Sunday, November 27, 2011

Ending the busiest week with a 'WHAT???'

It's finally Sunday. To say this week was 'busy' is not giving it justice. It was more like if Busy drank about 3 Red Bulls and some uppers and stayed awake for 3 days. And then hooked himself up to intravenous espresso drip. And then ran a marathon. And then ate some chocolate-covered coffee beans ... dipped in coffee.

(Oh wait. It will be December in a few days. I suspect there will be more of these wild weeks to come.)

A few hours ago, as I was starting to feel a teeny bit peaceful, Martina called and asked to talk to me. I assumed it was some sort of a debriefing of last night's wedding, which I helped organize and which she attended.

Martina: Why you be the host? (She's 5. Grammar errors are cute at that age.)

Me: Because my friend asked me.

Martina: I think mom should be the host.

Me: OK.

Martina: Did you see me last night? I was spying on you.

Me: I saw you.

Martina: How about when I went away, did you see me?

Me: No, I didn't.

Martina: 1 + 1?

Me: 2.

Martina: 55 + 60?

Me: 110 ... Oh wait ... 115. (In high school, I was always Best in Math.)

Martina: 70 + 70?

Me: 140.

Martina: Bye!!!

... and now I am very strangely disturbed and off-kilter. Thanks Marteens.

Don't be fooled by the 'innocent child' facade.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Dear strangers, sorry for entertaining you

I've probably written already about how I appreciate the fact that adulthood strips you of every ounce of pride and dignity, allowing you to quickly forget about humiliating moments and giving you license to laugh raucously (but just inside) at yourself. Maybe I didn't say it exactly like that, because it's overdramatic and pretentious (like me). What I was just trying to say was .. *inhale* ... I'm a big girl now who doesn't mind the occasional embarrassing moment like this or this *exhale*.

As though life decided that it's been a while since my last humbling episode, I tripped in public again yesterday. Except this time, I made sure people would stop and look at me. I had a big lunch and needed some caffeine to survive the rest of the day. I trudged sleepily up the stairs to an adjacent Starbucks (the one right beside the Chili's in Greenhills) and tripped on the last step. For most of the population, this non-event would've gone simply unnoticed BUT:

1. I was wearing noisy plastic slippers (which was probably why I tripped in the first place). 
2. I made a small sound immediately after realizing I was in danger of falling down the stairs ('Eee!') 
3. I kept my balance by holding on to the walls, thus striking a very look-at-me pose, which I held for a few seconds.

So imagine you were one of the unsuspecting Starbucks patrons peacefully enjoying an overpriced drink and a hypercaloric pastry. You hear the loud slap of a plastic slipper hitting the floor and a simultaneous 'Eee!' You turn to look for the source of the sound and see an awkward girl holding the walls with both arms outstretched to the side looking very much like a modern-day female Samson pushing imaginary pillars.

For that minor interruption, I blurted out a loud "Sorry!" and proceeded to the counter. And that was that.

(I realized much later on that I didn't really need the coffee after my little spill. I woke myself, as well as a small unwilling audience, with sheer clumsiness. At least the barista had a wider smile on her face that day. How rude. I said I was sorry!)

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Being a writer doesn't always mean you know dem words

That's me pretending to write
but really just playing Bejeweled.
Sometimes I question my life – in particular, my skills as a human being. (I also question other people's lives, but I'll need more time and drive to blog about that.) I get paid to write and edit but, many times, I don't feel like I have a very good grasp of the concept of words and how they should actually mean something that people can comprehend.

Take last night, for example. I was about to step inside an elevator when I saw the doors closing, threatening to harm my overexposed slippered foot. Any other sane person would have chosen to address the sole person inside the elevator using one of many understandable, socially acceptable phrases, such as:

  • "Going down!"
  • "Hold the doors!"
  • "Wait!"
  • "Excuse me, kind sir, if you could so graciously take pity on my plight and reopen the doors for me, I would be quite grateful." (Of course, you would be staring at closed elevator doors when you get around to "kind" ... then you'd have to return to your time machine and warp back to London in the 1800s, where you probably belong.)
  • "Tekaaa!" (Curse words optional.)

My excuse: I was tired and one blip away from being brainwaveless when it happened. So when I opened my mouth to say something, what came out was:

"Hoo hoo hooooo!!!"

... because apparently yet unbeknownst to me, I am an owl. A really huge featherless and idiotic owl. Who needed the elevator.


Epilogue: The guy inside the elevator reopened the doors. Maybe my panicked face was enough to get the message across.