All for Love

Cebu Pacific offers zero fares! Yes, fly domestic and pay nothing. Free! Free! Free!

Why? Apparently we've made the carrier number one in the country and they're so happy they could pop. You get to travel up to December 21 of this year, but here's the catch: you only have today and tomorrow to book it.

Imagine the results. Chaos and anarchy all over the ops floor when this thing went live earlier today! Everyone was booking! Deanie led the mad rush to book, and was literally all over the trainer's area egging us on. Poor Jetty barely had time to get settled after arriving, and five minutes later he was on the phone to JV the boyfriend ("what's your birthday? Quick! I'm booking fares!") and was the proud owner of a free ticket minutes later. What a morning.

I booked for my family, too. Hey, it's free. If you had to get these fares live and in person, someone would've died in the stampede. As it is, it's a mad online rush, I wonder how Cebu Pacific's site can stand the traffic. Then again, maybe this is the point.

I couldn't resist taking a screenshot of their main ad on the website. Speaks volumes, si?

Think they went over the ad before they released it online? I was laughing my ass off when I saw this. Too precious for words. Is it an intentional dig at a nation that will stop at nothing to get freebies?

I'm waiting for the catch to reveal itself though, because something tells me Cebu Pacific is going to be laughing their way home to the bank on this one. Somehow. I just know it.

Now Playing

Searching for a day, a simple life
Among the clouds, the sky is blue
Water, stars falling around at night
My dream, your dream
Dreams come true,
Trying hard
Always follow what’s in your heart
Always listen to what’s inside
Always fly high & don’t come down
And don’t come (down)
Don't push yourself far over the limit
Push your mind ahead with your spirit
Push it to where you never thought you
could go right
And never come down
You run away from a very stressing life
And take some time to think of you
Try to change the color of your life
My dream, your dream
Dreams come true,
Trying hard
Always follow what’s in your heart
Always listen to what’s inside
Always fly high & don’t come down
And don’t come (down)
Don't push yourself far over the limit
Push your mind ahead with your spirit
Push it to where you never thought you
could go right
And never come down

Pretty old song, but I just found out the title! I know, pathetic. Better late than never.

Is This the Answer?

You have to admire China. They fine you for having too many children, and they've been having the "one-child policy" since 1979.

And now this. Melamine in baby formula! Insidious! Perfidious! Effective? Click here for more.

Oh, China. Your measures are hard, cruel and realistic. Is this your way of taking the second step in the fight against overpopulation? Either way, no other country has had the guts.

Multiplication

As I was ranting, they want to know when the little ones arrive. Specifically Alex and my little ones.

1. The Reality Check/Environmental Standpoint
Do you realize how many people there are on this planet? We are procreating ourselves to kingdom come, and the Earth is screaming for mercy. Um, like, hello, it's melting? People are dying of hunger and thirst, two-thirds of the globe is water, Angelina Jolie and Hollywood lead the baby boom... is this sustainable? Will we have enough leaves of grass left to feed the world? Do you want to bring up a kid in a world where everyone is connected to an IV bag because this is the final solution?

2. Statistically Speaking
There are more women born then men. Women take care of procreation. The more women get born, the more potential babies are made. Read Number 1 again.

3. The Social Standpoint:
Personally, I can barely stand 3/4 of society. I'm not the only one, the number of chop-chop jobs, murders, rapes and various other imaginative forms of torture keep making themselves seen and heard - proof positive that we don't really like each other. And the population is growing. Are we helping each other hate more of each other?

4. The Financial Future:
The moment you have a child, that's it. Oh, it's roses and daisies and posies and sunshine. It's also buying milk and nappies and Gerber and saving up for the education and having to buy Polly Pocket collectibles, and educational flash cards and Dora the Explorer DVDs, and the lunch money and the spring break money and the money for the prom dress and the money for the wedding and the money for bail and the money, and the money, and the money. And what do you get from being a parent? Shoved in a nursing home, waiting for death. Is this really worth the joy?

You know, maybe this whole gay phenomenon is nature's way of surviving. She knows we're popping out too many babies, so she's making sure that some people at least won't procreate. But the gays can be greedy because they want kids too. And the whole darned cycle begins anew.

Mammaries

For the most part, boobs are mounds of flesh under a certain level of concealment. Sometimes they're fully concealed, as in under a t-shirt. Sometimes they're popping out, as in low cleavage. Then there's the "side boob". Or the "under-boob".

I really do think it's ridiculous, the way society views boobs. The main component of a boob is the fleshy, hilly part of it. The part that bulges out nicely. Still, no matter how much flesh is popping out, it's still a clothed boob. The only time it's a scandal is when the nipple is showing. Apparently the appearance of the nipple makes it a naked boob.

What's with that? The nipple is the tiniest part! The cherry on the sundae, so to speak. The remaining 10 percent. Pasties could be the only thing separating your nipple from the rest of the world, and you're still not considered naked?! 90% of your chest is on display! Who cares about the remaining 10 percent?

We seriously need to reassess this.

But Where are They?

Yes, yes, the pictures are forthcoming. We barely had time to breathe before coming back to big bad La Sugbu, and I had to plunge myself right back into the crazy world of a trainer, damnit. Yes, no honeymoon! None! Nada.

Fine, none yet. Plans are in place, this I vow. I'm owed a honeymoon and by the sacred chihuahua I'm gonna get it.

Patience is a virtue. In time thou shalt be rewarded, and I may even throw a video into the mix. Yes, an actual video. With all sorts of embarassingly humiliating things. This is coming soon to a theater near you, so stay tuned.

Not for Sale

It's done. Fini. The ring is on my finger and I am officially off the market. Tanya asked me how it felt. I had to say it's all very mixed. The happiness is there, of course. In spite of everything else, and everything you read and hear about, there's always going to be a thread of hope and happiness and a wish that everything will smell like frankincense and myrrh.

More on this later...

It's going to be here

Every time I think of this place, I hear my divine mentor GTD's voice in my head. "Sta. Monica Beach Resort... because at Sta. Monica... at Sta. Monica... come to Sta. Monica Beach Resort, the place to be..." over and over, that lusciously modulated tone of hers, just drilling into your brain refusing to go away. She is the voice of Dumaguete after all; anything she says, we follow. We're programmed to do this. Her voice is inescapable.

Another memory: Illi and I, with his Sony Handycam. Bikini Open, in the late nineties. This girl in a yellow bikini, gyrating in front of his camera for all posterity, and the girl didn't know what a tampon was.

Final memory: my aunt Rowelda had her wedding here. I remember her motif was green.

I never thought it would be here... I can just see Chuck and Illi raising their eyebrows, going "whaaat?!". Between you and me, I think it's just the GTD voice going over and over in our heads. We've fought against the lure for so long, and I'm succumbing. All that aside, it's a very picturesque place.

Party this Saturday!

What does it all mean?

So now the world knows I'm getting married ("world" being my workplace). I have personally never had so much congratulations in my life, I got congratulated less when I graduated fifth honorable mention. Truth! (yes, elementary allowed me to graduate with the honors they give to students so their parents won't get mad at the establishment... I keed, I keed. It's great, eh? )

Anyway, congratulations. What does it really mean when they congratulate you for getting married? Why are they issuing congratulations? I've been mulling it over, and here are some possible hidden meanings:

1. Congratulations on being brave enough to shackle yourself to one single person for the rest of your life, world without end, ad infinitum.

2. Congratulations! You've officially gone nuts.

3. Congratulations, you've managed to sink your hooks into a human being and actually managed to convince the human being that you're worth staying with forever.

4. Congratulations, this is a feat that no ordinary mortal can achieve.

5. Congratulations, you've avoided old maid status.

6. Congratulations - we never thought it would happen.

7. Congratulations, I never thought you'd do this before I would.

8. Congratulations, you're not going to be lonely!

9. Congratulations, you can now have sexy times without skulking around and denying it!

10. Congratulations, I'm happy for you.

All in all, it's very weird to get congratulated. Is marriage an accomplishment after all? It's just strange. I don't mean to sound like an ungratefully paranoid brat, but seriously - sometimes I just wonder.

Coming Soon

I know this comes out next year, but it's pretty compelling. On that note, I now have the Smashing Pumpkins tune on heavy rotation. Brainwashing for the masses.

Disgust

"That is the burden of the thinking citizens: the bafflement of the ignorant."
- Jessica Zafra, No Plastic

I don't like a lot of people. I can only count a handful who have my utmost love and respect; I reserve my contempt for the rest of society.

It's easy to be a reservoir of disdain in this city. Liars. Mooches. Thieves. Hustlers. Otap vendors. Schmucks. Bitches. Good-for-nothing toadies. They're all around; they're a hodge-podge of milling humanity and sometimes just thinking about it makes me want to d run through the whole mob screaming at the top of my lungs and brandishing a flamethrower.

Sometimes I think I should be nicer. Sometimes I think I should care more. Just when I convince myself to "geeb chance to ahders" something comes along and shoves the rough end of the short stick up the butt of that idea.

Like, for instance, where I live. For the longest time people have been sneaky-cooking (sneaky-cooking means quietly cooking rice in their quiet little rice cookers in their quiet little rooms), sneaky-humping (which means quietly dragging complete strangers into their rooms and proceeding to not be quiet) and sneaky-mooching (late-night refrigerator burglars who steal lumps of peanut butter from someone else's stash).

I have a problem with dishonesty. I know how to be dishonest, I'm just incapable of 24/7, 100% dishonesty all the time. I'd implode. Truth is, I tell the truth most of the time. My life is on the table, for your dissection. Please, have at it. So I don't sneaky-cook. I don't sneaky-mooch. If I want to cook something, I take out my little hot pot and cook something.

For the longest time a neighbor of mine has had a stove. She's been cooking with it, not too sneakily. So I finally get one, and cook myself a proper breakfast, and lo and behold - that very afternoon, Miss Dried Up Old Prune of a Landlady decides to officially tell everyone to stop cooking or face a P1,000 fine. Right, that's going to work. Right next to the P500 fine for anyone who drags the opposite sex into their rooms. Not. Working.

I blame the maid. I'm angry.

Incentive

My family plays it. I grew up playing it, though I went on an extended hiatus (which continues to this day). My brother is gung-ho about it. My grandfather played it. My dad and his brothers were champions in their individual age levels.

Alright, alright. Here are some more reasons why tennis is imminently watchable:

Janko Tipsarevic









Marcos Baghdatis











Marat Safin

Wimby!

(written during the height of Wimbledon 2008 fever)

Before I die, I want to go to at least one tennis grand slam event.

I've spent the last few days holed up in my room watching Wimbledon '08. The fashion, the game, the tennis. I've never enjoyed a tournament the way I've enjoyed this one.

Rafael Nadal incessantly picks at his butt, and when he bends over, you can hear the sound of a million women creating a drool tsunami. The man has a wonderful rump, seriously. And he delivers. Plus he's sweet. I hope he's not gay. He isn't my type, but knowing all that hotness is going to waste just breaks my heart.

I want to hit Roger Federer for never losing (people who win all the time incite envy, yes; they also incite boredom). By now I know he's lost Wimbledon 2008 - despite Gavin Rossdale rooting for him 100% - and I'm actually happy Rafa pulled it off. It's about time the Fed tasted a little losing on the grass court.

They say tennis is a gentleman's sport. My ass. It's gladiatorial. Full of showmanship, guts, emotion, screaming, pain, euphoria. The ball is a metaphor for your head, and your head is getting the crap knocked out of it. Watch the matches on Center Court - 15,000 cheering, screaming people watching you get your ass handed to you on beautiful green grass. It's civilized paganism at its best. I keep waiting for Roger Federer to hold up his racket and scream "Are you not entertained?!?!" at the crowd.

Dry Spell

I'm alive. And kicking. I've missed blogging but haven't found the time to do it as often as I have before. So many things have happened. I'm currently in the middle of raising the next crop of "Nikka's Hos" and from experience I barely get time to breathe.

Wish I could do this at work. Damn SurfControl.

Now Playing

I just realized I left my poddie's cable back in Dumaguete. Aargh!!! I want to get this song ASAP!!!! Darnit darnit darnit.