Is He Worth the Fight?

When boys ages 10-11 were sporting bowl cuts, Eliezer's hair was longer than most, parted at one side and neatly finished at the edges. He was 12 or 13 years old but was in grade five. According to the grapevine, he failed one level and had to repeat it. At my young age of 10, Eliezer's 12-13 year old's antics were more sophisticated and mature than my 10-11 year old boy classmates.

I was invisible to Eliezer. In grade 5, I was chubby and awkward. Surely, a heart throb like Eliezer was beyond my reach. Of course I was so young and didn't know any better. Every batch, whether in college or high school and even in grammar or elementary level, had its own resident vamp or tramp or bitch. In our grade 5 batch it was Nerida. She and Eliezer were an item - the heart throb and the vamp. There was no way Eliezer would notice little-chubby me. However, an opportunity was presented. The school decided that it wanted to put up a Rondalla group. Good for me. I excel in playing the banduria as my papa taught me well. I joined the group and lo and behold! The tramp and throb joined too. Nerida played the laud while Eliezer the guitar. Okay now. Nerida sucked, big time! I was better in playing the banduria and Eliezer gravitated to me if only to play his C's, D's, and whatever chords as accompaniment to my melodious banduria.

For the next couple of months, everything went fine. We were busy practicing for we were supposed to play at the local town's first air-conditioned cinema's opening. I was really minding my own business - playing my banduria. Then one Saturday after practice Nerida approached me and challenged me to a "duel". What the heck? Whatever for? It seemed that Eliezer broke off with her and the vamp thought that I snatched her boy friend. (Nuh-uh! I have not mastered the skill. That would come years later!)

I thought long and hard while the remaining rondalla members were jeering/cheering "suntukan na! suntukan na!"* I didn't like Nerida. She was trashy and flashy. She was also several inches taller than me. Do I fight her? Maybe I could use Karate to crack open her skull or split the lip of the batch bitch. But my father told me not to use Karate for meaningless fights. Umm... what will happen if I do fight her then lose? Does Eliezer merit me fighting for him? Do I even like him now that I found that he has bad breath? What will my parents say (both dentists) if I come home bloodied and scratched all because of someone with bad breath?

"Excuse me, Nerida. If your ex left you, it's because of your rotten personality. Why should I fight you? I don't want to get dirty."

Nerida made a dash for me but I was quicker. I was holding a baton in one hand and boinked her hear with it.

"Touch me and I make sure the principal hears of it. She is after all, my aunt."

I packed my banduria, looked haughtily at her and left. I started out slowly at first then progressively speeded up. The bitch might change her mind and come after me. She didn't. Eventually, we ended up acknowledging each other but we never became friends. Eliezer? I have not seen him since 1969.

Lesson learned: A boy is not worth fighting for, specially one with bad breath.



* fist fight! fist fight!

Passing Fancy

In grade five I met Delfin. He was a transferee from a parochial school. Students from the said school felt superior to us public school-ers. What the heck? - we public school toughies used to say. Delfin had a hard time fitting in at first. There were some talk (from our section 5-1) that he transferred school due to pressing economic crunch suffered by his family.

Delfin was dark and dusky. Talk was that his father was a hunter and that Delfin occasionally tagged along, thus, his dark complexion. He was smart too. While I struggled with the dang universal, finite and infinite sets, Delfin was breezing through it. He can also, sing, declaim and scrub the floor best when assigned as homeroom cleaners. (Yes. Public school-ers were mandated to clean their classrooms, which I never did because my Tiya Liling was the school principal.) Anyway, Delfin was just a passing fancy. He was new in school and I was curious. I was then more mesmerized by an older boy, a grade six student, Eliezer.

Love Triangle

My first grade year was spent "obsessing" with Roger. However, there was a boy in class who can't take his eyes off me too. Well, of course I didn't know at the time that Jay had a crush on me. We were the class A-1 students. A-1 is not about being the top in academics. A-1 has something to do with being the healthiest students in class. In the 60's, healthy meant "chubby". Yes. I was the chubbiest (and the cutest) girl in our grade-one-section-one class while Jay was fat, not chubby. I remember him looking at me with basset-hound eyes. Always. He was always in my peripheral - during class discussion, seatwork time, recess, etc.

At first, I was not irritated because I had no idea that he had a crush on me. The moment I found out though, I was annoyed. Even more so when Roger started teasing me about it! Roger! The love of my grade one year! What was I to do? I was 6.5 years old and was completely lacking in experience! Mothers were of no help then. It was unthinkable for a 6 year old girl to have a "heart" dilemma. Yes. I started young. I just let it go when moms today say that their kids are so emotionally advance because they have crushes in kindergarten. Big deal. I had a love triangle at age 6.

In grade two, Jay transferred to a private school. Problem solved. There were times that I saw him lurking about the school ground, probably looking for me. After more than 30 years I had the chance to see Jay in our elementary batch reunion. He said that he was an honorary guest. That was in 2005. The following year Jay succumbed to a heart failure.

My First Crush

It was June 1963. Or was it July? I really can't remember. It was the first day of school and six-year old me walked all the way to the local primary school. I was to be in grade one! Back in those days mothers don't hang around school. In my hometown, kids walk to school by themselves. If one's house is not within walking distance from the school, one takes a motorized tricycle. No school bus.

My grade one teacher was a relative of my mother. Therefore I was given the best seat in the classroom. Some of my classmates from our church's kindergarten class were also there. As I looked about the classroom, one boy caught my attention. He had fair skin, dark hair, and beautiful eyes. He looked neat and clean too not like some of the boys in the room whose noses needed cleaning - Not my neat and clean object of curiosity.Let's call him Roger.

He lived in the big white house across the school. He was the youngest in the family and his siblings were batch mates of my older cousins. All through grade one, I think my eyes always strayed on Roger's face so much so that my teacher finally decided to sit him beside me. After school, we hang out by sitting on the low concrete fence of their yard. The fence must have been teeming with streptococci for in one or two occasions, I developed boils on the part that touched that dirty fence. The boils were painful. There were no antibiotics then, only penicillin based medications that I was allergic to. My father finally forbade me to stop hanging out by that fence. My budding feelings were cut short due to a boil.

Roger and I remained classmates until grade 4. For the next two years I still saw him around the school. In high school, I've totally lost track of Roger. However in 1976, we once again crossed path at my aunt's wake. My childhood friends were also there and they were excited for me as they knew that Roger was my first crush. Gosh! I said, that was eons ago.I was then requested to sing a Vilma Santos-Fernando Poe Jr. theme song. I obliged. I sang Bato sa Buhangin. Mid-song, Roger decided to join me to the excitement of my amigas. I was "loveless" that time and I thought "What the heck? Why not?!" But as I looked into his dark tantalizing eyes, the magic of 13 years ago was long gone.

Last I heard he and his family migrated to Australia.

The Many Faces of February

February is the second month of the year in the Julian and Gregorian calendars. It is the shortest month and the only month with fewer than 30 days. The month has 29 days in leap years, and 28 in regular years. February was named after the Latin word februum which means purification. The violet and the primrose are the flowers of the month. Its birthstone is the amethyst. February has been synonymous as the love month mainly because of Valentine's Day. I have not been a "valentine" person. I can't even remember celebrating the occasion. Why? Because I believe that when two people love each other, everyday is Valentine's day! Hoot-hoot!

What do I write about for the month of February? Hmmm... Think... What about if I write the many loves of my life...not erase that. What I meant was the many (?) men who I have admired (from a distance and not). Let's see. Now, how do I go about it? Where do I start? Who the heck was number 1 in the list? Hold on. I've to do some real deep thinking to refresh my memory.

Queer Laundry Woman

My in-law's old house is big. It's not a house in the real sense of the word "house". It is actually a building for their business: the business area occupying the ground floor while the residential area is on the second floor. The building itself was badly planned- that is according to my standards. It looked like the structure was planned in accordance with the owners' whim - ok, let's take this wall out and add another bedroom or let's extend this flooring, add a roof and presto, we have a balcony.

Ahh... the balcony. That balcony was called terrace by my in-laws. I had a hard time locating the terrace the first time I was asked to go there. I kept looking for the terrace at the ground floor not realizing that they meant the balcony. I finally figured it out when hubby leaned out from the balcony and called out to me - hoy! andito kami! ( hey! we're here! )

The balcony was a venue for many occasions. That was where my father-in-law kept his pigeon feeds. Every morning he would bang a metal post to call the pigeons for their meal. The balcony , being spacious, was a place to congregate and party too. It was also where the washing machines were located. When I had my baby I thought it better to do my own laundry. One step over the side of the balcony will lead one to the immense galvanized roofing of the ground floor structure. The reflective glare of the sun against the GI roofing made me wear sunglasses whenever I do the laundry. I guess some of my in-laws' employees found me peculiar. I guess their wives and mothers do not wear sunglasses when doing the laundry. But what the heck? Hubby, in his quest to make me look less weird, also dons men's sunglasses when he comes over to see me doing laundry. One time, I was waiting for the cycle to finish when my mother-in-law came by too. It was almost noon and the sun's glare was horrendous. I almost fell over when I saw my mother-in-law wearing women's sunglasses big enough to cover her whole face. She was sweet though. She went out of her way to show her employees and other "tenants" in the house that her daughter-in-law - me- was not queer.

Desperateblogger is a Pinay Mom {Who} Blogs

I started this blog with this in mind: A blog on insights & anecdotes of my life, family, home, motherhood, parenting, lifestyle, health, home & fitness tips, entertainment, current issues and more...to vent my rants and rages. I had no intention of interacting with fellow bloggers. My main goal was to blog, blog and blog. It has been six months since my first post - and I do declare that I have come a long way (babeh!)

I started out as a blogspot. I was and am a desperateblogger - as the essence of my blog was a mom who was desperate to blog. After a couple of months I wanted my own domain. I really prefer the domain name desperateblogger but I also wanted a domain name that would identify me as a Filipina. Thus, pinaymomblogs it is.

I have changed my blog's template 4 times. I have learned the importance of back links and technorati authority. I have gotten to know bloggers from all around the world. I have read all about their lives ( at least the part that they want to make public) all graciously spread out in their blogs.I have been informed of pregnancies, births, weddings, baptisms, parties - birthday, graduation, farewell, etc. Like most bloggers or SAHM or WAHM, I too have become involved in monetizing my blog.

My posts have become a hodgepodge of articles - sometimes not even remotely connected to the genre of my original blog - all for the mighty moolah! However, I cannot possibly abandon my extra income source - oh no! not when this blog is PR 3! I just have to consistently incorporate my extra income ventures to my blog's genre. Note how I do not use the word p*id b*ogging - g*o*gle robots, you know.

Six months of blogging - 325 posts, PR 3, Alexa 188,042, Top Blog #37, Real Rank 544, Technorati Rank 12,810 and most of all a blog roll full of wonderful blogger friends like you! From the bottom of my heart, I thank each one of YOU for being part of my blogging life!

Air Conditioned

Due to the escalating prices of gas and other basic utilities and commodities, my husband has declared that air conditioner units (ACU) will no longer be turned on as if we are the Lopezes (Manila Electric Company major stock holders). All my kids complained as they have gotten used to turning on the air-conditioner units the moment they arrive home. Of course, I am irritated too. Why? First, I too prefer cool rooms where I need not sweat. Second, because my kids are suffering from the heat! I hate it when my kids are uncomfortable. For moms out there, I know that you know what I mean.

There is now an ongoing cold war between my kids and their dad. In order to pacify everyone, I did not really (only slightly) say on whose side I am on. I explained that we just have to adjust to the ACUs being on only at bedtime. No one is happy with the set up. Ethan (the 24/7 ACU user) complained that he is melting. Daughter # 2 said her asthma has acted up. Daughter #3 and #4 had thought of paying for their own energy consumption. For the past week the two had logged in their ACU usage. The log is actually posted on their door where their dad can see it - which he cannot for he refuses to wear corrective lenses. My son is not greatly affected for he only comes home on weekends, likewise daughter #1.

So, now, after a week of suffering from heat, did my husband actually saved money? I think so for there was definitely a marked drop in the ACU usage. But wait! Did I actually saved money in this no-ACU-usage-till-bedtime ploy? I certainly did not! Ethan got sick with cough and cold. Electric fan induced air does not suit him. The intensity of the cough forced me to buy a new nebulizer- for the old one conked out- which cost me 3,000 Php plus another 1,000 Php for meds. I had to buy two new electric fans at 1,300 Php. I now have watery eyes and itchy throat. I am about to get sick, for like Ethan,I have very low tolerance to the air turbulence created by an electric fan.

Someone... please turn on the air conditioner.

Boredom Kills

I am bored! Bored as in I have nothing better and exciting to do but try to finish dropping 300 entrecards. Bored as in I keep on refreshing the pages of my sponsored post programs in the hope of finding an opportunity to do. Bored as in I have not had an intelligent-stimulating-neuron-jarring conversation for the past... ummmm... year! Bored as in there is nothing to excite me nor make me want to wake up all eager for a new day. For the longest time, the only thing that raises my heart rate is my jogging.

I am not unhappy. I am just bored. There is a great big difference between being unhappy and being bored. My free time used to be full of energy-filled activities like playing tennis, workout at the gym, and ballroom dancing. Economics was added into the equation thus putting on hold all my extras.

I am bored... so bored that I have gained 10 lbs in the last 6 months. Now, I am not only bored. I am bored and fat.

I need to get back to my regular jogging regimen. The jogging might somehow elevate my endorphins and thus make me feel "less" bored. Sigh!

Monday Blues

It is a lazy, rainy, gloomy, Monday. As usual I woke up before my alarm clock was set to ring at 5:30 A.M. Monday mornings are just hectic for me. My son is off for the week and I have to make sure everything is ready and packed. Daughter #1 is on duty today until tomorrow. Daughter #2 has to be in school real early - she has been elevated to senior level teacher and IB teacher. Daughter #3 has a patient at 8 A.M.- a child of 5 is to have multiple teeth extraction and has to be sedated. Daughter #4 is all toxic for today is the start of her midterm exams. Ethan added to the hullabaloo by waking up earlier than usual and demanding to be fed ASAP.

By 6:30 A.M everyone's out of the house. I was left with Ethan and was tasked to take him to school later. As I was seeing my kids off I noticed that the sidewalk gutter at the front is filled with mud. Instead of assigning the job to the maid, I got the shovel and started to dig up the mud. Oh, this is hard. Just then a neighbor passed by and shouted "hoy! bakit ikaw gumagawa nyan?" ( why are you the one doing that?). I just put down the shovel -mind you it's the rectangular biggie shovel- and smiled and waved at her. I continued with my work. The mud was pretty thick and smelly. I started to sweat and swear. If my mother could see me now she'd die!

I tried to hasten my work for several neighbors ( going to work) are coming out of their houses now. I got the broomstick and dustpan and started sweeping the remaining dirt. I was able to clean up the front sidewalk pretty well. The stinking mud is gone and I am left with the thought that for the rest of the day "I have nothing better and of consequence to do."

I felt sad.











picture courtesy

The Wait

I set my alarm to ring at 5:45 A.M. Is this early enough? Maybe I should set it to go off at 5:30 A.M.? No, 5:45 A.M. is fine. I went to bed jittery with anticipation. I tossed and turned. Maybe I should just stay up a while and just wait? I am not good with the waiting game. I hate to wait and I hate late!

I finally fell asleep for the next thing I knew it was 5:20 A.M. I woke up even before the alarm went off. I went straight to the kitchen and told the surprised Jean (for I usually get up at 6:45 am) what to cook for breakfast and what to pack for snacks. Having done the morning instructions I proceeded to my little nook and turned on the computer.

Now the actual wait begins.

I started to hear movements and voices indicating that the rest of the household is waking up too. I was so tempted to leave my fort and go see what is happening. No. I have to maintain my position ready to pounce anytime now. I stayed glued. Refreshing my view every now and then. Anytime now. I can do this. I know I can. My right hand was steady. My left hand fidgety. It does not matter. I only need one steady hand.

"Mom? We're leaving" chorused my four out of five kids. What am I to do? Do I leave my fort to bid my kids good bye or do I stay and continue my watch? I have to see them off. My son won't be back until Friday night.

I hurriedly left my stance and sprinted to the dining room to say bye-bye to my kids. Goodbye, bye-bye, see-you-friday-pleasechangeyourbeddings-tc! I was off my post for not more than 5 minutes. Hurriedly I went back in front of my computer, held the mouse and clicked on the refresh icon. Crap! Gray areas! I just missed five freaking opportunities again!

The wait begins... anew.

Feverish Friday

I've been running a fever since Thursday night. I felt so lethargic that I fell asleep inside the car while waiting for daughter #2 last Thursday. When I came home, I felt feverish so I took my temperature. It read 38.5 Celsius. I was officially sick.

Friday morning daughter #1, the doctor, came home to look me over and take Ethan to school. I was having stomach spams - maybe a bout of gastro - the doctor said. I browsed the internet and checked my email and blog for a short time. I had a terrible headache, a grumbling-spasmodic tummy, and an aching body. I wanted to eat but my stomach won't take in food! By evening, I just wanted to be left alone. Ethan was in my bed (of all places) playing and watching TV. He kept on singing, and talking - stressing me out.

Ethan, can you please go to Kux's room. You're stressing me out.

What's stressing?

Just go and stress Kux!

Off Ethan went and brought Kux back.

What is it mom? Do you need anything? daughter #3 asked.

I explained what happened and that brought another strain of stress making my tummy spasm more. I waved Ethan and daughter #3 to get out of my bedroom. After a few minutes, Ethan came back.

Mom, can I just stay in your room. Kux said she does not like stress. I'll take care of you because you're sick, said Ethan.

I agreed for the sake of agreeing. I so wanted to tune out.

Mom, can you get me water? I'm thirsty.

But I'm sick and you said you'll take care of me.

Oh I forgot. Then Ethan continued to watch TV. Thirst forgotten. A moment later he asked,

Mom, can we watch Narnia?

I agreed and changed the channel. As Ethan was watching I commented that we have not watched Narnia 2 yet.

But we are watching Narnia now, Ethan said.

That's Narnia 1. The one that's showing in cinemas is Narnia 2, I commented.

You mean there are many Narnia? What about Narnia 3?

I don't know if and when Narnia 3 will be!

Or what about Narnia 4, 5, or 17! His eyes were all a glow, brimming with excitement.

I turned my back on Ethan and closed my eyes. My tummy's churning again.

Emergency Situations

As a mother of five, you can just imagine how many times I must have encountered emergencies. No. I am not in the mood to count those situations for I do not want to recall how many times I silently died. Yes. I died each emergency time then miraculously bounced back to life after 2 seconds. My mom, relatives and friends say that I am such a cool cucumber in times of stress and emergencies. That's what they think. I AM NOT A COOL CUCUMBER! I am petrified. I hyperventilate. I die!

The thing is even in times of undue stress, I do manage to present a cool exterior. My secret? Um... because I am a vociferous reader. I have read up on emergency procedures as early as I was 3 months pregnant with my first child. I have more or less learned to deal with panic attacks. Here are some pointers you can use to check your panic mode.

1.Learn CPR and first aid: Having first-aid skills makes you do useful actions instead of panic.

2. Grow you brain: Meaning, please use you brain - read, study, write, solve puzzles or any other activity to stimulate tour brain. The hippocampus, the part of the brain which calls up life experiences to moderate fear, shrinks.

3. Imagine the worst: Plan A. Plan B. Even Plan C or D. Yesterday my daughters and some friends we were talking about how to repel a rapist. One idea was to tell the rapist that she i having her monthly period. Another one said, pretend to vomit and say you have to use the bathroom. Tell the rapist you have AIDS. Silly as the ideas may be, at least there's a plan.

4. Practice makes perfect: I have played over and over in my mind what to do in case my kid shallows an object and start to gag. I have visualized perfectly countless times. When daughter # 3 shallowed a key chain at the age of 1.5 years, I knew where to grab her to completely turn her upside down- whack her back - and dislodge the keychain from her throat. When daughter #4's turn came, it was a breeze.

5. SAP 100: Stop. Assess. Plan at 100 meters. Keep away from wild animals, maniacs, fire, car wrecks and the likes until you have decided the most useful and plausible strategy.

6. Determine risks versus benefits. Do you get in the burning house now or do you wait for help? Do you try to save the drowning person and risk drowning yourself too? The key is never endanger more people than can be saved.

7. Prioritise: Professional use this standard: red for critically injured people; yellow for moderately injured people; green for good to go. If there is tie\me for rescue, rescuers will definitely take the reds first. If time is crucial and there's not a second to spare, the rescuers take the green.

The best remedy I have in times of great panic and emergencies is prayer. My best rescue buddy is of course, God.

Writings on the Wall

Graffiti : (used with a plural verb) markings, as initials, slogans, or drawings, written, spray-painted, or sketched on a sidewalk, wall of a building or public restroom, or the like.







Graffitist caught in action at Gram's Diner.

Trapped!

I woke up earlier than usual today for it was my turn to drive daughter# 3- the dentist- to her duty. Going to the hospital was a breeze but coming back was not. It will be the town fiesta tomorrow in my adopted-third-world-town in Cavite so traffic snarls were expected. I greeted Ethan when I got back and gave him some crinkles that I bought at Becky's Kitchen. I proceeded to the basement and turned on my desktop.

Mom! I can't open the door to your bedroom. Something clicked and now the doorknob is loose! It won't budge! daughter # 2 - the teacher- said. Ethan is inside and can't get out.

Huh!? Again!? For the nth time, that doorknob has been replaced. My bedroom gets the most traffic in our house. Everybody wants to hang out in my bedroom. Watch TV. Sleep on my bed. Eat. Talk. Rant. Rave. Exercise. Do make-overs. Anything. Everything.

Ethan! I've told you millions of times to stop banging and slamming my door. I shouted as I walked or rather galloped towards my bedroom.

But mom, I didn't do anything, countered Ethan. D2 and I tried to open the door. We used keys, screw drivers and a credit card (expired) to try to open the jammed door. Nothing. Okay. Think. I asked one of the maids to get the ladder so I can climb by the window and try to pry it open- bad idea as the French window is barrel bolted. No harm trying.

It is good that my house is a split-level type and my bedroom is just about 8 steps elevated from the ground. As I climbed the ladder, the three maids and daughter #2 were all gawking at me. Right. You might ask why daughter #2 did not climb the ladder herself. She was all dressed up and was about to leave when the incident happened. I can't let her dirty her clothes.

Ethan, get a chair and come by the window. Step on the chair and try to slide the bolt of the window to your right. Of course I lost about a pint of blood explaining what the heck is a bolt, how it looks like and how to align all parts so it might slide freely and finally unlock.

What mom? Ethan is 5 and can't even get near the window much less understand or execute my instructions. Again. I tapped the window and indicated that he lift the blinds -which as you can probably see in the picture, is now broken- and curtains so he can reach the window bolt. Yes! He was able to reach the bolt. Now, slide the bolt to your right as I indicated with my hand where his right is. It's not working mom. Oh shoot! Slide the bolt to your left! He did, finally, and I opened the window from the outside.

Problem 2. The window has grills but I was able to unlock it. The problem was the grills swing-in the bedroom to open which is impossible to do since half of the TV was blocking the window.The TV was heavy and Ethan can't possibly budge it. I got down from the ladder to call my foreman.

Mom?!
What!?
I really have to poo! Great!

Daughter #2 rushed back praying that the door might finally open. Miraculously, it did!

Lessons learned:

for Ethan: do not bang or slam the door.
for daughter#2: miracles do happen in the most tight situations
for me: do not buy that particular brand of doorknob ever again.

Writing Gig Galore

An online buddy ,Herson, introduced me to a site that pays you to do essays and research works. He said he has been with that company for a year and that the pay is good. Wanting to spread out my wings in terms of writing and well, earning money online, I signed up. All I had to do was fill-up the online application form and attach a sample of my work. I was readily approved to be one of the site's new writer for hire.

I was excited. Finally, a writing gig where I am not hired based on my site's PR or popularity or location or domain(or lack of it). Google will be happy with me. No more paid blogging! I received emails after emails of writing opportunities. As I peruse the topics, I thought what the heck did I get myself into? Here are some samples of opportunities offered to me.

Topic: Mobility/Continuing Care Nursing Care Plan
Type: Case Study (Health and Social Care)
Pages: 30
Level: Specialized Level (Nursing)
Page cost: $10.65
Total: $319.50
Deadline: 2008-05-07 06:21:15 PST
Style: APA, UK English
Sources: 10

Topic:How does an initially successful behaviour establish itself
as a self-defeating behaviour and why is it so difficult for the client
to recognise it?'
Type:Problem-Solving (Other/Not Specified)
Level: College Level
Page cost: $7.14
Total: $71.40
Deadline: 2008-05-03 23:36:17 PST
Style: MLA, UK
Sources:2

I signed up to write for subjects in art, religion and other easy social sciences. The clients specify the number of resources that is why it's imperative to do research work. Researching is not really a daunting task: but if you have to write a 30-page-10-resources-research- in- specialized nursing, a subject I know nothing about, to be written in UK English in 3-4 days, I say, old chap count me out.

The in-demand topics are business, health care and philosophy related. As I continue to receive offers of perplexing topics, my nose persists to bleed!

Sentimental Fool

I was off line all day yesterday. I had to leave the house to watch Ethan's summer workshop's culminating activity.

I was distracted yesterday. I was preoccupied thinking of so many tasks still undone. I have to look for a place for my son to stay this coming academic year. I have to prepare myself (physically and mentally) for next week the maids will be off for 2 weeks. I have to make sure I have the money for tuition fees and other school stuff. My garden is still a mess. My car needs some minor buffing. My other daughter tells me she needs a car. All of these thoughts translated to more money needed which set me thinking of the extra income I could have had in paid blogging if only this site has a page rank of even 1.

As early evening came, I sat by my terrace to contemplate. I wanted to talk about blogging, PR, Google, Technorati, paid reviews and anything to do with the blogosphere. My kids are not around and they won't be interested anyway. My friends? Forget it! Blogging is not a word they would understand.

Two entities then came by and sat with me. Ah, an audience. I started to talk. I do not need answers as there were really no questions. I just needed someone to air my thoughts and sentiments. As I finished my monologue, I felt better.

Can we eat now? I'm hungry. Ethan asked.

Woof! joined Rocky.

Ignoramus Irked !

The extremely hot weather finally caught up on me. I have a cold: clogged nose, itchy throat, watery eyes, congested chest, irritating cough, hot-cold sensation and a splitting headache.

So what am I doing blogging? Sick or not, life goes on. I just had to check my e-mail for I've been expecting one from my brother. In the course of my checking, I saw an anonymously written comment on my Black Suede post. He/She/It said that I am ignorant. Let me clarify that anonymous #2 called me ignorant because I wrote that the highly publicized rectal surgical procedure was interesting. Umm... that set me thinking. (If you can actually declare my brain to be capable of the task). Just what does ignorant means?

According to my favorite online dictionary, ignorant means:

1. lacking in knowledge or training. True, I am not a doctor but do I need to be one for me to say that the surgical procedure was interesting?

2. lacking knowledge or information as to a particular subject or fact. I did not report on the surgical procedure. I merely wrote what I have read and gave my two cents.

3 uninformed. unaware. Oh I was aware of the incident.

4. due to or showing lack of knowledge or training: an ignorant statement. Was commenting that I find the much-viewed-and-talked-about surgical procedure interesting validates that I am indeed ignorant?
If that is ignorance, than we have a lot of ignoramuses traipsing about, happily.

Block that Sun

The temperature today reached 37 degrees Celsius. That is roughly equivalent to 100 degrees Fahrenheit. That is hot! hot!hot!

I am now sunburned. No, I have not been to the beach yet. I really do not like the beach, as a matter of fact. I try to keep freckles and melasma off my face that is why I stay away from the sun. I really take precautions.

I slather sunblock on my face before I leave the house. My sunblock claims to block UVA and UVB rays. I use an umbrella while walking under the intense heat of the Philippine sun. I re-apply sunscreen as needed. Still, I see myself getting progressively sunburned.

The heck with sunblocks having an SPF of 45. If I normally get sunburned in 10 minutes then using a sunscreen with an SPF pf 45 would mean I am safe from burning in a time span of 450 minutes or 7 hours and 50 minutes. Umm. Not true at all. You see, I just found out that conventional sunscreen with a high SPF does block UVA rays effectively.

Even some products labeled "broad-spectrum UVA/UVB protection" do not provide good protection against UVA rays. The best UVA protection is provided by products that contain zinc oxide, avobenzone, and ecamsule. Titanium dioxide probably gives good protection, but does not completely cover the entire UV-A spectrum.

Ultraviolet A causes invisible damage and skin aging and does not cause reddening or pain. This is the culprit that makes me darker and gives me age spots and wrinkles! Drat!

Anyone knows where I can buy a titanium dioxide-based sunblock?

Do Your Job, Well

After dropping off my son at his school, Ethan and I proceeded to fetch the dentist. En route, we went to McDo drive through.

Yes ma'm good afternoon. Your order please.

My order: one large fries, one large light coke and one chicken fillet meal.
No response from the speaker.

Ahh...hello? Can anybody hear me?

Yes ma'm. Your order please.

One large fries, one large light coke and one chicken fillet meal.

Ahh, ma'm your order is one large fries? What else ma'm.

Again. One large fries, one large light coke and one chicken fillet meal.This time my voice a little bit louder than normal.

Umm... ma'm can you repeat it?

Oh my gosh! Can't you understand or hear what I'm saying?

Ma'm ....I can hear you but....

One large fries, one large light coke and one chicken fillet: this time said with much emphasis on each syllable with a pitch over normal and a volume that can be heard about 10 meters away.

I do not want to be a beaaaaatch but.... oh well....