Disclaimer: I love Mr. Paolo Toledo. No diggity. I'm going to marry this boy and live the motherf*cking dream. You hear? The dream. =)
.....
But this guy is definitely my latest infatuation.
Introducing Daniel Cloud Campos (aka "Kid Darkness" from Step Up 3D).
Hubba-frikkin'-hubba. *giggles*
.........
And if by the super, almost impossible chance that my current relationship FAILS... I'm gonna take the next flight out to Cali and ask this boy out on a date. Like seriously. No more wasting my time, money, and energy at the clubs here in Manila. I can forget Manila. Carpe fcuking diem to the frikkin' fullest, I. don't. care. type. shit. I'm gonna find him... and ask him to "date.me." ... and if he can't... at least... a dance will do.
After 4 years working for a magazine... I realized that beauty is now in the hands of our new-age "image technicians"... and not in Belo's clinic or any other plastic surgeon.
But I didn't wanna go out like that. And it took me 30mins. of scanning my photos to catch myself actually criticizing how I looked, feeling disgusted, figuring out ways to crop and edit my flaws, fats, muffin tops...
Then it hit me. Beauty is a matter of perspective. And that maybe we've all just gotten used to equating beauty with thinness. So as an experiment (and voluntary conscious effort), I decided to look at my curves... and find beauty in them (the way my loving fiance finds beauty in me... despite my non-cheerleader body =). And I did. And for once, I didn't stop to care about all the other girls who would have a fucking field day hating on my imperfections (shit, after all the times I've hated on theirs, haha).
All I know is... "I may be fat, but [those haters] are ugly... and I can still lose weight." Only now... I want me some chicken and *gasp* white. rice. and NO ONE IS GONNA STOP ME.
Wow. I just had a 4kg struggle with my luggage. Took me about an hour to get my Cebu Pacific ticket back to Manila (man, if there’s one thing that’s consistent with the Philippines…) because the other 3 people ahead of me had to redistribute their luggage from check-in to hand carry, and you know how Filipinos are with the pasalubong, everything’s in a plastic bag of sorts so you can see all the “supot” just being shuffled around like madness… (ok and I just saw a black-haired female Justin Bieber lookalike here at the airport Starbucks…) and well yeah. Then comes my bag… it was 4kgs overweight and I totally did not know that the minimum was 15kg, I thought I was already awesome for pulling off 19.4kg what with all of MY goodies and the extra clothes and shoes I got from my sister… and yes, the toiletries I kept having replenished from the hotel. Good thing I was able to stuff 2 pairs of 5-inch heels, my laundry, and the clothes I bought for my two babies all into this one small bowling bag. Unfortunately, while I was doing all that, I let the people behind me cut in line whilst I repacked NOT KNOWING there were actually seven of them checking in with CRAZY. ASS. pasalubong. I would’ve been helluh annoyed if it wasn’t so unbelievable to watch. And I had 3 hours to kill. And as of now, I have an hour and a half before boarding.
Goes to frikkin’ show why I’m not cut out for this ish. Made my spoiled ass miss having PR companies book my business flights, visas, hotels, and all that good stuff while I just had to show up on time.
But I digress.
I mean… this was my first out-of the-country vacay in a long time. Actually, my first real vacay really, not including all those business trips which aren’t really all that business-like as I always manage to have fun despite the work. And this was one trip where I actually kinda-sorta paid (thanks Mika, hehe) and booked by myself (cue huge-ass sigh – then again, I had my colleague Danee do most of the booking so I really don’t know what I’m complaining about.) Again, not cut out for this ish.
But whatever, right? I’m about to head home to Manila…
And let me just say…
I saw CNN.
WHAT THE F*CK DID WE DO THIS TIME?!!!!
Some down-in-a-rut cop takes a tour bus hostage and kills a bunch of hapless HK nationals???!!!
*sigh*
And to think… all the while I was in Thailand… all I could think about was just how awesome we are as a people (and ok, it wouldn’t be fair to let one man’s actions define an entire country, but there’s no denying that we all suffer as a whole when sh*t like this happens.)
But yeah.
Being away just made me contemplate on how frikkin’ amazing we are.
Like for one… and this is in random order:
We smell good. Fur. Realz. Like… it’s not even funny. I mean, sure, we’ve gotten close to some of our neighborhood sweaty “trabajadors” one time or another but hey, you know they just came from the smoldering heat and that’s excusable. But some people, and I’m not gonna name nationalities… man, they LOOKED clean. LOOKED fresh. But jeez louise.Copious amounts of Calvin Klein CANNOT mask the DISTINCT odor of a smelly, unscrubbed, deodorant-free body. I kid you not. Man, it seemed like it was just me cuz my sister couldn’t smell it but I just figured she already had an olfactory fatigue to it, being a flight attendant and all.
So keep it up, y’all. Rexona is the way to go.
Second.
We are so not a rude people. Ok sure there are some instances (from what Mika’s experienced) where the pinays think they’re all high and mighty just cuz they caught themselves a rich white guy from Europe or America or whatever and they get all snotty and bossy and what not. But other than that… we’re generally a very un-rude people. And I totally came up with this conclusion when I was shopping in Phuket. Now I hate shopping. But I don’t mind a good bargain. That’s why I only go as far as the department store. But real bargain shopping? Oh man. I can’t hack the whole making “tawad” bit cuz I feel bad doing it. Like… I don’t mind getting ripped off… so long as I don’t rob these folk of some sort of profit. But when I was shopping, people look like they’d bite your head off if you didn’t buy from them or if you didn’t like the price they gave you. Shit, you’d think they’d make you eat the calculator with the way they shove at you, saying shit like, “Ok you give me gooh price.” The whole frikkin thing stressed me out. And there was this one lady who tried to sell me this see-through blouse (similar to what my sister was wearing) so as to cover up the bikini-top I was walking around in. She kept telling me to put it on and I just snapped, “I’m at the beach, I don’t need it.” And then she said something like (at this point, I wasn’t trying to listen) I wasn’t at a beach and guys were looking. WELL LET THEM FUCKING LOOK, I think my bikini top was more appropriate than those fucking short black dresses and 4-inch pumps the local girls were wearing while they let their asses be pinched in public by their foreign meal ticket.
Woooozaaah.
And third.
We service with a motherf*cking smile. Seriously. We do. Most of the time, at least. And I dunno if it’s just how some nationalities are, but why do they seem like being nice is such a painful thing to do? I mean, I’m not as annoyed when the fastfood guys have attitude problems… Hell, I’d be mad too if I had to make Subway sandwiches all day (as that was my diet for most of the trip). But still, it would make the job a whole lot easier if you made a conscious effort to actually enjoy yourself. So if I ask you for a 6-inch Italian BMT on wheat bread, I suggest you fucking look like putting all that ham and salami and cheese, lettuce, tomato, onions, black olives, mayo, and mustard IS GIVING YOU A FRIKKIN’ ORGASM. I might just smile back at your ass. (But then again, I smile back anyway. Cuz I’m Filipino… and I’m just nice that way.)
And lastly,
The fact that we have a firm grasp of the English language… it’s frikkin’ amazing. I mean c’mon, it’s the universal language (and no, I don’t know Chinese so I don’t count that)… and just being able to communicate effectively… you’ll realize just how much of a luxury it is nowadays to be understood. And it’s not being elitist at all to know how to speak in basic, survival English. I think if more countries really took the time out, maybe… we wouldn’t have all these wars. (Ok, I’m stretching it but hey, you never know.)
And there you have it… nothing about my actual trip, hahahaha! I’ll save that for when I get back to Manila… because that’s really all I’m thinking about now.
It’s my 10th monthsary today. And a year ago today… was the very first time I met him… drunk as Hell, in Mika’s purple dress, asking for PYT, and trying to steal his hat… while making him take my phone number.
I thought I’d try to document my trip (for a change), not that I think I’m all that great of a travel blogger or anything like that. But my airplane movie of choice (Shrek Forever After) is on pause and I’m not quite in the mood to finish my remaining articles for work so I figured, why frikkin’ not, right? I guess there could be worse things to write about. =P
So let me start off by saying this: If any of you have siblings who don’t know just what career path to take… who have 20/20 vision, a pleasing personality, a good grasp of the English language, and a minimum height of about 5’4”… and you have any influence on them whatsoever… I suggest y’all “encourage” them to apply for motherfrikkin’ Emirates so they can hook yo ass up to some awesome ass discounted travel prices.
On. The. Real.
It only dawned on me recently how my little sister has been a flight attendant for a couple of years now and we (her very fortunate relatives) get to avail of her super-slashed off ticket rates. Now I was never much of a traveler nor was it really my “capriccio” to travel around the world and spend crazy money to see the eight wonders or the Eiffel tower or the Sistine Chapel. (I’m just not that kind of person.) But I’m not one to decline a free trip to Singapore or Malaysia or China or anywhere else my job already allows me the opportunity to do on the regular. But for this trip in particular, I thought of actually “doing” on my own (booking my own flights and all. Ugh. The horror and the tedium, haha) not just for the obvious reason that it would be fun and adventurous and I’d get to be with my sister and all that good stuff but because it was preempted by this… need… to finally jump on the reason of simply being able to do so. Because… I CAN. Know what I’m saying? Like… the mindset behind this trip (and to tell you the truth, I was really just down to go anywhere for the mere sake of it) was a.) I was turning 27, b.) I had the money, c.) I was getting married next year (which I think is just stupidly AMAZING), d.) My daughter was finally old enough for me to become my own woman again (and I don’t mean that statement to sound like I abhor or regret my motherly responsibilities but for those who are already moms, I’m sure y’all know exactly what I’m talking about and can empathize), e.) Independence was just something that came very naturally to me… and with all of those things just sort of putting things into perspective, it made me realize that it was important for me to do this. To experience and “fulfill” this. And if you really think about it, I think this is something every person should have the right to do. Not necessarily travel or anything like that, but to simply find something that’ll make you say, “You know, the sand is running out of the hourglass, so I want to look back and say, see, I did that, that was me, I was reckless and I was wild, and I fucking did it.” (Ok I totally got that from Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies, but y’all get what I mean.)
Hence why I am on my way to Dubai and then Thailand then back on home to Manila just in time to celebrate my one year anniversary since I met my fiance. *big smile*
….
My sister Mika got me an ID 90 ticket to Dubai and back. That means, she got me a ticket that was 90% off. That means, my roundtrip ticket only cost her Php 5,000. Of course, discounted rates make you somewhat of a transpassenger and you have to wait for an available seat first before you can get on the plane.I thought the waiting was a small price to pay for a chance to fly one of the best airlines in the world at a ridiculously cheap cost. And to actually go to Dubai and hang out with the sister? I’d have camped out by the check-in counter if I had to.
At this point, I’m just gonna get to the part when I’m finally leaving for the airport.
The night before, I had already decided I would no longer go to work and just go with my fiancé to the condo in Makati where I could just chill til I had to leave and he could go to his office. Since he had a meeting, I was forced to take a cab to the airport by myself. He had promised to see me off… and I hailed a cab. First fucker wanted a straight flag down of 300bucks and I was like hell to the no. But I was afraid of running late so I took the second cab and his offer of 250… and lo and be-frikkin’-hold… AIR SUPPLY WAS ON THE RADIO PLAYING “WITHOUT YOU.” And as my wonderful fiance kissed me goodbye and hurriedly said his last minute love messages and friendly reminders (ie, to not get too drunk, haha), I thought about how crushing it was to leave him behind. This will be the longest we’ve ever been apart (8 days) since we first kissed under the rain during that typhoon and our lives have become a whirlwind of love and plans and babies and Bali trips and co-habitation and wedding expos and all the other stuff happily ever afters are made of ever since. And frikkin’ air supply just made the whole thing absolutely… poetic. Like if it weren’t so cliché, I’d think it was funny. And as the cab drove off, All Out of Love came on… and I realized it was a frikkin’ air supply CD.
I took that as an awesome sign.
So I get to Terminal 1 looking all confused (I always manage to look like a sophisticated ditz at the airport) until the guards outtanowhere just called me over and led me to this express lane entrance of sorts where they thought I was a flight attendant. Maybe it was really just an express lane entrance for light travelers… but I like to think I was led there because they thought I was pretty and pretty girls get crazy perks like that. =p
I get to the “staff counter” to show my visa and my little sister’s ID and stuff and to wait to be called on. Then the counter lady asked me if I had anything below the knee because my dress was just a little too short for their… taste. I said I had pants (like one pair among a collection of short-ass shorts) so she told me to pay my travel tax, put on some pants, and come back to her in 15. I had no prob with that and I took my obedient, sexy ass on over to the travel tax counter, stood in line, got down, unlocked my hot new fiery red trolley that I had recently purchased, and pulled out a pair of slacks. After I paid, I stood by the counter for a while contemplating whether I should go to the bathroom or just put the pants on right there.
I did the latter, of course. Unsurprisingly.
Then it was time to wait. Played with the DS a bit. I could feel the tension rising. I mean, it was 5pm and if I didn’t get on the 6:30pm flight, I’d have to wait for the next one at midnight. F*ck that. So I began to condition myself and consider the possibility of just going back to Makati to party a bit then go back before I was too drunk to try my luck again.
Obviously, my name was called and now I’m chillin’ here, typing this, while my airline movie remains on pause.
I think I’ll go back to it now. My roast chicken is a’coming and I gotta get me a bottle of vodka. =)
It's nice coming in to work to find delightful little surprises on your desk.
(I believe you would call this the "upright 69") ----> Last week, my kaspersky flashdrives were doing "the Piledriver" and "the Wheelbarrow"... thanks to Danee and Chad.
And today, I drove myself to work in my brand new but not-so-new but just as equally awesome if it were new flirty blue WHIP. =)
(Shout-outs to Mayor Toby Tiangco for hookin' a girl up ---thanks Tito Toby!--- and to my daddy for fixing it up after my car got stolen last December. ***Whoever stole my hatchback just to turn it into a race car... well... I hope you crash and burn and go straight to Hell. Ok, no I don't mean that. Sort of. =)
If you look closely, you'll see a steering wheel lock. (Why didn't I think of that before. *smacks forehead*)
And here's a hung-over me cooking dory fish sticks for me and the waffle on a lasy daisy Sunday.
Will buy a new stove when I get back from...
PHU-to the motherf*ckin'-KET.
(But I will miss Papa and Psyche. *sighs* Sorry my babies, but mommy's gotta hang out with Tita Mika and get her tan on in the middle of the rainy season.)
Then hopefully next year... I think I'll go visit Jersey, see my cousins and maybe walk around the old neighborhood.
And here's a video with my "twin" cousin Junior, aka !llmind, producer extraordinaire... and my helluh-funny uncle, Tito Ramon.
"Who that guy is?"
~~~~~~llll~~~~~~
Oh and the blog to follow (aside from mine =)
http://ben-daily10.blogspot.com/ ------> "Being drunk is an afterthought" ... and disclaimer: yeah. I don't like exes. No denying it. Esp. the ones with hang-ups and who keep past memorabilia and the wanna-be ones who talk about me the moment I walk into a room. Please. However worked up I may let myself get, it doesn't change the fact that y'all are still ugly (and I find absolute solace and comfort in this truth)... and you have more gums than teeth. So I suggest you have those fixed first before you talk a mouthful of sh*t with your mouthful of gums.
*cue* Hate hate hate hate hate I don’t care what bitches say I don’t even look their way... =P
“He imagined the story of her body: it was lost among millions of other bodies until the day a look of desire settled on it and drew it forth from the nebulous multitude; then the number of such looks increased and set afire this body, which ever since has been moving through the world like a torch; now is its time of radiant glory, but soon the looks will start to grow fewer, the light to dim little by little, until the day when this translucent, then transparent, then invisible body will pace the streets like a small itinerant non-being.”
~Identity by Milan Kundera
.....
But if you're lucky... and I mean, blessed with the extremest of fortune... you'll realize that though a hundred eyes may have burned in you a torch to light your way during times of darkness, self-loathing, confusion, and disenchantment, that really all it takes is one pair of eyes to set ablaze the divine and unfathomable depth of fuel inside of you and give light to, not just you, but the rest of the world.
Here's to finally needing just one pair of eyes to really see me.
Shit man. I gotta get in the zone. Seriously. So much work. So little time. (The boss wanted to get her fill of me before I take my leave... super sucks.)
EIC - "When do you leave?"
Me - "Uhm... the 17th..."
EIC - "You have seven days." (followed by a low cackle)
Man, she's got me on this freaky THE RING yo ass is gon die if you don't finish your work type shit...
So... oooooooookay. Guess I'm pullin' overtime these weekend.
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
My back hurts. My eyes hurt. I need a massage. (Screams at Francis, "Franciiiiiiiis!!! You wanna give me a backrub?")
It's either he gives me a backrub or he transcribes the two interviews I did for Makati Med. and Medical City.
F*ck nut. Transcribe it is.
Whew. Ok. The zone. Where the hell is it???
Must play this song on repeat: (the boyz II men throwback album is making me procrastinate like a mother and I just wanna drift off into deep space nine or some vortex sh*t like that)
Hate. Hate. Hate, hate, hate. (I'm LSS-ing on that one line.)
First of all... I gotta give crazy love to my girl and our editorial assistant, Danee Torres for helping me book my flight and hotel accommodations for my upcoming trip. (Ok, more like actually booking them for me. =)
I swear, this online booking sh*t is helluh tedious. Ugh. I just wanna travel. Like... I just wanna pay the money, get on my flight, get to my hotel... and straight chill.
And I'm sorry I don't have a credit card of my own. (Thanks again, Daddy for letting me borrow yours. =) Sheesh. I'm too lazy to learn how to get one. Can't I just be someone's extension? (Pao? Please? I'm good with a measly 10k credit limit, hahaha!)
AND ANOTHER THING...
Documents that have or require identical copies SHOULD BE MADE OF CARBON PAPER. Furrealz. There should be a budget allocated for this sh*t. Like... government documents. Like building permits. And electrical permits. And sanitation permits.
I had to rewrite the same information 15 times just to get permits for a house that's already been built with electricity, and a functioning toilet and bath...
I was able to memorize my TIN no. and community tax certificate.
I've already memorized my passport no., too.
...... ......
My boyfriend rants about the dumbest things... like when we're forced to park on the rooftop of the parking lot mall. Or when the rain stops just when we're about to go to sleep.
He says he rants because he doesn't have any real problems to rant about.
I guess it's a sign of happiness. Paradoxically enough.
Will leave for Dubai on the 17th then Phuket, Thailand on the 20th with my awesome sister. A pre-birthday gift for myself. (Thank you, daddy for the credit card, hehe! You da f*ckin' best, You da f*ckin' best. =)
And if all goes well... it's Bali, Indonesia with Paolo for our one year anniversary in October. *blushes*
(The reggae bands by the beach and the 24hr. KFC beside the resort is what won him over. What a dork. We'll be eat, pray, lovin' to KFC whilst dancin' to a lot of Bob Marley renditions-Indonesian style. =)
"I hope you can still find things to be excited about,” he said, in an oddly misplaced fashion as we walked aimlessly around the mall. We were shopping for the initial, minor necessities for our apartment --- latex paint, curtain rods, a dishrack. Unbeknownst to us, there was a huge mall-wide sale, that particular day being its last day, so there we were, amidst an incredible sea of eager beavers hoping to score that ultimate bargain --- where you get WHAT YOU NEED, IN AWESOME CONDITION AND QUALITY, AT A DISCOUNTED PRICE.
But personally, I thought we looked more like hapless cattle than eager beavers.
…..
Moving in together was something we had decided on only several months after our relationship began. Of course, as of late, we’d have only been together almost 10months so I guess you can say we had already figured out a lot of what we wanted out of our relationship in a relatively short period of time. (While I argue that there are some who take years trying to figure out the same thing only to realize that they didn’t want the relationship to actually progress in the first place.) Like in that movie Definitely, Maybe, Isla Fisher advised, “Forget about the real deal. You don’t find it, it finds you… you know, when you are ready for marriage, a mortgage... the person that you are with THEN is the one.
Then Ryan Reynolds replied, “So it’s not who. It’s when?”
I don’t think this is entirely true when it comes to love and its success… remembering my father when he told us he had married our mother because that was when he was “ready” for a family. He was 30 and he was financially stable. I know a lot of guys who still use that rather sophomoric criterion today when it comes to marriage.
When I was 9, I told an inquisitive uncle that I’d be married when I was 28. I just deeply believed that it was a good age and that I’d be in a good place, sufficiently content and fulfilled after a pre-ordained life of independence and finally ready to take that next step to share my life with somebody else.
Even the detour I took having a baby at 23 didn’t really deter nor discourage me from that childhood faith.
So there we were, shopping for things I agreed I would contribute to the development of our new and improved home… finally using the wealth I had so compulsively accumulated (more like hoarded, really) over the course of 5years or so… having strayed slightly away from the shopping schedule I had originally made, buying the furniture sooner rather than later, (I figured that serendipitous sale made it an opportune time to buy that new sofa and TV rack… with his credit card, sure enough), and savoring the full awareness I had with regard to my shopping ---- because finally, I had the money, the rhyme and the reason. And all the sigh-inducing times I said NO to a new pair of shoes, or that new dress, or to some good food (that wasn’t fast nor processed), or that overseas trip, or that new gadget ---- I found at that moment, wasn’t at all that big of a sacrifice compared to the gratification (though delayed) of being able to buy that black leather sofabed at 20% off, putting it in our newly painted living room, facing the 32-inch flatscreen Samsung I had ordered from Dubai at 10,000pesos less than what I’d pay for here,and looking forward to all of the cozy, future DVD marathons with family and friends.
Needless to say, I was excited to build a home. Our home.
And I was excited to be married and to live as a young, happy, vibrant married couple in that home.
….
“I hope you can still find things to be excited about,” he said, in an oddly misplaced fashion as we walked aimlessly around the mall.
“After we’re married and we’ve built our home and everything.”
And in a semi-diva, yes I know this much is true, matter-of-factly-sounding tone, I replied, “Well… you gotta have things to keep me excited about.”
So you ask what excites a woman. Truly.
Sure. There’s the traveling around the world. There’s the baby-making (this is not in order of importance or eroticism). There’s even that dream of building a public library (with REAL books, none of that digital e-book, batteries not included type sh*t) and making it our personal contribution to the world.
Then there’s… love.
(Wow that was corny! Hahahahaha!!! Sheesh for a lack of more profound-sounding epiphany! =)
But seriously.
Love, man. To love and be loved so you find excitement in waking up to a whole new day of loving. To be excited about simply living. To not just find exciting things to do, but to have that excitement as children do.
And you know who taught me that?
My daughter.
She gets excited over a bag of diapers and surprisingly, shouts (what I once perceived to be) a rather over-exaggerated though unquestionably sincere "thank you, mommy"… not just for the expensive Huggies pull-ups… but for the love she understands I put into buying those diapers, for taking the time away from her to work to bring her home some pampers. Frikkin’ pampers.
But there it was. That gratitude. That excitement.
So I guess... if you know you’re loved, then you should always have something to be excited about.
One of the most painful things in this world is to see your baby sick... and you can't just stay home all day and watch em 24/7. And this is probably one of the very few cases I wish I were crazy rich or a stay home mom.
*sigh*
Stupid weather.
I never thought I'd miss Psyche all annoying and energetic and bothersome, interrupting me whenever I talk, saying stuff like, "MOMMY, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" or "Mommy? I like Kesha." or having her play Justin Bieber videos ad frikkin' nauseum, screaming and dancing in complete, uninhibited glee.
