When you do something long enough, you eventually get better at it. That's what they say, isn't it? Practice makes perfect.

Well, in a way, I have gotten better. I write better. But my writing has gotten shorter too. My stories' pages are becoming less and less. As if quality was inversely proportional to quantity, and the better I get, the less I will write, and the less I write, the more invisible I will become.

Until no one will know me anymore. Including me.

I have developed a vintage shoppers' support group. Seriously.

Lately I've been getting emails from people regarding vintage shops and the random bazaar type stalls that pop up in the city. The great thing is some of them wear my size, so we can just zone in on the places that stock up on xs and s petites.

It has such a delicious secret society feel to it. And the bargains! Ohmygod! Gucci silk blouses for $6. Faux fur bomber jackets and vests for $5. Business suits for $15 -- including a soft white one with a flirty flowy knee-length skirt from Armani. Racks of coats for $20 per. And a dozen new places to check out (which I won't list here as you could be competition, hehe).

Now I can shop and NOT totally empty my wallet. Ah. The joy, the sheer joy of it all. Sigh.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING.

Cool, ain't it?

I don't need you to understand. Although I want you to.

Stream of consiousness.

Sometimes it feels weird writing down dates. Putting numbers to a moment, cataloguing life this way. Sometimes I’m not sure if their all just strands of insignificance, invisible to the naked eye. Or if they are all stones on a string, each beautiful in itself.

What it must feel like to breathe and live without thought, without realizing what each moment is. To melt from second to second. Completely. Unaware of the I, pushed out of the center of a universe that is rightfully yours. What it must feel like. What it must feel like for every shift of time to be important, for that is everything. No order, no reason behind what is.

Sometimes I wonder if we are crazy for seeing what isn’t there, for assigning our lives to a hand-me-down desire. Are we crazy to put so much stock in what cannot be tangible? Because that is what we do, isn’t it, when we plan for a future? We plan on air. We build with wood and steel, but we lay them all on air that is yet to come.

I am a storyteller. That is why I am here. But the telling of the story is erratic. The story is not a fluid line, it jumps and moves, and I am forced to jump and move with it.

But sometimes I have been too slow. There are times when the story has moved too fast, leaving me to stare at the space it had just left, and it's a frightening image. There is no life, no thought. No promise of salvation.

That’s what it’s like outside the universe I’ve created for myself. Out of my own well-constructed thoughts built on layers of rock-solid conviction imported from Adam and Eve. My own string of illusions to convince me of my own sanity – to convince me of the reason for a world such as this. To covince me of the reason for reason.

So I live the everyday. A world where the span of our lives is measured by the speed of a rock encircling a ball of flames. Suckered into existence. Just like you all.

This weekend I got to play dress up. Indulge me, please.

Friday was Ani Difranco night, so I got all made up for that, ofcourse. I was going for a slightly more indie-boho look so I wore my new sheer goldish tan top with the ruching down the front and bell sleeves, a green cord skirt, and big black boots.

I absolutely loved the show. And I love John for taking me to such an estrogen filled event. We were surrounded by feminists and lesbians, and all sorts of grrls and girls, in radical chick-wear, no less. There was even a lesbian couple beside us who started kissing pre-show. But I love Ani, and it was really sweet of John to let me lead him to the slaughter. With a smile. On a game night at that. Sigh.

Saturday was a two event thing: comedy club night and Rishi's surprise birthday party. Rishi and some of John's other friends stopped over here for a bit and the guys were all dressed in suits. So obviously this was a big deal affair. I wore my new red wrap dress and the staple black boots, which admittedly wasn't on the same level as a suit, but I needed something that let me walk the line between the party's sequined dresses and the club's faded jeans.

Around 5 we kicked them out and headed off to Long Island for the show which starred Jim Brewer. I've never heard of him, but John's friends had, and apparently he was really well known, and he was supposed to be really good. He was funny enough, although not so much that I would want to spend the $40 to watch him again.

It ended fairly early, which was nice for us because that meant we could still catch dinner at Rishi's party. Everyone said he was really surprised. Amazingly, no one slipped up even amidst all the intricate lies. Nice, good clean fun. Sort of reminded me of Manila family parties, actually. The food was so good. I love the bread and the Chicken Tikka. And since they had an open bar, I got enough alcohol in my system to somehow find myself on the dance floor... and this man (probably a relative of the celebrant) actually tapped me on the shoulder and told me I was doing good. Hehe, surprise, surprise.

All in all, it was a fun, if tiring weekend. Thanksgiving coming up soon. Long weekend. Yay.

My self-portrait. Scary little Wanda will haunt you in your dreams...

It's a little juvenile, but hey I'm bored and it's a harmless way to pass the time. So introducing the very high school-ish "crush calculator".

Back to work. Ani DiFranco day today! Concert starts at 8pm. Can't wait!

Oh and I MUST see ACTS OF WORSHIP, which was described as being in the same vein as Requiem for a Dream. Must, must, must WATCH. I think it's playing already, but I don't know at what theater. Yet.

There's something lacking in the movies I've been seeing lately, and I don't know how to describe it. I saw Battle Royale (violence), Y Tu Mama Tambien (sex) and The Station Agent (a little guy) in the last couple of days, and they were good, but none of them rocked my world.

There's something missing in the books I'm reading. Grace Paley and Katherine Mansfield are both good storytellers, but they don't burn.

There's something absent from my day to day, a deficiency in the air I breathe.

Actually, there's a hole in my life, and it's killing me.

I'm starting to feel ordinary, mediocre. I feel this bubbling need to be excited about something and yet there's nothing to satisfy it. I need something I can throw myself into, and I'm going to need it soon, because right now I feel like pieces of me are succumbing to dust, and I feel like I'm dying from the inside.

I need something to stimulate my brain. I need inspiration. Yes, boys and girls, I have once again entered my "funk", that point where everything seems the same, and every today and tomorrow is nothing more than an ever lousy imitation of yesterday.

I want to scream like a banshee and shock the people on the other side of my bedroom wall. I want to punch someone in the face. I want to high-dive from a cliff. I want to follow the stars. I want to talk under the stars. I want to turn the universe inside out.

I want to be opium. Yes, even the fat kind. I want to go crazy. Now. I want to throw my soul into the sky. I want to hear the voices battle for supremacy in my head.

I want my world to shake and I want myself to burn.

But there is nothing.

Last night I lay in bed, and I was scared. The emptiness in my head scared me. The words that fell from my lips carried so little meaning because they had nothing in my mind to get meaning from. I had to get up and find an anchor outside of myself. I didn't want to wake up lost.

The vacuity is numbing, and I don't want to be numb. I need to scream, burn, fall. Something.

Marketing the mag.



Sorry, my friend's scanning skills are lousy.

My DIET starts today.

Decrease carbs. Must put a stop to the enlargement of my stomach. DR trip is only one month away.

I shall now eat my lunch of tuna and spinach in garlic and soy sauce (which I love, by the way). Must fit into my unworn brown bikini. Must, must, must.

Oh and FOUR more days until Ani DiFranco.

I had tapsilog for breakfast today.

And guess what? John made the tapa. From the marinating to the cooking. And it was very good, so good in fact, that we're having the same thing for dinner. Only we're going to eat it with buttered veggies instead of eggs. Ibang klase, diba?

He also blowdried my hair yesterday because he didn't want me to get sick walking around in the cold with wet hair. I have never had my hair blowdried by a straight man before.

Hay.

Back from the Pinoy grocery.

They have so much stuff! I think they had six different varieties of longganisa (including lucban and vigan), marinated tapa and tocino, cooked ulam like tinapa, matakang baka, galunggong, danggit, afritada, menudo, dinuguan, bicol express and laing.

They also had banana ketchup (both UFC and Jufran), pinoy soy sauce (yes they have lauriat), coconut vinegar (yes, datung puti), lucky me pancit canton, V-cut, chocnut and PAN DE SAL. They also had queso de bola (both marco pina and marco pato) and I was so tempted to buy a ball to put in some pan de sal but I don't have a toaster and they taste so much better toasted.

They also have kakanin like maja blanca, sapin-sapin, palitaw, puto and cuchinta, bibingkang galapong and bibingkang malagkit, cassava cake, ube rolls, those white sticky balls with grated coconut that I can't remember the name of, guinataan, biko, and in December they're going to have.... drumroll, please... puto bumbong!

I didn't buy much today though, because I was going to have to walk, so all I got was a pound of regular longganisa, Saranggani Bay daing na bangus, and a big plastic container of flan.

But we all know I will, eventually. And at least I know pinoy comfort food is just a train ride away.

Now all I want is pastillas de leche -- the soft ones that are wrapped in white paper and come in the cheap cardboard box...

HOME IMPROVEMENT

Ofcourse, we all know I would've Wanda-fied the apartment sooner or later. So here goes.

Step 1: Couch transformation. Our fat leather couch is squashy and comfortable, but I'm bored and I want a new look. Thus, I have purchased a new suede slipcover. If all goes well, it should end up looking like this:


Step 2: Separate the kitchen from the living area with one of these:


Step 3: Look for storage units. I'm still trying to figure out a way to put in furniture in the bedroom without making it suffocatingly claustrophobic. Possibly something like this but minus the two top cubes:


Step 4: Accents. Candles are always good. Maybe something on the walls too.

The bathroom is too tiny to modify, so there's not much to add there. A good coat of bright white would probably open it up, but I'm not sure we can paint the walls.

Yes, I should be doing other (more important) things. In fact, I'm still at school. Hey, atleast I'm stimulating my brain by being creative. Sort of.

Must have list:
1. Room divider screen to separate kitchen from living room
2. modular storage units (Qbits) in dark adler
3. slipcover for couch and ottoman -- in black.

John and I are going to watch "The Station Agent" today, but we're not going out to dinner because I'm a cheap-ass, and I figure we can skip dinner and use the money to buy me another storage unit instead.

John's day off tomorrow. Yay.

I don't have class today. Yay.


From Superhero, Ani Difranco

Sleepwalking through the all-nite drugstore
Baptized in flourescent light
I found religion in the greeting card aisle
Now I know hallmark was right
And every pop song on the radio
Is suddenly speaking to me
Yeah, art may imitate life
But life imitates t. v.

I used to be a superhero
No one could touch me
Not even myself
You are like a phone booth
I somehow stumbled into
And now look at me
I am just like everybody else

If I was dressed in my best defenses
Would you agree to meet me for coffee?
If I did my tricks with smoke and mirrors
Would you still know which one was me?
If I was naked and screaming
On your front lawn
Would you turn on the light and come down?
Screaming, there's the asshole
Who did this to me
Stripped me of my power
Stripped me down

Tell me what did you like about me
Don't say my strength and daring
'Cuz now I think i'm at your mercy
And it's my first time for this kind of thing

I used to be a superhero
I would swoop down and save me from myself
You are like a phone booth
That I somehow stumbled into
And now look at me
I am just like everybody else
I am worse than everybody else

Just got back from DC.

I had to drug myself for the trip, because John and I were riding in Rishi's car, which is a tinted two-door accord. It was a fairly okay ride, claustrophobia notwithstanding.

Saw Anika, yay! Got behind the wheel of a stick, another yay! Did the night thing, which was admittedly, not half as bad as I was dreading.

Ravi's place was nice. Now I really want to get a slipcover for the couch. And the Japanese screen. They have faux leather and faux suede (machine washable too) slipcovers at surefit. I'm going to ask for swatches. Christmas gift for the house.

Paper due today. Back to work.

AND WAIT.

Battle Royale 2???

I feel so utterly deprived. HELP ME.

In deference to some of you, I will concede that maybe I was just making too much out of it in the first place. Maybe that's all it was: an action film.

But people, even if that's all it was, it's not really that much better. It wasn't as seamless as it could have been. The transition between real actors and computer generated script was apparent, the shots, though panoramic, were not incredible. Even the action sequences didn't have that "waiting with bated breath" sort of suspense to it. The fight choreogrpahy was amazingly bland. And the whole thing is just incredibly predictable. I like the graphic novel-y final duel, but they stretched it out a little too much. Plus so many issues with bringing in characters that did nothing to add to the storyline (hello, first rule of film). And what's the prolonged dialogue between Neo and Trinity doing in an action film? I mean, couldn't they have Te amo-ed and adios-ed with a little less sap? Because, you know, a world still needed to be saved?

It just seems like the wheels that were turning this script ran out of gas. Yes, dear Rij, from whatever angle you look at it.

The THIRD MATRIX sucked.

Here they go setting us up to believe in it's depth, pounding us with the juicy questions, making us glimpse what we think to be its ideological grounding, letting us sniff at the philosophy of choice and causality, and then in the home stretch they pack up all that and go the way of cheese and dumbasses.

Disappointing, to say the least. Morpheus' one-liners and more stoic than thou demeanor is only cool when you know a godly conviction is holding it up. Neo and Trinity's love affair is only palatable when you know the heat is sizzling where our eyes can't see. The concept of the Matrix and Zion and the machines are only a mental assault when you can offer a reason, or a supposition of reason, or at the very least, a good anarchist argument against reason.

But we have been duped. In the end, it was just another Independence Day from another impending apocalypse.

Bah.

I just realized that I STILL haven't seen Battle Royale, a fact that was rammed into my head earlier, while dorkus doofus 1 and dorkus doofus 2 began their, ahem, respective soliloquys on the subject. Note that they never have real conversations... they seem to be speaking to each other, but if you pay close enough attention, you realize that they are really just participating in separate monologues that run through parallel topic lines. You will also realize that the only reason the casual observer is led to believe that they are even aware of each other's existence, is because they seem to have a symbiotic relationship wherein they both operate under the delusion that one is actually listening to the other, giving some semblance of importance to the otherwise (usually) meaningless string of words that they spew out on a HOURLY basis.

Yes, there is a lot of saliva in those oral cavities of theirs. And yes, there is a lot of endurance, stamina, and perseverance in those otherwise puny frames.

But I digress. Battle Royale. Can anyone send me a copy?

Alright. Apparently, JR has some Zamboangan blood in him, and his family recipe book calls for ingredients I have never heard of in my life. I mean, what the hell is bambawing? (He says it's kind of like basil, but not.) But anyway, in the following weeks, I shall attempt to cook Southern Filipino fare, or, as JR puts it, Vianda Chavacano.

Scanning the recipes, some of the dishes look do-able. The cocreta de patatas seem relatively easy. Pollo de pesa isn't too bad either. And I've actually made cocido/pochero before. Although I don't think John will be eating maja blanca (durul) or flan de merengue ( a variation of leche flan) or bacalao anytime soon.

Today's dish, boys and girls, is caldereta. Not kalderetang kambing though, because goat meat can only be bought at African stores, and I don't know where my neighborhood African store is. So I shall use "punta y pecho" (I think this is beef brisket) instead.

Yes, I am having fun exploring my epicurean side. Good thing John hasn't gotten a case of food poisoning yet.

John is taking Wednesday off next week for me. Yay, yay, yay.

Alex just got out of a depressionary funk. Got my first NYU B- , and on a frigging midterm at that. Shit, yes, I know, I was depressed about it yesterday too. Stupid professors wh can't even teach right. Got loan forms. Got Dominican Republic Visa and John's tourist card.

Agenda for today:
* Finish reading Katherine Mansfield's compilation of short stories.
* Write stuff.

Funny how John can tell when I'm getting my period -- I have actually developed a genuine PMS routine. Apparently, I metamorphosize into an estrogen-crazed creature when that time of the month comes rolling by. Just for one day though. I guess my body believes in structured insanity.

Told him I never used to be like that when I was still single. So really, it's probably his fault, hehe.

Seriously though, my boyfriend probably puts up with a lot during that day when he suddenly finds a scary, needy, obssesive bitch (complete with long, suffocating tentacles) where his *goddess* girlfriend used to be. Sigh. I'm sorry. Even deities such as myself need a day off from pefection sometimes. Good thing it's just one day out of a month, huh?

I now go back to work.

Something has to be done. I can't take it anymore.

I am a selfish brat. So be it. I'm giving it three months. If nothing happens, then it's done. I'm sorry, and I don't know how I'll live through it, but something has to be done. I'm through with compromises.

Mula sa mga pahina ng Friendster:

Ano ang iyong pangalan at magbigay ka ng deskripsyon sa iyong sarili:
Wanda - Sultana ng sanlibutan

Ilang taon ka na:
Dalawampu't dalawa

Saan ka nag-aaral:
Ngayo'y kumukuha ako ng mga klase sa NYU.

Masaya ka ba sa iyong pag-aaral? Bakit:
Siyempre, sapagkat ang kursong akin ngayong ginugugulan ng panahon ay ang nagpapaandar ng aking mundo.

Anong paborito mong ulam at bakit:
Tapang usa. Dahil malinamnam.

Sinong paborito mong sexbomb dancer:
Wala akong alam sa mga sex bob dancer

Anong paborito mong kulay at bakit:
luntian at err... shit, teka... di ko pa alam kung ano ang tagalog ng "purple".

Sinong pinaka maganda at pinaka guapong tao sa balat ng lupa:
Ako at ako lang.

Umiinom ka ba ng beer? Anong klase? Gaanong
kalakas? kasing lakas ba ng a) aso b) elepante c) camel?
Oo. Noong ako'y nasa Pilipinas pa, ang ikang iniinom ay "San Miguel Light. Ngunit ngayong andito na ako, Amstel Light. Hindi ko masasabi kung alin sa mga hayop na iyan ang kasing lakas ko uminom dahil hindi ko pa sila nakakasama sa inuman.

Kung magpapakulay ka ng buhok, anong kulay ang gusto mo at sino ang gusto mong magkulay para
sayo:
Platinum Blonde. Kahit na sino, basta hindi lang malagas ang buhok ko.

Kaya bang abutin ng dila mo ung ilong mo:
hindi po.

Sinong paborito mo sa Bioman:
Yung unang Yellow 4. Yung namatay.

Alam mo ba ang kulay ng panty ni Annie? (ung sa shaider):
Puti, syempre.

Anong klase at pangalan ng alaga mong hayop:
Ngayoy'y wala akong alagang hayop, maliban na lang siguro sa aking , err, kasintahan.

Sinong bestfriend mo doon:
Bestfriend saan?

Saan ka nakatira:
Sa isang maaliwalas na apartment.

Anong paborito mong laro sa family computer:
Wala.

Memoryado mo ba ang kantang "Ice Ice Baby"? Kung
oo,mag type ka ng isang linya mula sa kanta:
"Alright stop. Collaborate and listen...Ice, Ice
baby."

Ano ang pinakamabangong pabango:
Hugo Boss dark red. Ata. Tama bang pangalan? Basta yung boss na pula ang bote.

Anong paborito mong Disney na cartoon na pelikula at bakit:
Sleeping Beauty sapagkat hindi siya mukhang tao.

May crush ka ba sa isa sa mga friendster mo? Anong pangalan nya:
Wala. At kahit na meron, hindi ko isusulat dito.

Sinong paborito mo sa Ninja Turtles:
S Donatello.

Kumakain ka ba ng nips:
Oo, kaso lang walang Nips dito.

Nasaan ka ngayon:
Asa sala ng aking apartment.

Nakakita ka na ba ng multo:
Sa aking pagkaalam ay hindi pa.

Alin sa Shake Rattle and Roll ang pinaka nakakatakot:
Basta yung andun si Herbert Bautista at may mananggal. At yung kay Manilyn Reynes.

Anong paborito mong grupo sa That's Entertainment:
Basta yung andun si Francis Magalona at si Ramon Cristopher (tama ba pangalan?).

Memoryado mo pa ba ang Lupang Hinirang at
Panatang Makabayan:
Ummm, kung meron kasabay.

Kailan ka uling naihi sa kama mo habang natutulog:
Sa tancha ko, nung ako'y isang munting bata pa.

Nanonood ka ba ng maala ala mo kaya:
Hindi.

Anong paborito mong telenobela:
Telenobela ba yung Ulaa?

Sinong gusto mong maging asawa:
Wala pa akong balak magpatali sa altar.

Anong paborito mong dance step:
Hindi ako marunong sumayaw.

Masaya ba ito?
Pakibasa ng sagot sa itaas.

Now it can be told.

I just came back from the doctor's office. The annoying growth that I have been stubbornly trying to ignore now has a definition. It is actually an epidermoid cyst that developed fibrosis (hence it stationary nature). Due to its location, it was also infected, which is why it was a bit inflamed. My system has been flooded with antiobiotics and they will attempt to remove the cyst next week. I feel slightly naseous right now, but I'm guessing that's just due to all the warring in my system. Anyway, yay for insurance.