May 9, 2006

The General May 2006 Archive

May 31, 2006

Well, looks like we have one last day before June kicks in, so let’s get on with a few things.

First, against my will (and only because I wanted to see trailers) I watched The Da Vinci Code. Crappy book, crappy movie. Can someone please send Dan Brown back to writing school? Enough said: the book, the author, and the movie do not deserve the honor of this space in my website.

Hahahaha (too much coffee for Inez…again).

Oh, and I HAVE to do this.

Dominic West! Dominic West! Dominic West!

And no, it’s NOT what you think. *cough* sotana *cough*

What else? Oh yes! I want to watch The Lake House.

We’re leaving for Europe this Saturday night. That means I’ll be missing Supernatural, my new favorite show; as well as Prison Break, my other new favorite show. Thank God the new season of House, MD isn’t up yet. WHEW!

Soon to rise on my website: My SUPERNATURAL fanfic. Link will be secret. Story will contain the Winchester Brothers (but of course!), me, and You-Know-Who. Ahahahahaha! Search for the link if you want to know how twisted I am (like you don’t yet).

I love Nickelback. That’s not so bad, is it?

One article in this week’s news is about the work of a scientist named Scofield. Michael? Ay, hindi. Darn.

Oh, and yes, the TRAVEL PAGE will soon be up! Yes, I finally got a new set of keys and opened the diary. Word is out: I can’t write well if high on museums. Haha! Lovely anyway. CLICK HERE! CLICK HERE! (I hope I’m done with it, though. Just keep checking back from time to time)

I also love James Blunt. So HIGH! Woohoo!

Proudly single, don’t care, I think. Unless those lines in my fanfic are…well…drat, never mind. Blabber blabber.

Fell again. Scraped knees. This is getting too frequent. Very suspicious. Surely The Exorcism of Emily Rose DVD didn’t carry a little demon with it? Ouch. Knees hurt.

Ouch. For so many different reasons.


May 31, 2006

The hard part of being loveless at my age is the fact that sometimes, the smallest, most mundane — most INSANE — thrills excite you.

Take, for instance, my current preoccupation with PS. PS has looked at me, we’ve met eyes, but nothing concrete has occurred. No hand-holding, no reaching out for my hand on impulse, nothing. No, “Hi, my name is , and you’re…?” Nothing. I haven’t even exchanged a word with said PS. NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTHING.

So why do I miss him? After two weeks of not seeing you-know-who doing the you-know-what in the you-know-where, why do I miss him? Why do I miss a guy I know absolutely nothing about?

This has grown to be a rather alarming case. After all, I am 26 years old, about to turn 27, and attracted to a guy whose name I don’t even know. Of course, it really hurts my case that this guy is most likely younger than I am. How — mad am I getting? Is this the product of writing, or loneliness? Am I making too many assumptions, putting too many meanings into meaningless things?

Or maybe I’m just going insane — maybe I’m making up for all those kilig-less years as a teenager by living in a dream. Maybe I’m searching desperately for a storyline to a novel without knowing the limits to sense and sensibility. Or maybe I’m just tired of being lonely.

I can’t believe I’m even writing about this — and even allowing it to occupy my thoughts! I remember something a father-confessor once told me: we are the product of our thoughts, and our minds can control us if we give it sway. But because we can control our minds, then we can control the temptations that come our way. I’m not quoting him in the context of temptations right now. The only temptation I have is to march over to you-know-where and find out Mr. You-Know-Who’s name. And that’s all.

I’m quoting that father-confessor simply because I know I can control my mind. My heart? Well, that’s another story. It can control my mind.

Drat this drama! I hate it when I have to analyze things that should be left alone. Liking someone I don’t know? Dreaming about him? And I thought fantasizing about Jesse Spencer getting cast as Jonathan Locksley was strange.

Come to think of it, that’s even stranger. Fantasizing about casts, thinking about films, making soundtracks — good heavens. Am I really this weird? Or is Satan just poking around my brain and trying to discourage me from working?

An officemate did a little “test” on me this weekend. He asked me the following question: If you were made to keep and protect an egg, where would you put it? In a tree, water, grass, or in your pocket?

I was choosing between tree and water. Before I admit my answer, here are the interpretations.

If you choose tree, you don’t plunge into a relationship unless you know that you’ve encountered Mr./Ms. Right. You are a perfectionist, and demand the most from your significant other.

If you choose water, you are extremely passive, and will not make the first move to initiate a relationship no matter how much you like/love the person.

If you choose grass, you fall in love easily, and plunge easily into relationships.

If you choose your pocket, you like to take control of a relationship, and you are an aggressive lover.

I picked water. No surprises there.

So what’s the deal? I want a strong man, therefore he has to be strong enough to pursue me — therefore I’m not going to get a man, because there are no strong men left?

Why do I even have to ask all this? Why can’t I go the “PS Fiction” route and just go up to PS and ask his name?

Because I can’t, and I won’t. Because I don’t want to be hurt again, and I don’t want to hope, and I don’t want to be disappointed.

Water, indeed — too safe, too proud, and too afraid. What happens now? Wherefore, Signore PS?

May 29, 2006

So very sad am I

So sad with waiting and hoping, but not seeing.

Where is PS? I miss PS. Where is PS? Where is PS?

WHERE IS PS??!!?!?!??!

By the way, does anyone here go to Don Bosco Makati?



PS, where are you?

May 18, 2006

I have a few requests from the world today. I list them here, for current lack of sheer competence in real prose writing. Hmph and grrr.

1. Tell me what you want, for the love of all things HOLY! Don’t confuse me! I don’t like getting confused when I’m not supposed to be!

2. Find a way to tell me why I am SO sleepy, when I’ve been drinking the same amount of caffeine since yesterday. And why does my tummy ache? Meep.

3. Not a request, just a comment. I fell off the bus last Monday on the way to work. There. Now the whole world knows.

4. I don’t like Taylor to win American Idol. Can this NOT happen? PLEASE?

5. Can someone please show me the way to a Latin Mass in the Makati area?

6. May I please lose some weight? (Wait a minute…)

7. Can someone put me in touch with Mr. PS? (hahahaha! I love this! This is fun!)

8. Can someone point me the way to a job that will pay me millions for my novel…say, a publisher who will fall in love with my novels and make the whole world fall in love with them…and me?

9. Can someone point me the way to a really good massage? My back is starting to ache, and I think I want to throw up. (See #3)

10. Can someone do my own website making for me? I’d like some really high tech stuff here, like music and videos (like I have any to show!)

May 17, 2006

To my sister, Paz.
She doesn’t have a website, and I can’t put her email address here, so I’ll just tell the world that she’s already 21! GASP! Baby sister is all grown up. Awww.

May 12, 2006

Know what? Forget it. I’m not even going to finish this sentence. Let’s just say that my application for a Schengen visa for a vacation might have been stalled by an immigration officer in Germany.

A funny thing happened on the way to a previous vacation. Back in 200?, I was standing in line for immigration officers to check my passport. I was about to make my way through the EU with my family. I was happy, excited, ecstatic, smiling, and — gulp — nervous.

After all, some immigration officers had the gall to exert all their Nordic strength on my poor passport. They opened it, stretched its cover to its limits to check the integrity of the thing, and finally, succeeded in ripping the bottom of my picture off the base. Lovely, you know, if you’re optimistic. But if it’s SUMMER, and it’s HOT, and you’re in NO MOOD TO LINE UP, this is NOT GOOD. NOT GOOD!

Fast forward to 2006, with me at the German Embassy. Watch Inez hand over passport. Watch person at window go, “This is an immigration risk. Please replace your passport.” Watch Inez go BLEEP and fall in line at the Department of Foreign Affairs for two hours.

Watch Inez go BLEEP as she remembers that she visited Indonesia for an official office trip, and that it’s on the “watch list” of the embassy. Watch Inez go BLEEP for a variety of reasons which, when put together, constitute a not-so-very-nice portrait of Inez.

I, however, am too tired now to relate the entire line-up-do-this-do-that-fill-out-this-form-get-totally-stressed-in-the-process-oh-crap-Chris-Daughtry-is-out-of-American-Idol tale. Suffice to say that I’m back in the office, and I am glad this is over. Now all I have to do is pick my passport up…

…And get this short story out of the way…Only one person in the world knows what “PS” means, and that’s me.

PS was written over three days, and is the product of one mad scientist’s mad Sundays. To the poor subject of PS who may one day read this after I gain worldwide fame and thus exceed my current bandwidth and just, like, totally rock — sorry.

But you do have a coffee pot head.

Right…on to the story!

May 5, 2006

I love being in Glorietta mall on weekends. I love sitting down and editing documents and writing my novels while sipping on coffee and wondering, “How different would my life have been if I had been accepted to those schools in the US?” or “How much easier would this work have been had I bought that laptop?” or “Am I ever going to be married?” and “Do I even care?”
I saw him in Glorietta this weekend. Hehe. Can’t wait for this weekend. Maybe we’ll have a sequel to “Down the Hall.” Maybe I should call it, “The Mall.” “In the Next Coffeehouse?” “In the Next Table?” Wow. I can already see it…
To Nicee: Have you read the new short story yet?
To Richard: Richard Wagner! Where are you? Have you received your GED scores yet? Finish your novel!
To the IRRI people who put music files on the T:/ Drive. THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! Man, you are all in SO MUCH TROUBLE!
I still love Savage Garden.
I haven’t finished watching Capote yet. Cripes!
Lucky number 8 is also very unlucky. I hope it all ends at 8 so I don’t have to go, “Did I tell you that #9…?” You know what, who cares? You don’t have to understand, and neither do I. Let’s just say EVERYTHING should stop at 8, so that I don’t have to be so miserable anymore.
Who cares if I make sense? And who cares if I don’t?
Word of the moment: Hunghang. (Tagalog) Translation: stupid. For example: “You are not smart at all. Use your brain! You are so hunghang.” or “Ang hunghang mo kung maniniwala ka sa mokong yun!” or “Kung nagka-anak si William Hung sa isang babaeng Hang ang apelido, ang anak ba nila e Hunghang?”
Why wasn’t Dreamweaver designed to be WYSIWYG?
I want to go to heaven when I die. That’s not wrong, isn’t it? So to those exhorting me to violate the commandments (in not so many terms, of course), please…go to confession…or leave me be…or something.
I have to get me a proper Purity Ring. One of those lovely silver ones with nice crosses will do.
Babbling is fun. Must do this more often.

May 2, 2006

Now listening to: Assorted Andrea Bocelli MP3’s
Specifically: O Sole Mio
Mood: Blank. Totally…blank.

The thing I love the most about the field of communication is the fact that I can talk as much as I want, and I won’t be told that I’m not doing my job. Try that in a laboratory and watch your research associate go after you with a broom…or worse, a pitcher of ethidium bromide. Not that I’d care, as I think I’ve had fairly close to that amount in my bloodstream for ages anyway. Shine me some UV and call me purple!

More babbling to come. Someone asked me if I didn’t mind having a boyfriend. Not at all — ask Jesse though. Maybe he minds me refusing his advances.

Hahaha! Dream on…Jesse.

Somebody has to wake me up, or I’ll go insane.

May 2, 2006

Not really a new poet, but last I heard him, we were studying a few lines from Endymion (“A thing of beauty is a joy forever…”) and I wasn’t paying too much attention.

John Keats is my new favorite poet! Ha! Too bad I discovered him only now. I never really was a poetry reader — I usually stuck to novels, and all them lovely novelists. There were Hardy, the Bronte Sisters, Hugo, Hardy, Dickens, Gaskell…did I mention Hardy? Thomas Hardy. Lovely.

Come 2005, I discovered that poetry e-books could be had for free, so I started collecting them and saving them and abusing Adobe Acrobat to the max. Given the lack of viewable art in my immediate vicinity, I took to the poet’s paintbrush and marveled in the strokes.

Keats, I love you. You rock.

Those words fail to capture my captivation, of course, but I’m not a poet when I make compliments.

I could try, though.

thy words ring like chimes
on summer morn
when wind blows
least expected

to calm a soul in the drought of hope
and sound a call
to poets everywhere.

Drat. Can’t write. Must sleep. Or read. Wuddever.


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