Finding her way through the back door.

In my spam, it said: “What a stupid face you have here, chocosleep.” Oh, you mean THIS face? This face that I wear everyday? You consider it stupid? THANK GOD! I was beginning to think I’m ugly.

Oh holy crap. I get spam because “chocosleep” is close to “chocosex”? That thought did not even cross my mind! Until I saw the spam message that started with “dear chocosex…”

In my spam, it said: “What a stupid face you have here, chocosleep.” Oh, you mean THIS face? This face that I wear everyday? You consider it stupid? THANK GOD! I was beginning to think I’m ugly.

Oh holy crap. I get spam because “chocosleep” is close to “chocosex”? That thought did not even cross my mind! Until I saw the spam message that started with “dear chocosex…”

I want to board somewhere far from home. Not too far but far enough, if you know what I mean. I got this area in my mind and I want to talk about it here but now is not the right moment. Suffice to say that my dad is leaning towards yes and my mom? My mom practically hit the roof when I told her I want to try it out on my own for a while.

I know I haven’t exactly been what my family would call “safe to kick out from home” but the thing is, if they never let me try then when will I ever learn?

“I know I’m lazy with the little things, I mean I never held a door
But I still loved you more than anyone since or before
You are always saying that I owe you one, well, let’s consolidate this debt…”

He’s so quiet, you’d never know he was in the room. I don’t even hear him breathe and he’s merely a few inches away from me. I wonder if I’m too loud or he’s really the one who’s quiet.

The way he looks when he wants to say, “Oh come on! Are you kidding me? Me?”

How he laughs over things I know no one else will ever laugh at. (And my friends say I’m the weird one. Ha!)

I look at his flawless skin and wonder if he’s Belo’s secret model.

He never fails to mention Burger Machine whenever we get together. Now I wonder if BM is secretly paying him to plug their burgers. “Kain tayo. Kahit Burger Machine lang!”

How he can wear ratty clothes and still come off looking decent.

“I’m sorry about the phone call; and waking you.
I know that it is late,
But thank you for talking, because I needed to.”

How he called just because I lost my head there for a moment and he knew I needed a dose of sanity.

How he can come across as meek and mild, shy and quiet, always second-guessing himself yet still have enough confidence to be independent.

How he doesn’t like his drink too cold. If you give him one with too many ice, he’d probably have a convulsion.

How his silence really means “no.” A definite, no-negotiations allowed kind of no. Don’t even try asking the second, third time around. He’s stubborn that way.

“If I’m still weighed down with subtleties
Then I’ll just come right out and say
That I think that I deserve her
More than anyone deserves anything
Maybe I am selfish, but there is no way to share this…”

How he can be the most exasperating, most frustrating guy I have ever come across that I just want to kick his ass clear to next year.

But I choose not to.

I could point out the obvious and say why, but I think this post has enough mush in it already to last me until my next lifetime.

So there you go.

photos: eye of einstein, marie-II and Swamibu

When my parents prayed for a daughter and then saw my punk-rock hair the first time I wailed my way into this world, I’m sure they knew right away that this wasn’t exactly what they asked for. Not that I’m the black sheep of the family (I won’t name names but hi, Martin! You beat me last week in work attendance.) but the reasons I shall not disclose. Not here in the so-called information highway and global village. I mean, it’s one thing to talk about the pains of teaching a five year-old how to read or that one time I incidentally used feminine wash as a facial wash. But hey, it’s another thing to yak about family matters. With meat. If you know what I mean.

Lately I’ve been thinking of moving on to another direction in my life, careerwise. My parents are all for it. They think the job I took is too far and it won’t be long before my health collapses, but not before spitting at my face. But I’m all like, “Don’t worry, folks. There’s nothing I couldn’t take. Just make sure not to shove something chocolatey in front of my face or you’ll have me in ball and chain in no time at all.” This issue here is this: Am I where I want to be right now? Four months ago, I was sure I was. I even walked around the house with the bravado of a sixteen year-old sporting black nail polish and a scary ‘do that was supposed to scream “COOL.” But now… Well, now here I am blogging about it. I tell myself this must be just some kind of a stage. You know how in relationships you just wake up one morning and think if it is all worth it? You can’t help it. You just think and feel and then think some more. Until everything just blows up in your face and then you go, “Ahh… Right! This is it!” But usually not before it’s too late.

photo: rentahamster

I was the kid who was all bony arms and legs, with a messy mop for a hair (which my mother never failed to agonize over). I was also the sickly type. Barely even reaching one year old, my parents already found themselves checking me in at the friendly, not-so-next-door hospital. In there was where my mother developed a trauma for needles and tubes, as she watched the doctor put one here and another one there for the dextrose, plus a couple more for tests. From then on, it seemed as if there was never a year that I wasn’t confined in the hospital. I got caught in the rain? Immediate flu. I laughed too hard? Asthma attack. It’s no fun being this physically vulnerable.

I remember this one time, me and my family and relatives went to Hongkong. It was December and I was thrilled at the prospect of getting exposed to chilly weather I only read about and see in T.V. So there I was one day, walking with my dad on our way back to the hotel. The wind was icy. It felt like everything I inhale, spears made of ice stabbed gleefully at my lungs. Guess what happened when we were back at our hotel room? Asthma attack. And another time my clan decided to take another vacation? I chose that optimum moment to get sick with dengue. Thus, spending a New Year’s Eve at the hospital. It’s no wonder my family hadn’t disowned me yet. If there ever was, say, a magnet for sickness, that would be me.

This fragile health used to be great back when I was still in grade school and high school. And let’s not forget college. But now that I’m working? It’s a pain in the ass. I get rained on a couple of days back, just a light shower from the heaven, really, and what do I get? An aching body that lasts for days and a slight fever that pops up whenever it wants to. I have already counted how much pay I am losing because of this fragile health and it was all I could do not to hurl the calculator across the room.

My parents had a talk with me, telling me maybe I am way in over my head for getting a job that’s so far from where we live. They tell me all those hours of commuting had probably taken its toll on me, after all. And I wanted to tell them but that is exactly why I took this job in the first place. To prove somehow that I can do this, that I can go this far without my fragile health blocking my path. Well, that and the fact that this guy I have been fixated on for what seems like forever lives near the area of my office, too. Ha!

photo: exlibris

So monkee, this fantastic, laugh-a-minute kid, had tagged me. That is, assuming I’m the same “Anna” she had tagged a couple of days ago. You’d have to excuse me for not blogging as regularly as I planned to. Work just kept piling up. I drowned in quotas. I ate lunch in my desk. I didn’t even have the time to scream my head off when I saw a cockroach running across the carpet, very, very near my feet. That’s how busy I was.

So. The tagging goes like this: Point out 10 things about you. Whether it’s something cool or something you’d rather not confess to your next-door neighbor priest or what you plan to do five years from now. Stuff like that. Then I tag 10 people, excluding the person who tagged me (monkee!).

Name 10 things. Just 10 among the many, many foibles and quirks and dreams…

1. I love pasta and pizza. I’d kill for them.

2. I am scared to death of cockroaches.

3. Stray dogs who bark and growl make me quiver in my flip-flops.

4. I love kids and babies.

5. I want to be a pre-school teacher someday soon.

6. I think I’m still fixating over the same guy for more than six months now, even if I deny it.

7. I am a quasi-geek. I love books and surfing the net during my free time.

8. I have to be the most unlucky person when it comes to romance and relationships.

9. I love helping out those around me, especially when it comes to their love lives.

10. I am a matchmaker, a copwriter, a deep sleeper, and a former glorified professional time killer.

I can’t think of other people to tag, so… I’ll probably just throw in random people in the next couple of posts. Think of it as sneaking behind your back and then screaming, “Tag!!” at the top of my lungs. And you’ll totally hate me for it but you’ll go ahead and do it anyway because it’s irresistible and sexy.

I slept at nearly 12 midnight and woke up at 6:30 a.m.

My desktop clock reads “1:37” (p.m.) and I still can’t shake off this lethargy.

Drowsiness has taken the place of insomnia, it seems.

I’ve had one pretty yellow paper cup of Lipton Milk Tea and although it tasted good enough, it wasn’t enough to wake me up.

I feel like there’s a mist enveloped around me and it speaks of s-s-s-sleep.

Dooce.com is funny as usual but I still felt Sleep tugging at my hand after the first few sentences.

Maybe a cup of coffee in my silver mug would do the trick.

My silver mug. Ugh. Didn’t the whole basketball team (in my village) drink from it? The nightmare of someone with mild OCD. *shudder*

How about coffee AND chocolates?

In the space of one minute, tops: I dipped a small block of milk chocolate in my coffee, just to see how this “aerated” chocolate would react. Would it melt faster than a speeding bullet? Would it bubble up and then blow up in my face? OR maybe it would bubble up and instead of blowing up in my face, it would spit at me? People, here’s what happened: No bubbling or explosion occurred BUT the chocolate did melt (of course it did!) and due to the time it took me to dip the chocolate and put it in my mouth, I now have coffee stains on my pants. Safe and well far away from the crotch area.

Count your blessings, so they say.

It was a toss between a lomo camera and getting back trainunderwater.org for the past couple of days.

Lomo cam or trainunderwater.org?

Trainunderwater.org or a lomo camera?

Lomo cam or trainunderwater.org?

Trainunderwater.org or a lomo camera?

Are you sick of this yet?

So maybe, hopefully, my former website will be back in my warm, loving tiny arms by next month. Monkee, you might be glad to know I kicked the ass of whoever stole my domain.

I’m kidding, of course. I went the diplomatic route and asked my hosting company if I could renew my website. They said yes and off I went with a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka in my equally tiny left hand. I was grinning, and I wasn’t even drunk yet.

The two new guys who our team invited to play for them, Vic and Ira, caused quite a stir among the other teams during the opening of the basketball league last Sunday. My guy friends cannot count the number of people who asked if those two guys were playing for us. Panic and disbelief were written all over their faces when it sank to them that yes, Vic and Ira are going to play for Team Multi. I only sincerely hope that the major games fall during the weekends and that the two will be able to play.

No game for our team last Sunday, so the guys had a practice game at our court instead. I do not know why I cancelled a blind date in exchange for supplying water and soda for those guys, for ducking away as the basketball flew less than an inch from my face (thanks a lot, Vic!), for having my personal mug used by guys I know and don’t know, for trying to keep myself amused for nearly two hours, for having to hear Ira ask Vic if he was wearing any brief/underwear (That’s something I could’ve done with not knowing for the rest of my life, Ira.), for having to pace back and forth only to end up standing in front of Vic’s outstretched legs and noticing how flawless-looking and white his feet were (I had to fight the urge to grab his ankles and pull him just to annoy him), for trying not to count the mosquitoes circling above Ira’s shaved head, and for many more things I could get into but I won’t because you guys might just throw me a pity party.

By ten-thirty in the evening, me and my neighboors trooped over to Central, the nearest place to go to if you want some decent drink in a pretty good place. Choose Bad Trip, Bad Boy and Bad Girl drinks to guarantee drunken good times. There, me and Khae cracked up at how Martin looked ready to sleep on the floor and how Andre looked like he’d rather do anything except have his picture taken with this girl. Khae and I poured out our woes regarding our singleness and how there’s a shortage of nice, good-looking guys to connect with.

Towards the end of our little get-together, a long-lost friend who was sitting nearby asked me to take two shots of Bad Trip. “Because I barely see you,” He said. I gladly obliged because it’s a freaking Monday morning and my system can afford two more shots before I head home.

A little gossiping over the who’s who in the basketball league, some more gossiping about what’s been going on with our friends, poking fun of each other, drinking and then more poking fun. Gawd, did I miss those!