Be aggressive! Be, be aggressive!

I make sure that every other Saturday, the day after payday, is my “me” day. (Don’t you just love rhymes?) Generally, it's when I deposit my paycheck, go to Wal-Mart, and most importantly, get my nails done. Going to the nail salon is probably the most important luxury I get to guiltlessly bless myself with because of the obvious fact that I can’t do it on myself anymore—just one of the jerks of working every single day. I happen to have a very dry set of hands and toes because of excessive hand washing and the no-open-toe footwear rule as a teacher (although I tend to bend that rule when I’m working in the baby room). So thank God I found two of the best nail technicians in the world; Sheryl (who’s my manicurist) and Linda (my pedicurist). But let’s get past the dry skin and nails problem since I’m sure we all have that taken care of. I have been going to Signature Nails for about five months now and Sheryl has always been my girl even before Linda became my next go-to person. But since my resident pedicurist is relatively new, I’m going to tell you about Sheryl.

She’s Vietnamese (I’m sure y’all guessed that right), a nail technician, as mentioned, and has been living in the United States for most of her life. She also has a double Bachelor’s degree. Yes, a double Bachelor’s degree from University of Dallas and University of Texas at Arlington, no less. It’s pretty outstanding, eh? Well, yeah, super outstanding. Actually, it’s beyond outstanding, considering the fact that she’s doing my nails on a periodical basis. It’s quite a shame. I am honestly embarrassed to be paying her $5 tips for every manicure session we have. Because, truth be told, she could be in a laboratory right now, figuring out a way to cure STD, and, not to mention, earning bazillions of greens every year. So I became inquisitive with her—unhesitatingly, I might add. I asked her, “What the hell are you doing here?” I can’t remember exactly what she replied to that, but to get you to the bottom of it, she exclaimed that it’s mainly because of her thick, nasally, won’t-go-away Vietnamese accent.

How pathetic, right? So I began to rant to her face.

“Sheryl, you can’t be doing my nails forever.” She can only give me that "you’re right" grin that’s lightly concealed by her face mask. I started nagging her, like my mom does to me, about her rights as a citizen, and that she deserves to do more than just cleaning out cuticles. But I failed to make her realize something. Perhaps, after years of trying to prove her place, she just gave up on it—which is sad and utterly unjust.

Again, how does a Biology and Information Technology graduate end up in a saggy white uniform with a bottle of acetone? It’s simple. Racism, my friends. Racism, bigotry, prejudice, whathaveyous. Old, white, and narrow-minded people spearhead the corporate and medical fields in this country, which doesn’t make it any more surprising that they’d neglect a thick accented Asian girl an opportunity for a newly graduated blonde bombshell (who, for all we know, failed Math—twice!). That’s why I’ve always been very assertive when it comes to guarding my own color. It seems to be a hard task, but it doesn’t become second nature anymore when you feel like somebody is putting you down just so they can act a certain way to feed their dinosaur-sized egos. Sheryl, on the other hand, doesn't have the guts to do that. For one, she feels like her race owes a lot to this country, and two, that she doesn’t deserve her achievements after all. Very much the wrong mind set. But who am I to push her to do something that she’s not yet ready to confront?

It’s always a pleasure to have Sheryl do my nails. But even if she’s the best manicurist in the world, I still hope that one day she wakes up and decides that being Vietnamese, being Asian at that is no longer a hindrance for her to live her dreams.


But for the mean time, enjoy my big fat nails. You too, Linda! ;-)

Virginia Tech Tragedy

Taking a breather from the usual witty posts, I would like to collect some thoughts on the most recent newsmaker that disturbed the country, and the world.

I'm pretty sure many of you have been hearing about it. The worst shooting in American history to date, and hopefully, ever. Cho Seung-Hui, a 23 year old English major, shot 33 people -- countless times to death -- including himself. I, personally, don't know what to make out of it. One man, successfully accomplishing an obviously sadistic plan (with suspicious beliefs of his girlfriend supposedly cheating on him) is completely senseless, unfathomable, and heinous.

Event descriptions from different witnesses have been piling up since the massacre, effectively convincing that the suspect had methodically conceptualized this plan for a long time, which includes multiple bomb threats in the same community a couple of weeks ago. According to media reports, the killer may have had something to do with recent bomb threats, presumably testing the University's security system. On Monday morning, he supposedly returned to his dorm residence to reload his weapons after killing two students in the same vicinity. He then proceeded to Norris Hall, chained the doors by himself, and started the shooting spree.

Eversince living here in the United States, I have openly expected a lot more from the governance, considering that the place I came from lacked a whole lot of synchronization. I was not disappointed. Malls are clean, public high schools and community colleges are impressively convenient, Airports and flights are friendly, and driving situations are far less hazardous. But one thing that could possibly prevent brutal attacks like this is an intense security system. I'm not saying that VT security's approach to the situation was any less. It might have been on some others' opinions, but I'm sure they've done their part in the best way they knew how. But on the other hand, I think colleges and universities in this country are very driven to ensue independence on students that liberated security is often tolerated. Just like my college which has its own police station (much like all colleges in this country), but we rarely see officers around campus, not even after the morning traffic. I happen to have spent my first high school years in Lorenzo Ruiz De Manila School, where security is as strict as it gets. There's an armed guard in every building, and IDs are firmly required for everyone who enters and leaves the campus, including transportations. I know, it's a high school, a reasonable proximity to monitor. But we all agree that there's absolutely nothing wrong in being a little bit too cautious, right? Especially in a country that leniently sells guns, and has been attacked by terrorism in the past.

One more thing that seemed absurdly funny to me was the method of communication during that very morning. The warning has been sent through email. Yes, Yahoo!, Google, Hotmail. Through EMAIL. I was shocked, totally perplexed at how dumb some people can get under pressure. My friend Brittany said it best, "Who in the hell checks out their emails at 7:30 in the morning?" and really, what person that practically resides inside the university doesn't have a mobile phone? Is this generation really that idiotic to use email as their form of addressing alarm, instead of an instant phone call, or even text message??

Speaking of text messaging. This may sound ridiculous, but I really think that it's about time 9-1-1 gets the hype of this commodity. A phone call is deeply necessary, but text messaging can be really helpful than it sounds. For instance, there was this girl who survived the second shooting by playing dead. While obviously restraining her nerves by not dialing 9-1-1 during the ordeal, she would have had an easier contact if text messaging was another way of asking help. This is me being humorless, folks. I sincerely think the rescue hotline must consider the text messaging system. Seriously.

What's really uncanny about the chain of events was the fact that the suspect even had enough time to keep himself alive after the first shooting, and with no one calling to the rescue, let alone the police -- who admittedly have heard the gun shots -- ignoring the incident in belief that it was just another one of those domestic fulminations. I, myself, have had enough debates and discussions (especially in my HDEV class) regarding this whole story. A lot of what ifs, could-have-beens, and should-have-beens. But instead of concentrating, and dwelling on what really could have happened, I suggest that the society gradually move on, and on the way, perform drastic changes in our systems to be able to protect ourselves in the future. If America didn't learn enough from the University of Texas massacre in 1966, I think now is the right time to learn something from the Virginia Tech tragedy.

My heart goes out to all the victims, the families affected, and the entire community of Blacksburg.

Fat Like Me

By accident, I tuned into Lifetime channel Monday night, a channel by the way that I never even notice. But as I was about to switch back to USA (for RAW), this movie's prologue started to roll, then I realized that it was Kaley Cuoco's docu-drama, the one she promoted on The View just earlier that day. The morning show's obstreperous quartet was discussing obesity and its cons for the whole day, thanks to Trumpo's childish remarks. But anyway, Kaley was there for the obvious reason, and then I was instantly intrigued by the premise. And since RAW's normally being recorded weekly, I've decided to sit through the whole movie instead.


Kaley Cuoco as Aly in Lifetime TV's "To Be Fat Like Me"
It's about Aly, a popular high school jock who missed an opportunity for an athletic scholarship for college because of an untimely injury. Desperate of making it to college, she looked for countless ways to make it, including begging her coach for another chance (to no avail), until a friend suggested that they enter a contest of film documentary. Getting the idea from others who disguised themselves as other sexes and races, Aly eventually agreed to document a life of a teenage fat girl. With the help of her cosmetic specialist neighbor, she easily looked the part in a fat suit, and soon after finalizing the look, she enrolled to a new high school and began the experiment. Aly's disguise was capitalized by her delightful personality which she believed would never affect her physical appearance. She was wrong. Because no matter how friendly she was to fellow teenagers, it didn't help her gain the popularity she has when she's being her normal tiny self. If anything, it only provoked narrow-minded people to poke fun at her even more. In her own little ways though, she tried to make it all different, starting with a new friend who also happens to be fat. She'd always relay words of comfort and courage, but at the end of the day, her opinion isn't what matters the most, because she's still not like one of us. She ultimately has no idea what we see, feel and go through every single day.


While watching the thing, I was saying to myself, "God, isn't that you?". I mean, I know I'm naturally big and all, and it's not because I wear a fat suit daily. It's just that, I've always been Ms. Personality, amidst cholesterol levels. I just don't and will never crucify myself by NOT liking what I see in the mirror. It's not that I'm entirely contented with this, but unlike Aly, I never give up. I will always refuse to think that my physical appearance should hinder harmonious relationships with people I get to be with every single day. But regardless of my positive outlook in life, I still recognize the fact that being fat has its fair share of discrimination, just like say, being the only Mexican person in Park City. Just like racism, bigotry towards fat people DOES exist, and despite being extra assertive about it, it will never go away. And I'm also aware that there are quite a number of girls my age who are embarrassed and aggravated with themselves, especially when that favorite pair of jeans doesn't fit anymore. But even if that has to be the repercussion of being fat, I don't even feel any remorse about being the way I am today, physically. I may be hurt at times but I avoid looking back and drowning myself in neverending shouldawouldacouldas. And what the freakin' hell?!! I'm enjoying my life right now --nevermind the waistline-- and I'm surrounded by awesome people who love, respect and accept me for who I am, inside and out. And trust me, I am doing something about it.

Friendster

I have to admit, I was once addicted to this community, even plead guilty of having multiple accounts before, which partially consist of people who I don't even know, who have too much time in their hands, bombarding your neat, lovely page with messy and glittery testimonials. It grew out to be the most annoying thing ever, hence the urge to abandon them. But for my own personal friends, I've decided to go back and create a new one. I figured that by not having a number in my username (such as Kai-I, Kai-II, Kai-III for corresponding friendster account number. I know. LAME!), it'd be easier for them to locate my profile and get in touch with me, especially now that I'm oceans away.

So far it's doing its duties quite adequately. I get to see my friends' new photographs once in a while, some wedding pictures even, and their babies', but most importantly, it became a tool for me to be in reach again. I'm glad to have gone back! However, there are still some things that kind of stings my eye whenever I log in to it. I don't know how to say this politely, but it's what Hannah loves to call pa-please, hahaha. You know what I'm talking about!

Like this cousin I have from Manila who nicknamed himself "Ashton", when he remotely doesn't look like the real one. I mean, it could've made more sense if he has similar features, or hair, or height, or accent with that Punk'd guy, but no, and his real name isn't even close! Hahaha. Then there are those whose lives revolve on the bulletin boards. One chick writes, "Mama, we all go to hell. I'm writing this letter and wishing you well". Hahaha, the creepiest thing I've read in a long time! I also get mad at my mother, but I sure don't want to go to hell, let alone take her with me. I mean, who does that?!! Then there's another who says, "I've never looked better and you can't stand it.", ermm...not really! Sorry, I know mean girl syndrome, but did she seriously have to say that? On the bulletin boards??? :))

Then there are those profiles which take forever to load because of 1,000 music videos and hundreds more of those photo slideshows. Not to mention, their unbearable animated backgrounds! Isn't the purpose of this thing to get connected with people, and have an interesting and attractive profile? Well, waiting 10 minutes for your page to load is definitely otherwise, that I just had to click the back button and swear to never hit your page again! Don't even get me started on the "emo" or emotional self portraits. Those of which are intended to be stolen shots of yourself. I mean, what's wrong with looking at the camera and displaying your bright smile? :) Seriously.

But eventhough Friendster goes haywire, as its members, I still can't resist the urge of logging in everyday just to check out my friends' daily update of profiles, and frequent addition of photos. It's my own little way of getting connected, because as you know, a jobless prick can only afford so much. So with that, I'd like to thank SBC for my unlimited internet, mom and dad for paying, and Friendster for its free service. Who needs long distance calls when you've got Friendster? Hahaha!

Sinwagon

It's been three years, but I've never paid a handful amount of attention to this certain controversy up until the trio showed up on my tv again on a Wednesday's Oprah. I don't dislike them. I happen to love some of their songs, but that's just how far it goes. I never said I was a country music fan to begin with, but nevertheless, these women's tenacious and rightful bluntness towards their nation's erroneous happenings were something noteworthy. In fact, I think Natalie kicked so much ass for basically saying that President Bush, with all due respect, is-was-always-will-be a piece of shit. It's really not that hard to say, but with the backlash that parked her frontdoor... Man, ow, man. Seemed like speech's vested freedom never existed.

For those of you who are still clueless about what I'm yabbering about, I'm talking about the Dixie Chicks. A grammy-winning bluegrass trio who apparently spoke disrespectfully of this country's president. Quote-unquote, "Just so you know, we're ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas". Burn!!! Fifteen words that immediately leaped half of this shallow country in an idiosyncratic sphere, with a repercussion that was beyond nightmare. Album sales dropped, poor concert ticket sales, avid supporters devotedly boycotted them, and even obscene death threats conquered their living-the-dream superstar status.


To despise them is one thing, but to insensately damage their characters - permanently and without limits, just for the partially irrational reason that they said it on foreign soil - is purely overreacting. I may understand that it was too unorthodox for politically conservative Southerners to hear three open-minded girls speak their minds like they did, especially in regards of their country's misguidance. But to smother them with verbal destruction and traitor-treatment ENDLESSLY is just too bestial for bearing. I can't even imagine how they've managed to go on with their lives despite the unfathomable jungle they trapped themselves into. Gee. I must've nailed my liver with a butcher knife or something. And although I may agree that as public figures, and role models, they might have acted otherwise unpleasantly, their compatriots still automatically discounted that these women are in fact human too, with a prerogative to say what their smarts urge them to express.

So what if their combative opinions were uttered on foreign soil? It's not like they purposely blasted Bush in UK, a country by the way that even helps the US in jeopardy. And it's oceans apart from Iraq, I'm pretty sure they knew the difference. So was that reasoning suppose to add more fuel to the fire? Pfft. Nevermind. Makes me think about how much Filipinos in this country execrate the dirty politics back in the Philippines, and how brazen we are in belittling (no pun intended) the president. Do you think that even if we forever bag on her flaws as a leader, here in a foreign country no less, we'll ever be cussed as traitors? I never thought so.

And that's the harsh reality of being in the public eye. You're instantly robbed of the power to utilize the freedom that was given to mankind to think open-mindedly and be considerably outspoken. Unfortunately for the Dixie Chicks, they had to suffer the humiliating behaviour besetting their individualities and had to be sidelined for what seemed to be the longest three years of their lives. But what the hell! They're BACK!!! And still not ready to make fuckin' nice.

Football Wives

In a state like Texas, a divorcing couple due to football overdose (no pun intended) is relatively normal. Makes me imagine how many of them already consulted a lawyer this past weekend, which considerably is the craziest football weekend of every year. There's the annual state fair cottonbowl event and Sunday football to be all orgasmic about. These men are nuts! But hey, leaving them isn't the only solution. Right?

Divorce is a diabolic term to my ears, hence my fear in marriage. I kinda fear it just as much as I fear snakes. Seriously. It's not a walk in the park, that's a given, but why does divorce seem as easy as that? Not to mention when it's supposed to be "sacred", unless you're allah-uhakbar-ing or something. I mean, it's even written in the bible for crying out loud... "whoever divorces his wife and marries again commits adultery, and whoever marries her who has been divorced also commits adultery". Gee, who knew St. Mark wrote about this absurdity. Shame on mankind!!!

I'm not a football fan myself, but if I ever, God forbid, get married to an enthusiast of this certain sport, and if and when it gets a little too out of hand, I still won't divorce him. Um...yes. At least I'll try not to. I don't think resting in the devil's armpit every football day would be too much for bearing. I mean, it's only existent for four months in a year anyway (I allow to be corrected), so why be all cranky about that? Or better yet, I''ll ask him to buy me Football for Dummies so we can both stupefy ourselves over some hugging bouncers. But kidding aside, I know it's not gonna be easy, but don't they think that they bicker over a piece of shit? I mean, my mom gave my dad a hard beating because of his mistress. That's a bigger deal, you know? Ok, I totally made that up. But seriously. All these couples just need to compromise. It's not like Jessica divorced Nick only because he was wetting over USC's quarterback. Duh?

Point is, there's always solution to all problems, and a simple signature over divorce papers isn't one of them. Yeah, yeah, what do I know, right? I'm only a young-in with a struggling love life. But you know what, it doesn't take you to be 25, 30, 40 to actually embrace the real meaning of marriage and to know what it should be in one's life. It's just like a football game. When somebody tackles you, you get up, run, and never give up. Touchdown, beeyotch!

My brain is bigger than my boobs.

Or something like that. Remember? That infamous Joyce Jimenez line?

Anyway. Finally, I have something to discuss with you about. I'm sorry, my mind has been wandering some place for quite a while there, but I'm back on. As you all know, I'm leading a pretty boring life nowadays, but thankfully, interesting stuff keep hovering my thinkbox even on listless days. So let me lay one out right now...

I was watching The View yesterday, and the women were talking about how Botox, and plastic surgery as a whole, have become an epidemic addiction to most of aging America. Joy and Barbara admittedly shared their Botox tales and how it positively affected their personal lifestyles, self confidence and how it made them look younger (which isn't that visible, anyway). I was just like, well, that's ok. I guess. They've got the money, so why not spare it on something that they wish would make them look anymore attractive. And like I care about these stupid celebrities. But the bigger picture here is what I'm dwelling on.

My mother would constantly talk about her officemates who are all so eager to get boobjobs. As the soon-to-be-49 that she is, and with a rather deflated rack, she'd jokingly ask me over and over again if she could ride the bandwagon. Well, if she was 29, maybe I'd allow her, but at her age now, the risk just wouldn't make sense. Plus, having a small package didn't seem to have affected my dad for the past soon-to-be-25 years of their marriage, so I'm completely sure, he could bare with it for 25 more, you know what I mean. But I know that she's only joking, or at least half the time she is. Back to topic. I seriously don't get the obsessive vanity these people are drowing themselves into, that they'd suffer a mere couple of hours having some random guy, with a convincing surgical gear, vigorously insert monstrous plastic balloons into their chests, just to turn heads (pun may be intended). Moreso, did I hear that there's already stuffing for butts too? Jesus Christ, what in the world! I was told that John Estrada had his bottom done, which made a guy friend of ours invest interest into having his done too. I can't believe even men are now drawn into this insanity. What, do they think that having an upholstered butt would get them laid more? I don't think so.

And as for those who've made plastic surgery a weekly trip to the spa. I've seen some faces, and honestly, they don't look any good to me. Like this woman who appeared on Oprah last season. She looks like a gordy barbiedoll with an almost erupting upper lip. She talks very nasally, and couldn't even express herself very well due to her robotic facial muscles, let alone those tattoed eyebrows. Ouch! Guess how young the lady is. She's only 28! But look, she's like 12 years her senior with manly features. Seriously, what do these people get from this? Don't they see that they look, oh forgive me lord, fugly?? I mean, really ugly. As Noah perfectly said in The Notebook, "Science can only go so far, then comes God". See? That's what you get for completely ruining what God gave you to start with.

In case you'd ask... if I were given a chance to go under the knife, would I go for a lipo? No, 'cuz I don't like the idea of metal sticks getting into my fats just like what they do to pigs. If anything, I'll subtract, contrary to the trend. Perhaps, breast reduction. Trust me, having quite a gifted rack has been one of the most difficult things I have to deal with everyday, hence my bewilderment over those skinny girls who are painstakingly getting theirs done, with 4-pounder plastic jellos no less. That oughtta be heavier. Passive suicide just to look enticing? Genius!

From the collageneous attempts of having Jolie-ish lips, to the potentially painful injections extracting fat from the sacks below your eyes, and to the fake hair for those who didn't survive the battle of splitends. Seems like every beauty deficiency now has its corresponding scientific resolution. And it can only get worse.

Stupid American Child.

Just in case you wonder. Title is derived from a Season 2 episode of House M.D. You know, that Chinese kid who brought her sick mom to the hospital just so she could ask for birth control pills, imposing that House wouldn't figure it out? Haha! Well, I think it's somehow relative to the following narration, one way or another. Anyway, this quento somehow resembles this one. But this time, it's totally beyond me. Ugh. Awful!

So we were at the mall last weekend, doing a little shopping. As I lined up to pay, I overhead two Filipino girls chit-chatting with the cashier, casually via their very obvious accent. No, I don't mean to make it sound negatively, but Filipinos have a distinctive way of speaking the language (which is not a bad thing at all), unless you grew up speaking it the American way. Back to the story. These girls were comfortably chattering away, and while the cashier was already doing her job, they briefly talked in Tagalog, which of course, I once again overheard.

Now. My dad and my brother were walking towards me talking rather loudly in our native language. I was waiting for the girls to look behind their shoulders and greet us with a "kabayan!" or "pinoy ka?", the standard greeting notes we get from fellowmen. But no. You know what they did? The pretended to be of another nation's breed, or as if they've been westernized since birth. Started to talk in English ala Amerikano, which was, not to mention, such a ludicrously poor attempt.

They perhaps thought that I'm Mexican or something (which happens to be the case, for always, not that I like it), thus their sudden switch to this laughable disguise right infront of me. But come on now. Yellow skin, straight black hair, chinky eyes, buttoned nose? Who are you kidding? Seriously. I could only cover my head in shame.

In reality, Filipinos who grew up here, or stayed long enough, would eventually lose their congenital accent. However, that happens organically, and needs not to be forced, especially just to put up a show. Hence personally, it's doubtlessly disturbing to witness these people subconciously disregard their race just so they could tell their superficial selves that they truly belong.

Coach can't pray?

It attacked our attention much like a blowing thunder rather than an eerie storm. But just as I was mildly upset about it, I was also quite bewildered by what was my struggling comprehension of the other side's assertion.

This issue that was debated on Quite Frankly last night, that at one point bulged my nerves, was about a New Jersey high school football coach's restriction of engaging himself in prayer with his team. Coach was threatened by the high school that in the event he doesn't stop cooperating in prayers with the team, he will get fired. As one who was part of the administration for 23 years, he took the initiative to distance himself from the kids during the solemn part of their regimen, and eventually resign from his beloved job because of too much predomination on the school's part.

Initially, I wondered whatever is wrong with that, but upon hearing the four sides of the argument, it somehow paved the way for an assumption. As the heated discussion went on, I learned that the other ones in the panel are bothered by this (solely) because they feel that Coach is the one inducting the prayers, in the sense that it becomes a provocation for the students to follow his lead, and completely disregard their right to freedom of religion. I don't blame them, it should be one of the many natural hypostheses. But jumping into conclusions and immediately judging the person is a different story.

It was stated beforehand, that this activity was never dictated by the alleged. Apparently, it has been clear that the bowing of heads has always been student-led. It was just a matter of choice. The students initiate the prayers, and the coach, who (needless to say) stands as the father of the team, surely feels the need to participate. If other students feel as though that taking the knee is opposed to their beliefs, then I honestly don't think it will even be a problem. As opposed to what the parents' are yakking about, declining will not jeopardize their kids' athletic career. I personally think that this has been extremely blown out of proportion, in which involved a sensitive topic that didn't deserve the controversy it was amidst of.

The universe tends to unfold as it should. - Tarik

Harold: So what are you in here for?
Tarik: For being black.
Harold: Seriously.
Tarik: I am serious. You wanna know what happened. I was walking out of a Barnes & Noble, and a cop stops me. Evidently, a black guy robbed a store in Newark. I told him, "I haven't even been to Newark in months." So he starts beating me with his gun, telling me to stop resisting arrest.
Harold: Holy shit! What'd you do?
Tarik: I kept saying, "I understand I'm under arrest. Now please stop beating me."
Harold: I don't understand how you can be so calm about all this.
Tarik: Look at me. I'm fat, black, can't dance, and I have two gay fathers. People have been messing with me my whole life. I learned a long time ago there's no sense getting all riled up every time a bunch of idiots give you a hard time. In the end, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Plus I have a really large penis. That keeps me happy.

Don't you just love it when a movie stuffed with lunacy soaked antics can actually be injected with a mild bit of farsightedness in it? I'm presently overhearing the movie and the scene is now about to shift to the prison where this entertaining and eye-opening exchange of dialogues took place.