he's so cute, but did he really eff that up like that?!

I love buying journals and have trouble
finishing them. I have five holes in my
ears and no more hole
in my tongue.
I have one crown in my mouth,
no tattoos, and
a serious distaste of earthworms.

I'm 5'8, taller than my mother (only just)
and shorter than my
father. Once, playing under a sleeping bag,
I watched my sister swallow a
penny.
I met TMD in 1998, I moved to this
country permanently in 2001 (we can
ignore the extensive visiting in 2000).

My grandfather had a huge collection
of
Reader's Digest books,
and he ate popcorn every night from
a giant wooden bowl.
He and my grandmother were
first generation in my home country.

I never thought about being
from that country until I moved
far away from it, and my accent and cultural
habits made me an oddity.

I dislike cutting my toenails (because it's
icky, not because I want long claw hooks),
I've worn glasses since I was eight,
I lost my virginity when I was 16. My wife
has a killer voice
and plays the guitar like a dream.

I have never met my father's side
of my family,
I have never met my grandparents'
across-the-ocean family,
I wonder sometimes how they fared in
the Halocaust, with all those
death camps sprinkled around.

I am not German or Austrian.

I've slept with more boys
than girls
but been with TMD probably longer
than all other relationships combined.
I'm a serial monogomist.

I used to tap dance.
I cannot do a cartwheel.

(I think I counted correctly. Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday in one way or another. The first fact of my 31st year: I love comments on this diary. It makes me feel listened to, valued, and like someone has reached out to make a connection with me. Love to you all!)

I am a stay at home mom with two small children, 2 and 4.  I cannot fathom how we will make this work.  I feel like a scrooge saying no to her, but I can't figure out how we will be able to afford to pay for her car & insurance, her phone bills, the added food bills, and for her dog and the related expenses.  Then I get resentful that I feel like I need to go back to work outside the home to support her bad decisions.  To help you see her irresponsibility, she called my husband to ask for money one day to pay her bills, and she was out shoe shopping!  I go to the Thrift Store to buy my kids clothes and toys, so I can't understand that.  

We have one working bathroom at the moment (We are renovating our other one) and she is good with construction, so maybe she can help out that way, but the truth is, I just don't know that I would want another person in my house all the time.  My husbands and my bedroom does not have a door, so there goes any privacy, and I have nothing, nothing in common with her other than our ages.  We will have to put in a fence in the back to accommodate her dog, and we are going on vacation in 3 weeks so she gets to come along for free.  

This guy she is moving away from is evidently really bad news, so she does need to get away, but how can I get myself to feel ok with this?  I really wish my brother in law (husband's brother) were the one bearing this burden.
  Answer: Laura,
I don't believe that you have any long-term obligation to your SIL. Your focus and your husbands should be on your family. What I teach my children and encourage others to teach theirs is that CHOICES have CONSEQUENCES. Your SIL's lifestyle is the consequences of her past choices. Bailing her out now doesn't teach her anything. It only makes her think that she can continue on in her poor choices. You husband is the one you need to be concerned with. If he is willing to sabotage your living situation to help is bad decision making sister I would be scared. You need to have a sit down with him and get a time frame on how long she will be living there. At 34 she has more than enough energy to get a FULL-TIME job and find a studio apt to live in. If she is to live in your home as a guest she better pull more than her weight in the upkeep of the home. You could also charge her rent. Talk to your husband. She shouldn't just be allowed to simply live there. ]]> http://homebodyhubby.wordpress.com/?p=2311 Fri, 05 Sep 2008 16:00:25 +0000 homebodyhubby http://homebodyhubby.wordpress.com/?p=2311

She was thirteen years old when I first tested to shoot this portrait of her with my own-constructed cardboard camera. →

Siyam na taon ang tanda ko sa kanya.

Sa aming anim na magkakapatid, itong si bunso ang hindi nakaranas na mag-aral sa isang private school. Mula sa Baesa, QC, lumipat ang buong pamilya nuong 1974 sa Calamba, Laguna. Kalagitnaan ng school year, kaya napa-transfer kami nang alanganin ng pinapasukan: sa isang private highschool ang elder sister ko, sa public elementary school naman kaming apat na lalaki. Grade VI ako nang tanggaping transferee sa Central I ng Jose Rizal Memorial School.

Hindi ko maiwasang ipagkumpara ang apat at kalahating taon na ginugol ko sa private school sa QC (Grade II to ½ of Grade VI) at ang LIMAng buwan na inilagi ko sa pampublikong eskwelahan sa probinsya. Nung unang araw ko, suot ko pa ang pantalong unipormeng gamit ko sa Baesa, taliwas sa short pants na khaki ng mga bagong kaklase kong mga lalaki.

Syempre pa, iba ang impresyon sa kanila ng tulad kong “galing ng Maynila.”  Medyo PROUD ako nuon, lalo na sa mga babae, na yung pinakamaganda daw sa klase (Tisay nga! Kalagkit tumitig ng kayumangging mga mata!) ay nakatabi ko pa sa upuan at nakapartner ko minsan sa sayaw. Hindi lang nila alam, nangangalabasa ako sa iskul na pinanggalingan. :lol:

Mas praktikal ang turo dito sa bago kong nilipatan, hindi paris sa pinang- galingan kong puro favoritism at kaartehan lang yata ang alam. Hindi ko lang mai-report nuon, pero maraming titser na wala namang ginagawa, at grabe kung magparusa at magpahiya sa mga classmates kong pasaway… Oo, duon ako nag- first communion (sayang hindi ko na mahanap yung litrato ko nuon)… So what? E sa relihiyoso-sarado ang may-ari ng school (May sarili silang chapel at merkanong ‘tatay’ duon), kaya required ang first communion sa grade II, maski wala naman sa aming mga walong-taong gulang na mag-aaral nuon ang lubos na nakakaunawa kung ano ang ibig sabihin nito… Ngayon matanda na ako, na-realized ko (matagal na), useless naman pala (TALAGA at sa TUTUO LANG!) ang mga pa-biskwit-biskwit na iyan.  In remembrance of the Lord’s Supper, ubra pa.

Laking pasalamat ko dahil nalipat ako sa public school sa Calamba.

Sa tuwing papasok ang buwan ng Abril, kapag dudungaw ako sa balkon ng building na tinitirhan ko ngayon, may natatanaw akong mga animo’y dilaw na confetti na nangagkalat sa kalsada, sinisiklot-siklot ng nakikiming pag-ihip ng hangin pag ganitong papasimula na ang tag-araw… Hindi ko maiwasang maalala ang mga mumunting bulaklak na nalalaglag mula sa puno ng akasya... nakatindig malapit sa stage, tumutunghay sa aming mga umakyat sa entablado upang tanggapin ang diploma ng pagtatapos sa elementarya. At iya’y mula sa isang public school na isinunod ang pangalan sa bayaning isinilang mismo sa bayang iyon.

Napahaba na naman ang aking pagre-reminisce (from kalabasa to akasya). :lol: Kung ibibida ko lang ang lahat ng bagay na hinangaan ko nuon sa eskwelahang ito – mula sa pagiging uliran ng principal at mga guro hanggang sa galing at inventiveness ng mga batang mag-aaral, ay baka humabang lalo itong post ko… Ano nga ba ang kaugnayan nito kay little sister ko?

Naalala ko kasi ang kantina nila duon – malinis, masarap at mura ang mga pagkaing tinda nila. Dito ko unang nakilala ang “nilupak” – balinghoy (kamoteng-kahoy o cassava) na nilaga, hinaluan ng niyog, binayo sa lusong, sinamahan ng langka, pinahiran ng mantikilya, at isinisilbing nakalagay sa dahon ng saging (tsalap!).

Araw-araw tuwing recess sa hapon, hindi ko nalilimutang bumili ng nilupak (pati yung halayang ube na korteng isda?) mula sa PISO o singkwenta sentimos na baon ko. Hindi ko kakainin yun – iuuwi ko pagdating ng alas-singko, at pagsasaluhan namin ni bunso na nuon ay 4 years old pa lang. Minsan, nadadamay na rin sa “pasalubong” ko si 3^rd brother – pag dinadatnan ko sa bahay dahil nauna syang umuwi galing din sa public school na yun (transferee sya sa kinder or grade I?), o kaya pag hindi sya pumasok.

Nuong katorse anyos ako (5 yrs old na si bunso), pag hindi available si 3^rd brother, itong si Li’l sister ang kasa-kasama ko kapag ako’y nagsusuga ng alaga kong guinea pigs. :lol: Sabi ng iba, may konti kaming pagkakahawig ni little sister; sa iba naman, kami’y napagkakamalang hindi magkapatid. Paano naman… siya’y talagang napakaputi, at ako, dahil sa malimit na pagpapaaraw nuon, ay lalong naging kulay-banil ang kutis.

Nang lumaki-laki kami (college ako, highschool sya), kinakitaan kami ng similarities in terms of temperament. Palibhasa, common ang aming birthmonth kaya (daw) pareho kaming sumpungin. Sabi naman ng mommy namin, na ayaw yatang maniwala on the basis of the birthmonth (kasi ganitong buwan din sya), nagkataon lang na kaming dalawa ni bunso ang nagmana sa dad namin. :lol:

In terms of creativity, naging model ako ni bunso. Ako ang pinagdrowing nya ng album project nila about Philippine mythology and folklore (1^st or 2^nd year highschool?). Naging madali naman para sa akin dahil regular na bumibili ang mom ng Filipino Funny Komiks, ni-trace ko lang ang ibang characters sa “Pantasyang Pinoy” series duon. :oops:

Ako rin ang katulong niyang gumawa ng miniature model ng floor plan ng isang bahay, complete with appliances ang fixtures – mula refrigerator hanggang inodoro. Napakametikuloso naming ginawa – may mga nakasabit pang frames sa mga walls. May 3-inch statuette kami nuon ng sto niño :lol: …inilagay ko yun sa isang maliit na kahon ng brief (yung may opening pero may transparent plastic? syempre tinapalan ko mga sulat sa labas), ni-pwesto ko sa isang kwarto, at nagmistula itong isang munting altar.

Ito yung mga panahong hirap kami, kaya ni hindi man lang nakuhanan ng litrato. Pero sey mo, sikat sa school (Laguna Institute) ang mga projects na iyon. Maski naman kasi nung ako pa ang nag-aaral duon, hindi sumasablay na nagiging pansinin ang mga projects ko.

In return, sya naman ang malimit kong kuning “modelo” nung nag-Basic Photography ako sa DevCom. Pag nasa UPLB campus, walang problema sa models – halos lahat naman ng tutukan ko ng camera nuon duon ay willing models, lalo na silang mga mismong kaklase ko sa subject na ito (pwera lang nga pala si bestfriend). :lol: Pag nasa Calamba, bukod din sa unang pamangkin kong anak ng ate ko, si little sister ang karay-karay ko.

Eto ang dalawang sampol shots ko kay little sister… First year highschool sya dito, kinunan ko sa playground sa likod ng munisipyo bago ko sya ihatid sa eskwela:

CLICK nyo lang yang naninilaw nang pahina ng dokumento para sa mas malaking view ng contact prints na litrato.

Medyo may pagkamataray si bunso, kaya bukod pa sa dahilang 4 na barakong kuya ang sinundan nya, nangingiming lumapit ang mga boys na kumukursunada sa kanya. :lol: Hindi naman sya partikular sa panlabas na anyo o materyal na yaman, mas pinahahalagahan nya ang karakter ng isang tao.

Kuha ito sa Pook ni Maria Makiling… May mga alaskador kaming nakasalubong nung pauwi na kami. Akala yata e bagong salta kami ruon, hindi nila alam na estudyante ako sa campus.  Muntik na ngang patulan ni 1^st brother, buti na lang umurong ang mga linsyak nung hinarap ni utol. Medyo maiksi kasi ang pasensya ni 1^st brother ko nuon, siguro dahil kaeeskapo nya lang ng PMA; si 2^nd brother ang pumalit ng pasok sa PMA kaya wala sa pikyur (pinsan ko yung nasa malayo sa itaas, ako yung nasa bungad na dedma pa kunwari).

Alam nyo ginawa ni bunso? Kinantyaw-kantyawan pa ang mga nagtatapang-tapangan lang na mga pasaway. Ahehe, kung ako nga (pag hindi bad mood), kayang atatin ni bunso ng mga kantyaw na hindi ko pa narinig na sinabi sa akin ng tatlong brothers ko…

Lumaban sya sa Miss Intramurals nung first year; nag first runner-up lang yata. Ang ate namin (10 years older kay bunso), naging Miss Intrams nuon. Pero nung HS graduation, valedictorian sya; ang ate nuon, salutatorian lang.

1983 nung na-involved ako sa Writer’s Club. Months after our father died in 1985, naging lalong “pukpukan” na ang pagsusunog ko ng kilay. Siya naman, bukod sa pag-aaral, na-involved sa UPC. Medyo dumalang na ang aming ‘bonding moments’. Maski busy sya, mula pa nung bago sya grumadweyt ng highschool, tumulong na yan sa aming pamilya sa paghahanap-buhay. Naka-imbento sya ng sariling istilo nya ng cassava cake at halayang ube. This somehow made me think: may impact ba yung pagpapasalubong ko sa kanya nuon ng nilupak at ubeng korteng ‘isda’?

Hanggang kalaunan, kahit walang pwestong tindahan, maraming nag-oorder sa kanila para ilako sa crossing ng Calamba. Nuong nagkausuhan, may mga nanggaya mula sa kahon at (tsk, tsk tsk!) pati brand na mismong pangalan na ng kapatid ko ba naman? :? Hindi naman kasi madamot itong kapatid ko.  Itinuturo ang lahat ng “trade secrets” nya maski kaninong magtatanong.  But in the end, rarely if ever ma- duplicate man ang gawa nya dahil ang talagang puhunan ni bunso ay ang hearty commitment sa anumang ginagawa. ;)

Nung grumadweyt ako at nagkatrabaho sa PhilRice-Los Baños, sya naman ay nag-transfer from Accounting course sa LCBA (the former Laguna Institute) to Institute of Human Ecology sa UPLB. She was intending to shift course later sa College of Food Technology in the same university… Passion nya talaga ang food, cooking and nutrition.

When I had chosen PhilRice over the Azolla project na offer ng adviser at boss ni bestfriend ko, itong si bunso at si mom ko ang primary consideration ko. Ang mga brothers ko naman ay may kanya-kanyang diskarte para makapagtrabaho; nung 1988, grumadweyt na nga with honors sina 2^nd and 3^rd brothers ko. Tulong-tulong, we are optimistic na later on, makaka-gradweyt din ng college si bunso.

But things turned to the opposite direction… In 1989 (age 19), nag-asawa na si bunso. :cry: Nagaya sya sa kapalaran(?) ng ate ko? Somehow, I could approximate my Dad’s sentiments when my elder sister got married 10 years earlier.

Mellow at sober na ako nang mga panahong iyon: nakagradweyt, nagkatrabaho, na-meet at naging girlfriend ang magiging misis ko, at naging born-again Christian – kaya hindi ko nagawang magwala. All I could do (beside crying silently) was to offer my understanding, support, and most of all – PRAYER – for their union and for the family that would result thereof.

Ngayon, nasa college na ang panganay nila, kaha-highschool nung pangalawa, at elementary naman ang bunso. Pag wala sa eskwela ay katu-katulong ni mommy nila sa pagluluto ng mga bago pang short orders na naisip nya – pancit, hamburger, lumpiang shanghai, atbp – na maski mura ay comparable ang lasa sa mga tinda sa fastfood chains na ‘may pangalan’… Sakay ang mga ready-to-cook ingredients na ito ng isang compact rolling store na silang mag-asawa rin ang nagdisenyo at gumawa. Tulak ito ni mister tuwing hapon para pumuwesto hanggang mga alas diyes ng gabi sa isang mataong lugar na hindi kalayuan sa bahay na inuupahan nila.

My sister has been married to her husband for 19 years. And that is the second half of her life.  Today is her birthday...

Happy birthday, my little sister!

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.) … For when I am weak, then I am strong.

– 2 Corinthians 12:9, 10

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

– Jeremiah 29:11

He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

– Philippians 1:6

Standing at the back (left to right): 2^nd, 3^rd, and 1^st brothers – their respective girlfriends beside their right (2^nd line). Ate (our elder sister) is in blue, her husband (deceased) and two eldest sons beside her. Mom is at their back; my two aunties (Mom’s sister) are standing at the middle. Lola (Dad’s mom, also deceased) was dressed in striking stripes. Si girlfriend ko, nasa likod din… napalayo na naman ako, kasi ako ang photographer.

I am the eldest Kuya, but the ‘privilege’ of “giving away the bride” I gave to 1^st brother; I would be more effective as a photo-documentor.

With all the brothers and sisters, friends and loved ones, whose wedding I shot, nothing will make me much HAPPIER than the assurance that all those “VOWS” I recorded will last a lifetime.

The concern regarding my lack of tears has turned into an unexpected and even less desirable ability to cry at the most inopportune moments, over seemingly unrelated yet inane comments or thoughts.  My daughter watches me like I'm the star primate in a zoo exhibit, followed by this exchange: "Are you crying?"  "No."  "Yes, you are."  "No, I'm not."  "Yes, you are."  "No, I'm not."

I look to my husband for solace & suddenly realize he's just wondering when we'll ever have sex again.  I am exhausted by even the idea.  His hang dog look, as he waits for me to throw him a bone, makes it that much less likely to happen before his birthday in November.  I realize this does not fit in with my purported geisha mentality.  Think of me as schizophrenic & it will all be much simpler.

After driving 800 miles on Monday, approximately 18 hours on the road, I got up Tuesday morning and moved my son into NYC, his first apartment and his first real job.  Suddenly every New York news story seems personal & important.  Bags & bags of food & a futon were transported to the 11th floor.  It only felt slightly different than leaving a toddler to live in a tent at the mall.

At 12:01 a.m. Wednesday my daughter began dancing and screaming, "I'm 11!  I'm 11!  Yea!"  My head is still spinning.  Funeral on Saturday, Chuck E. Cheese on Wednesday.  (No, my daughter is not a total dork.  She shared her party with a 5-year old boy who was willing to give me the sweetest hug in exchange for a harmonica bought on the road at the fine dining establishment known as Cracker Barrel.)

Then there was the issue of the flaming e-mails I sent my mother after  . . .  I'll save that for a later date.

As Karmental said: "On the bright side, you likely have gathered enough fodder from spending time with your relatives to fuel your blog for another year or two….?" 

Never were truer words spoken. 

However, I have to begin with a little story related to comments from one of my favorite blogger chicks, Amanda, who happens to be in the midst of cancer treament.  She originally said this: "Oh FUCK. I’m so sorry."   Then today she proceeded to add: ". . . my first comment was literally the first thing out of my mouth out loud and I’m sorry it was so crude . . ." 

The second comment made me laugh out loud because the idea of ANYTHING seeming crude after this recent fiasco is ludicrous and so fundamentally laughable.  Thank you, Amanda, for being so amazingly wacked out as to worry about such a thing in between bouts of chemo.

So without further ado I will hereby relate Funeral Anecdote #1:

As is usually the case, I saw people at this surreal function who I would never run into otherwise.  I was lucky enough to see my step-brother, Scott, who I hadn't seen since maybe 1986 (22 years), and my step-sister Jodi, who I hadn't seen since 1976 (32 years).  They were the saving grace of the entire production, probably because they do not share even a smidgen of my family's DNA.

When I was 7 my mother married their father and they came to live with us, a reality show that would be titled "The Brady Bunch on Crack."  So I slept in the same bed with Jodi for 8 years and lived in the same house with Scott for 10.  (I'm pretty sure I even held his little balls in my pre-teen hands at one point.)  Jodi moved to live with her mother when she became pregnant at 16 & I just never, ever saw her again.  It was handled so incredibly well, don't you think?

I had been in relatively constant contact with Scott for the last couple of years, but because of conflicts with Jodi when we were growing up I never made the attempt to communicate with her.  One of the lessons learned at this family get together was that none of the problems we had as children ever really had anything to do with the two of us, they were all related to the non-handling of issues that need to be dealt with when you blend two families.  Since there was no adult intervention, we instead fought it out like wild animals. 

As for present day, Jodi has recently had treatment for breast cancer.  Her beautiful long hair fell out & she's had a mastectomy and partial restorative surgery on her right breast.  She is handling the entire situation with amazing aplomb.  Her hair is now perhaps half an inch long across her entire head.  Otherwise, she looks almost exactly the same. 

When we shared a hotel room I was incredibly jealous that she did not have to deal with Illinois humidity, a blow dryer and a curling iron, the torture implements necessary for all girls with limp, lifeless, flat hair.  As children Jodi & I were extremely competitive and it's amazing that I could carry the jealousy issues to such an extreme situation in an entirely new century.

Anyway, back to the definition of "crude."

You may remember that my sister Penny has a boyfriend whom I've previously compared to Charles Manson, along with insinuating my belief that he may be a participant in a vague & secret governmental project.  Go to Will We Survive or Witness Protection Program for those details.

The boyfriend, named Mike, was at the visitation & funeral, constantly under foot.  He's a jealous guy & wanted to make sure his girl wasn't taking the opportunity of her brother's funeral to get naked with a random dude.  Oddly, I liked him much better this time around.  The mullet was gone & he now sports a tattoo of my sister's name on his left wrist, although he was disturbed that I could barely read it.  He provided some necessary goofiness to the entire situation.  There is, however, a fine line involved when straddling the goofy precipice.

Mike approached Jodi, the cancer survivor, and said this: "So, what's the deal?  Does everyone in your family cut their hair that short or what?"  (Imagine these words said with a southern accent in the cartoon voice of the beloved dog Goofy.) 

The fact that he told me about it at all was amazing, since he included this thought: "You know, I knew she had cancer!"  I have to give the guy at least a minor break due to the fact that making small talk in a room full of strangers plus one dead body is just about the most uncomfortable situation possible.

* * * * *

Thanks to all of you who left the most wonderful, kind, sincere messages on this blog.  It was like you were all right there with me.  I will remember and appreciate it always.

Art of the Day: Magic by Rafal Ozog

Body, why do you hate me so? What do you have against the sleep function that is so necessary to your well being?

Monday, I took Benadryl. I had these nasty little bug bites that were driving me insane so after a discussion with my mother in which she informed me I could take Benadryl (I had no idea I could use that for something as simple as bug bites), I did. And happily conked out at 10:30. Tuesday - repeat.

Wednesday - no Benadryl. My body, not used to such long pleasant hours of unconsciousness, felt it was fully rested. So fully rested that I could not fall asleep until 4:30 in the AM. Yes, the AM! When the sun is contemplating whether it has time for another cup of coffee before 'rising' to this section of our fare planet. So when 6:30 rolled around, my hand laughed at my alarms audacity to think it could wake me at this hour and promptly shut it off. Somehow my mind has this amazing ability to know just the right moment to wake me up to where I will curse violently on looking at the time and then manage to make it into work ...ten minutes late. Today, I couldn't even find it within myself to care enough to curse. Violently or nonviolently.

And I look worse even than I feel. Surprisingly, I'm functioning. Not even too terribly. But I look bad. It's like my make-up knows I've had a rough night and there's nothing it can do for me so it doesn't even try.

After lunch...

I take that back about functioning. Eating was a bad idea. Lack of sleep + food = coma. I've got the whole slow motion and glazed eyes effect going for me now.

So. I actually started a new list on 43 Things. I have 5 Things.

#1 - Pay off my car. Which in doing so leads to

#2 - Move to a new apartment.

Lowen rather negatively shot down my six month plan for this by being, of all things, logical. I do hate when people do that. Mentions of credit card interest rates and waiting popped up. Ugg. I'll give her sisterly council some haphazard thought.

#3 - Finish the book I've been "reading".

I say "reading" because I got that book how long ago? I'm on page 55 I think. It's not that I don't like the book. I do. Sort of. It's more that my laptop seems to enthrall me to no end and once I'm sucked in I lose all concept of time and space. It's quite scary, actually. And the book itself is confusing as hell. I'm on page 55 and I still don't know what exactly happened other than something 'apocolyptic', I don't know how long ago it happened, hell I don't even know the character's names other than 'boy' and 'Papa'. So it's a little unnerving. You would think this would eat at my curiosity, driving me to devour the book all the more quickly. But that's where the laptop curse comes back in. The laptop is bigger and shinier and makes musical sounds while the book goes unnoticed on my nightstand. I will finish the book. I just hope it's before my 50th birthday.

#4 - Take a picture every day for a month.

I stole this one from someone else. But it sounded kind of neat and it appealed to my burgeoning yet lazy artist. And I really never take pictures anymore.

#5 - Watch Monty Python and The Holy Grail.

Can you believe I've never seen this? I've seen the knight part with the limbs getting cut off on youtube but that's all. And however disturbing that makes me sound, that one part (along with the various random people who have told me to see it) makes me want to see what the movie is about.

Any other suggestions for my list?

Note to self: Shaking ones head vigorously in an effort to stay awake like they do in the movies does not actually work. Unless goal was to shake brain into submission.

9:00pm - Not very happy with body still. I passed out as soon as I got home from work at 4:30. Stayed happily unconscious until 8:30 when my body decided that my total sleep count for the day was now somewhere around seven hours and I was good to go again. Seeing as how I was awake, I figured I should eat something. Somehow eating just lunch over the whole 24 hour period didn't sound like it would equal good things for me tomorrow. I should have just ignored that impulse. I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My mom had told me it was supposed to make you sleepy. I don't know why, it just is. So I ate pb&j hoping it would bring me back to a comatose state. Nope. Now my stomach hurts. Guess the ratio of water to pb&j was a little off or something because my stomach feels like its swimming with a lead weight at the bottom.

I'm going to attempt to force lull myself back to sleep but providing the right "environment". Pitch black room, most comfortable bed on the planet, etc. I'll let you know how it goes.

Please observe the following conversation about this picture:

AshleyNicole: that lol does not even make sense to me
Jenna: ok...the rabbit and the cat were looking at the fire and the cat told the rabbit to smell the fire. the rabbit's nose got burned, now the rabbit is mad
AshleyNicole: ooohh! i thought it just had a black nose
Jenna: well, it does...but it looks like it got burned
AshleyNicole: oh. *sigh*

Poor, poor Sister.  But Brother and I shall not give up on our brainwashing efforts yet.  We'll give it a few more weeks.

kthxbai

The love-of-my-life-before-TMD, my first love, just friended me on Facebook. Of course I knew he existed in the Facebook world of things, because he was friends with some of my friends. I just swore to myself that no matter how badly I wanted to see his profile I would not friend him - and I wondered if he would friend me.

Of course, we can ignore me essentially asking my sister to copy and paste his profile into an email.

I listed us as having gone to high school together and skipped the 'we dated' option as I felt it might be a bit controversial. Especially as our last conversation was him saying he was worried he had turned me gay, and I lied and said I wasn't. Not one of my proudest moments, but I think I still crazily thought we would get back together.

He's a really great guy and it would be nice to send the occasional email, but don't know if that will happen. I have decided that I am prettier than his wife, though, so that makes me happy. I won't tell anyone (except you) that I immediately started looking through my own Facebook pictures to see if I looked monstrous or hot. I think I fall somewhere in between.

Crazy (again, a word I seem to keep repeating) that we stopped dating about twelve years ago. Old school, man, old school!

I'm glad he friended me first. This somehow makes up for the fact that he ripped my heart out, and I therefore ripped out the hearts of everyone else I dated - until TMD. I try to be gentle with hers.

Worse part is..
She might wanna have sex again soon.
I just got used to wanking.
Missing out on a top wank over Sonali again.(like yesterday)
I suggested the names Sonali & Jake.
Jake?
She just smiled.
On mentioning Sonali she went..
Mmm..
She must find Sonali a tasty lass as well then, I guess.
I bet she would be calling one of 'em Lewis!
In which case I would suggest Sally Anne to go with it.
She suggested Louise however.
Lewis & Louise?
Fine with me.
She names him after her (fave) tickle fantasy, Lewis Hamilton, I can live Louise.
Lear, Nurding Redknapp, Minchin, Posh's sister..

My biggest helper in my childhood used to be my sister, who used to do all the drawings for me as I used to suck at drawing; well this is quite common for many guys who have sisters. The main thing of having an older sibling is that the person has always “Been there, Done that”. One of my biggest help in my 10th class was again none other than my sister. She was quite a shrewd person when it came to knowing what to study and I as usual being the lazy types never cared to see model papers and things like that. But my sister was (is?? :P ) a genious, she always had an idea about what to study and what not to in exams, which reduced the load of my history (the subject I dreaded most )course to atleast half and the second most dreadful course, the heavy weight Biology also, I could study only because of her, prior to my exam, I was in my typical “fati hui” state, it was only her who somehow made me study and remember all that bull shit.

That was all the story of past, now coming back to present and very near past. My sis being elder than me, got job before me and by grace of God, she landed up in Hyderabad and since then it has been a joy ride for me. Ofcourse with an earning sister, you tend to get gifts and all your dinners and expenses are paid for whenever you meet. Well this is all okay, no big deal in this, every one can do that but the best part is all the little little things which happen.

Almost all the times, I go to meet her, there is always maggi at her place ready to be cooked as soon as I come. For the first time in my 21 years, I don’t have to fight her for the TV remote at her house, it is always mine. All the t-shirts, I keep getting from her. The main thing is not about money spent, for the last 4 months even I am earning money thanks to Microsoft but even now when I get something from her; it is much more valuable than anything which I bought with my money.

All our lives, we detest being treated as small, young or kids but somehow even that thing looks so cool now. Generally you give small kids chocolates, toffees when you go and meet. These days whenever I come back from her house, many times I am loaded with chocolates or packets of toffees or kurkure. A very small gesture on her part but a thing which always pleases me no end. The thing which has been inspiration for the post.

Its not the stuff you are getting which pleases but the feeling of being cared for, feeling that there is someone who still thinks of you when you are the sole responsible person for yourself. The feeling of being a kid again, where someone gives you stuff. How I have missed all this for so many years!! How I wish this to continue forever.

There was only one thing bothering me, very much indeed, and that one thing was her younger sister. My prospective sister-in-law was twenty years of age, wore tight mini skirts and low cut blouses. She would regularly bend down when near me and I got many a pleasant view of her underwear. It had to be deliberate. She never did it when she was near anyone else.

One day little sister called and asked me to come over to check the wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived. She whispered to me that soon I was to be married, and she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn't overcome and didn't really want to overcome.

She told me that she wanted to make love to me just once before I got married and committed my life to her sister. I was in total shock and couldn't say a word. She said, "I'm going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want to go ahead with it just come up and get me." I was stunned. I was frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs, When she reached the top she pulled down her panties and threw them down the stairs at me. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went straight to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out of the house.

I walked straight towards my car, My future father-in-law was standing outside With tears in his eyes he hugged me and said, We are very happy that you have passed our little test, We couldn't ask for a better man for our daughter, Welcome to the family.

The moral of this story is: "Always keep your condoms in your car."

Tip: Link of this post in Balatarin!

Am real proud of you, girl !

The government scholarship, not easy to get, unless you pass all the conditions.

My lovely sister, Jennifer, had made our family proud again. At first, she made us proud by getting real good results during her STPM and with that good sets of results, she managed to enter the most profound university we have in Malaysia, the University Malaya. She is currently in the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, studying East Asian Studies and majoring in Japanese language (perhaps very much influenced by his brother who's here in Japan). Anyway, being a nice good girl and considering the financial situation we have in our family, she decided to apply for the Malaysian Government's Public Service Department Scholarship for local universities and guess what, she successfully got it and that is the pride our family take in after that very success of hers entering the prestigious university.

My dad called me to inform me and to consult me regarding this matter, on whether she should accept the offer or not. I went through the details of this particular scholarship once again and did all the math and considerations for her. I, myself, managed to receive the JPA scholarship to continue my studies overseas here in Japan for both my diploma and degree. Without the scholarship, there is no way for me to survive the high living cost of expenses here so I decided to take it because it was a golden opportunity for me to see the world. Anyway, as for my sister's case, she has only one and half year to go before she graduate. She will receive about RM11,000 per year to cover up her living expenses and also tuition fees (which is about RM5000 per year) if she decides to take it. That means by the time she graduate she will get roughly RM16,500 from the government.

Well, of course, the government will not give the money for free. There are the conditions which comes along with this contract and as of my sister's case, she will have to serve the government for 4 to 5 years after she had graduated from her studies. If she had received the scholarship and decides not to serve the government, she has to pay up RM110,000 to RM130,000 as to say "sorry". Anyway, this story is fine for people who really decides to have a career as a government servant but after giving much thought, I don't think it is right to decide a single path only for my sister right now already. I mean with her qualifications I believe that she will get many offers in the private sector as well and I don't want her not to be able to choose from all those choices by being tied up by this bond.

So, it is clear and vivid that Jennifer will not take this scholarship. Yes, it would help us financially to support her studies but then, Mom and Dad said that they will be fine to support her for another one and half years. Plus, I will be working already from next year on so I believe I can support her well too. So, in order to give my sister the liberty of choices in the future, we have to say goodbye to this tempting offer. Of course, there are many Malaysians who are dying for the offer as it is a golden opportunity if you seek a career in the governmental sector plus you get all the worries of your shoulders about the expenses you need to make during the school years.

Nevertheless, our family is real proud of my sister. Her STPM results and her university results won her this scholarship and now, I believe that she understands that when you always try to excel, more chances will come to you. So, my message to her is to just keep focusing on her studies and look out for that chance to come to Japan. For your information, my fellow readers, she has a chance to come to Japan because in her course, for excellent students, they are offered to come to Japan for a year to study. Will she get it or not, we'll see from now. But, for now, am happy that she has shown us that she cared for our family so much that she actually took those actions by herself. My little sister is no longer little and she's thinking for herself. Am proud to know that very fact. Love you, sis.

Anisah is my big sister.

Anisah has a blog.

On 5^th December Anisah will be 8.

Last time Anisah doesn’t want to go to school but now Anisah likes to go to school.

Anisah likes milk, durian and ice-cream.

Anisah likes to play with me and Anisah likes to read storybooks.

But I call her Kafah because her name is Anisah Afifah.

I love coming home because it's the same routine, pretty much the only consistent thing in my life. I know my sister and I are going to get along for 5 minutes and then she will spend the rest of the time bitching, yelling or arguing about something. My mother can't understand why I can't just put up with it and let her get away with everything to keep the peace. She is content to turn a blind eye to my sister's rude and immature ways but assures me that she is "handling it". Riiiiiiiiight.

Fuck that, I was never given that courtesy growing up. I never got to do shit and was always grounded for dumb things like not cleaning my room or talking on the phone 1 minute past 8. My sister never even had to finish high school because she got really good at manipulating my parents into thinking she had some medical mystery to be solved. She did have tremors her 10th grade year, I'll give her that but she was also doing all kinds of drugs.

So on and on it goes. My dad even banned her from family vacations on the last go around. The month before he died we all went to Disney World and all my sister did was bitch and whine the ENTIRE time. Seriously, I wanted to kill her and my dad was so pissed off by the end of it he told me when we were sitting in the car waiting for she and my mom to come out of a gift shop; "we're never doing this again! If we do, she ain't comin', I have had it with this bullshit". Well guess what, it didn't happen again because after she ruined our vacation, which was her idea by the way, my dad died less than a month later thereby nixing any other chance for a family vacation ever again. Nice job, sis.

I don't know what it is. Sometimes she mouths off to me and something boils up inside me like pure rage. I don't get this way with anybody else. It's like I think in order for me to get a point across I have to hit her. That's the only thing I think I can do to make her feel what she is making me feel. I have kicked her ass before. I am teetering on doing it again and she ain't a small girl. I think I could take her if she pissed me off enough. I almost threw her out of a moving car today.

Other times we laugh and have fun for like 15 minutes as long as we are doing something she wants to do or watching something she wants to watch. Most of the time it's like babysitting a 10 year old. Yeah, I'm sorry but it is. My mother does not help this.

The other morning I was sitting on the couch drinking my coffee watching the BBC with my mom. My sister was coming in and out of the kitchen being a super bitch barking at anyone that said anything to her. She was getting ready for work and just you know, being an asshole. Here is my mother, ever the patient nurturing saint: "good morning angel, don't forget to take your water", my sister says nothing except bitches that the thing that dispenses tape for the back of her shoes isn't working so my mother dutifully gets up and tries to fix it. My sister is still storming around. "Here you go, angel", she takes it from her and tapes up her shoes. She is getting ready to leave and I am disgusted by all that is going on looking at my mother very confused. "Have a good day, sweetpea" and my sister yells an unfeeling "I love you" to us and then leaves.

I stared at my mother after this and just said; "could you baby her a little more?", she didn't understand what I was saying and immediately got defensive. I just sighed and waited for Gordon Ramsay to come on.

It is implied that we should all adapt to my sister's mood. She has the ability to turn even the happiest time sour in minutes. You can't tell her anything, you can't speak in off tones to her, you can't suggest she help with anything and don't even think of criticizing her about anything ever because she has a rather infuriating infantile response that will trump even the most logical of statements.

I am the only one left that refuses to cater to this way of life. My mother hates the fact that we fight all the time. It's really not fighting though, it's more like I try and talk to her about something and then she starts yelling. My mother thinks the best way to stop this is to yell at both of us regardless of who started it.

Sometimes I wish coming home wasn't so damn stressful. I hate being the adult.

Egypt voices: Sexual harassment

Seven Egyptian women talk about their experience of sexual harassment on the streets of Cairo. It is an increasingly common problem, with a recent survey suggesting more than four out of five women have been sexually harassed, while nearly two-thirds of men admitted assaulting women.

Noha Wagih TV announcer "I usually don't answer back, but this time I did"

Posy Abdou Shop worker "I get harassed 100 times a day "

Nora Khaled School pupil "I was so scared and embarrassed, I cried"

Nancy Fakhr Engineer "When colleagues asked what was wrong, I lied"

Zeinab Boulaki
Auditor

Once I was out driving with my brother when he stopped at a supermarket and I waited for him outside. Two guys got out of a car and walked towards me in an intimidating way. They started commenting on the way I look and the way I'm dressed.

I usually don't answer back, but this time I said: 'I'm not here to get picked up, you know.' This was too much for one of them who started shouting that I was crazy. I replied that even if I were a prostitute, I wouldn't give him a second glance.

This made him mad. He came right up to me, shouting that he was a policeman and he would 'show me'. In no time three more cars pulled up, and a group of men got out and started yelling at me and my brother.

I wrote down the number of the first car saying I was going to report him. He got so angry I thought he was going to beat me, so I slapped his face and started shouting 'Rape!' They all ran away, and I was left alone with my brother shaking with fear.

After this experience I want to make a program for TV about sexual harassment.

I get harassed 100 times a day. I tried everything to stop it but it doesn't stop. I wear loose clothes, I don't wear make up, I spend more than an hour in front of the mirror everyday thinking of ways to hide my body.

I walk home everyday. It only takes me 15 minutes, I cross the bridge. It is usually very loud and busy, but that does not stop men from approaching girls, any girl, good looking or bad looking, covered or not.

I remember so many scary harassment's. There was this guy who followed me and suddenly grabbed my bottom in front of everyone. I screamed but he ran away and no one interfered.

Once I was shopping with my father and aunt, and this guy kept staring at me and blowing me kisses. My dad shouted at him and started hitting him. I think men are doing this because they are jobless and have no manners.

I get harassed everyday, during the five minutes I walk from my house to the main street to take the school bus.Also in the seconds I cross the street when I finish my swimming class at the sports club.

I was waiting for the school bus once when a microbus driver followed me and kept calling me very bad names.

I was so scared and embarrassed, I cried.

I don't walk a lot in the streets, because I have a car. But I get harassed by guys driving close to me, they try to grab my attention, it could lead to accidents.

The worst harassment I remember was last winter. I didn't have my car and I was sleeping over at my sister's house. I got up at 0700 to catch the bus and go to work. A guy followed me and kept calling me very bad names. I was horrified and I started walking fast, even running.

When he got very close to me, I was scared he would touch me, so I picked a stone from the floor and threw it at him and ran as fast as I could until I got to the main street and took the bus.

I was shaking and trembling. When I arrived at work, I collapsed and cried for a long time. When my colleagues asked me what is wrong, I lied and said I have family problems.

I get harassed whenever I walk down the street; even during the seconds I cross the street to take my car.Yesterday, when I was parking the car in front of my house, a guy grabbed my bottom, I shouted at him, and insulted him. At least I did something about it.

My mother says I shouldn't answer back, but I think this is wrong. This way they will think they can harass anyone and get away with it. I know that shouting at someone who harasses me verbally or physically is not enough but at least it makes me feel better than doing nothing.

I get harassed every day, although I am always carrying my baby. I thought being a mother would make me immune to harassment, but it made it even worse.

Once I was waiting for the bus with my child and a car stopped, the guy waved his hand at me with a 20 pound note. It was unbelievable. Another time I was walking home and this guy unzipped his trousers in a car next to me.

I screamed, but he shouted back very aggressively, saying 'Who do you think you are? Why would I even look at you?' People in the street gathered around us and to my surprise they were not sympathetic with me. They supported him. They all defended the guy because they do the same thing.

Once I was walking with a friend and this guy suddenly grabbed her from behind. We shouted for help and he ran away. A car stopped, they asked us what had happened, had we been mugged? When we told them that we'd been sexually harassed, they drove away. Isn't this worse than robbery?

I get harassed a lot. I can't count the number of times, especially on public transport.

There was this guy who kept following me from one bus to another. If I stood up he stood by my side and if I sat down he sat beside me. Finally I shouted at him and insulted him, he left the minibus.

I stopped wearing skirts, and stopped doing my hair at the hairdresser's, I also stopped wearing make up, even my fiance asks me why aren't you taking care of your looks as you used to do.

But what can I do, I try to stop it but nothing works. I used to always have a smile on my face while walking down the streets, now I am always frowning, always provoked, always feeling the threat of someone approaching me physically or verbally.

At a bus or a microbus, I always feel there is a hand trying to touch me. It happened so many times, that I keep looking at the seat behind me as if I am crazy. ]]> http://ambermoon.wordpress.com/?p=1137 Wed, 03 Sep 2008 12:26:39 +0000 Amber http://ambermoon.wordpress.com/?p=1137

Last night I said goodbye to my sister.  It was hard to say goodbye to her in a sense, because I didn't really want to let her go.  We joked about finding any more "siblings" out there and to be not surprised.  The jokes were flying hard and fast about Dick Dastardly spreading his seed across America.  You had to be there I guess to appreciate how funny it was.  It was nice because I know that I will see her again, and that this will be only the first of many visits between the two of us.  That part made me happy and filled my soul with love and joy.

My flight is earlier today than I thought.  I leave around 1:30 p.m. .  I guess I will get up and get myself packed and together and on the road towards the airport.  I have some postcards to send etc. before I leave here.  

Another airplane flight for me.  Thank God Im feeling better today.  I was getting worried yesterday.  

I leave you with James Taylor, as this is appropriate I think for today in my heart and soul...

Flights are booked, plans have been made and on the 28th of this month, sis and her BF are flying back to NZ to start afresh.

Best of luck to them both! I shall miss her being readily available - but, will look forward to hearing of her new adventures in life, of her BF's exploits rafting, and hopefully, visiting next year.