Let Me Count The Ways

Lately, I have been doing a lot of photoessays. Well, nobody in his/her right mind would consider the previous posts as photoessays but what the heck. Anywho, it would be an extreme oversight on my part if I fail to blog about one of the best, cutest, again cutest actresses in Asia--Charlene-my twin-Choi. God bless her, she just makes me damn happy. The right thing to do would be to bottle her essence and sell it to us, diehard fans.

I wonder how she stays so thin? I heard she doesn't eat meat. Of course, I can't do that. I'd certainly die without chicken. But I really, really, really wish I could be as thin as Charlene before my birthday. I don't think that's asking a lot? Do you? Do you? Answer me!!!

Photo credit: http://hk.geocities.com/believe_in_hot/msnbg/charlene_choi2.jpg

Thinspired

(Photo from: http://justjared.buzznet.com/2007/07/10/lauren-conrad-bikini/)

Okay, I love this girl. And what about that body? Slammin' hot! I wish I have her toned body. I mean, it's obvious she doesn't starve herself. This is one girl, who does it the hard way--working out. My personal goal is to lose inches off my waist and my face before August 25. I plan to maintain this, just because my birthday is round the corner. But, I cannot keep pigging out on weekends because it's definitely ruining my mood, my motivation, and everything I've worked so hard for. I guess, I'll have to do about 1 hour of cardio today and not eat dinner. I have to pay for stuffing my face and sitting on my ass this weekend. Ugh, I hate myself.

Sucky Saturday

I think when you have the runs and your puson is giving you all reasons to hate being a girl, it's safe to say that you are having the worst weekend ever. Of course, for someone who cannot poop in a public lav, it's basically hell trying to coax your stomach to settle down all the while convincing your uncooperative reproductive system to not act like a whiny brat. Yes, I think that set the mood for the following days, and no one can blame me, if I felt the need to pig out and just stuff my already fat face. God, this weekend was by far, the crappiest, saddest, fugliest moment in my life. I definitely hope I'm past the worst of it. Sigh...

Day 3

Last night, I didn't exercise. I have been exercising since saturday, so I thought it would be okay to rest. I did feel hungry, though. But I didn't go crazy, I just ate some raisins and drank my cupful of milk. Later, I will try to do Kathy Smith's workout. It looks fun, I just hope I'm not going to be too tired for the seminar tomorrow. Good luck to me. And yes, I will still try to eat healthily/sparingly. I should probably buy some fruits for the house, so I won't be tempted to eat crappy stuff. Oh well...

Day 1

I want to congratulate myself because I stuck to my plan. Yes, I didn't eat dinner, and yes, I exercised--40 to 45 minutes on the elliptical to be exact. Of course, I'm hoping that I can be home early tonight. I am banking on the idea that I won't be too hungry and break my diet. God, I wish my face becomes slimmer soon. I hate the pudgy look. I just want to be size 2 again.

Crapologist

It is a terrible, terrible thing when people cannot appreciate the fine art of shooting bull. After all, it is an undisputable fact that survival is directly influenced by the ability to fabricate facts and to fib your way through dangerous situations. Contrary to what fossil records suggest, the extinction of dinosaurs came about when Barney and associates lied to Jack Bauer about the location of the asteroid. Chuck Norris therefore, took it upon himself to roundhouse kick the entire planet causing what is now known as the Cambrian explosion. What came after is a series of events that historians failed to chronicle because Christopher Walken threatened the poor saps with eternal damnation, the stipulations of which involved feeding their firstborn to Oprah Wintour, Queen of the Multiverse and Ruler of the 5,789,975th corner of Hell.

Something to Say

I have been really busy dealing with work, with personal issues. But I guess that's no excuse to neglect blogging. And this is kind of a rough start for me, a sort-of re-learning how to ride a bike. Yes, you never forget that sort of thing, but I'm assuming it's not as easy as most of us would like to think. The truth is, I am consumed by family matters. I worry, that's my thing. I worry a lot. I could tell people right now that I can bear to lose all my friends, just not my family. And yes, that's the sort of sentimentality that I try to avoid. But even if I rarely talk about it, it will never stop being true. It's funny, because only a few people see right through the heart of me. Still, I choose to let it all out here, instead of engaging in some therapeutic sob fest. I know I'm purposely being vague. Only God knows what I am going through right now. I can only pray He is listening.

My 'something to say' just lost its way. So be it.

ISWAK

can't wait for ISWAK II . . .

Sense and Insensibility

Sense:
Going to mass...

Insensibility:
in a gold g-string.

Sense:
Aerating the car... (is the proper term "freshening" the car?)

Insensibility:
with those pine tree air fresheners.

Sense:
Bojo Molina

Insensibility:
Shintaro Valdes/z

Sense:
Foo Fighters

Insensibility:
Michael Learns to Rock

Sense:
Dragonball Z

Insensibility:
Mojacko

Jesus, The Party Planner (II)

Because I believe God has a fantastic sense of humor.

Me: What do I have to do?
Jesus: You see, sports fest is just around the corner, and . . .
Me: No way!
Jesus: I haven't even finished yet. I promise it's not gonna be anything like last year's fiasco.
Me: Fine, I want Philip, Bartholomew, and Thomas on my team then.
Jesus: I knew you're gonna say that. Did I tell you, old testament folks are joining this year? Hehehe. Samson's volunteering to be our team captain.
Me: D'oh!!!
Jesus: I don't even care that John's on my team, even though he has the athletic skills of a comatose patient.
Me: That's no way to talk about your beloved best friend.
Jesus: I didn't say anything mean. I'm pro-truth remember?
Me: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Jesus: By the way, don't forget to dress up for Sunday.
Me: Oh, right. I almost forgot about that. What's the occasion again?
Jesus: Another wedding. But don't worry, it's going to be fun. I'm taking care of the wine and stuff.
Me: Course, you are. (pause) Hey Lord, it's kinda late . . . and I have an early meeting tomorrow.
Jesus: That's okay, chubby bunny, I have tons of stuff waiting for me too. Anyway, you know my number, and I'm on my Blackberry 24/7.
Me: Night, night Lordy.
Jesus: Ciao babycakes, see you Sunday.
Me: Zzzz

Phone clicks.

Jesus, the Party Planner

The following conversation is based on a true story. (Translation: My system is filled with alcohol, and I have a sudden need to be irreverent.)

rrriinng, rriiinngg . . .

Me: Moshi moshi.
Jesus: Did I have too many sakes when I created you?
Me: Oh, hey Lord, 'sup?
Jesus: Err, just confirming if you can make it this Sunday.
Me: I don't know, I'm still undecided.
Jesus: I know. I'm omnipotent, remember?
Me: Then why'd you call me?
Jesus: Because I love pissy Mel. Pissy Mel is fun.
Me: Me? I'm not pissed.
Jesus: You are too. And you are definitely going. That's an order.
Me: What happened to free will, and all that stuff?
Jesus: Free will, schmeewill, You are going!
Me: Fine, fine. Is Mary gonna be there?
Jesus: Yes, and I'm telling you right now, if you throw that perfume thing in her face again, I'll...
Me: threaten me with eternal damnation?
Jesus: Worse, I'll let you have tea with Andrew for two months.
Me: Oh God, please not that. I still have nightmares about salmon-flavored tea, and sardine sandwiches.
Jesus: Weeeelll, being the fount of mercy that I am, I suppose you can do me one teeny, tiny thing. And then I'll forget all that business about taking my name in vain, and I'll even tell Mary to replace that perfume she stole from you.
Me: Hmmm.
Jesus: Well?

*post to be continued, creepy boss alert.*

I Am Not That Girl

"unra" unevbn,

ofa jqrc vc'b jfacq, v rz bfaal. rtcdryyl vc pryyb zn cqrc V qrin cf brl bfaal cf lfd. Cf sn qfenbc, V ufe'c yvxn lfd. Sdc cqrc'b zn snvep gnccl, reu lnb . . . wnryfdb.

V dbnu cf jvbq lfd qrggvenbb. V onyc bfaal sntrdbn V jrb deuna cqn vzganbbvfe cqrc qn tqfbn zn fina lfd. Zl jfayu ryzfbc tadzsynu jqne V ofdeu fdc cqn cadcq. Cqnan'b ef unelvep, V yfbc cqvb srccyn.

Ync zn wdbc tynra zl tfebtvnetn. V xefj cqvb jvyy enina anrtq lfd, sdc gynrbn ync zn brl V'z anryyl bfaal. Vo lfd xenj cqn bcdoo V uvu jvcq qvz, lfd'yy tfeunze zn cf qnyy. Reu zrlsn V'yy unbnain vc.

V cqvex V qrin ofapfccne jqrc vc'b yvxn cf garl. Zl zfary tfzgrbb qrb efc jfaxnu bvetn cqn ovrbtf cqrc jrb vre. Sdc V jvyy cal zl enkc garlna cf anoyntc zl anpanc, reu cf ntqf qfgn . . . cqrc bfznurl V jvyy bnn ofapvinenbb, vo efc oafz lfd, cqne oafz cqn Fen jqf snbcfjb partnb reu gdevbqznec ryvxn.

V'z bfaal V yfinu cqn jafep zre.

Distance

The distance between two hearts cannot be closed by a prayer, or a mere song. It's not about feelings or intentions, or the intensity with which you express them. I myself do not know what can cause this gap to close. I am aware, however, that should I possess a perfect understanding of things that render themselves to imperfection, then I have already unlocked an important key to this puzzle.


Once again, I am letting curiosity get the better of me.

Look After You - The Fray (Live)

Listen . . .

I Hate My Thighs and Other Variations of Fat is Evil (version 2)

Last night, I was watching Tyra Banks yak about gams and cellulite. Of course, I was glued to the set. Two years ago, I was sporting size 0 jeans. Today, I'm lucky if I could fit into my stretch pants without butter or some equally oily substitute. What a cruel, cruel world. Actually my goal is to regain my 25" waistline before my 26th birthday this coming September. But I don't want to starve myself, the way I did two years ago. Back then, I was doing it for a boy, a boy who later turned out to be the worst type of jerk in the history of mankind. 10 pounds and gallons of tears later, I realized that there's always a selfish component to losing weight that most of us tend to ignore. Essentially, we want to look good. However, we never think of doing it exclusively for ourselves. We exercise because we're worried that someday our bodies will give out on us (boo-hoo for the people who love and care for us). We eat right because a wobbly ass isn't exactly a turn-on for the people we're trying to attract. We subject ourselves to a battery of beauty treatments because society demands that we put on our "face" before we show ourselves to the public. But what if, what if some of us can actually lead a healthier lifestyle, just because it's doable. I'd like to try that. I want to be the poster girl for healthy living, and I want people to come up to me and ask, "What motivated you to lose weight?" And I'd be like, "Nothing, I just felt like it. That's all." And they'd be like, "So you weren't pressured by the thin-is-in fad?" And I'll be all haughty and condescending, while I tell them to go fuck themselves. By then, I would have lost all contact with certified members of the human race. Nevertheless, I'm still gonna be thinner than these haters. And believe me, that's enough for me.

Guilt

Today, you'll be compelled to ask me if I'm okay. And I will respond by saying, "I am well. I feel great." Later, you'll wonder if I meant what I said, because you have seen me at the peak of emotional suffering. Of course, we've never talked about it--how you've seen me breaking down while waiting for the bus. And I would have explained myself had you asked. I would have told you some lie you'll feel comfortable with, and you'll go home assuring yourself that I'll make it to the next day.

I tell you now, that's not the best way to clear your soul.

You can believe you're doing the right thing. And the world will agree with you. But that gnawing discomfort, that persistent ache, that niggling sensation of what you feel could be doubt...believe that at that moment, my heart is lodging complaints against the heavens. And no force on this earth, is strong enough to break the chain that links my pain to your guilty conscience.

IdeaL-ist 3

I'm going to try a different format this time, mostly because I'm lazy, and for reasons I'd rather not say--(Translation: I'm way too lazy to be bothered). So here goes...

QUIRKS

1. Has to know when to pick a fight, and when to shut up
2. Shouldn't care too much about what others' think
3. Is respectful to both our families
4. Can relate to my taste in music
5. Appreciates my sense of humor
6. Can bust a move when the situation calls for it
7. Is good in bed (or is at least willing to learn)
8. Should have read a variety of books, enough to have an opinion on my writings
9. Is romantic, but not in any cheesy/puke-worthy way
10. Loves to run his fingers through my hair
11. Can play a musical instrument (piano or violin are my top choices)
12. Will feed me sweets (especially when I'm blue and emo)
13. Does not object to public displays of affection
14. Should have tricks up his sleeve
15. Has a healthy appreciation of women, but should not deliberately attempt to make me jealous

--end post, full force slack-off mode--

IdeaL-ist 2

Okay, I'm really bored writing about "the one," at least when the subject is about his looks. Needless to say, I AM angling for a cute one. And no, I don't need a handsome guy, too much trouble, and far more damaging to my state of mind. He just needs to be cute, or cute enough so that my gag reflex is kept in check. Moving on, let's discuss his . . .

PERSONALITY
There's this guy in 1% of Anything--good enough k-drama, even with the not-so-strong plot. Okay I digress (I do that quite alot, which is why ICHI* needs to be quick-witted enough to keep up with the frequent subject changes.) Anyways, this guy played by the ever-charming Kang Dong Won, is quite a character. Most women say they don't like a jealous guy. But me, I'm quite different in that aspect. I'd like a guy to have jealous fits, and feel totally human and vulnerable. A boy acting stupid because he's jealous, can be quite adorable. And of course, I'd like to know (constantly) who I am to the guy. Yes, I'm quite insecure. (Shut it, haters!!!) My point is, I'm okay with the jealousy bits. But if he turns violent, I'll put him out on the streets. Make no mistake about it.

And then there's the gold standard of dream boyfriends, Jim Halpert. What's not to like? He's funny, he's witty, he's a good friend, and he's sensitive but not in the I'm-looking-for-my-inner-child sort of way. Only thing I don't like about him is his indecisiveness. But then again, if a guy is like "I have the answer to everything," to hell with him! I'll deal with a bit of fence-sitting over yabang anytime.

Sidenote: I really don't want to be detailed, because a big part of me wants to be surprised. A part of enjoying the relationship comes from discovering a new thing about your partner every once in a while. Maybe this is an excuse to stop writing about this altogether, but I feel the list needs to be completed.

Till the next installment . . .

IdeaL-ist

The last time I attempted to write such a list was way back in college. Hopefully, by this time, I had gained enough "experience" to revise where I had erred. If my naivete got the better of me, I guess there's no excuse now, not to correct those foolish notions . . .

LOOKS

Those who know me are aware of my preference for chinito boys. That has not changed. But now that I am growing quite long in the tooth, I guess I need to relax my standards just a tad. However, I still require the guy to be taller than me, as I do not want my children to be midgets. Of course, I wouldn't want the guy to be a giant--if he's a head taller than me, that would be perfect.

For some reason (maybe narcissism on my part), I have the hots for guys who wear glasses. I like guys who at least give the appearance of being smart if I can't have the genuine thing. My mom can certainly pick up on these things. And I do not want the guy to suffer from extreme prejudice.

Whereas I used to like boys with fair coloring, I must say I'm leaning towards tan these days. It just looks healthier. But then again, I wouldn't want Mr. Perfect to be orange. That would be really creepy. Oh, and if he doesn't have excess hair where hair shouldn't be growing, he and I are going to get along just fine. Teddy bears are cute but I wouldn't be caught dead canoodling with one. :)

Porma-wise, I'm not that picky when it comes to how he dresses himself, just as long as he looks put together, and he regularly takes a bath. He can be vain, but definitely no vainer than me, or any of the girly-girls I know. He should also be amenable to makeovers (by yours truly), especially if he's being a dork, is growing facial hair, a mullet, or any fashion crime that offends my sensibilities. Oh, and I hope he's not going to go bald in a couple of years. I know it's a genetics issue, but please, no comb-overs, hair-plugs, wigs, and any weird hair contraption or add-ons from home tv shopping networks. If I work hard on looking good, this guy should also make some effort to look presentable.

(Part 2, later . . .)

I'm Just Saying

I'm telling you now, you don't want me to be the girl that got away. I understand there's a reason to be confused, but if you give me up, you will lose your chance at happiness. Understand, that this is not arrogance. I am simply convinced with all the faith that is in me--we are meant to be. If I should stake everything on you, nothing, not even you can stop me. Listen to this, and listen well. You, like many men before you, do not have the slightest clue what is best for you. Do not think, that I am taking your choice away from you. I'm just saying . . . the best is right in front of you.