I Love You (too) Long Time

Curly: You only dated for 2 weeks so does he really count?

Officemate: (in the middle of crying over her own ex) 2 weeks? Is that enough time to have invested anything?

breakups while you wait

The problem with relationships that last as long as a blink of an eye is that everyone assumes that the grieving process will be just as quick. Everyone thinks that - even the dumpee.

The day after he broke up with me, I woke up in tears but calmed myself with the thought that I'd only be sad for a maximum of 3 days. And so, every time I felt a breakdown coming, I always started the crying fest with a vocal reassurance to myself and my friends that come Thursday, the drama will be cold and dead and buried.

Cut to 3 months later. Everyone thinks I'm long over him but -surprise, surprise- I am not.
I hide it because I feel stupid. HOW!? can I still be affected? HOW?! can I still care for him? HOW?! can I still cry at the Ortigas-Lanuza stoplight whenever I hear The Script play?

The shame doubles whenever friends begin to joke about how short-lived we were and how lucky I am to be rid of such a jerk. I laugh and agree as if it's the funniest thing ever but I don't really mean it.

But I'll keep laughing until I do.



photo from: http://www.photobooth.net/mt/archives/2007/08/05/oc_6.jpg

All Balled Up

I screamed as if my life depended on it. My heart was in my dry dry dry throat, my eyes were bulging out of their sockets as my stomach twisted into infinite knots. Knots - it's such a cliche but one of the truer ones. It felt as if a boyscout practiced with my guts.


But still, I screamed, in the hopes that decibels would generate points and blocks and rebounds and true-to-life Space Jam miracles. But all it did was deafen my seatmates.
As the shot clock dwindled to zero, I could hear the boys' hearts shatter. Our office basketball team lost. 78-76.

We went up to our players, squeezed their sore arms, patted their sweaty backs and told them the perfunctory "It's okay." But both fan and player knew as they nodded meekly to each other that it was far far far from okay. Both knew that if it were socially acceptable to start throwing benches, punching walls, and tearing off referees' heads - both would be doing just that.
Because failing at something you've put so much of yourself into is never ever okay.
And yes, even if it's "just" a game.

Don't worry boys...it's not okay now but give it some time and it will be.





above photo from http://media.collegepublisher.com/media/paper849/stills/t55emqq1.jpg

Short Skirts

I am a big fan of dresses. I think it is the easiest way to look like you cared about your appearance - even if you really did not. I love how I can just slip them on, slip into black flats and voila! I am ready to recklessly zigzag through traffic to slip into the office (barely) on time.



Today, I woke up pretty early and was about to take a quick shower when
oh look! breakfast! oh look! baby! oh look! Sesame Street!
By the time I rid myself of all distractions, I was already an hour late for work.

Without thinking or looking, I grabbed a dress from my closet, pulled it quickly over my head as I started wriggling my feet into my most high-heeled boots (because heels can also fake a lot of things).

I hobbled into the office at 10:30am, an apologetic smile pasted on my face..and the first sentences I hear as I pull out my chair were...

G: So where's the date?

B: Sinong ka-date mo mamaya? Gwapo ba, ikli ng skirt e! (Who's your date for later? He must be good-looking judging from your hemline.)

Chair in mid-pull, I grinned and self-consciously clickety-clacked into the ladies' room to look at what the heck it was I had put on.

My dress is as long as hers.

To be fair, the clothes I have on are doing a fine job of concealing the nanoseconds I took to dress up BUT they are doing a very horrible job of concealing my thighs.



Beginning to regret my outfit? Not really. The length of my top..errr..dress may almost be NSFW. But it' seems that dress length is indirectly proportional to the amount of compliments received. Let's just say, I am raking it in and I am far from bothered.
In fact, all the attention is beginning to make me feel vampy. LOL.



What I am beginning to mind is my lack of a date for tonight.

Everyone is assuming there must be a man behind the hem, when really all that's behind this dress is me. And really is it such a waste if it is just me?

she's alone and in a dress but she doesn't seem to mind at all.

If tonight, as I skip though town, my dress and I manage to bait us a boy then yey!

But if it does not, my dress and I will be utterly fine welcoming the weekend, just the 2 of us.

Besides, the less people there are, the less need there is to share my vodka.

Babies and Baby Fat

*picture from http://bioliscious.blogspot.com/2008/04/unit-iv-compendium.html

In the course of two days, I have fallen deeply and madly in love.
His name is Vincent and he can never be mine. I know he will leave me and that his affection for me will never equal the affection he feels for the woman who left him. He is going to hurt me but it doesn't matter - I love him. And there is nothing you can say that can change it.
I love love love my little 1-year-old boy.


Vincent is our family's foster child. My mom and dad agreed to help him out while complicated and confidential things about his parents are sorted out. We know that the chance he will grow up with us is slim but it is next to impossible not to get to attached to this amazing boy.

He has made my arm muscles sore from all the carrying but I do not mind. Lord knows my body needs the exercise.

My mom has gently been trying to tell me I need to lose some weight. And although that usually drives me nuts, she's so right that there's no room to be offended. The past few months have seen me growing bigger. Thing is, I know I'm fat but can't seem to bring myself to care. Which says great things about my confidence level but bodes very badly for my vital stats.

I think my ladida-ness may be because there's no one I want to impress. I have bowed out of the dating scene a few months ago and am not really in the hurry to go find a boy I can seduce with a Red Light Special striptease - hence the lack of pressure to be Red Light presentable. (I still have cute underwear though. :P clothes are clothes and they should always be cute.)


However, I do need new shorts. I have spent the week trying some on and have so far found 3 pairs I really love but can't wriggle into despite grabbing the largest available size. And boys or no boys, I think it is sad that my legs have to be trapped in jeans just because I don't fit into shorts.

This is the part where I grudgingly admit that diet and exercise have got to make a reappearance. Vincent being my step one to having amazing new arms.