People, I am alive.

As an obsessed blogger... don't you just find it extremely annoying when you feel like you have a lot of things to write about and yet you couldn't figure out a way to convey it, much less, find not one second to start on it? I know. Hiatuses are lame. And I'm pathetic. But trust me, the reasons are valid, and no, it does not include another vaginal hemorrhage.


Who knew Humanities or Fine Arts Appreciation can make up so much of my time that I would even dare to forget about blogging? I had to visit the Dallas Arts Museum twice, listen to some Jazz music while excruciatingly resisting sleepiness, compare Ethan Hawke's modern take on Hamlet against Mel Gibson's (duh, no brainer!), AND watch Troy.. Troy, of all movies on earth!! Thank God, Brad Pitt was butt naked there a couple of times or I would have strangled my professor to death for putting me through all these torture. But fear not, 'cause the end of this treacherous course is drawing near and I simply can't wait.

Now, since I know I've left you hanging for quite sometime, how about some surveys to lighten you up? Oh come on, don't act like you don't want it.

10 things I want to do before I die

"Steer clear from the sappy and redundant. " from Vayie.


1. Visit Mindanao. Just for the heck of it.
2. Go on a safari in South Africa with my loudest friend, Michelle.
3. Try out for The Price Is Right, granted it goes on.
4. I wanna give birth, although that remains debatable.
5. Watch a huge sporting event that does that traditional (and idiotic) Mexican wave.
6. Get a Master's degree from a Top 10 university. See? I also have dreams!
7. Be a vegan... or at least, try.
8. Party in Croatia with one of my closest girlfriends, Petra.
9. Spend New Year's in Times Square. And yesss, even do the lame countdown.
10. Be awarded for something. Whatever that earns me a gold statuette.

"Interview me"

Grilling courtesy of Alternati.

1. If you were stranded in a desert island and were only allowed to bring one friend, one movie, one picture of an athlete, one DVD set of one season of one TV show, one hair/skin product and an eternal supply of one brand of chocolate... What would you bring and why? (Yes, the island has a working home theater and a fridge. hah!)
I will bring the only person I never have awkward moments with, and the one person I can count on whenever I'm starving: my brother. His kitchen skills are out of this world that I'm pretty confident that if we ever get deserted somewhere the aliens only know, he would sharply find a way to make a monkey's ass taste like the traditional beef stew. Plus, we have our own language (aka very twisted humor) that we'd be perfect for that major psycho-bonding. ... Movie? Dang, there's a lot of choices! But I think I'll go with Pulp Fiction. It's one of those movies I can never get tired of watching, and it's got that perfect Quentin combination of bloody action and sadistic comedy. Exactly what I need to scare off potential conquerors. ... As for the picture, which is a random stuff to bring in an island, haha, I guess I'll go with Tommy Robredo's backhand (click at your own risk). Mainly because that shot's hotness longevity can definitely withstand an extended stay in that island. ... I really wanted to go for Grey's Anatomy on the next one, but I'm afraid I might end up sucking my head in a puke bag just in case I ran out of tears to cry. So let's just bring Project Runway's Season Two. Santino Rice is just CLASSIC! ... And as for the beauty product, I assume sunscreen is the most sensible choice. 'Cause if I'm going to die in an island, I and my skin deserve to die beautifully. Am I right, ladies? ... Lastly, I'd love to have a lifetime supply of Twix. It's not necessarily my favorite, but it's actually not too sweet, and I easily get tired of sweet things (and that include boyfriends).


2. If you could have dinner with any four notable personalities in the world (two living and two who have bitten the dust) , who would they be, what would you guys eat and what would y'all talk about?
I would bring Nancy Grace, Mark Cuban, Lady Diana, and Eddie Guerrero to The Riverwalk in San Antonio, TX where we'll enjoy a few beers and the best beef briskets this state has to offer. We would be gleefully chatting about President Bush, Wimbledon's two-man show, The Great Khali, how boring the Spurs are, and a lot more. I would specifically interrogate them with questions that still hover my head up to this point. Such as Lady D's intuition of Prince Charles' infidelity, Cuban's disinterest in Steve Nash, Eddie's true feelings about a particular controversial storyline, and Nancy Grace's secret marriage and pregnancy (because she's a verbal monster, and I can't believe somebody dared to marry her).

3. What do you miss most, and least about the Philippines?
Ugh, there's A TON!! But to crop it to the obvious... I miss the food. I don't miss the traffic.


4. Describe in detail your ideal job. (The laws of logic, economy and physics can be disregarded in answering this question... :P )
Believe it or not, I want to work a 9-5 job. Sitting on a desk infront of the computer, with a colorful corkboard, pictures of my dogs/friends/etc., a cup of latte every 30 minutes, gossiping from neighborhood cubicles, and a workplace that doesn't require sweating. That's pretty much ideal to me. But working on field wouldn't be that bad either, especially if it allows me to snuggle with the cutest athletes, celebrities, starlets in the world.

5. How many Kai(s) does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Let's see... One to do the screwing, one to assist me with the screws, another one to hold the ladder for stability, and three more to stand by the side, with their arms folded, eyebrows raised, and furiously envying my big butt that I can not lie. :))

Now, now... if you want to get your own butt on the hot seat...

• Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.” (And leave your email.)
  
• I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
• You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
• You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
• When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

HAH, I'm done!!! YESSS! Haha, I know, it's incredibly ludicrous how updating my own blog now takes an enormous type of time and effort. But I promise, we will go back to the way we were. Until next time, my friends. Enjoy the weekend!

My poppa so fly...

...he doesn't care if we call him Jimmy Santos.
...he confidently believes that he resembles Christopher de Leon instead.
...he doesn't complain when it comes to food.
...he never complains when it comes to alcohol.
...he doesn't mind going to the grocery only to buy his daughter tampons.
...he can't go a day without telling a joke -- no matter how corny it is.
...he repeatedly does a butt flop when he uses the swimming pool.
...he repeatedly causes our backyard a tsunami.
...he calls himself DOTC; as in driver of the century.
...he's as addicted to basketball and tennis as we are.
...he oftentimes shoots an airball even on the freebie line.
...he doesn't care about my obsession over Rafael Nadal.
...he is just as obsessed with Matlock.
...he can't get enough of game shows.
...he worships our cable provider for having The Gameshow Network.
...he even TIVOs The Price Is Right and Jeopardy on a daily basis.
...he still lets me sleep with him when ghost images hover my sleep.
...he snores like hell, which is the best medium of shooing bad spirits.
...he's addicted to chocolates, cookies and polvoron.
...he hates sour food, super cold weather, and the Phoenix Suns.


My poppa so fly, he also once murdered my haircut. :))

Oh Paris!

It's on newspapers, television, numerous blogs, and even on SportsCenter. This whole Paris Hilton debacle is slowly getting out of hand that I just had to jump in the bandwagon before it dies down. After all, I'm her very own opinionated antagonist. But surprisingly, I'm singing a totally different tune with this one. Paris, as annoying as she has been for the past few years, has done nothing more than to pose without her draws on, and entertain us unfailingly with her dumb anecdotes. She might have been overdosing on alcohol, but not on drugs. She probably has had more boyfriends than the whole Barbados, but she's never had fatal sickness that resulted from unsafe sex. She couldn't have been anymore stupid with her every maneuver, but honestly, she's also never been too outspoken to disparage people underneath her celebrity (ie, you and me).


In other words, Paris has earned my sympathy. I might have, for one second, rejoiced when she was sentenced to jail time, but those tears of hers that were flowing like days-kept pee were agreeably sincere that it's now difficult to turn a blind eye on a woman who feels like morphing into Mother Theresa character all of a sudden. I'm serious, folks. I now firmly believe that Paris Hilton meant it when she said she won't "act dumb" any longer, AND that she "would like to make a difference." I know, it sounds like she's attempting to be Bono or Madonna. But I'm banking on a difference that would teach younger girls that exercising the use of bras and panties is healthy for the nipples and vagina. Ehh, you know what I mean.

Onto Paris, France where the impending GOAT in Federer, once again, failed to show up in another Roland Garros final against the relentless (yet uuuuber gorgeous) Rafael Nadal. I just can't seem to swallow the fact that only three weeks ago, I was shaking my head in complete disbelief while Rafa was losing a third set to Mighty Fed at love (zero). From then on, I was led to the popular myth that this could be TMF's time to shine. That he could finally be the star of all seasons. But I was, then again, proven wrong.


Honestly, Rafa played phenomenally, hence Mighty Fed's still existent consternation over this dolorous puzzle Nadal has trapped him in. As Pardon The Interruption's Mike Wilbon summed up best, "Can you be called the greatest player if another guy owns your butt? -- He owns him!" Ouch! We can make up all the arguments we want to set against that quote, but the fact that Rafa DOES own Fed on clay (and at a particular grand slam, no less) is a firm justification as to why Federer, at this point, doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as the Lavers and the Borgs. But unlike those journalists who quickly flip and flop, I digressively don't harbor any pessimism against the poor guy. Yes, Rafa deserved the win (by a landslide!) and that spot in tennis greats history but Fed is still the world's #1, something Nadal is not (yet) and I still consider the possibility of him, even an old hag, capturing that trophy his arch-rival has sank his teeth on for the past three years. If a hairless Andre Agassi did it at 29, then so can he.

And since we're talking about the French... Didn't you just cringe in excessive irate when ABC couldn't refrain from focusing on Eva Longoria's face every chance they got? My professor even had to point that out! Well, he wasn't nearly as enthused by the Spurs' annihilation of the Cavs, he only wanted to see Tony Parker (for some odd reason I don't want to cognize). But I digress.. He also mentioned another Tony he was fond of watching on a Sunday night. We discussed the atypical series finale of The Sopranos and how it resembled usual endings on other mediums of artwork. He's a theater geek, of course he easily appreciated it. I happen to not have watched this series, but I'm very critical of story endings, and this one, I didn't like. I frankly told him, "...it was like requesting a chef-made salad in a fancy restaurant yet being directed to the salad bar."


His geekiness somehow agreed but thwarted it in his favor by saying that it's fascinating how it's entirely open for different interpretations. While that must be arousing to another type of thinker, my inner PMS-ish bitch just couldn't help but murder his analogy at the back of my head. But instead, I politely replied, "But don't you think that this kind of denouement only works in movies? Because it's only like, 90 minutes long? This series has been running for YEARS! Wouldn't it just make sense that the writers could utilize more of their ideas and convey it through a nice little ending, instead of a family dinner fading to black??" And boom.. I think I just got a C in participation. I may differ with your perception of this ambiguous scenario -- heck, I don't even know much about David Chase and his geniuses -- but I would be screamingly furious if Grey's Anatomy, God forbid, feebly concludes the show just like that. Simply put, it's like being dumped by your boyfriend of 8 years with no apparent reason and you're forced to figure out who, what, how, and why.

And just so you know, in the battle of Tonys at primetime, I watched The Tony Awards. I know, I'm so gay. :-P

10 reasons...

...why I quit my job.


1. I tried serving water once and the humongous glasses almost escaped my fat little hands. 2. Wearing all black from head to toe, especially during Summer, is just completely out of this world. 3. Free food at work is not the greatest idea on earth. No wonder we all looked like twins. 4. I'm currently studying about Francois Boucher, Dorothea Lange, Francisco Goya, Andy Warhol, and Jacques Louis David (people I've NEVER even heard of in my life!!) that there's not much enough space in my already smart-stuffed brains for the different types of cheeses in their variety of pasta dishes. 5. Loud Mexican music in the kitchen is like juicing lemon on a busted wound. 6. A pathetic wage of less than $3/hr is not even enough fill out a 70s car gas tank. 7. Befriending the legacy of Van Gogh, Mozart and Beethoven are so much more important for my future career than making love with lenguinis, raviolis, and rigatonis on a daily basis. 8. I'd rather watch paint dry than to witness every single table luxuriating in their respective dishes. 9. Spontaneous ESPN tv at the bar area will get me fired eventually, anyway. 10. Target pays double the hourly rate of what I was gonna get. If that's not reason enough to quit, then I don't know what is. Bottomline, job this normal is NOT for me. Period.


...why tomorrow's showdown will be an epic.


Besides these delirious attempts at singing which are already YouTube favorites.
1. Roger Federer is closing in on becoming the GOAT (greatest of all time). 2. Rafael Nadal is also gunning to become the greatest clay court player of men's tennis history. 3. Fans have voted Rafa to be the better dancer, now it's time to prove who's the better player on dirt. 4. They're lovers off the court. 5. Whoever wins will cry during presentation. I'm stacking more votes for Federer on this one. 6. Mary Carillo is color-commentating, alongside John McEnroe. You cannot be serious! 7. Rafael Nadal has been scary good at the French. (He's literally unbeatable here, for Pete's sake!!) It will be the match of Fed's life to finally get his stamp on Roland Garros, and more importantly, beat Rafael Nadal for the first time on the Parisian clay. 8. Rafa, on the other hand, should use Fed's recent sluggish performances to his advantage. If he wins, not only he gets to be in the record books, he would also help tennis get back to mainstream popularity. 9. The French Open is Nadal's as to Wimbledon is Federer's. This is his house and Rafa will do everything to barricade those come-ons if he wants a three-peat. 10. And as for Roger, it's practically now or never.


...why you shouldn't worry about me.

1. I'm getting a new job somewhere here in Valley Ranch, and I'm not homeless yet. 2. The pool is clean and working, that should help me shed those pounds I gained from eating too much of those free Italian nachos. 3. Remember that job at the psycho ward with Rue? 4. This is random but The Sopranos ends tomorrow, about the same time as Game 3. What are you watching? 5. I'm buying tons of cucumber tomorrow to erase those ugly dark circles around my eyes. 6. There are three cute guys in my class, that's why I refused to ditch it when Carino's subtlety let me choose between work and school. Only an idiot would take that job over an easy class, with eyecandies in tow. :)) 7. Wimbledon is on is two weeks. That will surely keep me and my hormones busy. 8. My mom was actually the one who persuaded me to quit. 9. Which means, she's still totally fine with me being a pain in her ass. 10. But I'm sticking to my agenda. After fixing my license, I'll be working some place else where there's flexible schedules and no free food.

Have an awesome weekend.

Randomgasms.

I'm in no mood to blog but I might fail to do so in the succeeding days due to a jampacked schedule. But as wise men say, there's no harm in trying. Hence, this pitiful attempt of catering you an entertaining update.

1) As you know, I started my first official job over the weekend. Just when I thought I wasn't gonna complain about anything, here I am again, bitching to a friend of mine, about how small my eventual hourly rate is. My jaws dropped trillions of feet somewhere near jilted planet Pluto the very second I heard that the fat check I'm ever anticipating will only exist IF Mark Cuban decided to dine in and I got to serve him. Or someone else's billionaire character wouldn't mind throwing a big fat tip in exchange of friend mozarella sticks. Otherwise, I will be stuck with such a pathetic pay that could barely supply a car with gas.


The shit to memorize. How much are we getting paid again?

Or maybe I'm just thinking way too much (like I always do). Olivia convinces me that the pay wouldn't really be that bad since we'd be serving an average of 10 tables per hour. But what if I'm in the worst of days and nobody on those 10 tables spares me a single cent? I'm done? I get nothing? Nil? Nada? Zilch? I mean, it's unfathomable to me how someone can be so satisfied by working while only relying on occasional philanthropic aftermaths. I should know, I'm a customer who heartlessly disregards the tipping arena! But I'm giving Olivia a chance to materialize her theory. I will stay, enjoy the free/discounted meals and patiently try it out. But if things don't go my way, like they all should be, I'm quitting. Just like that. *snaps*

2) That film class I told you about was unfortunately snubbed by the students that they had to cancel it. They transfered me to another Humanities course just with a different specialization. Now I have to put up with a professor whose name I can't even pronounce and a class that will talk about Mozart, Houdini, the teenage mutant ninja turtles, and everyone else in between. Oh yay, fun! :-l

3) The junk is the lone American left in the French Open singles draw (men and women). She will be facing the two-time defending champion next so I'm not entirely confident that she wouldn't be the latest casualty to this national embarrassment from Paris. But who even cares about the French Open now? Nadal turned 21 today, he's finally legal, and we can already wed anywhere in the world! Yeee. Feliz Compleanos, Rafa! Te Quiero, whatever the hell that means. :-D


How can you not love? And cream? Ok, that's gross. But seriously! :-))
4) My schedule is inconveniently indefinite at this point. All I know is that I go to school for two hours, 4 days a week and I go to work for another 2-4 hours around dinner time. I have yet to schedule classes for driving (conquering freeway phobia 101) so this Tony guy called up to apparently ask when would be the best time to start the therapy. I could barely understand a word he's saying (he has a thick Indian accent) so I passed the phone to my mother who's seemingly BFFs with those people already. Since my schedule is pretty disoriented at this point, I could only take classes in the morning except this coming Tuesday. I clearly told her that, yet I still got yelled at. I supposedly "made her look like an idiot." I really didn't get that at all.

5) I didn't wanna get into a screamfest with her again so I just quickly left and shut my door. I have been through enough tears the past couple of days that I won't waste anymore Kleenex sobbing over this unworthy fight. I'm an extraordinarily irregular bleeding woman, which explains the seldom visit of that bestial torture. But when it rains, it POURS! (Warning: TMI ahead) I never use tampons, so obviously there's only a slight margin of time in between changes using pads (with wings). I had to call my father who's at work and ask him to buy me a new pack on his way home because I was padding the frantic passage every two hours and I'm running out of clogs!! I hate to ask my father to do things like that for me, but that's the same reason why he's the best father in the whole world! (He got me the maxi, with wings, and some bonus Midol. Now tell me, you'd kill for a father like that!) And as for my mother? She kind of lightened my condition with that disposable hot pack, but after that, I got nothing else. Plus, I should have been the one congested with PMS, not her!! Anyway, after three years of constantly living together, I've finally gotten used to moms. And they will always be moms. They're cursing at you one second, and they'll be shopping shoes for you the next.


6) Is it only me or The Finals suddenly became interesting? The Spurs are gonna win it, that's basic math. But I won't write the Cavs off just like I did to Miami a year ago. (Because that ate me up. Real bad) LeBron is proably one of the most overrated superstars this league has produced in years, but there's no question that his dignified All-Star doesn't deserve any doubt from anyone... for now, at least. I'll be surprised if they go out in a sweep, but I won't be shocked if Manu Ginobli, like the goregeous killer that he is, circusses his way around King James. Now we've got ourselves a show! Spurs in, well, 6.

7) But even if I'm whining about work, school, and my period, I'm nonetheless excited about the busier days ahead. Exactly a year ago, I was enjoying the pool, grilling something bacon-wrapped, and fattening my already fat ass on the kitchen couch. And look at me now? 15 pounds lighter, in school, with a job, and a heckling schedule ahead. Trust me, I really do hate it when I hear myself complaining, that it's even crazy when I tend to imagine that it could possibly be genetic. I know, that's just me, being awesome at excuses. So, to prevent another run at 'Randomgasms' stacked with complaints, I'll be working on a list of mid-year resolutions. I have jotted a few things down, bitching included, but I have yet to figure out what else negative is there for me to eliminate. Narcissism, perhaps? Help me out. It's your only chance. ;-)

Departure from Joblesslandia

It might be too early to celebrate since I haven't even began orientation yet.. but heck, who even cares. I now have a job!!! *happy happy joy joy* Ok, it wasn't easy getting one. Even a normal job. I went from Career Builder to Snag-a-job only to find myself surfing around the infamous Craigslist (yes, I was that hopeless) to find something to do during the summer, and at the same time, earn some greens to feed my luxurious needs.

I emailed that dude who posted the ad, Carino's was in need of hosts, servers & bartenders. I told myself before that I will never work in a bar/restaurant, especially of this class, because 1) my clumsy level is fire-worthy, 2) it'd be embarrassing to see friends and classmates while I work, and 3) they FEED employees for FREE! The latter was reason enough for me to hesitate because Italian food (and margaritas, hello?) is evil and I don't wanna get any fatter. But in desperation times like these -- when I'm in the middle of pursuing a degree, in perfect age to finally finance my caprice, and in total shame for still being under my parents' supervision -- I should not complain, nor resist any money-making machine that shall come my way. Especially when my eventual employer kindly admits my no-experience, no-resume plea.


Shouldn't there be bonuses for online promotion? :)) [photo credit: scladesma]
So I came in, dressed in my usual preppy Sunday self, met the mister I emailed, and started the whole applying process. I've never been in this kind of position before, so you can only imagine the monstrous butterflies that were uncontrollably going bonkers in my stomach. The place was really cozy, so it allowed me to at least settle in. I filled up their form, took the personality test, then talked to another dude, which I later discovered as an actual first interview. It was sort of like a first date; awkward, semi-formal, and a LOT of smiles. At one point, I totally forgot that I wasn't in the middle of a first date that I had to stop my babbling (I tend to do that when I'm already comfortable, which is a no-no on first dates, much less, first job interviews). He was cool though, very accommodating and cute even. Oh gosh, rule number one: NO crushes at work. Thou shalt not. And can I just say, he was Polish. Eeek! Ok, I'll stop.

Then he said afterwards that I would have to come back the next day to meet the GM for a second interview. I had absolutely no idea how that would go. He did mention that Ms. *** was a big girl which was indicated to intentionally make me feel less nervous. I was just like, um.. thanks dude.. for implying that I'm f-a-t! But I wasn't gonna give him a smirk, after all, I was on the brink of getting hired.

So I met up with the GM the next afternoon. Yeah, she was big, but she was surprisingly young and perky! Her favorite word? "Awesome" which was.. awesome, hehe. Contrary to the first interview, this one was more of like a sorority initiation. Questions ranged from "What's your major?" to "How do you define teamwork?" And when asked what was my biggest flaw... I replied, "I tend to slow down just a bit when I want tasks to be perfectly executed." As Lauren suggested on The Hills, you gotta get that flaw question in your favor by making it a positive flaw. Who knew I would learn something from watching a crappy MTV reality show? However, slowing down in the restaurant business is a mortal sin. Oh fuck, did I just self-destruct my already impressive way to employment kingdom or what??


One of the reasons why I wanna work is to lose weight.. And they provide dining privileges??
I was detecting skepticism from her because she knew my lifestyle. I'm in my 20s with no previous experience, and a college student who doesn't shoulder a thing. And the fact that I live in Valley Ranch must have concerned her a bit because people in this neighborhood are the ones eating at those fancy places. But I believe I convinced her that this resident is not the d-a-d-d-y kind of girl. I wash the dishes, do the laundry, and iron everyone's clothes (remember?). So she paused, left with my paperwork, and huddled with the other heads. Thank God the bar TV was on with ESPN or I might have flipped in extreme neurasthenia. She came back with a subtle grin, extended her hand and uttered, "Congratulations, welcome to the team!" For a second there, I was uncharacteristically shut as I could only say, "OH MY GOD!" Angels in my head sang in perfect chorus as my perennial blabbermouth started exploding with excessive and sometimes unnecessary thanks. She was delighted, I was ecstatic! I am finally employed!

This is a normal job. So normal that my mother could probably even hire a cook from that restaurant for her own household. But, as I always told my friends, that's my mom (and dad), that's not me. They earn more than enough, I don't possess anything. I'm way beyond the age of moving out, let alone, having a job, yet I'm still being a torturous pain in their butts. So guess what, I figured it was about time to give back. Maybe not the exact payback I've always wanted to return, but I'm sure paying the cable or internet and my own phone bills (I mean, duh, shouldn't that be #1?) could be a nice start. See? I'm not a bad bad daughter, after all! :-p