"I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. Love - like there has never been in a play."
...what i like about us is that we actually try to find happiness and luxuries within our means and we're smart on how we go about our lives. it shows maturity, intelligence and purpose. i love how we both have our goals in mind and we try to enjoy ourselves while still sacrificing for our goals. i never had so much purpose and direction that i worked for outside of my personal career goals. i like the feeling of that. how we always pull back and say, "oh it's ok. we can wait. what's more important is saving up for our family and our future." that's one of the happiest things you have given me in my life. ~Paolo
And you realize that you have to finally grow up and that life really isn't all that fun unless you have someone to share it with... like joy shared is joy multiplied or something like that... but how there's all these "grown up" things you have to do and "when was getting married ever just getting married" and you have to work and prepare and do the groceries and fall asleep holding hands and never forget to say goodnight or goodmorning and think about kiddie birthday parties... though sometimes it's nice to be alone... or surrounded by beautiful strangers... to travel away... but then what? then what?... god I must've hit the snooze button 8 times this morning... cue a disrupted Bloc Party... but waking up beside him is one of the best feelings in world... and our bed... my favorite travel destination.
I don't understand, Why do I stress a man, When there's so many bigger things at hand, We could a never had it all, We had to hit a wall, So this is inevitable withdrawal, Even if I stop wanting you, A Perspective pushes true, I'll be some next man's other woman soon, I shouldn't play myself again, I should just be my own best friend, Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men...
God I'm making myself sick asking that question for the nth time.
(Maybe if I get sick I can lose the weight faster! Like get dengue or have my tonsils removed or something!)
I'm kidding.
Sort of.
Shit.
My clothes won't fit right. Damn. I actually had to try on three different tops last Saturday before I could settle on one that hid the very tops of my godforsaken, vodka/redbull-filled muffins. This was it. ------------------->
A-fucking-las.
Now before I bust out into a semi-rant (but hopefully, semi-insightful blog) about what I've been through to try to lose weight THE HEALTHY WAY -- ie. yoga and sexy chef meals and better bodies gym and my evasiveness to go out and practically stay away from alcohol and shakeys at 5 in the morning...
I am going to tell you all now that I... am... fat.
.... .... .... .... .... .... ....
And not FUCKING. PREGNANT.
Jeez fucking louise!
....
Ok. I know I've been quite the broken record with regard to my weight (and the pictures don't lie; I've made my "heftiness" quite evident in my insistence to wear tight-ass footless stalkings and cleavage-showing sleeveless dresses and short-ass coochie cutters despite the obvious gain.
But I've been TRYING to lose the weight. Seriously. But God, I never knew how hard it was to lose TWELVE FUCKING POUNDS. Just 12, people. I'm 120lbs and 5'2". Furrealz. Breakups and latenights and early mornings and glasses of alkie and heaps of yang chow and buckets of chicken and baskets of garlic fries... all w/c contributed to my gain... which isn't exactly such a large number, if you think about it. But Hell... it was easier to lose 50lbs, 10 months after I gave birth. (Now if I can only remember what I did exactly that made that happen...)
Oh right, I breastfed and refused to eat.
*shrugs*
So around the time my boyfriend and I got together last October, I started to focus on getting back into shape. I've tried the master cleanse aka Beyonce diet (poor Paolo, he would stay up til 2am cutting me up some lemons and mixing my diet concoction for me while I left him to go to sleep ---- AND HE AND I WEREN'T EVEN AN OFFICIAL COUPLE YET, HAHAHAHA!). I lasted a day on that diet, btw. =P However, I've tried cutting down significantly on the rice (I don't really eat pastas and breads). I've cut down on the iced tea and yes, even the alcohol. I've done yoga. And I just recently had a week's worth of the Sexy Chef's 1200 calorie-a-day menu. (I had all my daily meals delivered to me for a week... FOR FREE-NINETY NINE! =) Now, I still prefer to cook and eat lean meats, chicken and fish fillets. I rarely fry my food nor do I eat anything fried. Of course, I still make the occasional trip to the nearest fastfood resto but if we were to compare the no. of times from then to now... I'd say the number is significantly fewer. As is with my vices and my unhealthier eating habits.
If you really think about it, I'm actually healthier now than I was back in the day.
...
But I'm still 120lbs. I swear, the fucking scale doesn't wanna budge. After 6months.
So you can imagine the frustration (and yes, the gloom and the bouts of sudden depression) that oftentimes ruin the entire chakra of my day. And other people's days, too.
That's why Pao thinks my scale is broken.
Yeah. Whatever.
The scale isn't broken. I'm just not doing something right.
.....
But this isn't about that.
It's about my ex asking me if I was pregnant.
True story.
And it's the darndest thing too because my ex and I don't even talk save for when I'm grilling him about our daughter and child support and the nuances of our separation and custodial visiting privileges and all the other stuff separated parents talk about.
We were planning our daughter's 3rd birthday when he asked. So I asked in return: WHO THE HELL GAVE YOU THAT IDEA, YOU HAD BETTER TELL ME, I FUCKING SWEAR. He said something about the "magazine industry"... and after much prying, I learned the one really inquiring was...
.....
You know what...? I'm not even gonna say it. Because that would bring me down to her chismosa levels... and I'm not about to go out like that.
But yeah.
I was hurt. Not because it was mean. I mean, I get MEAN. I get fat jokes. Shoot. I drink hatorade like the best of em. But it was because of WHO said it. And (of course I'm not gonna say who)... I just thought I'd be given a little more consideration or delikadesa than that, considering my role as a fellow woman, mother, daughter, and sister.
So I simply replied by saying, "How can I be pregnant? You can barely help me with my first child. And I can't afford two kids."
And after that... I got to thinking. (Ok this is what I was thinking at the time, when the wound was still fresh and I was still upset but now I think even in my anger, and even in the midst of other people's lack of tact and taste... I make sense.)
But yeah. I was thinking... how I didn't get it.
I really didn't get it.
*all sorts of thought just run through my head a mile a minute at this point*
But this is what I got from all of that: People... are hard to please. But oftentimes, the hardest person to please... is oneself. Just last year, I was a scrawny 105lbs. My size 27 Zara jeans were hanging onto my pelvic bone for dear life. Three of my top ribs were already protruding. But man was I skinny. I was barely eating. And people didn't like it. And I didn't appreciate it... even after I had it. And then I realized that it took me about a year to get that body and another year to realize that it didn't matter. Because people don't give a shit. And weight is NO guarantee. Being skinny is NO GUARANTEE. My relationship STILL FAILED when I was thin. I was still alone, still unhappy, and drowned myself in the oblivion of my lost body. I had no ass. I went from a 36-C to a 34-C. I was my ideal weight less 5lbs. And in this crazy, fucked up beauty-obsessed world... less than ideal... was perfect.
.... .... And after all of that came crashing down on me like being hit by a fucking anvil by Wile E. Coyote... I began to think about how I had handled myself after that mess... and...
I'd like to think that I'm a good mother. And that I have been a good mother. Despite the circumstances, I haven't been completely unfortunate. I think it was the misfortune that really brought about alot of my blessings now... more than I could've ever asked for: a supportive and loving family, great help (my yaya is awesome), understanding and intelligent friends who keep me in check, and of course, a faithful and caring partner who willingly and wholeheartedly chose to give of himself... even when it wasn't asked of him... but only because, it was right. Because you do right by those you love.
And then I thought...
My boyfriend met me at 120lbs. His exes were skinny cheerleaders, cock-diesel with rock hard abs and a vina morales pre-baby body... but skinnier. I was short, pudgy, and with helluh booty (but I sure as hell was PURTY, hehehehe!) But he loved me anyway. And he never fails to tell me that I'm beautiful. And yes... he even tries to "help" me lose weight... even when I break my own rules or lash out at him for MY eating those goddamned potato chips on MY own accord.
So what was my point?
I think I already made it somewhere. If I didn't, then... my bad. I just wanted to get that off my chest... AND make it clear that I'm not pregnant.
But I am getting married. Or didn't ya'll hear on the radio when the disgustingly stupid boys from Boys Night Out on Magic 89.9 announced it --- and my boyfriend's mom asked us if this was true and if so, would begin considering what wedding gift to give. Hahahaha!!!
*awk-frikkin'-ward*
Sheesh. Frikkin' pre-emptors. (But god love those boys)
.......
I really just want to fit into my jeans again. That's all.
Maybe it's the arrow that seems to automatically and mercilessly go straight to 120lbs. on the weighing scale... Maybe... it's the 1200 calorie-a-day diet program "the Sexy Chef" has put me on Maybe... it's the fact that I've been eating precisely rationed gourmet food out of a tupperware since Monday. Maybe... it's because I haven't been able to have a drink SINCE Monday and won't be able to until after my two-week diet. Maybe... it's my latest obsession to count calories just to EARN my next glass of alcohol (in case I decide I need to cheat)... preferrably, red wine (which I have to start practicing to like)
Or maybe...
Because I'm getting old. And for the first time... (and I seriously had this epiphany last night)... I felt compelled to finally question a probable decision's merit and well... actual point.
See last night... one of my favorite local bands had a gig. A band I haven't seen in a while, some the actual godfathers of my daughter. It was also my fiance's band sponsor's event --- a night of classic hip-hop, Tanduay, proudly Pinoy gear, and space cookies.
Definitely two events Pao and I wouldn't have hesitated to make cameos in... on a normal day.
But yesterday...
He and I were actually torn. And there it was, the slow reduction (but surprisingly, happy reduction) that comes with having only a singular love. The kind that's timid and keeps to itself. The kind that's happily... lethargic. The kind that "reduces" the things that were once perhaps, important and integral in a relationship... or even, one's sense of being. Like... going out. Getting drunk. Mingling.
I sat on the floor and looked up as I watched him trying to properly install the sega genesis emulator onto his PC.
"Then what?" I asked, as we contemplated our actually going out while playing the events that would occur if we did out in our heads.
I mean, it wasn't the problem of being uncomfortable or that we didn't like the crowd or we didn't have money to burn or we were too tired.
I think I have finally become aware of the fact that, on its very basic level, anywhere would've been fine so long as I was with him. And if being with him didn't require to spend so much, or wear us out, or take the time to get dressed... then our home and staying in would be just fine... with my favorite friends, the airconditioner, 32-inch flatscreen tv, dvds, and the helluh ghetto monopoly game we bought at the local supermarket.
Of course, he didn't mind that I also enjoyed dancing around in my underwear whilst shaking my hips IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR. =p
*cue HOW LOW by Ludacris* Who needs to party when the party is AT MY BODY! hahahahahaha!!! (I'm kidding)
Ok wait, I don't feel comfortable leaving this obviously romantic blog with a Ludacris video so I'll put this one up instead (Can't believe Pao was the one who actually found this song =) (Thank you for the song, Waffle. It's us. It's really us.)
... ... ...
By the way, George Clooney's UP IN THE AIR is an amazing film.
Grabe. Naiinis ako. Di ko ma-iksplika. Parang may nakahawak lang sa puso ko at ayaw bumitaw. Nakakaiyak. Nakapagod. Nakahilo. Nakakasuka. Parang morning sickness na ewan.
Eto. Kasi ayoko pa magtrabaho. Pero siguro dapat magtrabaho nalang ako. Yun talaga yung mahirap sa internet eh noh? Daming pwedeng gawin pwera sa dapat mong gawin.
Kaya walang internet sa bahay eh. (Sabi ni Paolo kapag lumipat na kami sa sarili naming bahay, kailangan nya daw ng internet. Ako, sa totoo lang, ayoko. Karibal din yan sa atensyon. Mas papayag pa siguro ako sa PS3 --kundi dahil lang sa God of War-- kaysa sa internet.) Kaya sana mapagana ko na ‘tong letseng Sega Genesis emulator ko dito sa kompyu para makapaglaro nako ng Phantasy Star 3 ---- anim na buwan din yun na di ko kailangan makita yung mga punyetang bwiset na nakakapagpabagabag sa isipan. Dahil pakiramdam ko... ang internet... ay para talaga sa mga masusokista. At dahil dito, minsan, iniisip ko, kahit sociology graduate ako, ayoko rin talaga sa ibang tao.
Hay.
Ako rin kasi eh. Ang kulet. Kainis. Pero ansarap nyang batukan. Antanga nya talaga. Pwede ka bang tanga kung hindi mo talaga alam? Pwede ba yun?
.......
Bwiset ‘tong MS Word, kusa nyang inaayos 'tong Tagalog ko, nagkakagulo-gulo tuloy mga sinusulat ko.
***Because books and reading paperback novels have become a rare commodity these days. And because he and I refuse to succumb to the world of audiobooks and pdf files.
Question: If you break up with your boyfriend/girlfriend… do you take down/throw away/store their photos/your photos together or not?
When I was much younger, I used to hold these semi-massive “bonfires” where I’d take all of my “ex-as-of-late’s” memorabilia, particularly the loveletters and the studio pictures (y’all remember THAT?!) and set them on FIRE… and I’d watch them shrivel up and curl into this ghastly, unnatural crumple, our faces melting away into the cloud of smoke and orange… perhaps the last painful blow you would allow those words and those images to ever give you because the mere absence of feeling anything remotely resembling affection for this person you once knew in some distant memory, you must’ve cared enough about to be with… just doesn’t seem right. And this feeling… this guilt, most if not all the time, is met with not so much as a brave face… but a nonchalant one. Or maybe… an obvious melancholy unconsciously suppressed by nonchalance… that still manages a choked sigh after every gust of wind.
Other times, it was more like, “Good riddance motherf*cker” as I held his picture up against the lighter, with almost the sick sense of glee as that of a pyromaniac or those kids who get off on pouring alcohol on anthills or salt on snails or like this old guy I saw one time who was crouched by his plants and was spraying them with Baygon or Lysol or some other aerosol.
Either way…
I never kept memorabilia. And my break-ups (ok, I’m talking about the REAL ones, not the pseudo-I can’t take this shit anymore whilst undergoing some sort of anxiety attack-type breakup)… are always final.
*cry cry sniff sniff sob sob*
Ok moving on.
Besides… I had this naturally haughty coping mechanism that convinced me that THEY didn’t deserve my memory.
Hence the bonfires.
Even the jewelry… I gave away to our maids. Or returned. I never liked jewelry all that much anyway.
I kept the clothes and the bags, though. *shrugs*
The only memory (and memorabilia) I kept was that of my daughter’s father… But I think only because those were her memories and I had no right to them. No right to deny her her identity.
But yeah.
In general. I don’t keep memorabilia.
Then there’s the whole social networking thing ----
*cue lifechanging experience*
So… one time… circa my early 20s… I had this boyfriend. A nice guy. But more rich than nice. I mean it’s hard to have a relationship with someone who keeps you at arm’s length and thinks material things can compensate for being an absentee boyfriend. (Love didn’t cost a thing to me back then, hahaha). So we broke up because the romantic me would have never settled for something that superficial.Only a few weeks later, he goes out with a model. (Can we shatter my ego any more than that?)
Now… he and I had these photos… which I had put up on my Friendster account ----
Oh speaking of Friendster, I actually still have mine. *beams proudly* I even kinda sorta fixed it yesterday – even editing it so that it’s a more accurate description of my updated life. But really, I keep it up because of the testimonials. Call it narcissistic. But I was always described as a beauty with brains and to Hell if I’m gonna erase such flattering compliments. *winks*
But going back…
So Friendster. He and I had this photo... which I didn’t erase. Which I even kept as a profile picture. Even though he already had a girlfriend. And yes… even though he called me up to ask me to take them down because his girlfriend didn’t like them though he himself didn’t care if I kept them or not. (Of course I went ballistic on him and told him they were MY photos and he had no right to them) But honest to God, I only kept it up because I LOOKED GOOD IN THE PHOTO. Seriously. It was a lovely shot, with neither of us looking into the camera so our images were obscured.
But fine. It didn’t seem right. So I photoshopped his image so that it looked like he was a painting and I was real. It was my means of compromising. I guess his girlfriend didn’t like the “artwork” I had created because the next day…
She “report user-ed” my account. (I know this because my own ex admitted that she totally hated me… not that she knew me or anything, but because I was smart and stuff and she felt threatened by that. =)
But yeah.
Customer service said my pictures were “racy.”
And at that moment, I wished my account had been deleted. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with his and her shit. I mean… I could’ve given them both shit in return. Not like I cared about them. Not that I was jealous she was with him. *purses lips* Ok… maybe… I wanted to spite him more than her. She didn’t do anything to me. She didn’t steal him away. And then it dawned on me… after customer service put my account back up.
The picture wasn’t worth it. The memory wasn’t worth it. She was his. And they were together. And I was obviously hurting her and their relationship. And for what? For a guy’s photo who no longer had a space in my heart. So why was I making space for him in my account? She was just being protective and yes, unwittingly, undeniably, but understandably selfish of her relationship because she loved him and he must’ve cared about her to have to tell me to take the photos down… and I was being deliberately distasteful towards a relationship principle I completely agreed with.
So I took them down.
And that was that. (He ended up being a prick to her so… yeah. Whatevs, right?)
…..
Now. I don’t care. I don’t have a Facebook. The exes can keep all their photos there. They can hide them or make them private so that their friends are the only ones who can see it. (Because their friends are probably the only ones who can condone their obvious hang-up. Or more likely because your friends don’t give a shit about your keepsakes. They’ll just think you’re desperate. But they’ll never tell you that to your face. Because that’s what facebook friends are for. Besides… people only care about what’s happening to you NOW. That’s why you really have to keep those status messages or tweets a-coming. Or else your friends will get bored. I guess friends nowadays have really short attention spans. =)
So thank you to those who take the time to read my long-ass nonsensical blogs. =)
Mika (my beautiful UAE flight-attendant sister who lives in Dubai) just called... *blinks back tears*
Mika, I am SO FUCKING GAME TO GO TO MIAMI FOR MY BIRTHDAY. Let's make this shit happen. New York, Miami, then if we still have time... Fiji. So we can homewreck all the honeymooners over there, hahahaha!
"I will have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love. Love above all. No... not the artful postures of love, not playful and poetical games of love for the amusement of an evening, but love that... overthrows life. Unbiddable, ungovernable - like a riot in the heart, and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture. 
