Current mood: Grateful ^_^
Living proof: I have this goofy fur ball to come home to.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
1...2...3...4...
Somewhere in this great world, I met this great guy who noticed that this lady was a big ball of greatness. So in exchange for the thousands of hugs, kisses and overall comfort he brought into her life, and still is bringing, she made this cheesy-ball out of love and madness.
Side note: Many thanks to the great guy who believed I was worth loving a thousand times over.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Who's tying the knot?
I am. In two years time, I definitely am.
Yes, I am engaged. And I'm out for words to tell you how it happened.
Yes, I am engaged. And I'm out for words to tell you how it happened.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The four-legged member of the family
Last night, while I was watching my all-time favorite Ginebra, a tod came and stole my in-game moment away. You... you... obese dog! Canine invasion! Alert!
I'm not used with pets anymore, at the house I mean. We've never had four-legged heroes/heroines lurking around with a wagging tail, an irritating bark, a vibrant soul, some sharp razor-like teeth, and a peeing-pooping thing in one. The closest we've come this last decade was a fish. And fishes don't bark, nor do they meow. They just swim around the tank, silently. Fishes don't try to snap you out of what you're busy with if they ever need food, sleep or a scratch. But don't get me wrong, I love that wagging tail popping around like some waving black balloon in the sky. I'm just saying that the intruder has perfectly disarrayed my life - my day off to be exact.
She gave me a nice heads up last night, or at least that's what I believe. I think I earned some honor from her for letting her sleep on my bed, scratching all over things, staging a scene, exploring the horizons as if she were sight-seeing. Lakwatserang aso. I think she pretty much did everything at the bedroom last night (except for the pooping thing, thank heavens).
So since I practically knew nothing about dogs (except that they shouldn't be fed chocolates), I am trying to Google out stuffs in attempt to understand the canine community. And for the time being, I think she'll just be the stinky dog that's gonna be my bedmate until we know how to carefully bathe her. Until then...
Side note: Before getting this post published, my Dada said she'd sleep at their room from now on. I was like 'Why?' But then, at least I don't get to do the clean-the-poop and dish-the-pee part. Plus, at least the parents will have someone to divert attention to whenever their kids are out dating or whatever. ^_^
I'm not used with pets anymore, at the house I mean. We've never had four-legged heroes/heroines lurking around with a wagging tail, an irritating bark, a vibrant soul, some sharp razor-like teeth, and a peeing-pooping thing in one. The closest we've come this last decade was a fish. And fishes don't bark, nor do they meow. They just swim around the tank, silently. Fishes don't try to snap you out of what you're busy with if they ever need food, sleep or a scratch. But don't get me wrong, I love that wagging tail popping around like some waving black balloon in the sky. I'm just saying that the intruder has perfectly disarrayed my life - my day off to be exact.
She gave me a nice heads up last night, or at least that's what I believe. I think I earned some honor from her for letting her sleep on my bed, scratching all over things, staging a scene, exploring the horizons as if she were sight-seeing. Lakwatserang aso. I think she pretty much did everything at the bedroom last night (except for the pooping thing, thank heavens).
So since I practically knew nothing about dogs (except that they shouldn't be fed chocolates), I am trying to Google out stuffs in attempt to understand the canine community. And for the time being, I think she'll just be the stinky dog that's gonna be my bedmate until we know how to carefully bathe her. Until then...
 |
| Here goes Haw, my little bro's dachshund/Chiqui to Mama and Dada |
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Feed me: The Birthday Wish List
Reading has always been my first love. I barge into every bookstore there is, amidst the hustles in my life, in search for good reads. True enough, there had been plenty. I bought book after book, trying to rekindle with the lost hobby. Far from being a hobby, it's now my desired collection of sorts. So if you are reading this and if it hits you that my birthday's coming up, you may want to add your book choice to my collection. Consider it a donation for my craving heart who needs to be fed stories.
Thursday tear-jerker
Last Saturday, I did a round to my well-loved NBS. Although I plead with myself to not step a foot on that red store because I know I'm not exiting there empty-handed. At that time, I thought to myself how my feet jerked me around, suddenly taking it upon itself to desire a life of its own and lure me in.
Since my book collection had been dominated by Americans and English writers, it dawned on me that there's no greater love except to love thy own. For that, the Western invasion was on halt to give way to the Philippines' finests. There appeared a recent add to the shelf, it caught my eye (it being the only copy left) and I said to myself, "Quite an interesting cover." And like most people do, I peeked at the back, read, then suddenly lit up with a rotated crescent moon planted on my face. I was sold after reading the snippet, knowing that this Pam Pastor not only had great writing prowess, she's my colleague too.
Although I have this knack for Googling people out, she was an exception, only because I know I'd meet her one day, close enough to let her sign my copy. Until then, she will remain anonymous to me. I even wondered if I might have accidentally ran into her at the wash room, or maybe at the corridors. Oh, it didn't matter, I said to myself
Then, the gods (if it was ever plural), heard me. The chance encounter. The moment. I was frantically holding my book (well, technically it's her book) walking up to her station, and blurted the very common thing one says when you've never seen a person you've heard of.
I: "Pam Pastor?"
PP: Yes?
I: *says nothing, and by instinct, hands her my copy together with a Hello Kitty pen*
PP: What's your name?
I: "Jenna."
PP: How do you spell?
I: "J-e-double n-a."
PP: *strikes my lovely pen at my first ever grab-an-autograph-by-approaching-the-author moment*
She hands me my book back, while she was teased by her department colleagues about stuffs I need not mention because it wasn't necessary, that not being their moment. ^_^
The perky me went back to my corner, shedding a tear out of sheer joy of what had just happened. I then sat and read what she wrote for me. And to share how I adored her penmanship just the same as her message, here it is.
Since my book collection had been dominated by Americans and English writers, it dawned on me that there's no greater love except to love thy own. For that, the Western invasion was on halt to give way to the Philippines' finests. There appeared a recent add to the shelf, it caught my eye (it being the only copy left) and I said to myself, "Quite an interesting cover." And like most people do, I peeked at the back, read, then suddenly lit up with a rotated crescent moon planted on my face. I was sold after reading the snippet, knowing that this Pam Pastor not only had great writing prowess, she's my colleague too.
Although I have this knack for Googling people out, she was an exception, only because I know I'd meet her one day, close enough to let her sign my copy. Until then, she will remain anonymous to me. I even wondered if I might have accidentally ran into her at the wash room, or maybe at the corridors. Oh, it didn't matter, I said to myself
Then, the gods (if it was ever plural), heard me. The chance encounter. The moment. I was frantically holding my book (well, technically it's her book) walking up to her station, and blurted the very common thing one says when you've never seen a person you've heard of.
I: "Pam Pastor?"
PP: Yes?
I: *says nothing, and by instinct, hands her my copy together with a Hello Kitty pen*
PP: What's your name?
I: "Jenna."
PP: How do you spell?
I: "J-e-double n-a."
PP: *strikes my lovely pen at my first ever grab-an-autograph-by-approaching-the-author moment*
She hands me my book back, while she was teased by her department colleagues about stuffs I need not mention because it wasn't necessary, that not being their moment. ^_^
The perky me went back to my corner, shedding a tear out of sheer joy of what had just happened. I then sat and read what she wrote for me. And to share how I adored her penmanship just the same as her message, here it is.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
2-0-1-1
The year 2010 had been one of the most fulfilling years for me, life-wise. My life took turns and wonders, and still emerged from the deep waters just fine, undrowned.
So I did exactly what I was doing on the eve of New Year a year back today, in hopes to get the same victorious result. As the clock striked 00:00 hour, I was frantic, screaming my lungs out while going gaga over when to leap, or how high. Yes, I am still hopeful that by jumping, I will grow an inch taller or maybe more.
Come 00:30 hours, we started with our Media Noche, with NO hot chocolates in tea cups this time. If I had known there wasn't any, I would've made one myself. However, I didn't want my year to start off with rants and the game of pointing fingers, so I settled with what's available - water. I was full in a matter of twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes after washing the dishes and cleaning the table, I was sound asleep, or at least I hope I was, considering that the neighbors still wanted to scare the shit out of me off their unending fire-cracker-infested salubong.
Next year, I'm going to do the exact same thing I did this New Year. I'd still buy a dozen donuts for the bilog-bilog things you collect for the coming year, and still wear polka dots just because. I won't change how I leap and what I eat.
I may have missed it this year, but I'm definitely going to have hot chocolate on my tea cup next year.
So I did exactly what I was doing on the eve of New Year a year back today, in hopes to get the same victorious result. As the clock striked 00:00 hour, I was frantic, screaming my lungs out while going gaga over when to leap, or how high. Yes, I am still hopeful that by jumping, I will grow an inch taller or maybe more.
Come 00:30 hours, we started with our Media Noche, with NO hot chocolates in tea cups this time. If I had known there wasn't any, I would've made one myself. However, I didn't want my year to start off with rants and the game of pointing fingers, so I settled with what's available - water. I was full in a matter of twenty minutes. Fifteen minutes after washing the dishes and cleaning the table, I was sound asleep, or at least I hope I was, considering that the neighbors still wanted to scare the shit out of me off their unending fire-cracker-infested salubong.
Next year, I'm going to do the exact same thing I did this New Year. I'd still buy a dozen donuts for the bilog-bilog things you collect for the coming year, and still wear polka dots just because. I won't change how I leap and what I eat.
I may have missed it this year, but I'm definitely going to have hot chocolate on my tea cup next year.
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