Ain't No Rash Wanton

Today and other confessions

Today

Today, I wore all black at rehearsal. Nothing new, really. Except that I realized that I should have worn a scarf. I usually do that, and missing that detail kinda bothers me. Where is my fashion sense going? To black?

Well everyone wore black at rehearsal. Three people even wore the same shirt. You know what they say about like minds. You think they're there to serve you. Or dance, which everyone did anyway.

On my way to rehearsal, I spotted a neatly dressed boy, probably still in high school, as it must have been his uniform that he was wearing. When I say "neat," I mean both "neat" as in "clean" and "neat" as in "cool."

Standing in front of the wall that demarcates the boundary between McDonald's and Mightee Mart, he was wearing his white short sleeved shirt, which had a school patch on the left breast. His black pants weren't so much of a tight fit, but you can tell that the tailor made no mistake in his measurements. His shoes were polished (POLISHED). He had and ID or two hanging from his neck, and a small-ish backpack was hanging from behind his, well, back. He had a hat on, which was a white and black straw woven fedora. He looked pretty cool.

He was smoking, and he was standing his ground while going at it. He wasn't shifting his weight, nor did he look like he was waiting for something or someone. It was as if he was standing there just because he can wear his uniform with a subtle flair that he owns effortlessly.

Today and Work

I didn't do much today. Well, the interview I was supposed to schedule happened abruptly. I wasn't exactly a nervous wreck, nor was my interviewee. I didn't expect the interviewee's availability. We talked about the Ondoy relief effort, and how parents would send their children to volunteer. She did mention that the first few days were a chaotic operation until high school and college kids came. She said that it was the youth that actually helped create a system. I think that that's interesting.

Today and Reading

I vegged out the rest of the day. I wasted my time on tv. It sucks to have to do that. It really does. Anthony Bourdain is probably despising me for staying stuck on page 110 (I'm reading Kitchen Confidential) until today.

I'd like to think that I appeased him for managing to reach page 113 while commuting. He's at the Rainbow Room, chilling with Gianni, the pastry chef.

Mr. Bourdain has a mysterious temper, I think. He seems hard to please, but quite something to work for.

Today and My Body's Confession

2 am and I'm hungry. There is a spot on the Hallmark Channel that talks about how getting enough sleep helps weight loss. It is kinda getting noticeable about how I blog about food a lot. And my sleep cycle is pretty much effed up. I must be doomed.

Yesterday, I was woozy, feeling generally weak, and my body felt like I had something attached to the back of my head, my back, and my feet. My period is there, and it's the only explanation why I'm hungry, sentimental, a tad moody, and generally feeling like crap. The dreams I've been having are crazy. A lot of hiding coupled with a base desire to escape. That's the theme. It's the plot of my dreams that are disturbing.

Yesterday, I hadn't showered until late at night. That totals 48 hours of not showering. Why this was allowed was because I was just so tired. I was making an effort in promoting Treasure Island online, and I had to organize things for What Mag. I have an article to send hopefully tomorrow. I didn't want to leave my desk until I finish everything, but before I knew it, it was 8 pm and my mother called dinner late.

Today and a Butterscotch Brownie

Can I please talk about food? Oh well. No one can stop me anyway.

When Rod said that he was waiting at Starbucks, I took this as an opportunity to buy something sweet. The fruit at home was kinda bland on the sweet side, but eating healthy is a discipline.

Let us say that is purchasing a Butterscotch Brownie from Starbucks can be justified by the fact that I am aware of my sugar and my need for it: I was on my way to rehearsal anyway, and choreography is no laughing matter.

I packed a 16 oz. thermos with white tea (from Foo Joy) and decided that it'll go great with the butterscotch slice of joy.

My mother has been very forgiving about my eating habits. That could be because of one or two things:

a) I am not home most of the week, or

2) I have actually lost some weight

Mom's food splurging habits are based on cravings that she know she'll have, but won't have until the expiration date (which is about 86% fluff, my estimate). Also, her cooking habits are based on who is at home. Rehearsal takes away family dinners so the sinigang, tinola, pochero and the like are missing.

So I have an idea. I'll bake. I'll make my own butterscotch brownies. I'll make them tweaked from a US Navy standard.

And then I'll have tea. And I'll make some more. And I'll share.

Helping Myself

I watched Julie & Julia yesterday with the family. It's basically two stories in one movie, and of the two settings, I found myself nostalgic about 2002. I was nostalgic about the following: 1) Starting a blog (In 2003) 2) Julie Powell's old Vaios The joy of being read, followed, or receiving a comment is as real as any other joy in life. Julie was the one whom everyone thought would be a best selling author but ended up in a cubicle. Julia had turned into a diplomat's wife, and was wanting something to do. She spent 8 years writing and compiling recipes, and it was 8 years well spent. I've been blogging for 6 years. It's an on-again, off-again thing with the internet. Looking back on the six years, I can say that I've written pretty interesting stuff. In fact, there were times when I wanted to get to know me better. The thing is, I'm supposed to be a writer, but I'm not doing anything more than what I'm already doing. I'd like to say that I'll try to write a blog everyday. Posting something here isn't enough. Wish me luck. ~~~ In other news... I've been sucking at being a girl lately. A lot of people know that my monthly girly thing doesn't happen as monthly as it should be. It's great for about two or three months, but when the time comes...it's horrible. For instance right now I feel woozy. There is a light headache at somewhere along the edge of the back of my head reaching just before my temples. I feel a bit bloated. Whenever I want something to eat, it's because I feel hungry in spite of the fact that I've already eaten. Chocolate marshmallow cake would be really nice right now though. There's this thing about friends too. Whenever this funk happens, I feel tremendously nostalgic and sentimental. I might feel over protective over someone, like I have the credence to talk about someone like an authorized biographer or a really close friend. I also feel the need to talk about them, be with them, eat with them, drink with them even. Yet all of this is fluff. It sucks that it's fluff. I can't imagine this happening to me every four weeks, but at least not in the magnitude I am currently experiencing. A doctor friend gave me conservative advise on how to go about this, in lieu of pills. "Get married," he said. If only that can happen TODAY so things would be right and legal and safe BY TONIGHT. Sex. It's so complicating. I'm at a loss for how to go about this woozy light-headed state. I almost feel like there's something lodged in my brain, my eyes, my back and my belly. Ice cream should do for now.

To curb hunger

So I feel like I'm having pregger cravings. It's 2:30 am, I ought to be in bed and I am feeling hungry. A light work out early this evening should prep me enough for a run of Treasure Island tomorrow. This weekend is going to be as if a lifetime, and allow me to sound snobby while I'm at it. My presence is needed at a benefit show on Friday evening. Hannah, my artistic protege, is performing her monologue in which she portrays Eve. I'd like to say I did a great job on her, but really, it's all her. She wrote the piece, she rehearsed for the past two weeks, and while we've been rehearsing, other kids have been wanting to watch. A few already know her piece word for word, like it's the coolest thing ever. Hannah will be competing next Sunday and I hope she gets first place. Before all that, I'll have to come from rehearsal, arrange living arrangements for the before-show-early-check-in-sleepover, and shop for food. The before-show-early-check-in-sleepovers also happen to be a theoretic exploration of what like would be like if we all lived together. Or if some of us lived together. It's sort of a given that Rod is our Ross and I'm the Monica, but really, there are days I feel like I'm as sporadic as Phoebe and as clueless as Rachel. Geminis are hard to figure out, really. If ever there is a need for an intimacy exercise, a before-show-early-check-in-sleepover will suffice. I've walked into a room just in a shirt and panties while the boys are having interesting conversation. Saturday anticipates a field day at the theater. You see, the people who lord it over the theater, or the people who care too much for their 9-5 jobs to actually see and understand and realize what it's like to set up EVERYTHING in six hours have no idea about the crap we all go through. So we're all hustling for a cue-to-cue rehearsal, set change adjustments, and a reinstalation of the lights. Hay que barbaridad. Later that evening, I'll be at a debutante party. Rod is one of the 18 roses, and I'm one of the VIP's, along with a lot of the theater gang (Act25 and TDS). Sunday forecasts as hope of a fat paycheck. Lord knows how Daryl was quiet and sullen with dismay when a show was canceled the last time we had a before-show-early-check-in-sleepover. I'll be playing a man pirate again, and after my off-stage marooning, I shall be sailor Daryl's sweetheart. My blocking requires me to flirt as I run up the stairs and settle myself in the middle as Daryl dazzles me. The audience may not notice it, but we will be talking about how much we need water, how much we so wanted to sign our paycheck, and not to mention how much Wendy's Frostee's we'll be having with Rod, who will be, at that ubiquitous moment, be known as Rodney. No one else will have license to call him that. Wow. This must be the life. It's one that I am not yet living, but already entrenched in. ~~~ I am revisiting Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. I'm sorry, Kam. I'll be rereading it before I return it to you. I am determined to return it to you by the end of the term. Believe it or not, I have a new batch of undergraduate friends. Anthony has a sexy literary voice. It's like it's undressing himself and then undressing the culinary world in all its sexy glory. I love how he describes his kitchen comrades as pirates. This may be because I am portraying one, but whatever. ~~~ I cannot reiterate how glad I am to be back blogging. On the other hand, I cannot help but notice that the articles I have yet to submit are in want of attention. I do vow to write every day. I must. ~~~ Speaking of artistic duties being in want, I miss my voice. Kasi hindi pinapagamit sa 'yo eh. Thanks for saying that, Daryl. And thank you, Mikey, for thinking that it's ridiculously boastful of me to go on "Expert vocals" on Rockband Beatles. There is no other way for the likes of me We so have to rokeoke. We'll own it the same way we own almost every restaurant space we patronize. ~~~ To those who can, Treasure Island is showing this Sunday at 3 pm at the Insular Life Theater, Filinvest Alabang. Check out www.theaterdownsouth.com for details. Pirates, and treasure, and adventure, oh my!

*Their* daughter

My dad is for the worst part hard to understand. I hardly ever know what makes him happy (a clean room), what makes him upset (things to clean, which is pretty much everything), or what makes him laugh (an irony I can't decipher?).

I'm pretty much like my dad, the same way I'm like my mom. I tend to do things on my own without asking for help (like cleaning at the condo or not saying "excuse me" while I'm at it). At the opposite of this respect, I am like my mom. I don't do things immediately and tend to leave things. Ever seen me walk around and look for something I've lost? That's Glenda right there. Ever seen me reason out to the high heavens about something? That's my mom yet again. My dad's communications skills are more argumentative in a dismissive sort of way: Ever heard me speak as if putting my foot down on something I seem to be claiming I have authority on? Hello dad.

I've had to freak out this afternoon about my dad. It was horrifying in two ways, and these two ways are realizations:

1. Oh my God, that IS how I get angry sometimes.

2. Oh my God, that DOES look scary.

Never mind what he did. It's all forgiven, and the funny thing about that was he says sorry the exact same way I sorry, which is the exact same way Rod and I talk: unrelated phrases. But I got dad. I was at least able to let a lot out to mom, and she was able to appeal to his mercy (Catholic sensibilities, that is you).

The great thing about all this is that at this point of my life, I am young enough to want to develop from here. God knows I have a temper. A few (and I mean a few) have seen this, but I know for sure that I wouldn't want that temper to be something I'd pass to my children, or even let them see on a daily basis enough to debilitate their own personalities.

My dad is hard to please. I hardly ever know what makes him happy aside from a made up bed. Like my dad, I can say that I am pretty much the same, except, it takes much less than a made up bed to make me smile.

I can't understand it

I've had a full dinner, ate while I was cooking, had a bowl of rice crispies and a mug of hot chocolate in the afternoon, and had beef and vegetables for lunch.

It's 2 am and I am still hungry.

As if that's not depressing...there isn't even much to munch on like bread or things like that. I have been away from the house for too long.

~~~

I've been home for about 48 hours now. Now that's a record. It's driving me crazy. I think Mimay's been feeling the same way. She texted and asked where I was. If only I was at Vivant and she'd drive there with a bottle of rum and strawberry C2's.

~~~

Looking at the mirror almost never fail me. There are vainer people than I am, but I have a pretty good image of myself yet things are looking great:

In spite of not having a shower or not combing my hair for the past two or three days, I've been looking awesome.

That plus the strange case of hunger must mean I'll be getting my period soon.

Why so public about it? It never happens as often as it should.

~~~

It's only now (and the past 48 hours or so) that I'm having separation anxiety. This may all stem to the said period, but I am definitely missing everyone.

~~~

I miss you. I miss all of you.