A non-holiday

Even though it doesn’t apply to me and this country couldn’t care less about it, I still want to greet those that are celebrating it a HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Since I have little opinion on the matter, I leave you with the words of Shel Silverstein. Shel is <3. Go pick up a copy of The Giving Tree or Where The Sidewalk Ends.

Point of View
by Shel Silverstein

Thanksgiving dinner’s sad and thankless
Christmas dinner’s dark and blue
When you stop and try to see it
From the turkey’s point of view.
Sunday dinner isn’t sunny
Easter feasts are just bad luck
When you see it from the viewpoint
Of a chicken or a duck.
Oh how I once loved tuna salad
Pork and lobsters, lamb chops too
‘Til I stopped and looked at dinner
From the dinner’s point of view.

PS – Yes, that’s my hand and my handiwork. I was bored. So sue me. Oh yeah, and if you click on the turkey, you get the actual size of my hand. To save you a click, I’mma tell you right now, it’s small.

The Invitation

A college professor (Rafael Dy-Liacco?) brought this writing to my attention during one of his classes. And even without the impending nuptials, I think this just deserves to be reposted and shared. Besides, it’s relevant to my interests .. I mean, being in charge of the invitations and all.

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

A bookie of a different kind

Artemesia is one tough read! *groans* I do not claim, by any means, to be a book worm or a literary connoisseur. I do not pretend to know books I have not read or suggest any without devouring it myself first. If I like the premise enough, why not? But I haven’t been this stuck since I read Anne Rice’s Witching Hour back in college. The problem is that I really have to set aside time to finish it instead of just letting it sit at my office desk or be stowed away in my bag. I don’t want to concede defeat. I LOVE the subject and the writing is spectacular but it’s a pet peeve of mine when the adjectives run the entire length of the book. I love colorful phrasings and the vividness of it all but GOOD LORD. *massages temples* I suppose it comes with the territory of reading book about painters and living in fuckin’ Europe .. *grumblegrumble*

So even with the degree of difficulty that Artemesia has afforded me, I shall forge on to pack more books than I could ever read in my entire life, and you, my favorite and lonely reader, are tasked to scour the world for the good ones. So put down that Twilight series and buy me a book by Glen Duncan. I picked up my first Glen Duncan when I was in New York a couple of years ago, a book called, “I, Lucifer“, “God offers the Devil a deal: come to earth and take over the body of a poor soul who has just committed suicide, stay out of trouble for one month in this body, and gain re-entry into Heaven. The story is told as a confession by Lucifer himself.“

It was one of the coolest reads I’ve had. So now, I am looking into this author to see what else he other additions he can bring to my bookshelf. My copy of “I, Lucifer” is sadly with a former officemate of Teh Douchebag so I might as well mark that for dead. If you want to make me happy for Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Rizal Day, New Year, Valentine’s, Graduation day, my mother’s birthday, my birthday, your birthday, Cookie Day, BJ and Steak Day, and every other day in the calendar, get me one of his books. Look, I’ll even make it easy for you and make links to the books, synopses, and the Add To Shopping Cart Button.

I, Lucifer
[Buy for Uneditedmara because she is teh shiznit.]

Death of an Ordinary Man
Clark, a recently deceased history teacher, appears at his own funeral, hovering over the mourners. Ghost-like, “a radical amputee… [n]o body, but a maddening imposture of sensation,” he glides through the action, tuning into the thoughts of his father, Frank; his wife, Cheryl; his college-age son, Luke; and his daughter, 17-year-old Gina.
[Buy for Uneditedmara because I fear pain.]

The Bloodstone Papers
A listless part-time teacher and writer of pornographic novels helps his elderly father quench a decades-old thirst for revenge.
[Buy for Uneditedmara because she might be nice enough to send me something.]

Weathercock
This is the confession of Dominic Francis Hood – Roman Catholic, sadist, conspirator to murder, witness to a miracle. Dominic’s childhood had the usual cardinal points: the love of his family, a vague belief in God, a general curiosity, an emerging libido.
[Buy for Uneditedmara  because I can borrow it from her when she's done since it looks like an interesting read and doesn't have anything to do whatsoever with the C word in the title .. nothing whatsoever.]

This may or may not be an actual photo of me reading the books you WILL BUY for me.

I can tell, just by looking at him

Read on ladies (and men, if you are so inclined) because knowing is half the battle. (GO JOE!) And yes, you’re welcome.

SOURCE

Would you like to find out whether the man that you’re seeing is a poor lover – while you still have your clothes on? Here are the earliest bad-in-bed signs that you need to watch out for:

6. He’s a sloppy kisser.

For me, the first sign that a prospective beau is bad in bed is when he’s a sloppy kisser, and I know this from experience.

This guy that I dated once was all nice and sweet – but he was a really bad kisser. Knowing that, I still fooled myself into believing that he deserves another chance to prove himself: in bed. You already know how the story ends – he’s a worse lover than I could’ve ever imagined!

5. He can’t dance.

It’s okay if your date doesn’t have Fred Astaire or Justin Timberlake moves. The way that he slow dances should indicate whether he’s a good lover or not.

I’m gonna go all poetic here and say that dancing is the ‘vertical sublimation of desire’ – and if he can’t make your world spin with a slow dance, maybe he doesn’t make love like Casanova!

4. He devours his food.

If he eats like there’s no tomorrow, slurps on his soup, and does not know what mouth-watering meals are all about – the way that you’ll get turned off with how he eats should give you a clue as to how he’ll be in bed.

3. You don’t feel sexually desirable when you’re with him.

When a guy treats you like dirt, mostly ignores you when you have a dinner date and makes you feel totally un-sexy when you’re with him should clue you in on how bad a lover he could be.

2. He gropes you in the most obvious places.

A guy who immediately goes after your boobs and butt during a first kiss could be a greedy lover who only thinks of his pleasure in bed.

1. He boasts, no matter how ’subtly’, about his sexual conquests.

A man who’s all airs about his wealth, his car or his job is already a turn off for me – but it’s even worse when he flaunts how great his exes supposedly think he is in bed. Gimme a break!

*

Are you reminded of anyone in particular? Yeah, me too.

PIE

I’ve completely forgotten that I want cupcake.

Gimme a piece of THAT.
*Homer drools*

.

Who do I see about a man and a pie, eh?

*checks GODDAMNED NAUGHTY box*

I had a really craptastic weekend followed by an infuriatingly insipid week. Aside form the fact that I have not been feeling like myself lately, I have had to battle demons on my own without my armor of pills and sedatives. And by pills and sedatives I mean chocolate. Or beer. Or shoes. Well, you know what I mean. *sighs* I didn’t know merely existing could be exhausting. What more if I chose to LIVE? I’m getting tired just thinking about it.

Oh. Let’s not to mention the barrage of Christmas cheer that greet you everywhere you go. The season has, once again, settled upon the city and it’s determined to piss me off now more than ever. *trashes office Christmas tree in rage* Sorry, boss. That damn tree was just looking at me funny. It was mocking me, with all its stupid twinkling lights and stupid shiny balls and stupid glittered BLUE poinsettias. I mean, WTF? GLITTERY BLUE poinsettias? *kicks tree* Stupid.

And generally, during this time, people make lists of what they want to get for Christmas. The Vadge is a big fan of black socks. Taning can be bought with anything cute. And Clinically Insane .. well .. let’s just say that she’d rather have a present that doesn’t have a girlfriend attached to it artsy-fartsy craft thingies. As with all men things, I’ve lowered my expectations, CONSIDERABLY. And for the record, I KNOW that I’ve been fuckin’ good this year. But if Santa chooses to stuff coal in my stocking, I’ll let that fat fuck be. But he better sleep with one eye open and Rudolph by his side. His elves won’t be able to save him when I get my hands on his jolly ass.

Get me this for Christmas if you don’t want me to punch you in the boob:

1. A copy of Strunk and White.
It’s cheap, you motherfuckers. And yeah, I really need one. I’ve forgotten how to corral the semicolon and the commas are running amuck in this ‘ere blog.

2. A cupcake.
Preferrably from Sonja’s. Yes, I said “A” cupcake. I don’t care if I just get one. That’s how low my expectations are.

3. A box of black/blue Pilot sign pens.
Practical and essential. If it’s not black/blue, a Pilot, AND a sign pen, I’ll stab you with it ala Joe Pesci in Casino. It won’t be a pretty sight. Trust me.

4. A no-frills, all-functional planner.
No, don’t get me the Belle du Jour. Don’t get me the Starbucks. Get me something sensible and inoffensive to the retinas.

No. Not this as well.

5. An ear thermometer.
I don’t need to be sticking unecessary things into my child. Trust me, the hotmomma in me will be grateful if you get me one of these.

6. TONS of pirated DVDs.
Notice how I said pirated? Yeah, that’s to cut your costs. But seriously, get me DVDs. My (non) social life hangs in the balance. I don’t care what genre you pick. I will watch almost ANYTHING.

This is what my heaven looks like.
Oh yeah, and the half-nekkid men in gold thongs.

7. A statement shirt.
As long as it doesn’t say “Binay is the Obama of the Philippines”, I will wear it.

Embroidery reads: Fucked in the head

8. Neil Postman books.
Or a photocopy of it. I don’t care. Just get me any of his readings (eg. Amusing Ourselves to Death, The Disappearance of Childhood, The End of Education, Bullshit and the Art of Crap-Detection) and we’re BFFs. Until the next time you need to get me another gift, of course.

To be young again

As I was rushing to the office this morning, Izzy was already taking her noon nap. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her just sleeping the days away. And it’s not the just “sleeping the days away” part that got me a tad jealous. It’s the peaceful kind of sleep. The kind where you don’t just rest your head just to be able to function hours later. The kind where you don’t just need to lie down for a moment or two to sort out worries. The kind where you don’t just need to recharge so you can trudge through the day’s problems upon waking.

Sleeping alone, except under doctor’s orders, does much harm. Children will tell you how lonely it is sleeping alone. If possible, you should always sleep with someone you love. You both recharge your mutual batteries free of charge.
–Marlene Dietrich Marlene Dietrich’s ABC, 1962

Just break the goddamned thing already

I’ve seen it in my lifetime.  Sometimes you can’t help that things happen. We can argue that we are only human and that we make mistakes. But what makes you truly human is what you do after you’ve realized this. Do you continue to keep hurting someone just because you want to find your happiness? Don’t be selfish. You’re not the only one who deserves happiness. No matter how much you don’t want to hurt the other person, you already have. The least you could do is be decent to them. They deserve at least that for all their efforts. Prolonging the inevitable will not only lead to deeper gashes, but perhaps permanent scarring. Don’t be someone who’s made someone fear love or incessantly question their self-worth. Ending it is the last act of kindness you could possibly show. Deserving something better means letting go of one that’s no good. So, let go. Let go of the one you’ve hurt and vow to be better. Let go of the one who’s hurt you and try to patch yourself up. .. and then cross your fingers and hope to God that whole thing didn’t fuck you up for life.

LEAVE THE PIECES
The Wreckers

You’re not sure that you love me
But you’re not sure enough to let me go
Baby it ain’t fair you know
To just keep me hangin’ ’round

You say you don’t wanna hurt me
Don’t want to see my tears
So why are you still standing here
Just watching me drown

[Chorus]
And it’s alright, yeah I’ll be fine
Don’t worry ’bout this heart of mine
Just take your love and hit the road
There’s nothing you can do or say
You’re gonna break my heart anyway
So just leave the pieces when you go

You can drag out the heartache
Baby you can make it quick
Really get it over with
And just let me move on

Don’t concern yourself
With this mess you’ve left for me
I can clean it up, you see
Just as long as you’re gone

[Chorus]

You not making up your mind
Is killing me and wasting time
I need so much more than that
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

[Chorus]

Leave the pieces when you go
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Leave the pieces when you go

[DOWNLOAD MP3 HERE]

For those that leave, walk away, and give up.

For those that plan on breaking hearts, throwing away years, and looking elsewhere.

For those that struggle to find closure, just can’t make themselves do it, or faint of heart.

Do it now. If nothing, give them a chance to take back what used to be theirs.

Make the wounds. If nothing, leave them with more time to heal.

Spill the blood. If nothing, set them free.

Why Do Families (And The World) Lack So Much Love?

written by Bo Sanchez

Mostly, It’s Because Husbands Aren’t Loving Enough…

Two days ago, I had an ecumenical meeting with the President Gloria and various religious leaders in the country (even Muslim leaders). That was where I spoke to Bishop Ruben Abante, the head of the Alliance of Baptist Churches in the Philippines. We were talking about how to solve the problems of the world. Naks. 

That was when Bishop Ruben gave me a word about families that blew my mind. He said, “Brother Bo, the Bible says in Ephesians 5:25, ‘Husbands, love your wives, and wives submit to your husbands.’ Have you ever wondered why the Bible doesn’t say, ‘Wives, love your husbands?’” “Why?” I asked.

The Bishop explained to me that the responsibility to love the family rests on the husband’s shoulder. The wife and the kids are only to respond to that love. In the same way that the Bible says in 1 John 4:9 (my life verse) “We love because He first loved us,” we respond to God’s love for us.

That was powerful. I began to reflect on all the broken families I’ve counselled through the past 28 years of my life. Most of them (not all) were broken because the father didn’t love enough. And as I reflect on all the broken people I’ve counselled, I can see the same pattern. In most of these individuals (again, not all), I see the lack of a loving father in that person’s life.

Fathers, you have a pivotal role in the life of your wife and children. You are to aggressively, Assertively, deliberately love them and they will respond. But the good Bishop was not  finished. He said, “Why didn’t God say, ‘Husbands, submit to your wife?’” “Why?” I asked again.

He said that once that love is there, submission is the natural response. He asked, “Why is there so much rebellion and disobedience among children today?” He explained that kids need to see their mother submit to their father as a model to follow. (We didn’t have time to talk about situations where the man of the house doesn’t love. Should the wife still submit? That difficult question I hope to answer it in another article.

But let me share with you my experience. I love my wife. I do it aggressively, assertively, and deliberately. And she submits to my leadership. I have a vision for the family and I’m bringing my family to that vision-and she supports me.

But what does that mean in daily life? That I’m king and she’s my slave? Gosh, you should visit my home. Because I love her, I want to serve her. And because she follows already my general direction, I realize that 90% of life’s decisions are about the trivial stuff. Because I love her, it’s my joy to say, “Yes” to her. So in reality, I follow her 90% of the time! She isn’t my slave. She is the queen I pamper.

That, my friends, is marital headship-submission in daily life. It is with this note that I greet you a Happy Valentines Day.

May your families be filled with love. Husbands, take responsibility in filling your family with love. Wives, support and submit to your husband.And together, we can fill the world with God’s love.

I remain your friend,
Bo Sanchez

*

Sorry if I’ve been posting of nothing but weddings and babies. Bakla’s upcoming nuptials and bundle of joy are the only things keeping me busy right now. I should look in to getting one of those things they call “a life”. But until then, you’re just gonna hafta get used to the fact that there will be the occasional outburst and sudden opinion on China patterns, floral arrangements, and *shudders* relationships.

The Top Moments of Macau Part 2

by my Bebot Angel

(Part 1 as chronicled by Uneditedmara)

The last time I attempted to write down how this trip went, I could not. My head was still swimming with images of that bloody rumba, still giddy from the combination of Soju, ramen, and shiraz that I couldn’t sit still enough to write. But I needed to because we didn’t have photos of this trip like the first one.
Now that it’s been several months – well, here you go:

1) Captain Donald landing the plane safely through the storm. Getting stranded inside the plane due to the bad weather. Discussing apartheid and war in Africa with “Low” by Flo-rida playing in the background.

2) Mara getting held up by airport security for wearing a chopstick in her hair. Me grinning sheepishly at Macau customs guy, who questions the amount of toiletries (Yes, I use all of them!) and monay in my luggage. What is it with us and airport security?

3) Spotting Golden Boy’s golden head by the tech crew station. Admit it, you stifled a squeal too.

4) Hugging Carlito hello.

5) Discovering (happily) that I am still in awe of El Dorado. What is this, the 10th time we’ve seen the set? Bonus: the new rumba is HOT.

6) Hearing the words, “I have a surprise for you.” Holding my breath as the surprise not only shook my hand, but pulled me up to kiss me on the cheek. Oh, that made up for that certain empty spot on the stage. Well, almost.

7) Meeting the cool Macanese (?) girl. Dancing with “Rain.” The band from Taiwan re-starting a wave on account of the 3 non-Chinese speaking girls who just didn’t get what they are supposed to do.

Writing notes – most of them mean ones about a certain ‘other woman’ – on cardboard coasters and throwing them at each other. I knock my wine glass down; I can’t believe I broke another one!

9) A guy trying to hit on Diana, only she’s practically passed out on the couch. The diagnosis: minor heartache with major disappointment at somebody’s taste level.

10) Hopping on the bus to Coloane, the longest bus ride we ever took there. Swearing at the state of the ‘famed’ Coloane beach. Dude. If they can only see Boracay.

11) Being back in Taipa. Just being back. I really like this town.

Mara found this garden, somewhere in Taipa.

12) Singing Disney songs shamelessly while walking from one casino to the next. Weirdos we are. Of course, we were used to the funny looks by now.

13) Posing for the kind of photographs we take of ourselves is always fun.

Oh, wouldn’t we just LOVE a photo inside Sands. We’ll have to make do with this.

14) 2 cute foreign guys greeting us ‘hello’ from a distance. All the while Diana was looking the other way mulling over what hair color to get her mama. Priorities, woman!

15) Parking our behinds at the noodle house – er, noodle cart and tables – at the street corner after a long day. Soju shots with an Oracare bottle cap with “manong’s” in-da-zone beef ramen as chaser.

Sa ramenan sa kanto.

16) Sitting by the Wynn hotel fountain, waiting for the show. Not caring about tomorrow. Hanging out like this is a rare treat.

17) Carlito seeing us off at the airport.

To my gorgeous accomplices: I know I missed something… feel free to add to the list.
To all the gels: Let’s go, go, go on the next trip!