On vacation

I am one of the lucky people who has a week-and-a-half off.

Lucky, I tell you, to wake up at 10 a.m. and lay in bed until 12 p.m. Lucky to be antsty that I have no work to think of. Lucky to be as lazy as I want to be and feel guilty about it at the end of the day. Lucky that I do not know what it means to relax.

I was ticked off yesterday that it rained and the boxes we stored outside of the house under the make-shift shed we have were drenched. We had to carry the boxes back on to the patio and dry the old clothes that were soaked. I tried to save what was left of some old letters my friends sent and little keepsakes I almost forgot about. After a while, I cooled down and realized that it was a blessing in disguise. The Ex-box was soaked. The letters from the ex were ruined. Okay, not all of them were wet, but I threw them all away. I realized I had no real reason to keep them, that in the next decade or so, I wasn't going to go through my stuff and read it. There were a lot of letters, suprisingly, a lot of trash, to say the least.

I told Francis about the letters and that I had to throw them all out. Thank God for his reaction. I found it a relief. He finally admitted that he's glad that they're gone, and that if they didn't get soaked, he would have made another reason for me to throw them out. He's usually nonchalant about things from my past, especially evidence (tangible things) that have been left behind. So, all this time, I thought he didn't mind. So much for reading between the lines. I find his patience intriguing, sometimes.

The other night, before I knew I was PMS-ing, I broke down in tears. It sounds funny, coming from me, becuase I don't really cry. Francis and I were discussing plans, and the moment he voiced his opposition, I totally lost it. I wanted to pull my hair out and hide in a hole somewhere. I don't want to talk about this anymore, I said. Francis was calm and explained that if I lost it everytime there was a problem, nothing could be solved. It's okay for us to argue, as long as we talk it through, he said. At that point, I would have rather been bonked on the head, but I realized that my boy friend had a good point. I'm glad that even though he knows I belong in a mental institution, he remains patient and very understanding.

PMS is not an excuse but a CAUSE for being a bitch. I know I'm not excused, but at least, I admit I'm a basket-case at this time of the month. God help me is Francis' motto, which makes me laugh and want to pull his hair out at the same time. "God help you from what, Francis? From your girl friend, the psycho?" I retort. Then I start the fanning-of-the-face-I-think-I'm-gonna-cry thing all over again. This is why Francis is a keeper- he's still on the other line trying to calm me down two hours later.

I have too much time on my hands, too much time for me to waste. I still have 12 more hours to procrastinate before bed time.

Vacations are tiring.

This little piggy went to the market and bought all the chocolate she could find

Last night, I had tuna and crackers for dinner (i.e. 10 crackers and half a can of tuna). I am officially belly-rolling-over-my-pants fat. Francis, the honest man that he is, told me that I'm plump. That, I think, is worse than fat. Plump is like saying I'm swollen and bloated. Anyhow, it didn't bug me at all because I'm sure he'll love me no matter what I look like, be it piglet or Barney. And besides, he did what I asked- he told the truth.

It's not easy to lose weight, especially when you live in a place where food is inexpensive and at arm's reach. All servings are big enough for two people and you will always find a reason for gluttony.

I can't say I've tried hard to avoid food, chocolates, in particular, especially when that's all I ask Francis to bring when he visits. Get me truffles, I say, and he goes out of his way to get his PLUMP girl friend what she wants. With the holidays soon approaching, I don't know how possible it will be to not balloon into a blimp. If only I could continue going to the cycling class at the gym, I think I'll be okay.

I remember last year, when I went home to the Philippines, my relatives asked me where I put the real me and to please ask the person who ate me to let me out. Very funny. It made me laugh so hard, I lost 10 lbs. in three weeks. That is what I call constructive criticism.

Being fat isn't too bad, but I would like to fit in my clothes again. I was warned that after 21, I would no longer grown lengthwise, but sidewise. Too bad I'm stubborn and chocolate tastes so good.

Anyway, happy holidays, people. May you eat plenty and be happy. I know I will.

Little demons and everything else I am afraid of

I am physically and emotionally drained. Something out of "nothing" has become the biggest issue we've had to face, so far.

How big is a lie no matter how insignificant it was about? How often should we apply "past EXperiences?"

Now, it goes without saying that there are certain things that I am more cautious about after being lied to a hundred thousand times. There are certain things I can and cannot take, and maybe it's because I took a whole lot of it from someone else. It may sound unfair to apply past EXperiences with the Keeper (a.k.a. Francis), but it's like a test. I let it happen last time, but I won't let it happen this time, I tell myself. So, I painstakingly spend the rest of the night trying to make my point, trying to keep him in the tiny molehill until he understands why I'm pissed. When I realize that I can't explain myself any further, I walk into my cave and sulk.

There isn't much to this, because he always says, "Don't sweat the small stuff." Though I think my fellow ladies will agree that we're all afraid that if you let the small stuff go, it'll roll up into a boulder and eventually run us over. Neurosis and paranoia at it's finest.

I'm a little too afraid, I know, of the things I can't see; fearful of what can be, should be, and might not be. I'm afraid of the dark and of feelings I'm not familiar with. I'm afraid that if I hope too much, it will change me and break me into a thousand pieces. I'm afraid that if I hold on too tight, I will get carpel tunnel syndrome. That if I laugh too much, I'll release gas at the most inopportune times. And I'm afraid if I screw this one up, I may lose my mind and huge chunks of my heart.

So, I've decided to close the itty-bitty baggage I carry with me, the one with the EXperiences in it. I remember that this is different, that history does not always repeat itself. A man with a good heart does exist and is better than those farirytale Brad Pitt look-alikes [that I wanted to jump, at one point in time].

The ex-box

We recently moved into the new house. Well, not really new, just newly painted and carpeted. Anyway, my sister and I were putting away some of our things last Saturday. Of course, this is the time where you figure out what to throw away and what to keep. Out of the mountain of shoes and unused clothing, there was one box that stood out. This box was filled with two bears (one with its nose bitten off by my doggy woggy), a mug, a dog, and some other stuff I couldn't see. Little sis picked up some of the things, examined almost all the items as if she were trying to remember something, then placed them gently in the box, which she sealed and marked: Ex-Box. I laughed, but wondered why these things, no matter how far in the past we have to look back, still have a place in our lives, be it in boxes hidden in damp closets.

Five minutes later, I found an old bag, which I thought contained several drawings Gabie made for a project I had in college.

The bag was half-empty, except for a few old letters.

I had found my Ex-Box.

Most of the stuff from my Ex I burned years ago. I remember spending a humid afternoon with my best friend, Cedrick, bitter, numb and exhausted, throwing hundreds of letters in Mom's huge pot (used to make a big vat of soup). Those letters burned ashy black; Evidence of a past I thought I would stop living. I thought, that day, that my feelings along with mental pictures would perish in the flames too. Obviously, I was wrong. The flame didn't die for another three years.

So, I stood there reading that letter, the first after the ones that were burned and the first of the few to come in the next year and a half. It was the good-bye letter written to me before I moved back to California. I read those words and wondered why I allowed myself the right to be stupid. I was aware of the empty promises that letter held, like a void contract waiting to expire. I knew it then, I know it more now. And it's not like I lacked foresight. I knew how things would end up, that I was chasing my own tail, that he was a traitor-in-the-making.

As I read the last few paragraphs, I laughed at the words he used, at his feeble explanations. I had no longing nor pain in the middle of my chest. I didn't feel the need for closure. There is nothing left to analyze, feel or agonize about. But, see, that's what I wondered: after ten years of all of that, was there really nothing to show for it?

Surprisingly, I am not broken, no battlewounds on the chest or abnormal palpitations. I am not half the person I used to be, nor am I bitter and angry. I have no excess luggage or issues worthy of expensive couch-time. I left those things where they belong- pinpoints in time that make up my history. What I have are tiny insights that I draw upon every now and then, little reminders of how bad it was and how great it is now.

I threw the letter back in the bag and chucked it in the storage room. It will remain there forgotten, the testimony of what could have been and what is:

That my boy friend's shoes are sitting on my shoe rack. That he'll be back no matter what happens, that he need not put himself in writing because he shows himself everyday. Unguarded, unscathed, all laughter and honesty. And he's mine, all mine. And I will love him like I have never loved before- selfless and secure, because after 10 years of all of that, Francis is what I have to show for it.

Half-whole

I'd rather be sad alone. When you miss someone, you're by yourself. No one else will get it, even if they say they empathize. I don't discount the care that people have given me in regards to this terrible feeling. However, people can't see nor feel the part of you that's lost.

Francis went home on Tuesday (after a five-day vacation here). He helped us move out, he helped me with the chores, with cleaning and moving furniture and waiting for the service people to come out and do work on the house. We were together almost every minute. We bugged the hell out of each other and argued about the dumbest things. We laughed all the time and I tested his patience and talked on and on and on about nothing. We didn't go anywhere special or do anything amazing. We just enjoyed the time being together through pissy moods and fatigue.

So on Tuesday afternoon, as I turned onto my street, I realized I didn't have anything to do. He wouldn't be asleep on the couch waiting for me. He wasn't there for me to hold and laugh at and tease and whine to.

And I felt empty, as if there was a pit in my tummy. It's like I lost something and I know where it is, but I can't reach it.

That night, during the silent intervals on the phone, I hopelessly tried composing myself after crying, because the voice I could feel on my skin everyday is now 3000 miles away.

It's gotten harder for me. A lot harder. No one knows or even asks me seriously how I'm doing. And I don't care to tell the truth that the hardest pain to get over is longing for someone. Because they won't get it.

But I do.

And I'd rather be myself right now. There's nothing worse than being sad and alone.

5

I am the saddest person in the world right now.

It's the easiest emotion to show, but the hardest to get rid of.

ARGH

Out of utter lack of better judgement, I chose to wear my turquoise l/s shirt today. Though there is nothing weird about my attire, the color is just too damn bright. I have been walking around work and it seems that everytime I see a mirror, my reflection cringes in disgust. We are in the process of moving and I have not been able to weedle out my cute winter clothes. In all honesty, I haven't even started packing yet, and we're moving this Saturday. I am also in the fat phase where I refuse to wear my nice slacks and cute tops for fear of finding out they fit again. I dropped two sizes this year. I want to continue to think that I am still a size 4 instead of the normal 6. There is no logic in that, I know. I just want to think that I am skinny. I want to drop the weight before I find out that I actually gained it.

We painted the interior of the house last weekend. It was a sight to see- me actually getting off my ass to do something worthwhile. I enjoyed myself, knobby-wobbly knees and all. The whole thing left me exhausted, but more fulfilled. I want to replace the kitchen faucet and the lights. These will be my little projects. There is something about owning a house that makes me enjoy this type of responsibility. I can do whatever I want with it. My dog can piss anywhere he wants in the backyard and he can poo on the grass and I don't have to pick it up. Ok, maybe I will still pick it up, but the point here is I can do whatever I want with the place, even if I do have to repair my own sink and toilet (when needed) and all the other icky stuff I have been able to avoid. I used to be manly and burly. I think I can be that way again. I think.

I ordered 4 books from B&N today. I know I shouldn't have since I still have 3 books left to read, but, I thought, what's a little added pressure? If I'm going to give myself a heart attack, I might as well just pile it on for one whole shot. I don't know if I'll even find the time to read all these books, let alone go to the gym. I keep calculating in my mind how much this house thing is with the carpet and the painting and the replacing and the cleaning. I honestly hate credit cards and I hate owing money to establishments. I know that there are reasons why I had to put a lot of stuff on credit, i.e. no credit = ugly, dingy, old carpet. However, the thought of bills makes me suffocate. Seriously.

I can't seem to stop smoking, though the urge to smoke has waned. I find a reason everyday. The cravings have never existed. Ok, they exist when people pile "things you need to accomplish in life" on my bad back, and I can't talk back or say "no" because I'm supposed to live up to this image that people have created since my birth. So, I just smoke one. I hate it when people think there is something wrong with me when they don't stop to fucking ask if there is something wrong with themselves. Sometimes, I just want to tell them that they don't know the shit I go through. And if I'm a bitch, then there's a reason for it. If I'm supposed to be certain things to certain people, give me the courtesy to handle it in my own terms. I refuse to clean the bathroom floor and fucking smile at the same time.

Sometimes, I wonder, what the point of all of this is.

Ironically, there is no other place I would rather be.

The morning

It's the 5 minutes that fail me. This is the nth time I've woken up late, yesterdayat 630am and today at 7am. Five minutes! That's all I ask. And what do I get? A whopping hour-and-a-half. I don't know why I can't just pick my ass up as soon as the alarm clock goes off. I have to be at work at 6am when I start the new position.

We finally bought the painting supplies last night. What a job this whole thing entails. I've already scheduled the replacement of the carpet for the 29th of October, so this is the only weekend we can paint the interior of the house. We haven't started packing, yet, and, like I've said so many times, we're just gonna put all our shit in boxes. It's the big furniture that's a pain in the butt, especially for me because I can't carry for shit. Twenty-three years old with a bad back. I've also been feeling chest pains, which only occur when I'm under much stress. I think I should lay off the coffee and the cigarettes and see if that will prolong my existence. Go fucking figure.

I asked Francis about going to the gym and he suggested that I start going at least twice a week and spend a good hour there instead of the original plan of going everyday for a mere 30 minutes. Point taken. Now, all I have to do is drag my sorry butt over there.

I am especially frustrated with the fact that I haven't been able to finish Friendship with God, which has been on my reading list for the past year. I know I've mentioned this before, but it's really bugging me that I can't sit down and read anymore, or even actually find the time to.

I'm so glad tomorrow is Friday, which reminds me, I have to take my drug test for the new job.

Wish me luck.

I don't do drugs, obviously. I'm just naturally insane.

Mom's vacation

Mom went on vacation for Dad's birthday. None of us have talked about it, but I know that we all miss her. Suprisingly, we've maintained the cleanliness of the house. I have to admit, when Mom is here, we automatically turn into children again, knowing that someone will pick up after us and feed us and hug us when we're sad and be our sounding board. It's a great feeling to know that someone is always there for you. I've resisted the inclination to be dependent. It's a hard process for me to follow. I like doing things on my own, asking for minimal help, learning as I go. Short-cuts are good, like learning from other people's experiences, but nothing sticks as well as going through it yourself.

Anyway, even our dog is depressed. All he does is lay around and pine. He'll walk from one room to another, pause as if he's pondering something, then plop on the floor or the couch with his head gently placed between his paws. He has this sad-dog look on his face and it seems no one is able to cheer him up. He doesn't really run around the house the way he used to and when we carry him, he slumps in our arms as if his bones have softened. The night before Mom left, he had this confused look when he saw the boxes stuffed with things and he kept tapping Mom like he was asking her what was going on. (I know it sounds funny that I interpret my dog's actions this way, but we all talk to him like he's human.) My poor doggie-woggie. I think everyone feels the same way he does.

We know that Mom likes it better where Dad is and even though my parents are only 50, it seems like their really old. They still act like teen-agers in love, but we feel that they should start enjoying life by traveling and being together. They deserve it.

So, we're glad Mom went on vacation. We're glad that they got to spend time together, because they're not very used to being apart.

The view

This is the view from the porch of our tiny house.

Long Beach

There is something about Long Beach in the beginning of Autumn where the fog sets in and the chill of December rises from the sea. I have taken the extra effort to pass through 2nd St. instead of 7th St. because the view is much nicer and is not as depressing as the latter. Here, I find the commercial tourist district, where everything is over-priced but pleasant to the senses. It's all but intimate as I stop for my morning coffee and my two-dollar bagel. My only thoughts are of how time flies and that I will be late for the fourth time this week. I am a little irate by the fact that breakfast cost me $6.00. It's spare change, to be honest, but I find it daunting that this is how far I've come in life. I'm a city person always on the go, no time to sleep, credit cards in tow. My success is measured by the kind of coffee I can afford ($3.50 for a small vanilla latte and $2.00 for a bagel and cream cheese), by the job that I hold, the property I own, the value of my retirement nest. There is no comfort in this knowledge because I've set aside the things I value most. The harder I try to bridge this gap, the more difficult it is for me to slow down.

There is no motivation and I find that the faster I go, the limits are endless. I used to be content with spending time with my closest friends, having dinner over lost conversation. Now, we all watch the time, conscious of the traffic, tired from the mundane day.

I have much to look forward to, in truth. I am quite blessed. I keep reminding myself this.

If I don't, I will end up on a couch talking to a psychiatrist and 10 bottles of medication to keep me from jumping off a bridge.

Therapy

I found out that Francis can't come tomorrow or Friday or this whole weekend.

So, I went shopping.

But I'm still depressed.

Conversations with God

I've had this book for almost a year. It has traveled the world with me; yet, I have finished reading three books, while this has 30 pages left to turn.

What would love do? That is the essential question, God says. From this, all good is brought forth and conflict will not exist. This is what I've learned.

I am in a rut. My family relations are strained. Of course, there is no one left to blame but myself. There is a responsibility in this that is heavy on the heart. I have ceased to voice my opinions and feelings, especially those I know will cause further misunderstanding. There really is nothing left to say.

Honestly, I would rather be run over 3 times than be in this position. Ok, maybe 5, just to be sure.

On my way to work this morning, I saw a sign that read: Choose Love. I stared at it, while waiting for the light to turn green. It wasn't until I read it that I realized God is reminding me that only your family will truly love you. There is no doubt in this. They are with you everywhere you go, hoping for the best for you, praying for your safety.

How do you replace regret with love? How do you forget? How will I reconcile all of this? How will I accept the sad fact that I will never really truly be understood?

I will choose Love. Everyday. Even when it's the hardest thing to do. I don't know how that will work, but the problem has been solved for me.

Now, if only I could lose my mind. Sometimes, I find, when I think less, I stay out of trouble.

Another world

I don't really mean another world or space or poignant plane in time. I moving to another department. I was indirectly reminded by CryoGuy why it is good for me to leave. He just left The Boss' office. He is beginning to get on my nerves.

For the most part, the people in my department are great- easy to work with, polite, courteous, like family.

But I am tired of my job because I have mastered it. It has become a routine. So, it is time for me to move on. Finally, this part of my life is going somewhere.

Change is always good.

September

September is the longest month of this year. Or, at least, that's what it feels like. It's dragging on and on and on. It's almost as bad as my Chemistry class in high school where my teacher's voice was a drone in my ear. I remember trying to stab myself with a pencil a couple of times to end my misery.

I just can't wait till October. Francis and I see each other one weekend every month, which isn't so bad taking into consideration he lives in Montreal and I live on the opposite end, south of the continent. During the summer, the weeks in between visits went by pretty quick. But this month has taken its toll. My patience is thinning and I'm short of going nuts.

I knew, from the start, that I would eventually be feeling this way, but I find no regret in diving into the relationship as if I had nothing to lose. He's worth it. He keeps me grounded. He balances out every part of me.

So this is me, a big bag of mush, ready to make my friends puke.

And even though September is almost over, it's as if every minute lasts an hour. I've never really been popular because of my waiting skills. On the other hand, I'm notorious for making people wait.

Being late

Last night, Francis told me he would teach me the tricks to waking up early and being on time.

Yeah, uh-huh.

That is an incredible feat.

Something my parents couldn't force me to do.

I suppressed a snicker.

I will give him a chance.

I already warned him that the first couple of months will be rough. He will eventually meet the Ultimate Warrior Bitch. He seemed unfettered.

I give him credit for his courage. He is brave. Everyone knows that I am the Medusa-incarnate at 6 o'clock in the morning.

Montreal Part 2

I was in Montreal 3 weeks ago. I didn't get to eat at G's as she was busy and everything was done in a rush. I miss her curry (Yes, Babe, I like curry, but you like Linkin Park, so we're even.) I met the infamous Joey, who likes me "so, I shouldn't fuck it up." Most, if not all, of my time was spent with Francis. Of course. Four days of funny looks, holding hands, after-hour talks, and love after love after love.

I met his family and then some. I was roasted like I've never been roasted before. I sat in the middle of that living room, that room I will never forget, while his family joked about marriage. Ha-ha. I turned red and almost shit in my pants. Ha-ha. I kept looking up at Francis to save me, but he turned red and almost shit in his pants. I sat there and laughed with the rest of them because it amused me. That, ha-ha, it's gonna happen before they know it. I wonder what they would have done if either me or Francis made "the announcement." (At this point, Francis, as you read this, I bet you are keeling over.)

Not much sight-seeing, but tons of family gatherings.

I miss it all. I miss him. I have been bitten on the ass by the lovebug.

To those who think I'm cheesy: Ha-ha. You're just jealous!

For those of you who think you're smart

See how many differences you can see in one minute. I found all 10. Ha-ha.

Weirdness

So, I almost lost it yesterday. "It" being the speckle of sanity I have left from 23 years of being...something a.k.a. sister, daughter, friend, enemy, bitch, antagonist, fire-starter, macho, blah blah blah. Thanks to Francis and CBF, I am back to normal, well, as normal as I can be (which doesn't count for much).

The house issue, I am no longer worried about. I have enough gray hairs as it is.

I now wish to go back to photography, but I am in that stage of "If only...I had a better camera, a wandering eye, a tripod, artistic inclination, etc. etc."

In my mundane yet organized life, I found that I miss peanut butter M&M's carefully propped on my bellybutton. No special tricks here, just yummy peanut butter and chocolate and a bellybutton that has seen better days.

I haven't gone to the gym in a week. I am fat and bloated. There goes $37/month.

I am broke but I'm happy (which makes me sound like a fatter but cuter version of A. Morissette.) Ok, maybe not so broke. Just shopping-deprived.

It's gotten colder in the mornings and our main light in the bathroom is dead. This means that I have to turn on the vanity lights that are hooked up to the vent, which makes it cold as hell and harder to jump out of the bath. Also, it leads to "cutting glass," if you know what I mean.

Summer has officially ended. Shit. Good-bye tank tops. Hello dysfuntional sweaters. Francis knows I am no good in cold weather. And this does not help with the fact that we may be spending Christmas in Montreal. Another scenario of "cutting glass."

I actually came in to work on time. Seven a.m. on the dot, sucker.

I love coffee. I've been jumpy lately. I drink an average of 3 cups a day. I have it with everything, even pizza. Maybe I should get off it. I'm not addicted. I don't see things in the corner of my room. I'm not an insomniac. I have ten fingers. My leg shakes when it's at rest. Maybe I should stop drinking coffee. Maybe I have a twin somewhere. Why do I see people in the corner of my eye?

Does health insurance include annual examinations for mental stability? I have PPO. That shit is expensive. It should, at least, cover brain cell counting. Seriously, now.

Transitions

I'm a bit melancholy for reasons I have yet to figure out. I hung out with a couple friends from work to say farewell two of our co-workers have moved to different programs. I wanted to go home to Francis. I miss him all the time and these are the moments when the reality of being apart is depressing. I wanted to go home to the comfort of my Mom's arms and funny stories, but she was asleep when I arrived.

I'm a little scared, to be honest, of the many decisions I have made. I don't know where to start. I'm a little overwhelmed. The house. The job.

We finally made an offer on a house, which sits on top of a hill. The view is spectacular. The lot is huge. The house that sits on it is a different story. There are no closets. It is small. The layout is confusing. It will cost thousands of dollars to make it nicer. But I own it. My brother owns it. My family will live there. And we'll make the best of it.

I am blessed and I am grateful. Thank God He is always with me.

Things I have learned

In the past week, I have learned all the crap we were never taught in college, such as:

Buying property:

• If the picture shows that there are either grills on the windows or a metal fence that surrounds the house, you may have to duck and run to your car everyday to dodge whatever may hit you, be it stray bullets or bird shit. Why? Because in neighborhoods such as these, you never know what's gonna hit you.
• There is much meaning in the phrase, "You live in the OC, eh?" People who live in Orange County do not know how lucky they are to have the well-planned streets and breathing spaces in between lots. LA County, for the most part, where the affordable homes are, sucks like a bag of dung and grass. People from the OC are spoiled? Damn straight we are. I would rather rent then run sprints from my car to the house on a crowded street in a crowded neighborhood.
• When the listing says "Owner willing to negotiate," don't even bother making an offer. There is no owner willing to negotiate. You make an offer and they will not only bite your hand off, they will also take your whole arm, make you walk on one leg, ask you to file for bankruptcy, sell your dog to the gypsies for the little extra cash, and take your fake leather wallet.
• Patience is not a virtue. It is a waste of time. The longer it takes for me to buy property, the less likely I will be able to afford it in the next couple of months. Go fucking figure.

Buying a Dress for a wedding in Montreal:

My dress is a pretty, off-white, halter, silhouette with light fuschia pink flowers of which 2 are carefully situated on the upper left portion of the halter (right above the left boob) and 2 on the right leg below the hips. I fell in love with it the moment I tried it on. Mom and The Boy Friend agree with it, too.

• The difficulty in buying the right stilletos of the right shade of fuschia to match this dress does not compare to Christmas Shopping. The latter is much easier.
• Buying skivvies for a dress that shows everything but the dimples on your butt is more of a hassle than it is a well-deserved shopping spree. Only one color and one style will help me pull off the decent-summery-casual-happy-girly-look. The color is grandma-nude. The style, I still have to figure out. The wrong undies will simultaneously push tummy-fat in the in the wrong places (I wonder if is there is underwear that can push tummy fat up to the boobies) and make me look a like a screaming whore from California who likes pink. Hello, VS; good-bye next paycheck.
• There is no bag the right shade of fuschia.

They should have taught buying dresses and gowns in college under fiscal management, because:

Dress, shoes, accessories, and skivvies, $250. Impression one makes with dress, shoes, accessories, and skivvies on The Boy Friend's relatives and friends, priceless.

Meeting my Boy Friend's relatives and friends:

• There is no way I will make it through the day without tripping or falling on my face. I have the tendency to make a mockery out of myself under extreme pressure.
• After this event, I will have to undergo speech therapy. I will also have extended temporary psychosis and paranoia.
• I have to smile and pretend it doesn't hurt when all I'll want to do is hide in the bathroom.

I know it sounds shallow, but these are the things they should have taught us in college, not some square root of some number you'll never think about again. What about real-life situations? What about the meaning of jumbo loans, five-year fixed interest and variable interest rates? How to save for the future? Retirement plans? What about what to say to your partner's relatives or the right wedding present for someone you barely know? How not to screw up everyday? Why didn't anyone tell us that we had to start investing at the age of five in order to live comfortably at age 65, without having to bust our chops and increase the likelihood of getting a hernia and high blood pressure?

Tell me, out of all the classes I missed, which one talked about how to stay on the road that veered away from the looney bin?

Pre-Menstrual pSychosis

I'm pissed. I woke up this morning tired and groggy. I was asleep for a good 12 hours, then the alarm went off. I think there is something wrong with my eyes. I haven't gone to the gym in a week. I have to go shopping. And no one washed the dishes last night!

So, my sister got into a car accident yesterday, she's ok. I heard Mom yelling at her last night. I think she screwed up. I wonder how much this is going to cost me.

We made another offer on a house, which pissed my brother off, but he signed the papers anyway. I don't know what he was so pissy about, it's not like I go around complaining how fucking far away everything is from my house. I drive 60 miles a day, back and forth, and they don't hear me say squat. When I was looking through the listings, I didn't consider how far it would be for myself, I was even considering West fucking Covina. So, just because Long Beach is an extra 30-mile drive from your office, don't give me shit about it because I did not see your lazy ass looking for a place, while Mom complained that no one was "making an extra effort to find a house." And then when The Boy Friend comes back to visit, I am supposed to feel fucking guilty because the weeks prior to that I "was too lazy to go look around the fucking neighborhood." Why did you people forget that you have four kids? 4! Quatro! Apat! Four kids!!! I am not the only one with sound judgement. I am not the only one capable of making decisions. Why don't you ask your other three kids to go help, because my Boy Friend is here once a month, and I don't need fucking guilt trips at the last fucking minute because I, your only child, didn't haul ass three weeks before that! Who looked up houses every single day? Who called our agent to go see the house? Who took time off work to "make an extra fucking effort" just so we can move before the end of the year? And then, when I finally go off and do something for myself, I am supposed to feel guilty for it because I am not doing anything? Hello! There are three other kids. Don't give me shit about the other one being busy with school. Screw that! I went to school, worked and got good grades at the same time. I did not have the luxury of driving around. I hauled my ass from one place to another in terrible humid weather, dodging fucking jeepney drivers and pickpocketers. How come when I suggest that you ask my other brother, who is, by the way, 22 years old, to go help out, you tell me "let him be?" What the fuck is that? When you tell me shit, do you hear me talk back? I just fucking sit there. But when you scold your other three kids, they have justifications for everything! But I'm the terrible daughter who walks around the house like a grouch.

I swear, I should have fucked up a long time ago, then, maybe people would get off my back.

Anyway, Francis was here last weekend. I'm glad. That is the only time when people don't bother me, which is great, because I have to maximize every minute I have with him. We barely talk anymore because of our conflicting schedules. Thank God, I will be there next week.

Quit it with the "I'm not used to seeing you with a boy friend" bit. Get used to it! Get over it! The reason why you're not used to it is because you don't see me move on from one boy friend to the next. I can actually stand to be alone, and I was for three years, damn it. So let me lean on Francis in peace without having you people in the background saying "I'm not used to it." Ah. Go screw the wall. And so fucking what if I smile only when he's around. That's a lot more I than can say when I'm with you people!

Shit. One more week of this.

Disclaimer: This is only temporary psychosis. I will not mean this shit when things get back to normal (give or take a week). Let me be pissy now, because in five minutes, people will still expect me to smile.

*Sigh*

Today, I am fat. Fatter than I was yesterday. I am lazy. I woke up late. I have crap on my desk. My hair is too long. I want to go shopping. I, generally, do not like people right now. My hair is too long. It's only 930 a.m. and I want to go home and sleep, but then, I'd get bored and want to come back to work. I want to clean the house, but everyone has their crap all over the place. There has been no response, yet, to the offer we made. My tank is almost empty. I have to get the car's oil changed. I want to be by myself. I don't want to talk. People should just leave me alone because I don't feel like smiling today. Don't call me, or I will shoot you with a pellet gun very close to your crotch, because that's where it hurts the most.

I can't wait till Friday.

Good times, good times

I spent the weekend with Eljene, my best friend from the seventh grade. It was a fluke; she was really supposed to have spent it with JR, her best friend. Anyway, we went to lunch on Saturday and I took her to Melrose because she loves vintage clothing and is not afraid to buy anything used (unlike me, who is afraid of everything). This was my weekend adventure. It was my first time there, to be walking around people who were dressed to look casually fashionable and pretend not to care about anything else except the coffee drink in one hand and the oversized shopping bags hanging on their shoulders. We walked around a little, but found the prices to be too damn expensive for something someone else wore 3 times. So, to be adventurous, I bought a blouse for the next weekend.

We talked of high school, junior high, college and life, in general. I told her about Francis and she told me about her "non-boy friend", John. We compared sucky ex-boy friend stories, her's being worse than mine by 5 points, to justify why we are the way we are now. She is at that point I was about 1 1/2 years ago- scared, independent, and cynical about everything to do with relationships. I told her one day it will just smack her on the ass, to which she screamed, "I miss you, John, but no, not yet." This sounded familiar in an icky sort of way, how I used to proclaim bullshit then take it back. She obviously missed the guy, but could not go as far as she wanted.

Good times, good times. She would repeat this every-so-often. It was kind of weird and positive at the same time. I was just glad to be with her, because it was 10 years ago we cried outside the SF Public Library. Tears running down our faces and snot being wiped off with our cardigans, we said we were best friends and that we loved each other and how it sucked that I was leaving. I wish I forgot why we had that embarrassing confrontation, where people passed and looked at us with inquisition, probably thinking that we were smarmy little Catholic school kids crying over the dumbest thing. It was, in truth, dumb, but it hurt like hell 10 years ago, when all we had were report cards and pre-pubescent features.

We had breakfast again on Sunday morning and I brought her to the airport. And that was that.

Good times, Elj, good times.

Vigan 2

Sunrise at about 4am. I wish I would wake at this time in the morning to see the sky like this again. The only reason I was awake at that time was because the A/C on the bus was so cold that I had to pee. Go figure. Now, I am barely human at 6am.

Vigan

Sunrise at Vigan. I took this about 4 years ago in the Philippines when we took our trip to Vigan, one of the old provinces. Nice, eh?

Trying to change

Ok, so I'm running around on a Friday trying to get everything processed. I've been doing pretty well taking care of the crap on my desk, i.e. getting rid of paper, processing documents, following up work, but every time I turn around to ask a question, more crap is added to the pile. I have a pretty huge desk that I have not seen in the past 3 weeks.

Fortunately, my silent complaints about database and processing have reaped somewhat a few benefits. Management, Dave tells me, is quite impressed with the database that we set up to track our docs, so, he's going to treat me to lunch next week for the great work we've done. We're going to Islands. I love the veggie burgers there.

Anyway, I put in about 6 applications for different sites, all with the same company. Not that I don't like it here, I just need to move forward. Two of the 6 applications are for inter-department moves, and one of the managers showed me that he received my application already. I shrugged and smiled and walked away very fast. I was kind of embarrassed as I had spoken to him about it the week before and he asked me what my bosses would do without me. I really don't know. Hire someone else, maybe? (But not until I get the job, of course.)

And I want that house. Waiting for a response after making that offer is making me antsy.

I am hyper today.

Trip 2

Somewhere in Canada about 15minutes off the runway

I took this picture in the plane (obviously) a little over a month ago. It was the same view I had going into Montreal. Sometimes, I can't believe I was actually there.

Three more weeks and I'll be seeing it again.

Lunch break

I just finished my lunch, which is the usual microwavable Lean Lo-Carb whatever. I burned the roof of my mouth on the four cheese pizza I had yesterday because I rushed to eat lunch and prepare for the 1 o'clock. Today, the vend0 machine guy came and left the freebies on the lounge tables, so, I had a choice of dessert- either the dingdongs or the Fast Break. I opted for the dingdongs that turned out to be dry and a little ick.

I noticed that the happier I am, the less I have to write about. It's a little harder to put happy thoughts down on paper when all I really want to do is sing (to myself, of course) or just walk around with a goofy smile on my face. Anyhow, there are a lot of things on my mind that have kept me quite preoccupied, one being the thing with the thing and the stuff like that. That's how I've been thinking, lately. There are many things that are too specific to talk about and too vague to even be specific about.

So there goes that.

And my happy thought for the day is that today is Friday.

FH bailed on our scheduled get-together this evening. More time for the gym, I guess. Ugh.

Uh-huh part 2

Freudian Inventory Results

Genital (60%) you appear to be stuck between a progressive and regressive outlook on life. Latency (20%) you appear to have an irrational view on the value of learning. Phallic (50%) you appear to have a good balance of sexual awareness and sexual composure. Anal (80%) you appear to be overly self controlled, organized, and subservient to authority. Oral (33%) you appear to be stubbornly and irrationally against receiving help even when it might be the more intelligent option.

Take Free Freudian Inventory Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Now, I really want to whack somebody!

Uh-huh (Got this from Ailene)

Freudian Inventory Results

Genital (56%) you appear to be stuck between a progressive and regressive outlook on life. Latency (30%) you appear to have an irrational view on the value of learning. Phallic (33%) you appear to have negative issues regarding sexuality and/or have an uncertain sexual identity. Anal (80%) you appear to be overly self controlled, organized, and subservient to authority. Oral (30%) you appear to be stubbornly and irrationally against receiving help even when it might be the more intelligent option.

Take Free Freudian Inventory Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Does this give me permission to whack someone?

High School Reunion

I just saw the pictures from the mini-reunion the class of '98 had a couple of nights ago. All my old friends are older versions of the girls they used to be. I miss them, though not each as individuals (save for a few), and the feeling I had when they were around. As I looked at the smiling faces, I wondered how I would have felt to be with them again. Just the thought made me feel a bit awkward. I was close to some, an acquaintance to the rest. I never had a set group of friends, more like close friends from different groups. I don't really know if I've changed much since high school or even if I've changed at all. Maybe this is the reason why some people don't even bother to go. Maybe all of us are finally comfortable in our little niches and do not wish to play victim to judgement. Maybe we don't know where we are in our lives and feel that we have nothing to show for ourselves. Either way, it's always a bit difficult to take one step back into the past. Six years is a long time.

If I didn't live across the ocean, I still would have gone. The older we get, the less we see of ourselves. I might have missed something that night, but I missed them, most of all.

Updates

Ok, so I don't post as often as I used to, only to admit I have a pseudo-life now. One reason why I don't write as much is because all I think about is Francis. (Mushy, I know, but it's the truth. I am as puke-worthy now as I was macho back in college.) I think about him day and night, before bedtime, when I wake up, when I walk, think, run. All the time. So, I figure, my dear friends do not want to know that much and they cannot picture me so...ummm...un-macho-like. The other reason is because, as soon as I get home, I am on the phone talking to Francis. Surprise, suprise. (Look, when your bf/gf lives 3000 miles away, 3 timezones ahead, you will try to squeeze in as much quality time as possible.)

Anyway, of the things that I have done in the past 2 months, there are certain things I will provide updates on.

1. I went to Montreal and stayed there for a week. I had a great time with Francis and Elisa. Though, I could not stay longer (since I AM ABSOLUTELY NO GOOD IN COLD WEATHER). Niagra Falls is beautiful, and, yes, I would go there again be it 9 hours, 12 hours, or 2 days in the car (because the roadtrip itself is memorable). The food in Montreal is great. Everyone speaks French. I, for the most part, walked around clueless (so tourist-y of me). I only bought souvenirs and walking sandals (go figure).
2. My job is still the same, but I am awaiting progress. Hopefully, it comes. I am getting impatient.
3. I have 2 projects I am working. Both are personal. More to come on the two later on. Only thing I can say is they are both BIG.

Boring, eh? That's pretty much it, for now.

My Gatorade

This may sound retarded, but SOMEONE STOLE MY GATORADE. And I am PISSED. I usually do not care when someone steals my food, beverage, whatever the hell you want to call it. This time, though, I wanted that Gatorade after my meeting that lasted too long. That was also my drink for when I go to the gym later (note: gym time is not contingent on Gatorade supply). So, when I opened the fridge door and did not see a bottle with red watery stuff in it, I was mad. I prayed that the person who stole it would get sick from drinking it. Damn it!!! And now I feel bad because I don't really like wishing terrible things upon other people.

Sometimes

"[Memory is] a man's real possession...In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor." - Alexander Smith (1830 - 1867)

I got that from Perrin.

Sometimes, in the quietest of moments, I have no sense of the present time. Yesterday, I had a flashback of my ex-boy friend's room, as if it were still 1990-something. I felt that I was laying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. I still recalled where the wallpaper yellowed and began to peel and how strangely familiar it felt to be there. I remember what I was feeling at that time- kind of calm and unknowing. LL wasn't there with me. I was alone. It was neither a good memory nor a bad one. It was just that- a memory, a reminder of how far I've come.

Sometimes, we just know that there are certain places we'll never go back to. When we look back, we don't remember how people looked or what they said; we only remember ourselves, how we felt, what we were thinking. It gives us a better perspective of where we are now.

Other times, I'm back on Banawe, walking home with my sister because all the jeepneys were full. I can feel the sun scorching my hair, my forehead is oily and sticky from the heat, and my feet are aching. I'm carrying the heavy workload from school, my college textbooks are nestled in my left arm, the bag on my right.

I thought of so many things back then. I couldn't wait till I was in college, I wondered what it would be like when I was finally independent, how it would feel to be driving my own car.

Now, I just wonder what it's like to go home early and pretend to relax, to not even wonder at all.

Finances

Ok, so right now, I really want to shoot something.  I would say someone, but I'm not angry.  I just want to shoot a can or a tire or a computer.  I am 3 steps away from being financially stable.  Three being the number of credit cards I have left to pay off.  First on the list is my VS card.  Damn store!  All pink.  I hate that color, but I found myself spending hours there for days at a time.  Stupid card is evidence of how much I've spent on stupid skivvies.   Ok, not stupid, but cute skivvies.  Next one is my Mastercard and then my Visa.  I will burn these plastic blood-suckers that I carry in my wallet and stick to the good-ol' green.  I have money put away in my 401k every paycheck and I have set aside money for the trip back to Mtl and for when The Boy Friend visits.  Smart, eh?  This also means less shopping, no extra shoes (aaaahhhhhhh!), tons of gym time (yeah-fucking-right) so that I will always fit into my jeans.  There will be another pot for a consolidated Savings Account with my bros and sis and money left over for bills.
 
I'm thinking out of my nose, I know, but, somehow, this should work.  It's working right now.  As for The Big Project, we might have to hold that off till the end of the year. 
 
I'm not stressed.
 
Now, if I only had a gun or bat or not-so-white wall that I could bang my head into.

Indispensible

Ok, so I woke up at 5 this morning.  This sudden time-change is doing willies for my not-coming-to-work-on-time thing.  The Boy Friend and I have only spoken a total of 2 1/2 hours since he got back, and he's been home for 3 days.  That's not much talkin', if you ask me.  So the weirdest thing is that we have to chat online during the day just to catch up and it feels like I'm not even talking to him.  I mean the REAL him.  It's so different when I hear his voice on the phone.  As cruddy as his new work sched is, he gets to visit me on the weekends instead of in the middle of the week, which helps me, too, because I don't have to take too many days off.  Boss1 might have a fit because I'm in love with a Canadian, which results in days off because I absolutely will not work while he pines (hehe) for me at home whenever he comes down to visit me.  Boss2 told me that when I was gone on Friday there were questions no one could answer except for me.  I told him I was only gone for a day.  "A day is too long," he says.  I think that is sweet, how every so often, they make me feel indispensible.  And how intrigued they are about this guy I'm actually taking time off for.  That the person they always considered a little girl actually has a Boy Friend and not some screensaver of Owen Wilson in Starsky & Hutch that comes on when I take smoke breaks.  I told Boss1 that Owen was my boy friend once, and he almost cracked up.  Instead, he just smirked, said "oh," and walked back into his office.

The second visit

I'm a bit sleepy. I woke up at 4:30 this morning, tossed and turned for a good 45 minutes and finally gave up to get ready for work. I am way passed being mushy, more like in a state of shock. I think that's the way it is whenever we part. Things don't sink in until I leave. We drive to the airport in a hurry, we don't talk about saying good-bye. I never cry. We know how the script goes. He gets home, I call, things are back to normal. So why does it feel like it gets harder every time?

I should know that this is how long-distance relationships go. I should. But I don't. I've never been through this before. I've never had someone with whom I could meet halfway without gagging or thinking twice. It was always someone else trying to go the distance and me running and screaming in the opposite direction or it was someone I relentlessly tried to hold on to as he poked me in the eye and stabbed me in the chest. I never really let things happen naturally as I do now.

No, I haven't lost it. Little sis's boy friend says that he's never seen this side of me before. I wonder which side this is. I'm neither vaguely insulted nor apprehensive. I'm curious though and a bit worried. Little sis impersonated me last night. Shit. Am I that lifeless and grouchy? Even Mom said the only time I smile is when The Boy Friend is around. Not true! Or is it? Does being in love really change a person?

Blech. I think that is a bunch of crock! I'm not mushy all the time. It still makes me sick. Although, I have resorted to naming my stuffed toys, Henry Pecker, the cutie patootie Canadian beaver, being the first, I don't think I'm as hopeless as that. Or even that I've got it that bad. Whatever it is. Freakin A! I may be in love but I haven't changed. Damn it! I'm still the grouchy bitch I've always been.

LOL.

Now, I think I've lost it. Oh well. For those who think I've done a 360, I hope Henry Pecker bites you on the ass while you sleep!

Responsibility

I'm starting to think that I'm a little too responsible for someone my age.  Really, now.  I'm not exaggerating this or being overdramatic about it either.  I just find that my freedom to get up and go doesn't really exist.  Not that being with my family is a burden, but I think that I started Life a little too early.  Or maybe it's because I've been programmed to think that being irresponsible is the greatest sin.  Sometimes, I just want to save money and travel.  Screw mortgages and 401k's.  I still have seven years to start all of that.  Or maybe I don't. 

What ticks me off is that some people don't understand (i.e. parents) that I need time to be alone so that I can actually take in all the major changes in my life.  The moment I begin to withdraw from certain situations, only for about 30 minutes a day, so that I can breathe a little, I am automatically the BAD DAUGHTER.  Why are you so impolite?  Why are you so rude?  Why do you act this way?  Why do you show that blah blah is a burden?

Ugh.  Instead of continuing this with statements like, "What the fuck do you want me to say?  Do I look like fucking superwoman?  Does it seem like I'm supposed to be able to handle every fucking thing that comes along with a fucking smile on my face?  Can't I be alone sometimes without having to feel guilty about it?  Can I not think and analyze life for a couple seconds?  Can I just be happy where I am and worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes?"  I suck it in.  I remind myself how blessed I am.  I thank God and apologize for the terrible thoughts.  I smile and nod and nod again.  I walk to my room, pick up the phone, and complain to The Boyfriend.  He will make me laugh.  And the next day, I'm ok again.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Next week

I had lunch today with Qball.  I want to hurl.  I ate too much.  The food was good, but I've been adding salt to most of my meals lately.  I recently went back to the gym, because I'm starting to look like a marshmallow again.  I actually like it and look forward to it everyday now. 
 
Yesterday, I was talking to Francis while on the treadmill and I damn-near fell off.  He might be able to come visit next week, which is great.  I guess we'll somehow find a way to do this commute thing, trying to bridge the distance.  It's an effort well-worth taking.  While being stuck at the train yesterday afternoon, a co-worker of mine told me, "I was thinking of getting a good inexpensive car, but I figured, it's time for me to get something I deserve.  I look back and I don't regret it.  Sometimes, saving money isn't worth much when you lose something else in the end."  Something to that extent.  It was all pretty fragmented, but that's what he meant.  So, even if this is going to get somehow expensive, minus the phone calls because I have a really good Canada Unlimited plan, I won't miss the money as much as I miss him everyday.  And my dear friends tell me I deserve him (contrary to my personal belief).
 
This all seems pretty effortless, not until we start thinking about it, or he starts to worry.  I'm pretty calm, which has led my friends to believe that I am currently taking medication.  I am usually the one who freaks out and over-analyzes everything.  Funny, but I don't find the need nor the urge to do that anymore.
 
-----------
 
It's Friday afternoon and I'm stuck at work.  Stuck because I woke up late, got here late, all because I was fidgeting with my new phone last night.

The future

Tonight, we had another talk. About our future. How he sees it. How I see it. He worries, I wonder. That is the difference. I worry for ten minutes and then fall asleep.  He worries about tomorrow.  I worry more when he worries. Of course I do. I am the best worrier I know.  Surprisingly, I haven't worried much in our relationship.  To me, everything will work out in due time.

I'm not angered by his lack of faith in us.  That's a normal response to a situation such as ours. Being 3000 miles apart is never easy and it's not as if things are going to get any easier.  Every moment we spend together makes it harder to be apart.

It's the influence that bothers me.  I mean, so far, the response that I've gotten from my friends has been uniquely positive.  Most of them start off like this, "Finally!  Woman, I thought you were really going to grow old by yourself."  As if that were impossible.  For the longest time, I wanted to be alone for the rest of my life.  No complications.  No one to deal with except for myself; but, then, he came along.  Cheesy, I know, but it's the truth.  Anyway, I always used to wonder why there were love songs where the guys would tell their girl friends not to listen to their friends.  Now I know.  I don't condemn opinions, but they just don't matter to me.  I know I've been through enough to know the difference between an asshole, a future-asshole, and a good guy.  Francis is a good guy.  He pretty much proves it everyday.  Imagine having to deal with my crap every night.  And he stays up late for it too. 
 
So, I figure, future-asshole or not, he's one to hold on to.  The future is too far away for me to even worry about.

To Francis

Because we're lucky...

I am your companion; I am your friend. You'll never catch sight of my back, unless we're spooning. I am your hug-giver and kiss-taker. I always hold your hand and lean on your shoulder. I rest my head on your chest and smile when the sun goes down. I laugh at your jokes when they are funny and give you a hard time when they're not. I talk to you about everything that my brain can comprehend and call your bluffs to keep you in line. I never question your worth nor doubt your intention. With you, I am calm and content. Fate isn't as scary as I thought, because it somehow led me to you. You will never lose me because I will never let you go.

And there is nothing I would change because I love every part of you.

Love in installments

Ok, so I've been gone for a week. I was in Montreal just yesterday. The week went by just right. Time did not stand still; it flowed with the steady progress, each moment newer than the next.

Francis met me at the airport, after two long delays. I did not lose my patience that day, but anticipated my own arrival. I had expected a scene, not so dramatic, but marked nonetheless. As he approached, I looked at the face I said good-bye to just three weeks prior. We kissed, and I made him do it twice, held hands and walked to the car. I was at a pause, quiet for the first few minutes, tired from the trip, overwhelmed and comfortable, at peace to be in his presence.

The first few hours passed in observation. I was in Montreal, not Orange County. I could not go about my own business in my hurried fashion, thinking three thousand things at once. I could only sit and watch him walk across the room in his house, adjust the reception of the TV, his glasses propped on his nose as he occassionaly turned to look at me. I sat in a semi-awkward position, not knowing which way to move or how. My voice was a mere whisper, not the usual loud squeak and goofy giggle. With no thought required, I finally found my place, facing him as he faced the TV, talking in my animated fashion, arm wrapped around his. And I knew I was home.

The first day was good, a soft breeze blew as we walked the half-empty streets of St. Catherine. I didn't care too much for the landmarks or the restaurants and coffee shops. I didn't care about how the sun shone and heated the otherwise chilly city. I only knew I was holding his hand and he was with me and there was nothing more that I needed. The four hours I spent alone were long. I did my walking, my own exploring, my initial spending, my people-watching, my coffee-drinking and chocolate indulgence. I did all this and waited, because there was no contentment in my belonging until I knew he was within arm's reach. And so everyday was like this: good to be on vacation, but better when we were together.

We did what we became accustomed to. We sat on the same side of the table no matter where we went. I always lean in a little closer, though there is no space between us, so that when the urge to kiss him comes, I don't waste a second. We like to sit on couches and talk about nothing, laugh about everything. Our humor is good and well-driven; it is the constant reassurance that we'll be fine under any cirucumstance. (That because I love you now, I will love you no matter what.)

I miss the way he circles my knee with his finger while we watch movies at home. I ask him every night if he's sleepy and he always says, "No, I'm ok," but he'll yawn while his glasses begin to slip. I love the way he smiles and buries his face below where my collar bone and my shoulder meet. He smells like warm tea and cologne, warmer when we kiss. I love the way his arms naturally take my form. His hand finds mine no matter where we are and we refuse to let go even if walking hand-in-hand requires extra balance or the turn of the steering wheel needs a special skill.

He brought me to St. Joseph's. We sat in the pew and I held his hand as we prayed. And it was good. There is nothing more I will ask for. In him, I have everything I need. I know his worth, more clear to me now than it ever could have been if we had met sooner. He is my blessing.

Yes, Francis, I have loved before, but this time, I love YOU.

And that makes all the difference.

My job and everything else that goes with it

The past week has been quite eventful, a few changes here and there. I realized that, although I am forever grateful, I need God in the good times as much as in the not-so-good. I never feel as if I'm deserving of much because my faults exceed my achievements. There is so much to comprehend and not enough time to get a grip. The greatest things in my life are right in front of me and all I can do is stand in awe. Ironically, I have learned that our worth is directly proportional to what we feel we deserve. When you believe that you deserve a good job, you get your shit together and you work for it. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to get it together. The only problem is waking up...on time.

I am an expert at juggling, dropping the balls here and there, with some kind of balance. Work is work, I live with my family, and my social life consists of weekday dinners and daily conversations with Francis. At the end of the day, I am tired. As I usually find my solace in sleep, hauling my ass out of bed every morning has become a difficult task.

Although I consider myself somewhat ballsy, I find it hard to "request" for certain things I know I should be getting, such as the transition in my job. When discussions arise with my boss, for example, I usually just sit there and smile and nod my head. My common reply is "Ok, thank you." When I'm requested to do extra work, i.e. fill in at corporate, though I have work from here to Timbuktu, I say, "So as long as the boss says it's fine, I will be there." I have the tendency to go beyond expectations when I have to run around trying to get all the work done. (The consolation for all of this, and well-deserved, I believe, is being able to tell Francis about all of this every day.)

So, today (6/17/04) I am back at corporate, lending a hand. Boss2 said that I didn't have to go if I didn't want to, but I didn't want to say "no." When people ask for your help, you give it to them. If they didn't really need it, they would not have asked in the first place.

It is a good feeling when people express their appreciation for your work and effort.

It is a GREAT feeling when you see this appreciation in your paycheck.

All I have right now is a good feeling, which I can live with for the time being. Ick. And they said I was a pushover.

Things I don't give a crap about

Every time someone talks about marriage, I gag. Literally. I feel acid accumulate in my tummy, working its way up my esophagus. I am repulsed by the thought. Mom asked me the other night where I wanted to get married- the Philippines or here. What the? Does it look like I have really put much thought into it? Relationships, I can handle, no matter how tedious. Marriage is a whole other story. It's hard enough to deal with my own life, let alone tolerate someone else's. There isn't much room to move, to plan, to execute, when other people are trying to plan your life for you.

LH has a ring on hold.

FH knows where she wants to get married, what her motif will be, and where the reception will be. All she has to do is choose the lucky guy.

Qball is already planning hers. Ack.

My cousin is having his in September. Now, I have to buy a dress. Gah.

I went to the bank this evening and Mom calls calls me as soon as I park the car, "We need to talk." Oh shit. Here we go. It's about buying a house. Blah blah blah. Nod, nod, nod. The appointment will be set tomorrow.

What's the point in answering a question when you'll be emtionally tortured into submission anyway?

I hate being responsible; people hold you up to it for the rest of your life.

I want to go somewhere, very, very, very far away.

I HATE CUPID he is a TRAITOR

It’s been three days since he left. I miss him more than I thought I could, quite a bit more than I expected. And we were together only three days. Maybe it’s safe to say that all the waiting paid off, that all the anxiety and the last-minute cold feet were pointless. Yet, I am left speechless. My brain has failed to comprehend how my emotions have betrayed the rest of me. For the first time, there is only confession- where the truth has exposed the ins-and-outs, the dents-and-creases of everything I have guarded.

I am angry at myself, because this is not me, or so I thought. I’m mad because there’s no where left to hide. The only place I want to run is where he stands, so I may reach for his hand when I please, without thinking, because I know it will always be there. I’m mad because I didn’t plan this, that every step taken mocked my defenses. That when he speaks, I only listen with no urge for retaliation. That benches are now special places and beaches are nicer, no matter what the weather. That walking is no longer a burden, because I have him to lean on when my legs are tired. That crowds aren’t scary when I know where to find him. That I can say anything and he will laugh, even a little. That no matter how tired we are, he will smile and I will feel just fine. That I no longer care what people say when they ask how long till he comes back, or what do you plan for the future. That I’m not afraid even if I’m not sure; that tomorrow is far away, and every moment is a blessing. That I held him close and kissed him goodnight and hugged him when circumstance permitted. That he is on my mind when I wake, when I walk through the halls, when I drive home, when I eat, when I watch TV, when I sleep. That the only regret is seeing his back as I let him walk away.

I don't require the world to prove his worth, when all I need is him. Tomorrow will come and go, but I will put no quantity on the time spent, the conversations repeated, the waiting endured. I'm unsure and less fearful, more hopeful than most. And if the time comes when there is nothing left to hold on to (hopefully, prayers will prevent this), I will pray that he stumbles upon someone who will care about him as much as I do, and who will take care of him the way I would have.

And I will have it no other way than this.

(Sorry, Jacs, you must be gagging by now. IR, ick, I know. Fucking Cupid!)

Ahem

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Day Two

I was hungry, but didn't eat. I watched a comedy, but didn't laugh. I moped all day, from the moment his hands slipped from mine, as I watched him walk away. There are so many things left unsaid, and no room left for pretending.

There are no regrets.

And, from now on, I miss him.

It's official...

I am:

Sad Happy Overwhelmed Surprised Shocked Breathless Speechless Moping Amiss Glad Defenseless Happy

Surprisingly, I am not:

Over-analyzing Condescending Worried Fearful Mad Apprehensive

My job

My job is ok. It's not exactly self-fulfilling, but it's a job. I have been asked by three people if I am willing to take on the responsibility(ies) of supporting another department.

After my discussion with Es yesterday, I have decided that I will not go beyond ordering office supplies unless I am paid for supporting two departments. I will not admistrate anything unless I get an increase. I am not money-hungry, I am just smart. I was actually considering taking on the second job with no qualms, but my smarter self realized that I'm going to be short-changed. There is no way I will add ten more employees under my belt without being paid extra. I get along with most of the people in the other department, but additional job responsibilities warrants additional $$$. The question is would they rather pay me a few extra $$$, or would they hire another adiministrator for twice as much as my increase?

I hope they are smart.

Brad's butt

On Friday, I saw Brad Pitt's butt. It was the most wonderful, near-heaven experience of my life. Also, it is the first naked butt I have seen in a while.

I told Pecker about it as soon as I got home.

Then, I had a nightmare the next morning.

Ack.

I have painfully discovered that the only thing to counter Pecker's "sweet dreams" is fantazing about Brad's butt.

I thought that "sweet dreams" meant dreaming of his (Brad's) butt.

Ugh.

Summary of my day

This morning:

1. LH told me that my way of taking a shower is incorrect. How the hell can you take a shower wrong? Why did we even have that discussion? So as long as I get out of the shower squeaky freakin' clean, my way will always be right. No worries here, the only person I'm giving a bath is myself.
2. I had a political debate with Cryo Guy regarding the "comparative advantage" and the "invisible hand" in Free Trade and Globalization. I respect his opinions. However, until you have experienced wading through shit-, garbage-, and needle-infested water, walk past huts the size of a bathroom housing six people, while malnourished, starving children with protruding bellies tug at your shirt for an extra five pesos to feed half their family, in order to attend political ideology educational training to help make their lives "better," don't give me bullshit about not fucking caring about the people "who do not do anything with their lives." Unfortunately, the "invisible hand" is slapping the Third World Countries around on their sorry asses and the only fucking "comparative advantage" is that the rich are getting richer while the poor wallow in depression, because people like you only care about profits. You're lucky you got here, most people don't even make it to the embassy.
   

And...drum roll, please...

I slowly felt the air turn stale as it escaped through my mouth. My chest carried the weight of a piano. (And, no, this was not the result of smoking.) I could hear the beating slow to an unbearable tap. My dog took one look at me and knew that my heart was breaking. He followed me around and stood at my side. He waited till I picked him up and he let me hug him, as he conformed to the soft cushion that my lap and my tummy made.

This is not good.

(On my mark) Time for Plan B.

(Get set) I will never be afraid to run.

(Go?)

If I had a choice

I wore a pretty sleeveless blouse (*shudder* jacs, the macho wo/man is now cross-dressing) that showed a hint of cleavage. I didn't notice that before I left for work this morning, as I was still sleep-walking. The openings to the arms were also quite lose; I concurred that I had lost a significant amount of weight, yet again. As I looked in the drab comfort room mirror at the office, the dim light bulb in my head showed a sign of light. I pulled the top part of my blouse forward with both hands; the arms suddenly fit and the low v-neck was not as low as I supposed it should be. Eureka! I did not have enough in the front part of my upper torso to fill in the blouse.

Thus, if I had a choice between a boob job and having a psychiatrist on retainer, I would definitely have the boobies grow a little. Just a tiny bit. Why, you might ask. At 23, I have come to the solid conclusion that my mental state is hopeless. Why waste all that money on therapy that won't work? I have friends for that.

Now, having enhanced boobies will help me fill out several blouses that I thought loosened because of weight loss. A boob job will also give the illusion that I have a waist line.

Unfortunately, I do not have the money for a boob job. It is only a pipe dream. In truth, I would never get one for fear of health risks and yucky men. I also have other things to worry about, such as purchasing a house in the next year and paying off my debt to the government for wishing to further my education.

But, really, if I had that choice, I would get boobies.

Before bedtime

I want to do the weirdest things before going to bed.

I just cleaned the toilet. I stood, hunched over the bowl, scrubbing away for five minutes careful not to splash toilet water on my legs. Right after brushing my teeth.

A few nights ago, at 930pm, I washed my do-not-throw-in-washing-machine blouses before flossing.

I also force myself to read at least two pages of the current book-on-the-finish-list even though my brain cannot comprehend the words and my eyes are squinting from fatigue.

I've always liked night time because it's quiet and people think that I am eventually going to fall asleep, so they do not bother to bore me with things that I can worry about the next morning.

Night time is when I get my things done; the time when I get my shit together. It is the last few hours when I am left alone.

Ironically, it is also the part of day I do not wish to experience asleep.

Mom's Orchid

Two weeks ago, Mom and I went shopping and I helped her pick out her first orchid of the year.

This is a view of it from outside our window.

I think it is beautiful.

Unbelievable

The same goes for CBF. I would be very sad if we discontinued our daily conversations. There are certain people I have left in memory for sake of distance. Because of this, the few that share my mundane life are the ones I hold dear. Our Mondays are to catch up on the weekend that passed. I usually have nothing to say, because my life is filled with sleep, bills, sleep and thinking. I told her last Monday that I met a guy over the weekend and I finally got laid. This is what she said: "That is, by far, the biggest lie you have ever told."

What? Me, a liar?

When the ships came back on Wednesday, I told Qball that I had gotten a tattoo. She looked at me, in between bites of our favorite veggie burger, raised an eyebrow and said, "You? Whatever."

I don't get it.

Why are these possiblities unbelievable?

CBF explained that the key word is feasible. How can me getting laid or getting a tattoo not be feasible?

I know that I may be overly compensating in being unbearably responsible. I know that my friends believe the only time I was irrational was when LL was still in my life.

I do not blame them. I am who I am. And this is how I've made myself out to be. I am amused and a bit irate with myself because there are many things that I wish I could do, things that would surprise even me. However, reason has a way of taking over and I think before I leap; I don't even bother looking. Consequences. People. Mistakes. Doing the right thing.

I will find a way to get over this before I turn 30. Ok, I will at least try.

But I do vow that:

One day, I will get laid. I may even get a tattoo.

And I will not share this when it happens.

Because no one will believe me.

I wouldn't.

A minute fear

I whined all yesterday morning to LH about the terrible news I had received the night before, about the plans being changed. It took four hours for it to settle in until I decided that wasting emotion on the inevitable doesn't fly for a 23-year-old.

In the back of my mind, I doubted that Pecker and I would talk again that night, for we had conversed ourselves to sleep the night before. Though I still hoped that we could at least chat, I decided to keep it at that. There's nothing more irritating than unsolicited extra effort. Surprisingly, when I got home, he texts me that he'd call me if I wasn't busy. So we talked, yet again, for a good three hours. The night swept by and I had lost track of time.

Sometimes, I wonder, how long it will take before this ends? How long will it take to run out of things to say? To get bored? To repeat stories more than twice?

My parents have a great relationship. They always have so much to say to each other. I will have this someday.

-------

I am in the moment of relishing these conversations with always something in mind, the words piling up in my head. At the end of each day, there are still things left unsaid.

Somehow, I know there is nothing for me to be afraid of. Not all good things come to an end...

I hope.

Change of plans

Last night, I finally found out what maybe Pecker was referring to. After 30 minutes of whining, I came up with this:

Maybe = Likely = 50/50

After 5 minutes more of whining (Pecker was being very patient, but was falling asleep), I finally concurred:

Prayer (for a miracle) + Sleep - Whining = Good Possibility

In any event, the planetary alignments have threatened to throw me off the face of the earth if I so much as whimper.

There is a reason, they say, for the mental anguish of waiting.

On second thought

I still hope maybe means very possibly.

Thoughts I remember thinking while I was driving home

=Our parents taught us bribery. E.g. If you do ______, I'll give you ______.

=Maybe means No.

=There is a difference between having everything and being everything.

=We will always be nicer to our friends than our family, with a few exceptions.

=I am my worst enemy.

=Expectation breeds contempt.

=I hate pink.

=But I look good in pink (or so I think, or, maybe, I look like cotton candy).

=Male and Female are not the same; they are not equal, either. Admit it. One will always be somewhat above the other.

=Getting your first car and your driver's license doesn't mean that you can haul ass everywhere, any time you choose.

=Freedom is different when you're 20-something. I realized that I had more freedom in high school and college, i.e. freedom to sneak out, freedom to be irresponsible. Now that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, there is nothing I want to do.

=Apathy and Laziness are one and the same.

=There is a difference between being fearful and being a coward. I don't know what exactly, but there is.

=There is such a thing as a Quarter-life Crisis.

=When you love someone and he screws you over and you promise to be smarter the next time around, you've pretty much set yourself up for "Single Blessedness" the rest of your life. Being smarter after a blow to the head and a punch in the tummy does not exist.

=Being intelligent does not guarantee less heartache. Smart people over-analyze themselves into confusion.

=Patience is not a virtue; it is a skill.

=A veggie burger with ground beef chili balance each other out.

=First loves do die (not literally, of course, but don't we sometimes wish?).

=Ghosts do exist. They are also known as memories, and they will haunt you every now and again.

=I have over -ty pairs of shoes, but there are still things in my closet that don't have shoes to match.

=Promises breed expectation.

=I give great advice, but I never take it.

=Most men do not understand the concept of dropping hints.

=Most men will mistake friendliness and care with "she smiled at me and touched my arm, therefore, she wants to jump my bones."

=Women tend to forget the fact stated above and still become angry when men respond to the former's so-called "advances."

=Bed time is when your eyes get droopy because of fatigue and you commence slurring, like this, "I thing am shlippy."