I’ve just officially become one of the people I used to dislike.

On more than several occasions in the past, I’ve always thought that light-colored hair does not sit well with dark skin. Hence, I’ve always secretly dissed those who choose such a radical hair color without first taking skin tone into consideration. However, after one decision made on impulse and without thought two days ago, I am now an undeniably-Asian-looking girl with blonde hair.

No, no, this is not part of my new "Live it up!" battlecry. This, uhm, condition, was brought about by recklessness and my tendency to do things on a whim and out of the blue.

I went to the parlor for a trim. I had decided I’m tired of my short hair and want it long again. Before shampooing, the stylist asked what haircut I wanted. As he inspected my hair, he commented, "Ay, may white hair ka! Ang dami" Then I remembered my conversation with a girl friend the night before about how the greying seems to become less and less controllable. So when the stylist suggested hair dye, what used to be a vague idea of actually getting one was instantly transformed into an urgent need. Of course my first question was, "How much?" He replied. Hmmm. Quite a hefty sum, especially since I’m not really a fan of expensive haircuts or body treatments (though my stressful job has recently led me to discover the wonders that a good massage or foot spa could make to a tired soul). Then I thought to myself, the reason I’m working my ass off is so I could provide for needs like this! This is not the time to scrimp, Checheboo.

Before I knew it, I was already flipping through some hair color samples. The stylist said light brown color would look nice. But I said, No, I don’t want boring, mousy brown hair. It took me so long to pick a color. You would to, if you were me! Permanent hair dye could last for months, so if you’re not careful, it would be "bad hair day" everyday for the rest of the year.

One sample caught my eye–reddish-brown, but not burgundy or the orange-y kind of red. Oooh, I like. The label read, "Magenta Blonde." I thought to myself, well, it doesn’t look at all blonde to me so… Magenta Blonde it is! The stylist nodded in agreement and in a few minutes, the dyeing began. 

As the dye set in, the "blonde" in Magenta Blonde became more and more noticeable. I told myself it probably wouldn’t be as bright after final washing. Tough luck. Shampooing, cutting, and blow drying did not make the yellow–the hideous shade that makes blonde, well, blonde, go away. 

First few minutes, I was in denial. No, this is not blonde. It is reddish-brown. It is reddish-brown. IT IS REDDISH-BROWN.

But then my sister arrived. The shock in her eyes was unmistakeable. That killed all hopes that my hair is reddish-brown and not blonde.

However, I don’t really feel bad about it. I even like it, to some extent. It is not ugly. It is just…surprising, out-of-character, un-Che like. I usually go for safe when it comes to clothes and makeup, but I am almost always experimental with my hair. I curl it, dye it, cut it really short or grow it really long–but it is only now that I sported such a radical hair color.

I half-expected it to look really bad, especially now that I am darker than usual because of all the swimming I’ve been doing recently. Surprisingly, though, not only do I find it okay, I even think the whole thing is just really funny. I was laughing my head off as I met up with a friend in Megamall and showed her what I did, "How do you like my blonde hair?!" When I got to our house in Bulacan, my clown of a father promptly said, "San ka nagpakulay ng buhok? Para kang si Chocolate!"

I was both nervous and excited going to work on Monday morning. But as I entered our room, the anxiety just sort of faded away. There were varied reactions to this new style. I’ve been getting greetings of, "Hi, Tisay!" all day from everyone (well, the utility people used to tease me, "Hi, Direk!" so I don’t know if this new look somehow lessened their respect for me). A friend who saw me in the restroom said, "Muka kang mestizang negra!" but with an approving look, so I really wasn’t sure if she was sincerely giving me a compliment, or just being pathetically patronizing, or plainly insulting me. My boss said I look like a Badjao–you know, those streetkids who unintentionally got bleached hair from standing too long under the sun.

All the comments are wholeheartedly taken in stride. Perhaps that’s a manifestation of maturity for someone who used to throw violent tantrums over a bad haircut. I once flopped on the street and cried and shouted wildly outside a parlor after the hairdresser cut my hair too short (this hairdo, by the way, earned me the nickname ‘Bogart’ from my Broad Ass peers).

Sheesh, in less than two months’ time, I got braces (you wouldn’t believe my story on how these braces were installed, even if I told you) and blonde hair. Who knows what else would change in my appearance soon?

 

I’ve long been ranting about the lack of competent Senatoriables when I read the March 6 entry of my good friend, ABS-CBN field reporter, Adrian Ayalin. Before you continue reading this post, please first read Adrian’s piece on the Distorted Thinking of Voters.

______________________________________________________

All right, have you read it? Great. Now here’s my comment on his article:

You’re right, Aids: How does one distinguish "propaganda" from "real issues?" I don’t think a candidate’s jingle or personal activities such as whitewater rafting could hardly pass as "issues." What’s even more frustrating about these candidates is that we don’t know what they plan to do in case they get elected! All we see are the likes of Manny Villar and Zubiri dancing like idiots. Or Mike Defensor’s hideous, hideous TVC (who on earth produced his commercial? Defensor should get his money back!) that doesn’t tell the voters anything except that he should be called, "Tol."

This campaign period has done nothing other than establish the fact that hardly anyone (at least not those who are actually running) truly respects the election process anymore. Are they really seeing this whole thing as no more than a big joke or their personal milking cow? Nakakatampo at nakakainsulto talaga that the people behind the campaign do not seem to treat the whole election deal with the respect that it deserves. A friend told me that Pichay has done nice things for his district as Congressman. Much as I like to believe him, I am still far from convinced. Why? Because to me–judging from the content of his TVC, especially his "Pichay: Itanim sa Senado" tagline–he deliberately packaged himself as a joke! Para bang ang sinasabi ng mga PR specialists nya eh, "O mga Bobong Pinoy, itanim natin ang gulay na ito sa Senado! Pichay = Gulay. Get it? Hahaha. Funny ‘no?" It is very insulting, really.

Because I cannot get anything substantial from the candidates’ publicity tools, I really am just counting on the TV specials that would hopefully be produced by newsmen like yourself so I could weigh my options intelligently. I really do want to put the right people, those who want to and could actually make a difference in the Senate. But I do not know my candidates. I do not know what they’re capable of doing, what their background is, what they believe in, what their priorities are. I’d like to believe I am a responsible voter and a responsible Filipino. I always make it a point to vote, no matter how futile it seems at times. This election, decision-making has been particularly difficult. It’s already March and I have no more than 3 people whose names I’d really like to write on my ballot come May.

Hay, Lord, help this country…

New Health Drink

My officemate, Mike,  told me this amusing anecdote. When he was working for another company, their team agreed to give a Brit expat a taste of Filipino hospitality and brought him to a restaurant in Makati.

At the restaurant, a waitress approached their table and took their orders for drinks. Most of them ordered soft drinks and beer. Their visitor said, “Bourbon, please.”

After several minutes, the soft drinks and the beer came. But no Bourbon. Mike then whispered to the waitress, “Miss, nasaan yung Bourbon?”

The waitress earnestly replied, “Ay, Sir. Wala na po kasing Bear Brand. Alpine na lang po ang meron.”

(Cut to Ang TV kids saying, “Nyeeee!”)

After the waitress left, the Brit expat asked Mike, “What did she say?”

Mike answered, “Never mind. Just order whiskey, dude.”

Iced Beer, please!

“Pahingi ng beer na may ice,” a friend’s father ordered the maid.  When more than ten minutes had passed and the maid still hasn’t given his beer, my boss’s father angrily went to the kitchen to ask what the hell happened to his beer.

Turns out he no longer needed to ask the question and what he saw caused his anger to simply disappear. In the kitchen, the maid was painstakingly pounding the ice and carefully inserting the crushed bits into the tiny mouth of the beer bottle.

Eh sabi pu kasi ni koya beer na may ice daw eh.

Stop!

Now this one is a first-hand experience. This happened over 4 years ago. We just moved  from our home in Mindanao Avenue to another house in Tandang Sora. To make unpacking easier, we instructed the maid to label each box so that she wouldn’t have a hard time identifying which stuff should go where.

Soon as all the boxes were unloaded, I immediately asked for the boxes where she placed all my things. She pointed me to a stack of boxes in the corner.

As I approached the heap, one particular box caught my attention. And it didn’t take long before it really cracked me up. The box was labeled, “STOP TOY.” My suspicion was confirmed when I opened the box: inside it were my old dolls and “stuffed toys.”

Baket tama naman sya ah, di nga naman gumagalaw ang mga toys. Naka-“stop” sila. Hahaha!

Wag gambalain si God!

On another day, I once again overheard Little Miss Stop Toy making another boo-boo. She was singing as she wiped the table. I immediately recognized the song as Gary V.’s Natutulog Ba Ang Diyos. The singing was not off-key or anything, but her lyrics certainly were!

She sang (at feel na feel nya pa ito), “Wag mo sanang gambalain…natutulog pa ang Diyoooosss!”

As the old saying goes, “Biruin mo na ang lasing, wag lang ang bagong gising.” Kaya wag mo gambalain ang natutulog. Lalo na pag si God sya.

Simone!

A couple with their friends in a videoke bar. Boyfriend was singing some English song. Girlfriend was not really paying attention until she heard him singing, “Simone! Simone!” She wondered to herself, “Anong kanta yung ‘Simone!’”

She turned her eyes to the TV to read the lyrics. Ang nakalagay pala ay, “C’mon! C’mon!””

At super seryoso si boyfriend dito ha!

Okay, this really sucks.

I went to Ms. Joy Cancio’s studio in Quezon City for a very short meeting. We’re shooting a TVC with her Sex Bomb girls as talents tomorrow, so we met up to discuss some teensy final details. It didn’t last longer than 20 minutes, though. After the meeting, I immediately hailed a cab and went back to the office.

Inside the taxi, I was fumbling all over for my phone. I checked my pockets, I poured out all the contents of my bag, and managed to find only my slimy green Sun phone (the old 5210 I bought way back in 2002). Not really the panicky type, I got off the cab, walked into our building, borrowed the company phone and immediately dialed my cell number. It rang. Great! That means my phone wasn’t deliberately stolen, right? I must have left it in Joy’s studio, right?

Wrong.

When I dialed my number and no one picked up, I decided to call up Joy and asked her to check if my phone was in her office. “It’s not here,” she said.

Hmm. There was no way I could have left it in the second cab. And it wasn’t in Joy’s office (which is highly possible, because I never took the phone out of my bag while I was there). Then only one possibility remains: I must have left it in the cab I rode in Ortigas going to her studio. Less than an hour after I found out I lost my phone, I tried calling it up again and it had already been turned off.

So now, it’s goodbye to my 2-year old Ericsson. Goodbye to all the videos and pictures stored there. Goodbye to 500 or so friends’ and work contacts’ numbers. Goodbye to marked dates. Goodbye to this new box of calling cards that I will never be able to use from this day on because they carry that friggin’ “old” number. 

Now, I’m seriously considering going post-paid again. Oh God, cure me of this forgetfulness blight…

Phoneless for the nth time

I’ve lost phones a couple of times for a myriad of reasons, major of which was sheer carelessness. The first unit I misplaced was a 7110—lost forever because I got too drunk in some bar in Timog. Another phone was stolen by the maid. One got snatched in Baguio while I was digging through piles of ukay-ukay clothes. I thought the one that was stolen while I was on a bus going to Sorsogon would be the last in my perennially sorry phone ownership state (dang, that phone was not even mine! It was a 6600 that Raz lent me).

But no. That Ericsson, with which I am completely satisfied (a built-in camera, a big enough memory, call recording capacity, predictive texting, and calendar are the only features I need, really), had just gone Pffft! Again.

My family often teases me about needing a phone that is not just shock-proof (I’m a hopeless burara), but nakaw-proof as well. Looks like the old joke’s bout to be revived.

Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’ve come to terms with it. I even jokingly claim, "I’ve accepted it and I’m at peace with it." Come to think of it, I was never really one to wreak havoc over a lost phone. Well, all right; I’d panic for about 10 minutes or so, but after the reality of the loss has been established, I shrug my shoulders and mutter, “Oh well.” Honestly, I have more important stuff to worry about and lose sleep over. Besides, I still have this green phone and a Sun number to use temporarily. A friend told me over YM, “Maybe the universe is telling you to get a new phone.” WOW naman. The universe really made sure I got the message.

Bad trip lang cause there’s no way I could retrieve my most treasured photo which also happened to be my phone’s wallpaper: my picture with Parokyo ni Edgar’s Chito Miranda, my forever crush, taken last October at the Davao Airport (talagang kinarir ko pang magpakuha with him using my phone!).

Not that I’d mind being confused as Chito’s non-showbiz girlfriend. *Wink* A girl can dream, can’t she?   

1. New Addiction: PINOY BIG BROTHER SEASON 2

I am in love with sweet, innocent-looking, fine-dancing, Mickey.

And I really find the house dog, Buddy, truly adorable. Me don’t like the PBB girls, though.

Actually, I never had much interest in PBB before. I only started watching quite fondly when they launched Pinoy Dream Academy—mostly because I enjoyed watching the performance classes, and partly because I liked that cutie boy, Chad.

Now, it’s the 22-year old Mickey, oh, Mickey. Sigh…

I swear, I am your closet Jologs Incarnate. 

2. New DVDs: NIP/TUCK SERIES

This is another display of my masochistic tendencies.

I cringe at the script (the writers of this series took the term, “Cheesy” to a totally new level)! The acting is bad, it is bloody and gory and filled with unnecessary sex scenes, but heck, I’m hooked!

This was a result of a stupid mistake I made when I was scouring for new DVDs at St. Francis. What I really wanted to buy was either House or Prison Break (I’ve been hearing raves about these series). Then Nip/Tuck caught my eye, so I picked it up and, without thinking, hurriedly bought it instead for I don’t know why.

I got three seasons in the package, I think. At dahil nanghihinayang naman ako, pinanood ko na din. The first few episodes really sucked, but I was still drawn to the extent people are willing to go to feel better about themselves. I was particularly floored by the story of a woman who convinced her husband to break her nose with a hammer just so she could fool the surgeons into giving her a nose job. Another notable episode is about this Somalian woman who came to the McNamara-Troy clinic to have her clitoris (yeah, it’s c-l-i-t, all right) restored. Turns out there’s this ancient tradition in Somalia wherein the women are forced to have their clits and the folds surrounding it sliced off. Otherwise, they’d be thought of as unclean and no man would want to marry them. According to her, this is based on the old belief that sexual pleasure should be enjoyed by the men alone. Puchaaa! I was actually wincing just listening to her story. What’s interesting about it is what the surgeons did to fix the destroyed organ. They cut off one of her toes (believe me, it was a major “Eeeeww!”) and this is what they attached to you-know-where, and became the replacement clit. Kadiring astig, ‘no?

   

3. New Look: BRACES

“Tell me what you don’t like about yourself,” is usually the opening line of the plastic surgeons in Nip/Tuck to their patient during a consult.

If I were asked that question, I’d answer, “My teeth.” I have long been wanting to have this horrendous set fixed, only I was never quite able to save up enough for it. Now, thanks to some extra projects, I finally had enough to pay the down payment. Saka ko na po-problemahin ang monthly fees. J   

There may be some who’d claim, “Looks don’t matter.” But you know what? Whatever rhetoric or ideal we would like to believe, realistically speaking, looks do matter. In any environment, in any relationship: packaging counts. As the nurse, Liz, in Nip/Tuck told a patient, “It would be wonderful to look beyond the wrapping for the real person inside. But I work in a plastic surgeon’s office and I know that doesn’t really happen.” You wouldn’t trust a dentist with bad teeth. You wouldn’t trust an unshaven, sweaty salesman wearing wrinkled clothes with your money. As an employer, if you are faced with two equally talented, equally brilliant applicants, only the other one is better dressed or is more pleasant looking than the rival, guess who’d land the job?

On another note, I guess we cannot tell a person to stop being insecure about whatever aspect he/she doesn’t like about himself/herself. In my opinion, however, a clear line still divides the insecure people who do nothing but mope, whine, and hate themselves from those who acknowledge the source of their insecurity, try to live with it when no other option is available, and eventually do something about it when an opportunity for change finally emerges.

In my case, I felt like I really needed to have my teeth fixed because my crooked teeth are something I’ve always been embarrassed about–I’m wary about smiling widely because I think my smile is horrendous. So that affects how I deal with people, that’s probably the reason why I often come off as suplada or antipatika.

Well, insecure days will someday be over. Here I am, pushing 28 and with, literally, a mouthful of steel. Happy, nonetheless. Maybe I could smile better soon…

4. New Hobby: SWIMMING

Finally, I’m swimming regularly again.

I try to do so at least once a week, during weekends at Ultra. It’s really good exercise and an effective way to lose weight, too. I also want to go jogging, but I have really weak knees, so badminton (with officemates) and swimming are the sports I now engage in whenever I have the time.   

5. New danger: CREDIT CARD

With the help of my high school kabarkada who also happens to be an HSBC bosing, Faye, I finally got my first credit card.

6. New learning: PAG FREELANCER A.K.A RAKETERA KA, WAG KA MAYABANG.

Ang mag-feeling that your clients need you more than you need them is tantamount to killing your own career way before it even had a chance to take off.

Personally, I know I am not getting my sidelines through mere talent alone. I am aware of the fact na maraming mas magagaling. Maraming mas skilled. Maraming mas talented. Maraming may mas mataas na pinag-aralan. Maraming mas may experience. Ano pa ba ang magiging edge ko sa mga yan? How do I hope to compete?

It’s not like I have a huge client base, but I still do get freelance projects from time to time—sometimes even from clients I have never met or have never seen a thing I’ve written. Maaaring they get me because I don’t charge as high as others probably do. Honestly, I’ve never demanded a standard TF from clients, old and new man. Kung magkano ang budget na feeling ko di naman ako lugi, pumapayag ako. Maaari ring it’s because hindi ako mareklamo… Pero syempre, hindi ko naman naisip to ng basta ganon lang.

When I was new at freelance writing, may mga naging clients din ako na siguro sinusumpa ako kasi marami akong palpak, I didn’t care about deadlines, at wala akong malasakit sa ginagawa ko. Syempre hindi na nila ako kinuha ulit. Doon ko natutunan ang golden lesson na hindi ka dapat nagmamalaki dahil maraming taong magaling.

Though I think I’m not a bad writer, I also know that there are lot of grea and in many ways better writers as well. So I am just banking on word of mouth, the smaller fee I probably charge, and doing the best I can to keep those projects coming. 

In my company, there are also instances na naghahanap ako ng talents or suppliers for our projects. I also get my turn to play Client. I’ve encountered several people or companies na hindi ko na kinuha ulit kahit kailan dahil either majorly pumalpak ng isang beses (like yung equipment rental group na binigyan ako ng sablay na gamit or yung agent na nung mismong araw ng shoot eh nagpadala ng talent na may isang damukal na pimples) or napatunanayan kong masama ang ugali, mareklamong wala sa lugar, o bastos sumagot.   

Again, kung raketera: WAG FEELING GOD’S GIFT TO CLIENTS. We need our clients more than they need us. The competition is truly very stiff, and there will never be a shortage of talents.

No one is indispensable.