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The (Mis)adventure of the Kitty and the Bunny

Life, Rants

The last weekend was probably one of the longest weekends (figuratively, of course) I have ever spent in my life. Ander and I arrived at the bunny‘s house at half past noon on Saturday. We’ve already been travelling 4 hours by then, and we’re about to go on another 2-hour trip with her family and relatives to Nasugbu in a nearby province, which is known for its nice beaches. Ander and I are like extended extended extended members of her family, you see. I’ve been in a lot of family things with them. But this is not just another one of them.

The weather was not the best, as an untimely storm made landfall that weekend. Nonetheless, we had fun froliciking in the huge waves, catching up, laughing at all her dad’s jokes, looking after the kids, just getting our hands on all the food — albeit functioning on 4 hours of sleep. Sunday night, and we were ready to head home.

Now the normal route home from Nasugbu is around 78km (48 miles) via Tagaytay and would take slightly less than two hours. Her cousin this time, suggested another route for some scenic views for everyone. He can’t be blamed though, the trip would have been magnificent …had it not been at night …and storming. Everything was pitch black.

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Not Just Construction Workers

Feminism, Rants

I think I could probably write a book of all the weird things men do or love that make absolutely zero sense to me – farting under the covers, the attraction to girl-on-girl action, and naming body parts (just to name a few).

But what has continued to blow my mind more than anything over the last several years is why men feel the need to hoot and holler things to women on the street. Why do they think it’s socially acceptable to objectify and disrespect women in the guise of — what they think is a — compliment? I’ll be all hot and sweaty, with my hair pulled up in a ratty ponytail, minding my own business while walking the dog down the street… then I’ll feel the presence of a car slowing down beside me. I hear “Hey baby, where you headed?”, “Woot woot”, or perhaps even more puzzling is this sudden-breaking-out-into-a-song thing they love to do. I once ignored an obtrusive catcaller, and was called something along the lines of a “bitch” for doing so. I flipped the guy off. “You’re not immediately interested in me, you must be easy.” Love the logic there.

Has this EVER worked for men? Have there EVER been any successful relationships that have started from this sort of contact? Is there a woman out there that would respond to this with a “Oh hello! I really appreciated the way you so sweetly called out to me from your car. No, I wasn’t aware of how nice my ass looked today, so thanks for pointing it out! Would you like to get a drink?” Are there any statistics on this? If not, can we start keeping statistics on this? I feel like this is something we need to track.

For a middle-aged man to do this while driving alone (probably on his way to deliver his truckload of perishable goodies), is just downright weird. What is the freakin point? You know, I can almost understand or excuse this if it is done by a carload full of young men. Oh ha ha, it’s so funny… and they all laugh and exchange high-fives. To be fair, the cat calling (in my book) has gone done significantly during the past few years. My teenage years to early twenties were the worst. I guess being in a five-year relationship helped, since I rarely have to walk the streets alone nowadays. Not that I’m trying to justify this stuff, because I think it’s wrong. But I am starting to think that maybe it’s something primal…you know, whoever grunts the loudest gets the hottest cavewomen?

Primal or not, it would be awesome if men could control their urge to shout pleasantries while I’m PICKING UP DOG POOP.

MY blog, MY rules


This is my blog and I get to write about whatever the hell I want. I get to decide whether an entry follows a certain “template” or not. I get to decide to add images or not (and I get to decide whether to use my own or not.) So spare me all those non-existent rules about blogging — I am not a celebrity or a journalist. I don’t even go around and brand myself a blogger despite having been doing this since I was thirteen. I know the ins-and-outs of “mainstream blogging” and I don’t want that. I am not marketing a product. I am not being sponsored. Just like what my introduction says, I just occasionally write about random odds and ends. In case you haven’t absorbed it yet, this is my personal page.

I don’t want a niched blog. I don’t need eye-catching entries. I just want to write.

You young bloods go ahead and make a collage about life lately, or take a generic hipster photograph overlaid with an equally-hipster pa-deep quote, for all I care.

Meanwhile, I will continue writing poems and stories, make one-sentence posts, rattle on about my stance on something, or just vent out my (sometimes strong) opinions and thoughts — because that’s what blogging is to me…

and it’s none of your effing business.

I’m not a slacker, I’m just smarter than you


Disclaimer: There are a lot of lazy people in the world. This is about the rest of us who are getting bad rep.

I’m spontaneous. Some people think that’s a flaw. I think it’s brilliant. And FYI: Planning and spontaneity are not mutually exclusive. At a moment’s notice I’m ready for a summer road trip. Movies? Sure! Coffee tonight? Why not? We can be there in a couple of hours. I’m basically up for anything at anytime.

Now while I may spend the majority of my days egotistically thinking I’m super awesome and rare, I would hedge my bets that there are lots of lovely ladies out there just like me. Ladies who have careers, ladies who have friends, ladies who have goals, dreams and priorities. Frankly, Ladies who have shit to do — AND YET — ladies who have time to go out. Like I have time to go out. Ladies like me, who are available. And not because we’re bummers. Or losers. Weak or sad.

We’re just simply smarter than you. Allow me to elaborate.

The biggest complaint I hear from people (when I’m trying to hang out, or when they’re trying to hang out) is that they’re busy. They’re tired. They’ve just got so much going on *stifles eye roll* But here’s the thing of the thing: There are a lot of hours in the day. There are a lot of days in a week and weeks in a month. Our lives are fucking filled with time. So why can’t these people find any of it? I honestly couldn’t tell. It baffles me to no end.

Logic tells me that fun, y’know, is fun. Experience tells me that fun is awesome. And since you can never have too much awesome in your life, logic tells me that you would want to squeeze every drop you can of it into your life. I mean honestly. Now sometimes things don’t work out and schedules collide, and other times there simply aren’t any plans to be made. And that leaves all that lovely room for spontaneity.

I know that people often want to leave their options open. They don’t want to commit to a plan, or a person, or an idea for the weekend. And that’s fine. Go ahead and wrap yourself up in your issues. It could very well work out awesomely for you. I’m not saying I have all the answers. I’m just offering an alternative perspective. A reason he doesn’t answer your texts. A reason he cuts ties after three weeks without connecting for a date. So like I said, I don’t know all the answers. Not by a long shot. But I do know about smart chicks. And I know about awesomeness. And I know about having the most fun possible. So with all those said, I leave you with this:

I beg you. Next time you meet someone who only wants to make advance plans with you, or calls you on a Tuesday to make plans for the same night, try to remember: While it is possible she’s just bored or clingy, it’s just as likely that she’s awesome…and quite simply smarter than you. So get that brain power up. Step it up a notch, get your shit together and get the most out of your life. Or don’t. I mean, do what you want. But don’t be shocked when you call on a Saturday and she’s busy. And the best thing that might have ever happened to your stressful week, who might know the solutions to your problem, is booked solid.

Writer’s Block


Sometimes I lose the ability to turn words into art. Maybe I should let them speak for themselves, but they can be such timid fellows, and I wouldn’t want to pressure them. So instead I’ll just listen to the silence the world destroys by talking and talking, wishing I could say something that would make the whole world stop speaking so they could finally begin to hear.

Fifty Shades of Garbage

Books, Feminism, Rants

Perhaps you can grasp from the title, that I, too, have hopped on the band wagon and read (or at least tried to) the over-sensationalized Fifty Shades of Grey. Yes, I did, just to see why it has caused so much stir.

Bottomline? It’s pure rubbish. I just had to stop reading after seeing “He cocks his head to one side” for the fourth time in three chapters. I didn’t even bother trying to read further and get to the graphic part (which the book is all about). Now I wonder: Why is there such a hype over something this badly written? I am no writer, but I sure have read enough to differentiate a well-crafted piece of work from those that are not. I am aware of its origins as a fan fiction, but it should have had some more decent editing — if it had one at all. The vocabulary’s limited, the words and phrases are repetitive, and sentence structures are so poor my face still aches from all the face palms.

If you still aren’t convinced yet, let me share some terrible lines from the book:

  • ▪️”His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel…or something.”
  • ▪️”He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy fuck. Sweet mother of all… Jeez.”
  • ▪️”He’s my very own Christian Grey popsicle.”
  • ▪️”Feel it baby.”
  • ▪️”Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill.”
  • ▪️”The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor.”
  • ▪️”Laters, baby.”

I have deduced that probably the reason the book is so popular is because it is specifically targeted at ignorant and/or functionally illiterate people whose opinions are easily swayed by others. They are demented with the inclination that it is a fine work of literature because they don’t usually read, which gives them no basis for comparison. I know that getting upset over the literary merit(or lack thereof) of Fifty Shades of Grey is strangely joining the band wagon too — apparently, it has received lots of bashing — but I cannot resist ranting. There are way more talented writers sinking their teeth into writing good stuff who deserve E.L. James’ sales.

I could not reiterate more how inexcusably bad this novel is — and it kills me to call it one. But until I publish a book that sells 125 million copies, I’m in no position to be snotty, am I? Makes one wonder why it ever made the bestseller’s list. Is this what humanity has come to?

If you are reading/read it AND enjoyed it, I assume that you are either an a) 50 year old bored housewife who’s having a crazed sexual fantasy; or b) a horny teenager exploring his/her sexuality for the first time. Otherwise, you and your brain deserve better than to be wasted on viral, irresponsibly written garbage. Trust me.

If you are in it for the smut, I say just go get yourself porn or just get laid instead, for Christ’s sake.

Thoughts on Valentine’s Day

Cogitations, Life, Love, Rants

We were wandering through the mall just last week, and I took notice of all the sad attempts to attract more business from a day that, in my opinion, is over-hyped: Valentine’s Day. The problem with Valentine’s Day is that it’s created a notion that materialism is associated with love. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a single woman bent on hating on everyone else who is dating. I love my man in all the right ways, and I don’t mind having a day set aside to dine out or do something romantic, but it being an “obligation” is what drains all the backing from me. I love acknowledging romance and I think that it’s important to let people in our lives know how much they mean to us. Not just our lovers or partners, but also our family, our friends, that cute barista who smiles at you when you get coffee — but this holiday should never have been ratified for it. It should be part of the regular practice of our lives. Do we really need this holiday to substantiate our love for one another? Does this day really had to be forcefully shoved in so we can realize that we have to love each other?

People in relationships often feel pressured to make it the perfect day it is painted to be, while most singles are sulking over it like it’s the apocalypse. If you (specially women) expect to be treated nicely only on that day, and just forget how your partner has been a big jerk all year, you’re an idiot. If you aren’t being treated nicely everyday, then that relationship’s crap. And hopefully, yours is not so fragile as to fall apart over one Valentine’s Day. Ladies, don’t fret if your man fails to get you anything. And men, please don’t feel pressured to live up to expectations and frantically make the day flawless. Don’t be afraid of not fulfilling your “duties”. You still have every single day thereafter.

Here’s the thing: If you really love someone, a token gift once a year won’t prove it. It’s like saying “I love you, and to prove it, once a year I’ll be romantic.” I mean, everybody loves getting gifts. But it’s getting a gift that really, really means something that touches the heart. That heart-shaped chocolate or that big furry pillow is more often than not, nothing but a hypocritical public display of affection. If you love somebody, show it all year long. If you can’t show your loved one affection on a regular basis, please, just stay alone.

I want people to let me know I’m loved with their own volition, not because some stupid holiday obliges them to. That being said, I’m not interested in receiving chocolates, cards or a ridiculously sized bear. Although flowers can be nice. 😋

I Party Like A Rockstar

Feminism, Life, Rants

Who doesn’t? Does that make me a bad person? Why am I asking this, you ask? I had a bit of an issue about this and the thought bugged me and kept me up the whole night. Anyway, it was because of me and some new-found friends on several different nights out. I know for a fact that there’s nothing wrong with drinking and stuff but I got a comment from Fei which really hit me hard. I admit that I haven’t been really open about that side and that I don’t always talk to her about it. It’s just that I know she isn’t interested. The thing is, ever since I worked, I met many different people, and all of them are wonderful. I met people I can relate to with music, arts, the web and people who have the same interests as I do. Particularly group of friends I hang out with at parties and nights out. The ladies with makeup on, the ladies with their hair done, the ladies wearing micro-mini’s, the ladies always wearing high heels, and the ladies always drinking and smoking. I hang out with people like them, and I’m having a good time every time I do. I think she sees it in a different picture. I love partying, clubbing, and drinking. I love the night life. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m a bad person. Or I’m a bitch. Or that I’ve changed. It’s just me. Well not the usual me, but the occasional me. And guess what? I love being that me. Do I think it’s cool? Yes! And I think it is because I love it, not because I was influenced. Being a party-goer will not take away who I really am. I am still the me my real friends have known. It’s just that they’re not interested with this particular stuff as much as I am. And now that I’ve met more people who loves the night life, why shouldn’t I hang out with them?

Anyway, what Fei told me lightened me up. It felt good when she actually scolded me. I made a realization last night: There’s this one person on this Earth that still knows me inside and out and better than anyone. I love her.

No more nights out? Definitely not. But no more of the stuff that’ll make me look like I’m a bitch. ‘Cause everybody knows I’m not.

This is a retrieved post. Reposted: 04 Dec 2013