Bugsay Dragon Boat Team and for the 2008 Ultimate Frisbee. If there is a party girl honor roll, Tanduay Babe will make it to the top 5. She's got my niece and my brother-in-law (who I have yet to figure what alias to call him) that's why she wouldn't make it to the Top 3. *grin*

The General and I were able to catch up in Yahoo Messenger also. She was telling me a story about a king who did not reckon God so God turned him into a beast and he had to eat grass in the fields for a couple of years until he acknowledged God. I asked who is this king and she said she can't remember the name and I should ask the Colonel because his memory is better than her. Well I don't want to bug the Colonel with my childish curiosity so I did a couple of searches and found that she was referring to King Nebuchadnezzar who was said to be the greatest monarch of Babylon, if not the entire East, ever had. He was punished for his pride and vanity with a mental illness called lycanthropy.

Then Mr. Sizzle started chatting me too. He's in a mood because his latest attempt wasn't successful. Well, it's a game. You win some and lose some. But being all cheery I tried to share some love by offering him a mantra I chant whenever I get rejected and that cheered him up a bit. So he started sharing affirmative statements he says to himself but the first one floored me. He said he says to himself, “I am a god...“.

Hmmm...I don't know about that. I've been chewed alive and spit out alot of times that I know I am not a god. Never in my mind have I claimed that I am a god. That idea is something I will never tread upon. I didn't say this to him. That's his thing. But one thing's for sure, even if I only found out today the story of King Nebuchadnezzar, I guess I knew all along that to think I am a god is a blasphemy to the One who created minute atoms and grand heavenly beings. It's not that I am even afraid to eat grass in the fields for years. I just know deep within me that it's a lie to claim I am a god.

I had to go see some friends and catch up on the latest gossip so I said goodbye to Mr. Sizzle. But as I closed my black box and grabbed my bag I uttered a simple prayer for Mr. Sizzle. He does not know what he claims but if a lesson is to be learned let Your will be done.

~o~o~

Note to self: Should change Mr. Sizzle's alias to Mr. Gigolo

If you find my blog confusing as posts suddenly appear dated on previous months when it wasn't there the first time, sorry. I have three reasons:  

1. I am confusing. 

2. I am moving my old posts from another blogsite. 

3. I am confusing, really.  

So bear with me, my happy pills will get this done in an orderly manner and everything should transition smoothly. Anyhoo, weekend is here... you guys party hard but as Tanduay Babe always advice me "BE SAFE".

I feel accomplished today. After more than a month of waiting I finally got my new passport. Yip Yip!!!

May not seem much to you, but for someone waiting on moving to Canada this shiny maroon booklet is a treasure. Now all I need to do is wait on my diploma and my transcript. This whole waiting game is quite challenging.

Mr. Lawyer came over and tried to cheer up my bruised ego. He raised his eyebrow when he saw me all mopey after aborting my futile hanky-panky. “May asim ka pa", he jovially pointed out and he added, “Twenty years from now I'd still want to tear off your clothes.“  Erhmmmm... while some people will be flattered by this thought I have grown to dread it after countless times of hearing it. I have a brain you know, and I am quite talented too. The way he said it made me cringe...I feel like a walking love doll and wonder why most men I meet are superficial.

I just wish men would get over female body parts and once in a while (or at least more than once) men would listen to what women want. I was musing about these things when he told me to stop ruining my face by not smiling. I got up and as I walked towards the kitchen Mr. Lawyer gave me the funniest proposal ever.

“Maybe we need to get you your happy pills now D.“ 

Never mind if he always tries to get into my pants, Mr. Lawye has always been a sensible friend when I need one. 

~o~o~o~o~

Update: I had to change my friend's name here so as not to confuse him with another one who has the same name as him. Whatever.