in-flight lessons

i'm quite ambivalent about cebu pacific gimmicks – not just the recently viral dancing-to-in-flight-safety-demonstration gimmicks, but also the contests they hold just after the seatbelt light is switched off. if you haven't been on a cebu pac flight, here's a quick rundown: they ask passengers to show an item (like a 'bring me' game for lazy folk) and the person who raises the item the quickest gets something exciting. like a purse. with the cebu pac logo. whoohooo.

christine and i took a cebu pac flight to boracay last month. christine is someone i consider to be very laid-back. she's seen it all, she's been through a lot, she's done it all. it would seem that it would take a massive effort to impress the woman who has traveled the world for work and pleasure and knows a million (and a half) people from everywhere. although from almost 20 years of knowing her, i know that she'd always had a competitive heart, i also know she has become more grounded and relaxed on many levels (except when 'attacked' by harmless little fishies, but that's another boracay story). so a tiny cebu pac game couldn't possibly interest her, right?

true enough, when the mechanics were being explained, christine seemed almost half-asleep, probably from her hectic work week prior to our mini-vacation. i had also started to doze off myself ... probably because i like sleeping. i kept my sunglasses on because the window was open and i was pretending to be a paparazzi-hounded celebrity.

the flight attendant's voice was very faint in my ears at that point: 'who can show me a pair of sunglasses?' without warning and with lightning-fast hand speed that should be reserved for life-or-death emergencies and tv gameshows, christine grabbed the shades from my face and held it up frantically while sounding like she was stifling a scream. i, on the other hand, had let out an actual scream of pain. if you've never had sunglasses snatched while you were wearing them, then let me explain why in my usual verbose manner: OUCHY.

life lessons learned:
1. we never really change.
2. do not wear shades inside a moving plane. especially not beside type A types who want to win insignificant items with an image of a smiling yellow plane on them.

ps, christine didn't win. she thought she did though, and looked really disappointed when the flight attendant gave the prize to the person seated behind her. i think christine finally went to sleep after that.

mama mushu strikes again

my sisters and i have always told mama to bring a bag with her wallet and phone – or a least some form of identification! – every time she stepped out. actually, we thought we had already driven the point home during one malling weekend. mama left us to use the ladies room but didn't have her phone with her. she was gone for about 20 minutes or longer and we had no way of knowing where she was. after being convinced that she really *was* lost, i went to some toilets and, not finding mama in any (don't ask how i checked), almost ran through the mall shouting "mama!" in a theatrical panic. thankfully, i found her a bit stunned (and tired from all her aimless walking) on one of the many escalators.

"mama, please, never again." i don't remember if she agreed. i threatened to tattoo her name, age, contact info, diseases, medication, blood type and life goals on her back (and it might fit, too) if she refused to bring her bag again.

tonight, we went to church and i noticed her familiar baglessness. "mama! not again! i'm really going to have you tattooed!"

she then excitedly asked, "with a dragon?"

:|

yeeees, mother. you need a dragon tattoo like i need a boyfriend with a drug problem. then again, maybe he would know about inks.

toilet trips and tips

I was born with a bladder the size of a premature baby’s fist. Or at least it feels that way. Every 5 minutes or so, particularly (and unfortunately) when I’m out of the house, I feel like I have to use the restroom. The only time I remember not having regular urinary urges was when I was severely dehydrated because of adult-onset measles, which caused all my bodily fluids to spontaneously spew out of almost every orifice except my … OK, maybe I should stop.

My point is, like many who can’t hold their pee, I’ve seen many toilets. And after seeing a good number of them, I’ve compiled some unsolicited tips for toilet designers and decision-makers everywhere. Because I am the voice of authority. And I really like pretty restrooms.

[To all male readers: this might not apply to you. From what I’ve gathered, all that men need is an empty water bottle and reasonably good aim.]

TIPS FOR DESIGNING A GOOD PUBLIC RESTROOM

1. When choosing creative signage for the male and female restrooms, try not to get too carried away. The key is to lead people to the right door, not win the grand prize for abstract art. I have wasted precious half-minutes of my life standing in front of a toilet door, trying to decipher an icon that could possibly stand for a female, but could very well be a faceless transvestite in a curious outfit. There was one time I forgot my glasses so I had to move close enough to the toilet sign to see if it was indeed the ladies room. I was the epitome of grace, with my nose just an inch away from the toilet door, having to squint at the extremely vague sign and, at the same time, balancing my tipsy self while crossing my legs in an effort to postpone the inevitable.

2. Make sure that (a) there is some space between the edge of the toilet seat and the edge of the cubicle door at full swivel, and (b) the space on either side of the seat is considerably bigger than the average female thigh. Having no such space is a nightmare to us giant-purse-loving, giant-thigh-bearing females, who, when faced with such a situation, have to contort our bodies until we almost step on the toilet seat just to maneuver out of the tiny space. If you’ve just come from serious shopping and are holding large and unwieldy paper bags, forget about it. Unless you are willing to suffer paper cuts and possible asphyxiation, that is. Of course you could just stay in there and starve until you lose a few pounds and shed thigh fat.

3. Try not to purchase toilets that, back when they were just raw materials, wanted to become fountains when they grew up. One particular mall is notorious for these wild toilets. After doing my thing, I stood up and flushed the toilet, like the exemplary citizen that I was. After its initial downward spiral, the toilet water exploded like a dirty geyser and sprinkled my pants, purse and parts of my exposed skin. [Insert requisite “eeewww” here.]

4. I love that sink and faucet designs aren’t what they used to be. I like the non-sinks, where the water just flows from the faucet onto a tilted slab. I enjoy the faucets that come from a low ceiling. However, if you’re going to choose an unconventional faucet, put visible instructions nearby on how to work the fixtures. In one particular Hong Kong bar restroom, I didn’t know if I wanted to feel scared or pleased. The individual cubicle doors were like thick, massive stone walls that you had to push mightily to reach urinary nirvana inside your private mausoleum. Stranger though was the “sink”, which looked more like a massive church altar situated island-style in the middle of the restroom. Sure, there were faucets that jutted out from the sides of the “sink”, but I, along with the few women who were present, just stood there, not knowing where the valves were. We bowed our heads and prayed for hygiene instead. Given the aura of that restroom, it was only apt.

When it comes to restrooms, I recommend prioritizing simple qualities, such as cleanliness, reasonable leg room per cubicle, lots of toilet paper, functional sinks, working ventilation and good plumbing. Not all toilets can be as amazing as the Narita airport toilets (specified as such because I will not pretend to have vacationed in Japan), where you can choose to warm your toilet seat, select the water pressure of the bidet, play music to cover up unpleasant man-made sounds, and update your Facebook status.

So there. Professional tips from a professional … uhm … girl-a-loo. Get it? [Insert requisite “booooo” here.]

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*this entry looks a bit different from my previous entries (ie, it's properly capitalized!) because it also appears here, where i've started to guest-blog. long live design folder!

'wit' trumps 'intelligible speech'

can't deny it, kids these days are smart, maybe to make up for slow progress in the enunciation department.

when juancho was about 3 or 4, we took him on a shoe-shopping trip to liliw. during the long car ride, we asked him a couple of times where we were headed, and he replied, "wiwiw".

cuuute. (to me. the unbiased aunt.)

we thought it was adorable and tried to ask him again. juancho, who was smart probably since birth, caught on to our game. so when we asked again, his tired reply was,

"I DON'T KNOW."

fast forward to a week ago, when my sister had a heart-to-heart talk with martina, who is as old as juancho was during his wiwiw days. anyone who's tried to carry a conversation with martongks can tell you it's not an easy task. let's just say that it's a good day if you can understand 50% of what comes out of her teeny mouth. so anyway, martina's mom was wondering when martina would learn to say 'pajama' properly instead of ...

mom: martina, when you turn 4, you can't say 'kajama' anymore ok?

martina: ok mom!

mom: what will you say?

martina: SHORTS!

i wuv those kids.

minutes of the marteens

if there's one thing that can make me temporarily forget about all the sadness in the country, it's quality time with an undersized but over-confident, self-proclaimed princess. choice minutes with martina, my 3-year-old niece, make me smile and hope for better, normal days ahead.

how can you not laugh, really?


sample minute #1

i was camped out at my sister's place because of the lack of internet at home. living at her house means an endless supply of martina, who doesn't go to regular school yet.

as i was frantically typing on the keyboard to meet a deadline, i noticed martina, who was sitting beside me, making typing motions on my forearm. i typed, she typed. i stopped, she stopped.

me: marteens, what are you doing?
marteens: i'm working on your arm.


sample minute #2

me: marteens! you smell like citronella.

marteens: no, i smell like belle!

(and if you didn't get the reference, may the spirit of walt disney visit you in your dreams tonight. and make you listen to snow white's high-pitched singing at full blast nonstop for an hour.)


sample minute #3

marteens: (walking around the dining table) mom, i used to be a carrot.

me and marteens' mom: (in unison) that explains everything.


sample minute #4 (my favorite minute so far)

marteens and her mom came from a rather unsuccessful gym class. apparently, the little carrot was not in the mood and refused to participate in any of the activities that day. mom was not very happy.

mom: marteens, when you don't follow me, you make me ... ?

marteens: angry.

mom: and?

marteens: sad.

mom: and what do you want mom to be?

marteens: BOB THE BUILDER!!!


note to martina's mom -- quit while you're ahead.