the new and improved nativity story (2006 version)

it was 10 days before christmas when i received my favorite gift of the season.

my nephew juancho was excited because i decided to sleep at their house that night. as we were getting ready for bed, juanch (who is now 4 years old) brought out an illustrated children's book on the nativity story. he wanted me to read it to him but i let him 'read' it to me instead. he willingly agreed.

4-year-old Juanch, contemplating his pose 

and now, without further ado, here is juancho's version of the famous story:

Mary and Joseph were tired so they were walking around with a horse. (of course it was a donkey in the drawing but he was too excited to care. juanch, not the donkey.)

They were running out of places to stay.

Suddenly, the baby Jesus BURST out of Mary's tummy! (at this point, my sister whispered to me, 'so why is mary still smiling?')

They were surprised. (needless to say. how would you feel if a baby burst out of you?)

Jesus was born somewhere in the Middle East.

They found a warm and cozy place to stay. The baby slept on some hay in a barn.

The three kings came JUST IN TIME to give presents. They gave the baby Jesus a treasure chest, a red box to sleep in (mangers can get boring), and a water jug to put water in.

(at this point, juancho turned to his mom and said, 'mom! i know what to give the baby jesus! WATER!!!')

The end.

by the last sentence, my sister and i were about to 'burst' from trying to contain our laughter. to make it worse, juancho shared another great idea ...

'tita eng! lets go to babyjesus.com* tomorrow so we can find out more about the baby Jesus!'

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas ...



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*we thought there was no such site, but we were wrong. of course juanch wasn't really referring to the actual site, unless it was advertised on the disney channel or somewhere. have the happiest season ever!


*December 2011 updates: I now write my blog entries with correct capitalization; Juancho is 9 years old and tall and smart and still tells good stories ... but only when Martina and I threaten him; and 'Baby Jesus' reminds me too much of Sofia Vergara and a certain Modern Family episode. 

on my way to self-destruction myself

around fall of last year, i was in new york and central park couldn't have been prettier. of course it was the first and only time i'd seen it so i don't really have any point of comparison, but anyway ... you are free to ignore the first sentence. see if i care.

i was walking with a long-time friend (and by 'long-time', i mean we knew each other before either of us was corrupted by the world we are currently bahhumbugging) who flew from canada* to meet me in new york. i did the usual touristy things – gape at the orange-colored leaves, pose strangely in front of the famous fountain (named 'Bethesda fountain' or 'Angel of the Waters', which i know only because i researched for this blog entry), be scared by the running squirrels, and so on. my friend, who wasn't a tourist, did her part by asking complete strangers to take our picture while i silently prayed they wouldn't run away with my camera.

we finally figured out how to get out of the park when we saw them: two men fiddling with a professional-looking video camera.

"oooh. cute," my friend whispered.

"what? him???" i said, being my usual loyal, supportive self.

"yes. cute," my friend whispered again.

"ok, let me get closer so i can take a picture for you." (don't ask. i don't understand girls either.)

so we casually sauntered over to the two guys, who, amazingly enough, looked at us. meanwhile, my friend was taking back her previous assessment: "oh. sorry. he's not cute."

"hey," said guy1 (not the supposed cute one) before we could run in the opposite direction, "would you like to be interviewed?"

"sure," i said, pushing my friend towards the guy (told you i was supportive).

my friend agreed, mostly because (a) she thought it was going to be a WRITTEN interview (um, there was a VIDEO camera, mind you) and (b) she attracts strange situations. but don't let me get started on that.

"WHAT!?!" shouted my then-freaking-out friend. "you're going to film me!?"

"why not," i said, not knowing what was coming next.

by this time, we had a feeling it was going to be for a prank tv show named 'Gullible Girls in the Park' or 'Stupidity is the World's Biggest Killer'. something.

"what's this about anyway?" we ask.

guy1** replied, "the WEATHER CONSPIRACY."

the what???

allegedly, they were working for the Weather Channel and just needed a few video snippets for some show. fine. what wasn't fine was i found out i had to be interviewed as well. if i knew that, i wouldn't have pushed my friend in the first place. there is a moral lesson in there somewhere. i am just choosing to ignore it.

"you can't interview me! i'm not from here! me speaka no eeengleees." (ok, i didn't really say the last bit but i should've.)

"even better!"

arrgghh.

anyway, i ended up making a fool of myself in another country (so what else is new?), spewing out gibberish about how i think the earth is on its way to self-destruction (where did THAT come from?) and that i don't believe aliens have anything to do with global climate.

i had to pick my friend off the ground as she was laughing herself silly, watching my senseless display. needless to say, i can't wait for the next new york visit.

she owes me.


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*interestingly, she LIVES in new york now. and fyi, unless absolutely necessary, we never talk about the weather.

**i realize i never mentioned guy2, the supposed cute one. just goes to show that cuteness – or even imagined cuteness – does not translate to an interesting personality, or the power of speech, at the very least.

call me kleenex

martina was born on june 20, 2006.

the famous (well, famous to ME) juancho now has an adorable little sister who we call by a whole gamut of nicknames, including but not limited to:

- martini (we can see a promising alcoholic future for this baby);
- marteens;
- teeny tiny (well she USED TO BE. she has filled out a bit. all i can say is: breast milk rocks); and my personal favorite ...
- TONGKITOOTIE (i vary it a bit. she looks like a tongksitootitonks sometimes)

so second child, right? you'd think the parents would've been more prepared for this one. in fairness, my sister hasn't forgotten most of her maternal duties after 4 years. but then the baptism came along.

it was going well i thought. all the parents and godparents were at the front of the chapel, near the fountain, where they were supposed to be. i was just peacefully craning my neck from one of the back pews to check out what was going on. then i saw my sister gesturing for me to take pictures. i found out later on that they had a camera but the battery was dead.

fine.

i brought my camera to the front of the altar and started taking a million shots of the same scene. then i noticed my sister gesturing again (at least she was decent enough not to shout at her daughter's baptism) that juancho, who was beside me the whole time, had a runny nose. it wasn't quite noticeable because he was holding a paper-plate face mask of some sort that he made earlier. however, as the only thing i had was my camera (i left everything with my parents, who were somewhere in the back pews), i realized that we had a slight problem. we did not have tissue.

at first it was manageable. juancho just noisily sniffed throughout the first part of the ceremony. suddenly, without warning, ...

he SNEEZED.

if you have not handled a 4-year-old with colds before, let me illustrate (and if you are squeamish in any way, skip to the next blog entry, if there is one). as a result of his nasal explosion, his cute little face became covered in bubbly, whitish phlegm that was starting to drip down his chin. as i did not want anyone to see this and traumatize my beloved by running away from the child, i used the mask (with apologies to the mask) to scrape off the respiratory fluid from the face. i was tempted to use the huge tablecloth (do you even call it that?) that was covering the altar, but being struck down by lightning did not appeal to me at that particular time. i was also contemplating using my dress, but that would have attracted too much attention. so anyway ... damage control: check.

but he sneezed again.

AND THE PRIEST WAS ABOUT TO POUR HOLY WATER ON MARTINA.

and i had the CAMERA.

with my brain working at top speed, i wiped juancho's face with my left hand and ran with juancho (who was still holding the highly infectious mask), the camera and the handful of grossness to the pew where my parents were. "mama, tissue!!! and don't touch that mask!"

after 2 seconds of pseudo-cleansing my hand, i ran back to the altar and was able to take pics with my clean right hand. i made it just in time.

at this point, it would be anticlimactic to mention that my sister forgot to bring candles as well.

saving myself from humiliation

you know you've been working on the computer for too many hours (years!) when, during the rare occasions that you actually have to WRITE something (you know, with ... um ... aha! a pen) on paper, you feel compelled to press "control+S"* to save what you've written.

i've had to stop my left hand from going through the motions (you know, the pressing motion of the thumb then the index finger) more than twice in the past week.

maybe it's just time to go back home to pasig.

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*actually, for me it's "apple+S" but i don't want to irritate the mac-haters out there.

(and to my pretty little iBook, i love you. just so you know.)

(and no, "iBook" is not a CODE.)

the self-imposed macau marathon

a few weeks ago, i went to macau for the first time. i didn't really know what to expect, but by some stroke of perfect timing, the macau badminton open was ongoing and i was able to watch the semis. it was interesting, to say the least. i mean: try clapping for the danes when you are surrounded by a very vocal crowd cheering for the chinese team. just try and see if that doesn't scare you in the very least. i never got past one half-hearted clap disguised as a mistake ("no! what am i doing? clapping for the white guys? nevah!!! go china!").

oh but this isn't about the tournament.

this is about a nightmare that came true.

honestly, this was one of my worst fears coming to life. (a giant starfish did not walk up to me in the streets of macau. just to get that out of the way.) (and now the visual is in my head. AAAACCCCKKKK.)

my ferry back to hong kong was due to leave at 6 pm so i decided to be "smart" and give myself a lot of time to "find a cab." i started hunting for a taxi at "5 pm." the terminal was just 10 minutes "by car" so you could see that "in theory", it was really enough "time." no, i am not "bitter" and "traumatized."

at around 5:10 pm, the sinking feeling was starting to materialize in the pit of my then-acidic stomach. ALL THE CABS WERE FULL. and there were no taxi stands. even the hotels were useless. they couldn't hail any empty cabs as well.

again, i thought i would be "smart" (ok, i'll stop it with the needless quotes, i promise) and started walking towards what in my mind's map was the ferry terminal. after all, maybe everyone was looking for cabs in the wrong place. ha ha. ha ha haaaaa.

by around 5:30 pm, with my big overnight bag slung over my tired shoulder, i was semi-panicking. in my mind, plan B was to just walk all the way to the terminal. as unappetizing as that was, it was really the only option, as i was dying to go back to my hong kong apartment. so anyway, i entered a store and hurriedly asked the store owner, "doyouspeakenglish?"

"yes?"

"can you tell me how to get to the ferry terminal? can i walk from here?" (like if he said "no", i would've done anything else)

"yes, just go straight down this road until you get to the water."

in my mind, i rejoiced upon hearing this – the water! yey! a ferry would need water! yey!

after thanking him profusely, i started walking in the direction he told me to walk. after 5 minutes, i realized it was going uphill (dagnabit, not another hill!) which was not exactly where a body of water should be, unless you were aiming for niagara or something.

i went back, all the while cursing myself for being so stupid (for not knowing it was impossible to get a cab at 5 pm on a saturday?). i found another english-speaking macau resident and begged for a clearer set of directions.

i finally found the road that went down to the water. and at approximately 5:45 pm (when i was supposed to be BOARDING), i found it. the river.

"yahooooooooooooooooooooo. i'm here! ... NOW WHAT???"

in my dismay, i saw that the terminal was still a long way off. farther when i took off my glasses. positive orange was saying, "at least you could see it already!" i have since then bound and gagged her. i contemplated swimming to hong kong, but i didn't want to wet my socks. oh and also, there's the issue of the giant starfish ...

so i kept half-running, half-jogging towards the goal. midway, i stopped to ask a couple, "can i get to THAT building if i keep going THIS way?"

"yes," said the man who clearly did not speak any other english words.

and at 5:50 pm, still on that pathway by the water, i met ... A ROADBLOCK. the path was closed off because of some construction thing going on. so much for "yes."

needless to say, i had to find another way towards the terminal. and of course, OF COURSE, that other way involved flights (plural, take note) of stairs. S.T.A.I.R.S.

i desperately want to describe my relief that i decided to wear trek shoes, and my deep regret for wearing full-length jeans, but there are no words. no unprofane words, at least.

by some miracle, i got to the terminal just a few minutes before 6 pm and felt like i was trapped in the second-to-the-last scene of some poorly written romantic comedy. i found myself running through the halls, asking anyone who looked remotely like a ferry-related person, "HAS IT LEFT YET? HAS IT LEFT YET?"

the ferry was still there when i got to the gate.

in my paranoia, i struck up a conversation with a 50-ish white guy (not my lead in the poorly written romantic comedy, fyi) who was also in line for the ferry, "is this going to hong kong?"

"yes," he said (and i'm sure this wasn't his only english word), "you ran a bit, eh?" i realized with horror that he was pointing to the profuse sweat on my neck.

but did i care? NO (*profane word*) WAY. i mustered a weary smile while i tried to catch my breath. maybe i was crying and didn't know it. there was already too much salty fluid running down my face for me to notice.

(p.s. i will gratefully accept delayed-sympathy hugs when i get back home in a few days. call me.)

life lesson #3311973

life lessons hit you when you least expect them to ... very much like wood splinters or amazingly huge, cystic pimples or random tv interviews in the park (more on that if and when i remember to blog about it).

one day last week i woke up early enough to have a proper breakfast. so i treated myself to this little, unknown, hole-in-the-wall restaurant called ... mcdonalds (remember: the setting is HONG KONG. i didn't want to have communication gap for breakfast. sue me).

while lingering over my coffee, i heard something over the radio that made me realize the universal language is not love ... or money (but the jury is still out on that one) ... or laughter.

it's DANCING QUEEN.

yes, the ABBA song. the song that can irritate the most patient saint, the song that any person – regardless of age or geographic region or mental health status – CAN HUM.

do it. you know you want to.

i'm tempted to dive into a discussion as to why everyone knows about the young, sweet, 17-year-old tambourine-wielding dancer on the scene. but i won't because i'm too busy trying to get the damn song out of my head.

a rolling orange gathers no moss

if there is anything worse than walking up a hill, it's walking DOWN a hill.

and if there is anything worse than walking down a hill, it's walking down a WATERFALL.

today i woke up in a good mood because i was excited to wear my trek shoes (the same ones i wore on my one and only mountain adventure) to work. i felt ready. equipped. psyched to walk the full 20 minutes to the office. was considering skipping to work, as a matter of fact.

the happy mood came to a dead end when i opened the lobby doors and found ...

A MAN WATERING THE HILL.

who does that? what possesses a man to water tiles? was he trying to nourish the moss? more importantly, WAS HE TRYING TO KILL ME???

so there i was – a writer frozen in her tracks, staring at the steady rush of water going down the shiny, slimy tiles of her personal hill.

if i didn't have to work, i would've turned around and sobbed into the bed.

needless to say, i survived the water slide. i did, however, have a few scary wobbles going down. i'm now thinking about wearing a swimsuit, knee pads and a helmet to work. i wonder if they'll mind.

the hills are alive with the sound of crying

aaaaaaaaaaaaand i'm back.

back to blogging, and back in HK, the land that inspired me to once upon a time blog every day. (while getting the url for that link, i discovered that i used to blog MORE THAN ONCE a day. who am i? what have i become???

i arrived late last night and took a cab from central station to the apartment that will be my home for the next few weeks. to my horror, the apartment that will be my home for the next few weeks is practically ON A HILL.

"high on a hill was a lonely goatherd ..."

(i tell you solemnly, i heard julie andrews when i saw the street sloping up to oblivion.)

ok so maybe it's not exactly a HILL hill. but it reminded me of too many mountain memories ... and it was high and narrow enough for the taxi driver to refuse to bring me to the building lobby.

let me repeat: THE DRIVER DID NOT BRING ME TO THE TOP OF THE HILL.

if you had an iota of interest in this story/my travails, you would've figured out by now that THAT meant i had to drag my huge bag up the steep, tiled incline.

"jack and jill went up a hill ... BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO BRING A SH*TLOAD OF STUFF UP THE DAMN LANDFORM"

the almost-overweight bag is my fault (duh.) – in my haste (this isn't the most well-planned trip), i brought ... my whole room. except for the bed. and my extra lip balm.

so anyway, i DID bring the bag up until i found ... STAIRS. leading to the lobby. i left the accursed bag and trudged slowly up the steps.

when the door was unlocked for me, i peeped inside and half-sang, half-whimpered to the man behind the reception desk, "can somebody help meeeeee?"

(you think i'm making this up. you are wrong.)

thankfully, herbert (mr receptionist) turned out to be the mosthelpfulguyinHK. he probably weighed the same as one of my thighs, but he gallantly brought the bag up the stairs and into the lobby. go herbert. my skinny hero.

at 32 years old, i should probably be the type of person who actually LEARNS from past mistakes. well ... no. an hour later, i found myself lugging a total of 4 liters of drinks inside nonfinger-friendly plastic bags up the same incline. dehydration will not kill me. accidental grocery-related amputation will.

i can tell it's going to be a great month.

a post-mother's day post

my mother and i were listening to a radio promo for some event featuring barbie almalbis (of the now-defunct barbie's cradle).

without warning, she became really agitated. "her name is barbie? why is she named 'BARBIE'?"

"um ... mother? you are talking to someone named ORANGE ... and YOU gave me that name."

"yes, but 'orange' is a nickname."

ahaaaa.

from the mt pulag files: when you wheeze upon a star

so i said i would climb a mountain. and i did.

am now a million stories richer.

ok, that was an exaggeration. i probably have just 4 or 5 good ones, but at the top of the list is a sordid tale that involves two doctors, an obstinate patient and some warming oil.

one would think that if there were three doctors joining a climb to the peak of the second-highest mountain in the country, one would be relatively at ease in case of medical emergencies. it may be a different scenario however, if, say, one of the doctors (aka me) unintentionally becomes the patient.

it was the only night we had to stay in the mountains, so i wasn't too worried about it. what could possibly go wrong, right? the answer is (all together now ...) "a lot."

first of all, when you are instructed to KEEP WARM, just do it. don't assume that because you're warm enough just before sleeping, you will be warm all throughout the night. and that i was: warm enough just before sleeping.

where i wheezed

anyway, i lay there on the cold, hard mountain with only a thin layer of tent floor plus sarong plus fleece jacket between my skin and pulag, fully expecting to drift into dreamland. it didn't happen. for about an hour, i listened to my three tentmates snore their way through the night and wondered if their sounds could lull me to sleep. they didn't. i couldn't sleep even if i tried all the tricks in the book: praying, changing positions, counting the angles in the tent roof, counting sheep, counting the fleas in the fleece of sheep (if you flease, do sheep's fleece have fleas?) ... until i slowly but surely realized:

i couldn't breathe.

at first it was a mild thought, as in "hmm, i'm getting congested", which would make any person automatically breathe through his or her mouth, which i did. and then the thought turned rather medical, as in "i am very aware of my breathing. i know i'm hyperventilating. why am i hyperventilating?" until finally, when i had to breathe violently through my mouth and could hear myself wheezing, my thoughts turned morbid, as in "i can't breathe!!! i'm going to die in the mountains because there are no hospitals in mt pulag!!! my parents will kill me for dying in the mountains!!!" (i didn't say these were entirely rational thoughts.)

anyway, my breathing got so noisy that DJ* woke up.

(*not "DJ" as in "hey mister DJ put a record on i wanna dance with my baby", but more like "i-like-using-nonsensical-aliases-in-my-blog-for-kicks"-type of DJ. i have to hide the identities of my friends to protect their flourishing careers. from hereon, my doctor-characters will be called DJ and DD, who may or may not be clinic administrators or oncologists. i'm not going to say. it is also important to note at this point that DJ and DD are, supposedly, my close, personal friends.)

he woke up in a semi-panic, asking me what was wrong. meanwhile, i was trying to figure out how to treat myself (attempting to be the brave doctor that i was not).

1. was i feeling suffocated? i let some of the mountain air in through the tent door and like an ungrateful guest, the breeze slapped my cheek hard. maybe that wasn't the best idea.

2. was i cold? i wasn't sure so i put my gloves back on. wheee.

3. was i having an asthmatic attack? DJ suggested that i take a puff from his salbutamol inhaler (which, in a serendipitous twist, DJ – who may or may not be asthmatic – decided to keep handy during the night). i agreed, but realized just before puffing that i didn't know how to use it.

fact of life: it is difficult to be a fast learner while you are struggling for air. so as he was trying to explain how to use the inhaler, i couldn't fully comprehend it and ended up spraying my tongue with the medication. it doesn't take a genius to know that the stuff is supposed to go down your airway, not land on your tongue, unless your tongue was having an asthmatic attack.

after many tries, DJ eventually convinced me that it was a good idea to wake up DD (the third doctor), who was in another tent. i initially didn't want to wake anyone up, not knowing that almost all my campmates were awake anyway, on account of my raucous breathing. DJ ran over to where DD was and tried to rouse him with what he thought was an alarming statement: "eng can't breathe!"

to this, DD and tentmate gave the expected "huwhat??!!" ... and promptly fell back asleep.

after he realized that no one was coming out of DD's tent, DJ asked mr tentmate if DD woke up. mr tentmate (a nondoctor who may or may not have a brokeback thing going on with DD) had to force my friend (if i have to emphasize this a million times, i will) DD to get out and see what was going on.

meanwhile, i was still inside my own tent, still trying to breathe normally and failing, and wondering what in the world was keeping my two doctors from DOING SOMETHING ABOUT THEIR FRIEND'S EMERGENCY.

DD and DJ finally arrived. one of the first things DD said to me was, "i wish i had a stethoscope." i just looked at him blankly. DD ignored my look and asked, "may i listen to your chest?"

maybe on the real brink of death, i would let go of common decency and let the doctor listen to my chest, but i still had some fighting spirit left so i wheezily said, "you can listen to my back (you strange man you)."

after he did what he had to do with my back (probably took a little nap back there), DD suggested i take another puff of the inhaler, and took the time to re-teach me how to do it properly.

at around that time, someone brought up the idea of warming oil, in case i was actually cold and didn't know it. so one of my campmates (i was seated but hunched over – i really couldn't see what was going on) gave DD and DJ the bottle.

after a longish pause, i heard DD and DJ discuss a bit and conclude with, "how do you use warming oil?"

upon hearing this, i inhaled with all my might and semi-shouted, "i'm going to die in the mountains because my doctors are stupid!!!"

thankfully, one of my smart nondoctor girlfriends volunteered to apply the warming oil on my back. while she was spreading the oil, however, i was distinctly aware of a third hand applying oil on my right elbow. MY RIGHT ELBOW. if you wanted to cover as much surface area as possible, what body part would you choose? honestly. (i found out later that it was DD: "it was the only part i could reach.")

three successful puffs and a decongestant pill later, DD wanted me to try something else.

"i think you should drink coffee because it might help."

"why?!" i shouted. (let's all keep in mind that i wasn't breathing properly, ergo, the oxygen was having a hard time getting its way to my neurons.)

"it has theophylline, so it's the next best thing ..."

"it's not proven!!!"

"can you please just try it?"

"no!!!"

"why not??"

"i don't want to pee in the mountain!!!"

if you are not female and have never tried urinating as a female in the wild, do not judge me.

anyway, i'm getting tired of this story so let me just cut it here and say i finally succeeded in sleeping that fateful night.

the next morning, i woke up to the happy sensation of normal breathing. over breakfast, DD and DJ swore they never wanted to be my doctors ever again in this lifetime. they said they knew doctors were bad patients, but i was just a stubborn, angry, ungrateful, unreasonable bitch (not their words). in fairness to the bitch, may i just say ... i couldn't breathe! should i have been nicer? i may or may not have the answer to that one.

DD, still thinking about how to use warming oil

epilogue: DJ, DD and i are all still good friends to this day, my right elbow is softer than the left one, and DJ always keeps his inhaler nearby ... just in case we run into another mountain.

hippo hop hooray

it's easter today – a day that represents the seemingly impossible, pleasant surprises and, most of all, coming to life.

and so it seems like the perfect time to yield to intense easter pressure: i am officially reviving my dead blog.

(if i fail to blog regularly again, i will delete this entry. remind me.)

so anyway, remember juancho? (and you thought i would write about something else ...)

very pregnant mom of juanch: juancho, what is tita eng (me, fyi)?

juancho: she is a brilliant writer with a smashing personality and a generous spirit.

ok, he didn't really say that. i will, however, teach him that answer as soon as he can pronounce the letter 'r' pwopowly.

what he really said was ...

juancho: a doctor!

vpmoj: what is mom?

juancho: an interior designer!

vpmoj: what is tatay*?

juancho: tatay is ... a hippo!



HAHAHAHAHAHA.

i hope this boy stays funny forever (with apologies to the hippo).

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*tatay means 'father' – if you want to know why juancho's parents are 'mom and tatay' and not 'mom and dad' or 'nanay and tatay', email me. but really, don't you have better things to do?

ain't no mountain high enough, or so i think

thanks to peer pressure (apparently, 30-somethings still buckle), i am going to do the unimaginable. much to my horror, i was shoved out of my comfort zone and found myself committing to a CLIMB.

i will climb a mountain this friday.

of course this isn't hardcore climbing. i have been assured that 10-year-olds have hurdled this particular trail, and i suspect that because i know this, pride will be the single most important factor that will drive me to reach the peak. regardless of level of difficulty though, it is still a mountain. and it is still something i never ever thought i would do.

as this is probably the first and last time i am going to do this, i am deciding to milk the event for all its worth. as it turns out, it's a great way to get out of other stuff. for instance:

"can you meet the friday deadline?"
"i need an extension. i'm going to climb a mountain."

"can you meet me for dinner this thursday?"
"oh no, sorry, i'm going to climb a mountain."

"please run away with me by the end of the week."
"oh i can't. i'm going to climb a mountain."

i may or may not be missing the point of the activity.

so if after this week, my blog becomes stagnant again, it might not be my run-of-the-mill laziness, ok? it's entirely possible that i ... stayed (sounds better than "met my untimely demise"?) ... in the mountain. so there. ha!

mountain climbing. the ultimate excuse.

something *i* didn't know about myself

they say children are close to God's heart so when i was conveniently beside juancho (the ever-famous – to me at least – 3-year-old nephew) while he was saying his evening prayer, i semi-jokingly whispered into his ear:

"ask God to give tita eng (that's me, in case you were the least bit interested) a husband, ok?"

so juancho obediently droned, "and please give tita eng a husband."

after a long pause, he turned to his mom (who was on the other side of the bed we were on) and said:

"mom, tita eng is sad. that's why she's looking for a husband."

[insert deadpan expression here]

in case you were waiting for further clarifications, denials or confirmations from me, i will warn you right now that there will be none of the sort. there will be, however, a question: since when have 3-year-olds become so introspective?

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newsflash: juancho's mom is giving birth sometime in june or july. juancho is going to have a sister! my blog will have a new character/miniature psychoanalyst! wheeee!

life will never be the same

(warning: this entry will not mean anything to you if you know nothing about CSI)

today, i had a life-changing moment.

i was watching tv (ok, that's not the moment) and saw one of the 3,182 teasers for CSI they show daily. as usual, they were playing the theme song and quite automatically*, i was singing along:

"hooo wahooo ... hu hu, hu hu"

and then ... AND THEN ...

... they showed the words to the song, which turns out to be a real song by "the who":

"WHO ARE YOU? Who, who, who, who?"

there. are. actual. words. in. the. CSI. song.

i was floored – in this case, figuratively because i was already sprawled on the couch during this life-changing moment.

(yes, that was the moment)

so naturally, i did what one is supposed to do when one has just gone through a life-changing moment: i took a nap.

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*interestingly, juanchothethreeyearoldnephew also sings along with tv ads and trailers (disclaimer: not the real lyrics) – "LET'S GET IT SCARTED ... AND UP! LET'S GET IT SCARTED ... AND UP! ... Scar World."