Braising my Beef

thanks to my mother’s genes, my nose looks like ive had it done. well, for the most part, i get compliments for it in the philippines (being the world’s capital for having bridge implants for the nose) and here in new york, its just one of those noses. although it has been pretty helpful in making most people second guess my ethnicity.

i have no complaints about its appearance. i complain about it for its sheer plumbing troubles. i sneeze more than enough and i always have it runny whenever i stay up too late (unless im out drinking, because alcohol dehydrates you). i am always the first one to catch the dreaded cold.

dust alone can kill me because of my allergies, and lets not even get into the spring pollen. claritin barely helps, too!

then there’s my throat. (insert 2 sneezes here) lee and i think that sore throats are the taurean curse. we get it every season (sometimes more than four a year) and mine always go haywire and follow up with a fever, a cold and an annoying cough! argh.

i totally hate it. haaacho.

*of course, this is inspired my current sore throat.

thanks to aggie’s short trip to manila, i now own ronnie’s first album. (which is now blaring gently from my ghetto cd player/alarm clock)

i miss the nights when ronnie and i would meet up for drinks for a round or two or three. (usually a round of 5, because he doesnt drink in even numbers) i love drinking with him because the stuff we talk about is great, and discussing life in general (mostly our lovelives) is never boring — even if we talk about it in circles.

i miss the days when we fill ourselves with a whole load of persian food. keema, kebabs, shawarma, brains… and the bottles of san miguel. i love drinking with him because he never orders san mig light– thus diminishing the image of me being a drunkess. of course, we always drink for taste first and numbing effect second.

if anything, one of the best things he did for me was his unwavering support of drowing my fears of undergoing a minor operation. literally, that was what we did. we drank FOUR DAYS STRAIGHT before my operation.

on a weird thought, we went to boracay and dragged sol and nikki with us. my first grand vacation spending my own money and first trip to the heavenly white sands. (since then, the ronster got addicted to sun, sand, surf and cold beer all at the same time.)

and then i moved to new jersey, then new york.

i still look for the same kind of company, with the same kind of alcohol consumption. having met a load of people here, i dont think i’ll find a substitute.

maybe i should just set up a blue ketchup fans club new york chapter.

i have this weird compulsion to pick up anything and read it. somehow, this baffles my coworker as i usually finish my boss’ current issue of fortune small business whenever he is out of the office.

as it was long overdue to do some food shopping, i found myself in the supermarket buying ingredients for the sweet, red and hotdoggy filipino spaghetti. (i always make mine ultra authentic. the hotdogs i use are red. mwahahaha)

of course this wasnt an unconscious decision, but it was one craving pushed by lovable don, tessio and clemenza.

i have been reading mario puzo’s the godfather, and i definitely enjoy the book. this to me is quite a shock because it took me a week to finish the dvds — i kept falling asleep.

and it is with this book, in the scene where after the don gets shot, tessio and clemenza sat in the kitchen eating spaghetti and mopping up the sauce with bread, as if nothing happened.

living in new york and reading up on the don, i find out very interesting things. first off, clemenza loves patsy’s. patsy’s is an italian restaurant on 59th and 3rd ave, near the roosevelt island tram. (there are more patsy;s around, but i like imagining this location as his fave).

do you remember where michael corleone killed Sollozzo and McCluskey? it was set in a restaurant in the bronx. interestingly enough, i passed by the little italy in the bronx just last weekend, and i get excited with the idea of it happening there. (its a couple of blocks off fordham university) it seemed all too cool. mafioso even.

maybe i should take a trip down there. you know, look for the place where McCluskey sat eating his veal and spaghetti not knowing that it was gonna be his last mind blowing meal, thanks to mikey.

if you have never seen eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, then you should see it. i highly recommend it.

it is about erasing the memories of your past.

i wonder if erasing my past is good or bad. sometimes i do, but most of the times i dont. sometimes i just forget without even trying.

a lot of times you will hear me saying things that interest me over and over again. something i do to never forget, something i do to always remember.

and sometimes i write. (but i have stopped doing so because i have discovered that i keep censoring things in the fear that what i write may be invalidated somewhere else. i have, with this fear, learned to stop pouring myself out and just write about things that are mundane or sometimes rhetoric. never special, never the stuff that sends the warm fuzzies.)

after seeing this movie, i wonder. if i dont write about the fuzzies, will i be able to forget about them right away? (maybe i would. i guess in that manner, moving on wont be so hard?)

is keeping everything private good?

some would agree and others would disagree. i would, to a certain miniscule degree agree but for the most part, i disagree. i notice that the less i know, the less i share.

maybe if i keep everything private, everything will just automatically invalidate itself. my world will be perfect, and spotless.

eternal sunshine is attractive.

i never had my own room until i lived in sri lanka (i was 22) and until i got my own place in new york.

i grew up living with a maid, and i never ever ever tidied up my stuff.

i am now complaining about the mess around me — well, for the most part, my room.

those who have lived with me in the same house, would somehow attest to the fact that i will keep everything in place, EXCEPT MY STUFF. how i ALWAYS keep the kitchen spic and span (thanks to tita jing) and how i can organize other people’s pantries except mine.

my room is always a warzone. with its prominent non-girly furnishings save for my pink hello kitty dvd player and my articles of clothing, one would surmise that indeed, a boy lives in my room. the mess is something that i cannot even fathom.

my mom used to complain and ask at the same how i can stand the mess. simple. i turn a blind eye. keep the mess on the floor and stay on the bed and watch tv. with the mess out of sight, i dont get irritated. hahahaha.

after my moving experiences (changed apartments three times last year), i have come to the following conclusions — to reduce my capability of making a mess:

1. have enough storage space for your revolving stock of everything. dont even bother making extra storage space to store your off season clothing. if you have everything in sight, then you wont forget about those sexy pair of shoes.

2. grip, stand, throw. the trash can or the salvation army is your best friend. throw everything you have no intentions of using.

3. stop buying. my general mantra is "kalat lang yan." if you dont need it, dont buy it.

4. have a money jar. if you have pennies lying around or coming out of your pockets put them in the jar. this keeps all singularly useless currency out of your way and keeps them all together in one place. i have accumulated $200.00 for just keeping them together. (i read in the paper that one guy got 13grand after collecting them in steel drums.)

of course i dont follow my own advice. (save for the money jar, of course.)

ive been spending the past two days toiling over the company financial report — i must say, ive done well, i am, according to my calculations 80% accurate. as with the other 20? fuck that. ive been slaving and i cant find some 600bucks of excess.

as i was computing the company’s millions in my miniscule fraction of his wealth apartment, i downloaded my pictures from my chicago trip.

due to the miniscule 4:3 screen on my digital cam, i thought all the pictures i took were fantabulous. lo and behold, and i sadly admit the two signs that no vanishing cream can.

1. i am getting fat.
2. i am getting old.

i take pride in my 12 year old looks (okay fine, 16!) and i still get carded sometimes, but now that i look at my chicago pictures, i feel a wee bit of sadness. my independence has finally taken its toll on my face.

with all the worrying, i think i look my age. ARGH. which is a big difference to my halloween pics from last year (see blog main picture).

i still fear the big three-o, but if im gonna look it, damn. I FRIGGIN HATE IT.

as for the getting fat…

i have honestly admitted to hating the weight gain. trust me, i really never went on a diet, and i still have no plans of doing so.

but im feeling the need to wear a weebit bigger size jeans.

that is NOT A GOOD SIGN. ive been wearing same size jeans since college and i intend to keep it.

fine. im gonna walk it off. and maybe do some yoga.

i just got back from my minibreak at the windy city with pauline, and i must say, getting out of the big apple is always good.

not that i havent been going out of it. im just all too happy to leave the state on a jet plane, you know.

i seriously cannot recall what i did on the last 4th of july. i think i went to NJ to beach with lee or probably was helping out sari on her shoot, or gallavanting the streets of new york with lyle. or was it jay i? oh man, i cant remember! hahahahaha.

(not that i dont treasure whatever transpired during that american holiday, its just that i never gave any importance on the fourth.)

one of the things i really hate about the holidays is the fact that my family is back home. i have no fourth of july tradition to speak of. to me, any holiday is as good as any weekend — only better with the additional 24 hours of doing nothing.

one thing i notice about long weekends here in the united states is the constant family gatherings during long weekends. the absence of mine makes the holidays less important.

i hated myself during memorial day weekend for not making any plans to do anything. i hated the fact that some of that time was spent doing my laundry.

i actually feel jealous of people who spend time with their parents.

i love the fact that i didnt allow myself to be grounded in new york.

and even if im dead tired of the flight and shuttling back and forth, im already researching on my next trip. i cant wait until labor day.

maybe i’ll go to california? i dont know. still checking if my finances will allow it.

one thing im trying to make certain. im gonna travel on every long weekend possible. fincances and weather permitting.

im not going to allow my holidays to be spoiled with my loneliness. nor will i allow my laundry to interfere with it.

from this day on, im gonna plan my long weekends.