P.S.
Today, Dylan attacked me with the hardest question ever that almost squirmed my brain intestines: ANONG ANIMAL BA SI SPONGE BOB?
Narinig ko na itong tinanong nya sakanyang daddy at nagwish akong sana di nya ako kulitin ng parehong tanong pero dumating na ang itinakdang oras para ako naman ang usisain nya tungkol kay Sponge Bob. Ano nga bang klaseng hayop sya?
Kung sino man ang maaaring makatulong saakin na mabigyang ng kalinawan ang weird na pag-iisip ng aking anak ay tatanghalin ko bagong idol. Pero kung pwede ay pang- 4 years old naman ang isagot nyo.
At kung pwede ay wag namang "hindi sya hayop, panghugas sya ng plato" ang isuggest nyong sagot kasi baka mas lalo syang malito. Baka tanungin nya pa ako kung paano tinubuan ng kamay, paa at muka ang isang sponge. O baka magtanong sya kung bakit panghugas pa ng plato ang naisip na gawing bida. Aba, mas mahirap atang tanong yun.
Dylan and her big mouth
Pinahamak ako ng sarili kong anak.
Narinig ko ang usapan ng aking anak na si Dylan kasama ang dalawa nyang kaklase sa nursery tungkol sa kani-kanilang mommy. Syempre todo eavesdrop naman akez with a wide smile on my face, excited marinig kung ano sasabihin nya tungkol sakin.
Sabi ng batang lalake, "mommy ko nurse, palagi sya nasa hospital kasama mga sick children." Napangiti si titser, sabay haplos sa buhok ng bata.
Sabi naman ng batang babae, "mommy ko titser, sinasama nya ako palagi sa iskul nya." Ngiti ulit si titser. Marahil naisip nya, ang ba-bright naman ng students ko. Very good.
E papatalo ba naman ang pilya kong anak? Sabi nya with all eagerness (imagine Dylan’s hyper voice), "ang mommy ko maraming tattoo! Para-tatu kasi sya! Tina-tattoo-an nya mga friends nila sa bahay namin, nanonood ako pag nagta-tattoo sya kaya gusto ko rin magpatatu pero parang ang sakit sakit kaya paglaki ko na lang. Magpa-taba daw muna ako sabi ni daddy. Si daddy ang dami din tattoo!!" Ganon na lamang ang pagbilog ng mata ng kanyang titser. Pilit syang ngumiti para kay Dylan pero pumanget lalo hitsura nya. Sabay tingin saakin. Nag-smile na lang ako. Bad Dylan, bad.
Di ko naman sya mapagsabihan kasi totoo naman lahat ng kwinento nya, di naman sya nagsinungaling. Pero anak naman, bakit di mo na lang sinabing "nag-iiskul pa ang mommy ko" o kaya, "ang mommy ko mahilig magdrowing" o "sexy ang mommy ko", "maganda ang mommy ko."
Pero, "mommy ko maraming tattoo?!" Hay. Nagmana ka nga saakin. Natawa na lang ako.
The Cheesiest blog I’ll ever post
AMBUSH MAKEOVER, a 30-minute show on ETC that covers hasty makeovers done on the streets of US, is a guilty pleasure I am not ashamed of confessing. Sounds dingdong but just the 5hour transformation process from one look to a much different and, well, better look is genius in a Paris Hilton level but nonetheless, can lighten up a crowded brain somehow. The results of the makeover are mostly jaw-dropping although I keep thinking if they can manage to maintain their new look on the next day or so. It’s as good as the one-day millionaire thing but at least they get to feel great and proud of themselves even for just a day. And I’m tellin ya, they sure pick campy, nerdy creatures with looks screaming for a makeover.
And this morning, as part of my daily routine, I found my sleepy ass again sprawled in front of the TV to catch the show but this time it was less trifling, rather moving episode. Well, for me, that is. I don’t know if it has something to do with my hormones, PMS, mood swing or this existential drama that gnaws at my emotional pit from time to time.
A timid mother and wife who’s all beaten up from household chores and some domestic duties was given a chance to have a break for one day, go through a free makeover and was set up for an intimate family night out. Of course she was ecstatic because not only can they not afford such fancy grooming and dinner but time is also eating away at them. So, while being groomed, the woman was asked by the host about her life, family and relationship with the husband. Her glassy eyes glistened on the camera as she narrated that her husband is the only best friend she got, no matter how poor they are at least they struggle together. She said, she felt like she has been neglecting herself to be pampered and a free makeover is what she really needed. In the meantime, the simple husband who looks almost 60 with his pubescent daughters were to wait for the big surprise (their mom’s new look) inside the fancy restaurant. There they were interviewed about how they feel with their mom ambushed on the street and how they want the makeover to turn out. Now, being an avid watcher of the show, I have heard a few rednecks asked with the same question and their typical cocky answers would be, “ I wish she’d look hot as a model” or “I wish they’d get rid of her grassy, gray hair and turn it blonde” or worse, “I wish they can make her look younger.”
But this husband is a humble husband born under a no-chauvinist specie. With a sweet, genuine smile and a shaky soft-spoken voice, he only said, “I just wish she’ll be comfortable with her new look.” Wow. Call me softy but I almost melted on our sofa. Five hours later, her delighted well-groomed wifey entered the restaurant twirling proudly on her new Monroe dress, new hairdo and sophisticated make up, giggling like a high school flirt. The husband stared at her like he just saw her for the first time in his life, all smitten and love struck. He did not whistle nor hoot but embraced her best friend of a wifey oh so tightly instead. And he did not give the two-thumbs up or the drooling, perverted face on the camera but he just meekly mumbled, “she looks great coz she’s happy and that’s the most important thing.” No bull. No shit. No fake. He takes her as what she is which, is what, us, girls need!!! So just like that, the 50-plus guy swept my heart away. What more of the wifey?
Men like this are rare, if you happen to know one, go grab him on his crotch and never let go…
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DURUSTAAN by Henry Miller
how would you feel if a lover writes you this letter:
"Oh, love, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those, fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs? There is a bone in my prick 6 inches long. I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt love, big with seed. I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out. Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a cunt. I shoot hot bolts into you, love, I make your ovaries incandescent. Your Sylvester a little jealous now? He feels something, does he? He feels the remnants of my big prick. I have set the shores a little wider, I have ironed out the wrinkles. After me you can take on stallions, bulls, rams, drakes, St. Bernards. You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum. You can shit arpeggios if you like, or string a zither across your navel. I am fucking you, love, so that you’ll stay fucked. And if you’re afraid of being fucked publicly, I will fuck you privately. I will tear off a few hairs your cunt and paste them on Boris’ chin. I will bite your clitoris and spit out 2 franc pieces."
wowoweeee!! Panis si Judith McNaught sa pagka-erotica. I guess I found my new role model in explicitness. ehehehe.
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Tropic of Cancer
Things are always happening. it seems wherever i go there is drama. people are like lice — they get under your skin and bury themselves there. you scratch and scratch until the blood comes, but you can’t get permanently deloused. everywhere i go people are making a mess of their lives. everyone has his private tragedy. it’s in the blood now — misfortune, ennui, grief, suicide. the atmosphere is saturated with disaster, frustration, futility. scratch and scratch until there’s no skin left. however, the effect upon me is exhilirating. instead of being discouraged, i enjoy it. i am crying for more and more disasters, for bigger calamities, for grander failures. i want the whole world to be out of whack, i want everyone to scratch himself to death.
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Something in my world is not right.
Something wants to get off under the tyrannical thumb of my entirety. Sounds jaded, yes, but even skin deep, something dominates the little something’s in me. Sort of a government inside the body I govern. It’s like I have these substandard properties within my core trying to push against the gigantic waves of the superiors. To give you a less delusional example, my writing skill.
My writing skill is being bullied by my drawing skill and I am severely tormented because it grounds me to writer’s block. And once upon a time, my writing skill has been the chairperson in my talent department. But now, it is barely the P.A.. Second to my artistry is my talent to chain-smoke despite my inveterate asthma. At the moment, Art is the new dynasty inside my head. It conquers my whole writing phase, took over the domain and is now sitting on the throne, even pushing me around every so often. And there are those times when I am all ardent to roll on my tummy and drown myself in a good book but at the middle of my bookscapade, a persistent rush to grab my pen and doodle disrupts it all. Well, sabotage, in a good way but my writing skill’s getting jealous and I’m afraid it may leave me!
Something’s controlling me. And at this moment I so desperately want to put into words the things that clog the gutter of my acumen but the urge to draw it all down instead is unwavering. Overpowering me. Something is governing me.
Shit. Wait. I have to draw.
See??
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