Echo

I decided to start a new blog, so I won’t be writing here too often anymore. Bad joojoo e.

I’ll be at www.katinkateeny.multiply.com. It’s been real.

Yawn.

Slowly getting out of the funk.

(Hence, the end to this series of cryptic entries…)

The world always seems like a better place after a good sneeze.

That’s what I need. Induce it with pepper? Rub the nose till its raw?

Something loud and wet and with spittle trajectory to put all rocket launches to shame.

Of course, I don’t really have a cold. And I’m not really talking about sneezing.

I’m in an honest-to-goodness funk. It’s really bad, too.

I can’t even verbalize it.

Blech.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this useless piece of verbal flatus.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2A2QY5pdyU

I am SO glad I was there. There is no possible way to explain how it felt. I wept. I wept! My golly-ganu.

Please, please, please, please, please God. Before I leave, I would like to see us become champions again!

I so want to join Game Ka Na Ba…if only to tell Kris Aquino the following things:

1. The proper way to pronounce "Sa" is the way it’s spelled. Not "sha." If you can pronounce "sana" and the other words that start with "s" the proper way, it is illogical that you cannot pronounce "sa" properly. (To all those who do not have oddly-sized molars, retainers, or other speech impediments, take note of this, too.)

2. Spending all that money on your breasts and liposuction was a waste. You should’ve done something to your nose instead. It’s ugly. Hell, it could look like that thing that Michael Jackson calls a nose, but it’ll be better than that big hunk of ewan right in the middle of your face. No amount of make up from San-San can make it attractive.

3. Tell your scriptwriters that the plural of jewelry is jewelry, not jewelries. If you want to underscore the fact that it’s plenty, say "pieces of jewelry." Please. It’s so basic. TANGA.

4. You ask way too personal questions. In one episode, you focused on the contestants’ obesity. Not everyone is swimming in money like you are to afford liposuction. Don’t be so high and mighty. I distinctly remember your Pido Dida days. Utang na *toot* na loob.

5. If you say, "Katz, game ka na ba?" that’s fine. But if you say, "Katz, Juan, Pedro, Maria, game ka na ba?" that’s wrong. What should you say? (Everybody now…) "Katz, Juan, Pedro, Maria, game na ba kayo?" I don’t care if it ruins that little tagline of yours. For a show that aims to educate the audience, (more or less) this swerve from grammatical correctness is unacceptable.

That’s just top of mind, folks. Also, I want to join because I can answer most of the questions and it’s kinda thrilling to know I have a chance to win a lot of money. But of course, telling her what an annoying person she is to her face will be priceless. Sure, I probably won’t get air time, but it’ll be fun.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, she’s a nice person, she cares about the La Mesa Dam, she had that horrible episode with Joey Marquez…blahblahblahblahblahblahblah.

Still.

Don’t worry, my period’s about to end…

I warned you…

So here I am again. I don’t know why. I just got this weird urge to tell everyone that I love them and that I miss them even if I’m not on any weird nor illegal substance.

I have the unfortunate experience of having friends - same age group - die on me. I always hear tales of how they texted loved ones a few days or hours before their deaths to tell their friends how they loved them and such. I always thought it was weird how an outpouring of love could lead to such a sudden end (the tragedy of it being that they’re young…no offense to those who’ve lived a long life…although age really doesn’t matter…but I digress again…but you’re used to it…)

So anyway, I love you. You, meaning friends I see all the time (uh…that would mean you, Steph…it’s sad and nice at the same time, I know you know what I mean…) You, meaning friends I don’t see all the time - I’ve texted you already. And family. Especially my brother with whom I haven’t spoken in a long while. (Hope your surgery went well.) And the odd acquaintances I’ve made over the years.

Of course, I won’t be all Hallmark-y Fake and say I love you to the people I hate. Your time will come. My time will come.

And so I was there on my couch (for those who’ve visited me in my former house, you know I say that phrase with much relish) and wondering why I was being this way. And I realize it’s because of my boyfriend.

Hey, I warned you.

See, he and I just keep saying stuff to each other. Like we don’t mind saying we’re mad or we’ve made an ass of ourselves or we feel just ickily mushy. Usually, it’s something as mundane as the star in that mall along EDSA (what’s the name of that mall again? In front of Mega Mall or thereabouts. Damn, I’ll remember it later and be too tamad to go down here and write it…) isn’t like an exact star. And I laugh. And he laughs. And he gets it.

So part of that whole being honest-with-our-emotions thing is rubbing off onto all of you miscreants. Hoping that you’ll get it.

So there. All things notwithstanding, take it as it is. How hard can it be to hear (or read) that I love you?

…for the time of Christmas is near…

Bummer. So is December 10.

I’m stalling, stalling, stalling. Arg.

***

So the sinigang went well, thanks for asking. The next thing I have to do is create a wreath made of fresh fruits and flowers that will go with the motif of the rest of the house.

I’m so kidding. Gag me please.

***

So another cycle is about to begin (or end?) in a few days (give or take a few hours) and I’m feeling pretty bitchy again. I remember telling a friend of mine in one of my soap box standing moments, "I’m not bitchy. It’s just that the rest of the world is incompetent."

Haha.

But mostly I’m just feeling very blah. I feel terrible about leaving this country, but sometimes, it just feels so disheartening to see that nothing’s happening. Sure, people keep saying that the little steps will always give rise to a bigger change. But I always seem to be caught up in the smaller movements that just end up going pffft.

Just recently I had an encounter with a client who allegedly wanted to have a religious book published and he asked a couple of associates and I to help him out. We were hoping we could start some kind of big movement to mobilize people to help the street children.

It’s amazing what you realize about an author when you read his/her work. Especially when you meet him in person.

I realized he was anything but what he wanted to project.

And it’s just totally disheartening to see that. I ended up doing all that work and not getting paid because I didn’t want to get myself tainted by his money. I mean, I won’t think twice about throwing away food that I haven’t eaten just because I’m too tamad to put it in the fridge and reheat it the next day - what with all the starving children around - but getting money from someone who I feel icky-fizes my moral fibre is just too…icky…for me.

Ah, scruples.

Hang on to your seats, ladies and gents. I shall attempt to cook sinigang. Well, attempting to attempt. The ingredients are all in my fridge now.

Hah. Stay tuned.

So I have this AMAZING view, right? Like, it’s sick, man. Seriously. I can see all the way till that gi-enormous Iglesia ni Kristo battleship and that huge egg-like structure near UP. I think it holds water - or (and I hope) - the biggest chick in the world.

So I was looking at the lights and started looking at the view directly below. It’s amazing how the sound just sort of floats up. I can hear trikes and cars, and - this is pretty cool - snippets of conversation. I was actually rivetted for a while.

Hey, I share the skies with the rest of the perverts of the highrise. No judgement please.

And then I looked up to see if there were any stars, and they were gone! I just saw a great, big, orange haze formerly known as The Cloud. How sad!

Ah, well.

Pretty soon I’ll be losing a lot more than that.