A Shoutout to the Sibs

My youngest cutest six year old baby brother Miggy graduated from pre-school yesterday.
If they actually had an honors system, the kid would've been valedictorian, i think.
He perfects his exams, he endears his teachers, and he's essentially a very intelligent little boy.

persuasive:
"daddy, look, i have a new Hotwheels car that you can buy for me!"
[note how he doesn't ask if my dad will by it for him. he assumes that dad will buy it for him. which, as always, he does. ]

funny... well you have to be there to appreciate it:
"kuya, kuya, why did the giraffe cross the road?"
"why?"
"because it has a long neck!"

charming:
[to roomie joanne, when the fam came to visit me at zee dorm]
"aaaahhhh!!! it's a girl!! I'm allergic to girls!!!" *runs away from us screaming whilst joanne gushes that miggy is sooooo cute.*
and as a goodbye to said roommate,
"goodbye you naked molerat."

caring:
on the throes of breakup.
tin: "mommy, i miss "
mom: "It's okay, tin, go out and meet new guys."
miggy: "yeah, ate, you should really meet new guys.... wanna meet my classmates?"
[you know, i did get to meet his classmates. miggy dragged me to see their eat-glue while-sticking-popsicle-sticks-together bit.]


insightful:
on why he doesn't like me hugging him.
"ate, you see that? you see why I'm getting fat? It's because you keep on touching me!"
my mom says he dislikes my embrace because i squeeze him too much. I can't help it. he's chubby to the point of becoming the same feel and texture as a king size pillow.

The other man in the picture, who shall go nameless, is my other, more annoying brother. the one with the checkered shoe. the one who accuses me of looking like an RnB pop princess. He's finished school and hence was free to drive along with me daddy to see Miggy graduate. Leaving me here with my grumpy and evil grandma. FOR A WHOLE WEEKEND!

to the cute one: congratulations, I love you!
to the other one: I hate you.

NOT for the faint of mind

* * *
* * *bbzzzzt* ** ** *
*
* *
*aaah!* * *
* *
*poof!* *bang!* *bleeeeeeeaaaaccchhh!!!!* * *
*pfft.* *...telll... tell my mom i love her.... hgggghhhh...*
* * *you'll never take me aliiiivvveee!!! nevahhh!!!* *fizzle dizzle* * *
* * *
*oh bizzleboo*
* * * *

that my friends, is a representation of my brain cells. dying one by one.
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO THINK YOU'RE EXCEPTIONALLY GIFTED... THINK AGAIN!! take the test for exceptionally gifted people.
my little brother recommended it. and he was crying. after it. and he says that the test made his IQ points drop. I didn't even get as far as the fourth question man!! I am THAT dumb...
in fac, i use to think i was a geniuous. that i coud simpliply things and not compliply them. the test frostated me.
-----> i am spelling wrong. not a good sign.

Either drummer, singer, or groupie at the worst

In the car, listening to the rock station on the radio, I suddenly heard the song "Dehado" by my friend Jaimar's band. Their lead, Iiko, was my classmate in both Math and Archaeology and she used to sing to us in class, guitar in tow. Now they've gotten airtime and sound damn rockin good! Maybe because (a) they really are good. which they are. or (b) iiko failed to give that annoying intro before said song proclaiming the song "ay para sa mga singgel dyan." Singgel. Single she meant.

I felt such a thrill knowing that in some little way their band has made it. Airwave penetration or otherwise. and i felt so proud. my little stickboy friend jaimar's drumming his way to quasi stardom. awwww....!!!

and it got me thinking of how nice it would be to be part of some little band, playing at big concert, shaking my thang like Aya of Imago did at the UP fair. as if i can sing. or dance, for that matter. (despite what ABS-CBN talent scouts might say. i can't dance.)
or maybe rocking out to my hypothetical guitar, jumping up and down in the air, and having the satisfaction of putting up my guitar in the air triumphantly at the end of a wailing solo, all to a screaming and adoring crowd slash mosh pit. like Jorel (i love you i love you i love you you marshmallow like man) of Kjwan did at their concert. but i can't play the guitar. rodel, hon, you tried to teach me but i couldn't really get what you were trying to explain. What's the F chord again?? *exasperation*
or maybe drumming. with magenta drumsticks that glow in the dark. and doing that fast impressive thing that gets your back worked up and your good sweat pouring. like the dude in Kamikazee does. but, the closest i've been to an actual drum set is at high school cheering practice when i was an emcee to a semi-concert. Ahaha! norvy going: "can you take me high-ah! *tenenenenen* to a playsh whea blin men sheee!

so anyway, i just always felt envious of the adrenaline-bound, raise-yer-goblet-of-rawk high that the band members get after a good set. it's like they're part of an exclusive little club that no one else can understand. and how fun it must be to have people in a trance like state to your music, i mean god, condom balloons flying in the air, people getting into brawls and hand-to-hand combat as you're singing! hmmm... maybe that's more scary than flattering but you know what I mean.

if anything, it's the crave for music that gets them going.
but like i always say, if i were a musician I'd do it for the FANS. hehehehe.
*i love you all! bili kayo ng CD namin out na. Kristine and the others! Salamat!*

naked in me poncho, sexy in me skirt

What Would Jesus Wear? I asked myself.
The cynical, slightly blasphemous part of me said: "Jesus would have worn the standard-issue brown leather strappy sandals, if they were available. For walking on water, none at all. Jesus would have also worn the standard issue tunic, and depending on its availablity, could have worn extra robes and sashes of different colors. Preferably white to keep cool amidst the sweltering Jerusalem heat. So. In keeping healthy, happy, and following the right path, we strongly suggest you wear comfortable yet sturdy Jesus sandals and soft airy fabrics."
Perhaps it was from reading excerpts from the alleged bestseller, "What Would Jesus Eat?" I came across in the bookstore the other day under self-help. (Oh and if you're curious, Jesus ate olive oil and figs.)

Our wardrobe is vastly influenced by either of two things:
1_availability/ need issue and 2_socially constructed aesthetics.
The short and short of it is that what is available resource-wise becomes the norm and the clothing 'norm' affects how we dress ourselves. Should we not be able to afford the 'norm' (or if we don't prefer the norm); then we come out as offbeat dressers. The taunts and muffled laughs in our wake may or may not affect us.
Hopefully we won't care.
Generally we do.

The predominant color in my wardrobe, God forbid, is pink. The predominant item in my wardrobe is the miniskirt. The predominant need of said wardrobe (of which it is direly lacking) is the strapless bra. But before we digress towards the touchy issue of breasts and bosoms, I would like to relate this wardrobe subject to a very interesting albeit annoying question I've been asking myself since this semester began. "God. Why do I attract unwarranted attention from unwanted people?" -> The extent of my existentialist crisis, I know.

One day me and my friend Miggy were walking in a sporadic need to eat out at the Thai canteen and just talk. As we were approaching said canteen, jeepneys and trucks kept on slowing down beside me and honking. The worst scene involving a jeepney driver actually winking suggestively at me. Miggy was laughing. I was fuming. "Why's that Miggy? Why do I attract laborers?" Thinking that the world was indeed a wrong, wrong place. (Not that there's anything wrong with laborers so hold that revolt for another time for when I'm really edgy.) Very calmly, in a zen-like manner, he says, "[My child,] it is your fault." Well, he didn't say "my child" but it sounded as if he wanted to. I asked him why and he said, whilst giving me a full-body once-over, "You dress provocatively."
I... WHAT???!!
"Well," he said with a customary tilt of his handsome head,"Pink shirt. Miniskirt. What do you expect?" On to the premise that what is enticing is the exposure of flesh. Well, my mom wears shorts out, she doesn't get ocularly harrassed!
In another instance, remotely related to the point I am trying to press involved my brother. Apparently his friends sometimes offhandedly comment on me and my appearance. "Pare, pag nakikita ko yung ate mo lagi siyang naka-skirt." "You know, she doesn't look like she likes rock. It's hard to tell from her appearance that she likes that kind of music." This is the part where my little brother says, "Ate kasi. You look like a friggin RnB pop princess." This from the man who spent a fortune on yellow checkered slip-ons that strike me as a racecar flag gone loafer.

So, there are two answers to my question.
1) I dress provocatively and,
2) Apparently, I am an RnB pop princess.
First let me defend my choice of clothing. I like pink because it flatters my skin tone. And two, I like minsikirts because...well, i don't know why. Oddly, they make me feel comfortable. Perhaps because they're airy. And because, practically, I'm running out of jeans. So. Should I want to feel unwanted and ignored by everyone, it would probably be best if I start wearing ponchos and baggy overalls, preferably in black. That way, I would satisfy the requirements:
1_I am not provocative. In fact, my poncho makes me sweat profusely,giving off a sickly pungent stench that would keep away people within a five-mile radius. And
2_ I like rock. Pare. Black. Dude. Rock. Astig.

At the expense of committing some stereotypical mistakes and hasty generalizations throughout the course of my rant, I hereby attest to the sheer patheticitude of the shallow and perverse depths I would go to for such a trifling matter as the way I dress. Perhaps if the poncho idea wouldn't work, I am back to wondering what Jesus would wear. Initially, I figured Jesus would never be harrassed by men. Not to mention camel drivers, oh no not those. I also figured, that those tunics are semi-miniskirt-like in form. Jesus must have had nice legs then.Of course, Jesus had lots of attention. Just not ones that involved people wanting to see up his tunic.