First Day

Today was my daughter's first day of school. I was expecting drama, tears, and a lot of pulling and tugging. But no, Ripley dumped me at the door and didn't even look back to blow me a kiss. Bu-hu-hu! Sob! Okay, now I'm having a massive insecurity problem. Is there something wrong with me as a mom? She didn't even want to go home when I went back to pick her up! Oh well, I guess I did a good job of "briefing" her. She actually told me she's in it for the slide and the monkey bars... I'm so proud of you baby!

password where art thou?

I can't believe it. I completely forgot my password. This is what you call stage 1 dementia and the fact that I haven't been signing in for the past 3 months or so. I have been so busy, in fact, I still am, and this was what kept me away from blogging:


Will post more soon. Gotta go. Too sleepy to think. Ciao!

grasshoppers, etc.

My son had a playlet last week and I kinda harassed the whole Pijuan clan which included my dear mom-in-law and my sister-in-law (not to mention all of great Grandma Minia's household crew) just so Zaki won't look like the grasshopper from hell. I was, on the other hand, the stage mother from hell, hanging out with the other stage moms at the backstage holding Zak's wings which my talented sister-in-law Ella made. Mommy sewed Zak's green suit and the only thing I did was to dye the stockings green. I've never been the crafty type and man, it was darn hard. I almost dyed the pan green because of my bullheadedness. The thing is, that pan was my sinigang pan, so the next day, I was kind of expecting my soup to turn minty in color. Ugh!

So I was utterly useless, save for googling Zak's grasshopper mask, I just made everybody paranoid with my incessant complaints and rantings. But the costume was done in a day in spite of the fact that I frazzled my mom-in-law's nerves in the process. Ripley was whining about why she didn't have a butterfly mask and wings and I had to appease her with some lollipop and er, empty promises just to shut her up.

I was so proud of Zak as he did his best on stage. He's such an awesome kid, I mean, if you're a 9 year old boy, would you wear green stockings and spandex on stage? That could be detrimental to his future mental health and may lead to lifetime therapy, which, I'm sorry, I'll never ever be financially prepared for. But he did it and he did it with such aplomb and pizzazz! Way to go my boy! You were the best-looking grasshopper in the history of best-looking grasshoppers. You made mommy proud!

Zak on stage with some t-shirt wearing dragonfly (this kid's mom
must be the exact opposite of OC me)

mental malfunction

I've been feeling so cuckoo lately what with the stress of multi-tasking. My dear husband has been ultra patient with me and my sadistic tendencies (that actually sounds kinky) and he has managed to divert my sadism with his never-ending massages and patience. Anyway, I wrote this article a few years ago about these strange brain disorders and just wanted to share it with my readers (as of last count I have 3,000 plus people wasting their precious time reading this blog. I bet half of them hate my guts (hah! you know who you are -- you sick WEB VOYEURS!) and half of them LOVE me. To the latter, the feeling is mutual. To those who read this blog just to keep track of my exciting life because yours are unbearably boring -- get a life (not a nose job), read this article and have your brains checked! (Evil laughter in the background.)

"It’s official. I am now suffering from a serious, albeit temporary mental malaise. Although my condition has not yet progressed to full-blown dementia, I suspect that I am presently in the ‘pre-dementia’ or ‘questionable dementia’ stage (I actually did some minor research which proves that I haven’t entirely lost it). Selective memory loss (for some reason I only remember the things I want to remember) and / or forgetfulness -- what did I say again? Oh, yes, forgetfulness; violent outbursts; self-pity; and an almost daily, syncopic loss of consciousness (where my brain literally zonks out and plays dead for 30 seconds; I used to call these brain black-outs ‘30-second comas’ during my post-college years) especially when there’s an influx of things that I’m supposed to do and when deadlines are near -- are just some of the symptoms of my (mental) illness.

However, I shall leave it to the able doctors and psychiatrists to give the proper prognosis and definition of my affliction. All I know is that my condition is actually temporary and will soon be miraculously cured – specifically when I’m done with all my “brain” projects. I’m talking of course about all my writing assignments lined up for this month and the Iloilo Yearbook is one of them. You see, the trouble with my job is that except for some minor finger action (I meant when I’m typing on my laptop, you sleazy fools) my brain is actually doing most of the work. Now this is a scary thing because if my brain conks out, I won’t have a replacement for it. If this fella inside my head goes bananas, can I go to the hospital and ask for a brain transplant (a lobotomy, maybe, but a brain transplant, no) or to a store and order a Pentium 10 brain to go (the high-tech PC has Pentium 5, give me some credit, will you)? I don’t think so. If my brain malfunctions, then I’m as good as dead or you can add me to your chopsuey (I’ll be a vegetable, what else?).

In order to fully know and understand what ails me, I did my usual research and came across some rare brain disorders and diseases. What I found out were mind-bogglingly worse (or better – you be the judge) than mine but definitely more interesting. Take for example this American woman who woke up from a stroke with a brand-new British accent, specifically, a mixture of English cockney and West Country. This was despite the fact that the woman had never been to Britain (she’s from Indiana). Turned out Ms. Brit had a condition called Foreign Accent Syndrome. This rare condition occurs when part of the brain becomes damaged, usually after a stroke or head injury. Researchers at Oxford University found that when specific parts of the brain gets injured, certain linguistic functions are affected. The damage could then result in altered pitch or mispronounced syllables, thereby causing the speech to sound accented.

There have only been a few documented cases of this mental syndrome, but the first one occurred in Norway in 1941 after a young woman suffered a head injury during an air-raid. Apparently, after her recovery, said woman was amazingly left with what sounded like a strong German accent. What was even more astonishing and distressing was the fact that after hearing her talk with her new accent, she was shunned by her fellow Norwegians (sad, but true).

So, you get thumped or bashed on the head and voila -- you’ll be speaking with a French, Irish or Japanese accent when you wake up. However, if luck (and I’m not trying to be insulting, just tongue-in-cheek) is on your side, instead of sounding foreign, you might end up with a thick Visayan or Kinaray-a accent (the latter I already have, so no need to hit me in the head). Now, that’s an interesting thought.

And here’s another one. To have a hand which defies your will, or even turns violently against you may sound like pulp fiction fodder or a plot meant for one of those horror B-movies. “Anarchic Hand” has earned the popular sobriquet, Dr. Strangelove syndrome (named after the eponymous scientist with the unruly limb in Stanley Kubrick's 1964 film), where a stroke, head injury or aneurysm can cause a hand to become errant or take a life of its own. Just like the mad, bomb-maker character of Peter Sellers in the movie; the 40 or so people who are documented to have been afflicted with “Anarchic Hand” are often forced into Jekyll and Hyde-like skirmishes with their recalcitrant appendage. Some were even known to uncharacteristically hit people or to strangle themselves to near-death with their own violently, uncooperative hands.

Come to think of it, a few days ago I actually felt my hand twitch when I saw someone I have been wanting to beat to a pulp (this one’s real, not fiction). The moment I saw her disgusting, serpent-like face, I actually had to hold my “anarchic” right hand by my left or it would have taken a life of its own and whacked the poor, dumb girl on the spot. The question is, if I did pummel her, could I have used Dr. Strangelove’s syndrome as a way out of a possible law suit? That’s another food for thought.

There is also another mental syndrome called Agnosia that makes people unable to recognize faces, shapes or even specific sorts of animals. This syndrome has an even more distressing “offshoot” in the form of Capgras syndrome. Named after the French doctor who identified it in the 1920s, the syndrome causes its victims to conclude that a loved one has been replaced by an impostor. It results from the breaking of the link between the parts of the brain responsible for visual recognition and emotional response, brought on by, again, a head injury or a deep depression.

There is actually a story about a Welsh couple who was involved in a minor car crash in 1995. Alan Davies, the husband, suffered from Capgras syndrome and became convinced by a series of vivid flashbacks that his wife of 31 years had not survived the accident. He decided that Christine Davies (in reality suffering nothing more than whiplash), was in fact a double impersonating his "dead" spouse (call it reverse doppelganger if you will). Though Mr. Davies still believes that "Christine One" was killed, and shows little affection for her "double", the couple has not divorced.

So, how would you feel then if your husband is still in love with his “dead” wife (the “dead” wife is, of course, you) but he thinks you are his “new” impostor wife? Will you still love him, leave him, or make him fall in love with you all over again? This just tells us that love could really boggle not just the heart but also the mind. Aw, shucks. Now I’m really going insane."

taking a breather

I just finished two articles for the newspaper and all that food writing has made me hungry. Had ibos (sticky rice) in the ref, so I fried them and sliced some mangoes to go with the delicacy. Ibos and mangoes -- comfort food for us Pinoys (particularly for Ilonggos) -- a delicious way to satisfy our starch and sugar craving without breaking the bank. To add to the yum factor, I slathered some butter and sprinkled sugar on the ibos -- fattening!

Anyway, this weekend, I'll be taking a breather. I had such a busy week. The kids are sleeping over at their grandpa's house, so hubby and I are catching the last Valkyrie show at the mall. Nothing like Tom Cruise, the Führer, and some addle-brained Nazis to complete my hectic, cuckoo week!

mommy this and daddy that

This is the story of two haggard individuals who, after being bestowed the title "mom" and "dad" now have to deal with the endless whining of two crazy kids. Having no nanny has resulted in many, many late nights and too early mornings, stinky towels, and dolls with severed hands and heads.

Ah, the joy of parenthood -- what a paradox! Is there joy when you have to stop mid munch of your dinner or your lunch so that your little girl can pee and poo? Is there joy when your daughter who calls herself "Ripley the Rascal" (yes, and she's living up to the name) suddenly screams "Mommy I farted!" in the middle of the mall with a hundred people within hearing distance? Is there joy when your son tells you to smell his soggy towel and asks you by virtue of your 'smell test' the philosophical question, "Should I put this in the hamper Mom, or not?"

There are, however, lucid intervals in the lunacy that surrounds our little, happy family. Such as when our dear 3 year old daughter Ripley queried, "Dad, is Barack Obama the president of America now?" Or, when our son Zaki, after tasting a spoonful of a dish that I cooked, made a perfect rundown of all the ingredients that I used,"Go easy on the salt Mom, but I like the taste of the tomatoes and the cheese with the fresh basil..."

Taking care of our kids can be stressful and often temper-inducing. But in spite of that, we're happy. And aside from the embarassing mall farting reportage, we're also ultra proud of them. As for me and my husband, no matter how painfully tired we are at the end of the day and the only conversation we manage to have are our synchronized snores, I think we've never had a better understanding of each other than we do now.

Zaki and Ripley in their best behavior at our farm last Christmas

it's that time of the year again

Well, well, well. Cynics of the world won't you please take a backseat? It's V-day once again and we don't want all you cynical people out there to ruin the fun. (Hmm... am I talking to myself?) This year, I'll probably be celebrating at home with hubby and the kids. I'll force him to cook something for me (I'm sure it will be something FRIED as the guy can't cook even if his life depended on it) and I swear I won't do any stressful household chore (except complaining, which I'm very good at, thank you very much).

Ah, V-day. Brings to mind happy and not so happy thoughts. I remember one Valentine's day when I ran after four teen snatchers (as in chased the culprits NYPD style) along Katipunan Road in Quezon City. Before the huge highway and the many establishments that now line that street, one could actually take a walk under huge, lush trees in that area without becoming road kill.

Anyway, I got mad at my then boyfriend (now good friend) J (let's just call him that) and decided to take a walk along Katipunan Road. The kids thought I was an easy prey being anorexically thin and all. What they didn't know was that I had (and still have) a nasty temper and Ninja-like instincts. And so I ran after them and managed to catch two of the culprits with J's help (he chased the snatchers with his car and pretended to have a gun inside his jacket or something to that effect -- my apologies, this happened ages ago). J and I ended up spending Valentine's day at the Barangay Hall of Loyola Heights. The mothers of the teens were crying and begging for my forgiveness. (Could anything be more melodramatic than this?) The funny part was, my necklace was never taken. The thing fell when they attempted to snatch it from my neck! Some night that was.

How you're going to spend Valentine's day is your choice, but remember that it's a celebration of love and life (and for some -- of lust). Hope you have a great one this year!

Marathon dining: Date night at Amalfi

Chef Miner with his kitchen staff at Amalfi

Manzo alla Griglia, Foie Gras with Salsa di Funghi and
Crema di Carrota e Patate

"Miner del Mundo, the infallible chef of AMALFI, Iloilo City’s newest and hottest Italian restaurant, has put together an unforgettable Valentine menu. The dinner will start out with Italian Bruschetta and U.S. Angus Carpaccio de Manzo. Then it will be followed by Zuppa de Asparagi (Asparagus soup), Insalata di Scampi e Salmone and Mescluno e Frutta del Giornio (shrimp, salmon, strawberry, and grape salad). If that won’t impress your date, then maybe the entrees will. Chef Miner will be preparing three sets of delectable dishes for you to choose from. There’s the luxuriously juicy Manzo alla Griglia (grilled tenderloin steak) topped with Foie Gras for those with sophisticated palates; the tasty Stuffato al Frutta di Mare (stewed seafood) and Scampi ala Griglia (grilled prawns) with Insalata del Giorno (salad of the day); and the deliciously comforting Rosemarino di Maiale (Rosemary pork chops) with Calamari Fritti (fried squid) and Salsa di Tartare. After your chosen entrata, a plate of perfectly cooked Pasta al Tutti di Mare (shrimp, squid, and salmon pasta) will be served. Got room for dessert? You better, what with the sinfully rich Cioccolato Salami e Panna Cotta to cap your memorable date." -- excerpt from my article in The News Today

Who wouldn’t be moved and wooed by such a feast? Well, nobody I guess. Three nights of degustacion made my head (and stomach) spin. I had to go out for 3 consecutive evenings to sample Bauhinia's, Mojave's, and Amalfi's Valentine Menu. Everything was so delicious! (Especially the Tenderloin Steak topped with Foie Gras at Amalfi and the Angus Steak at Mojave) I'm planning to spend V-day at home but after sampling the food at those restaurants, I'm thinking of splurging.

Zuppa de Asparagi, Insalata di Scampi e Salmone, Mescluno e Frutta del Giorno

bikini girl is out

American Idol is a secret indulgence of mine. I've been keeping track of the contest since the new season started and I'm glad the abominable bikini girl is out! I don't understand why she even made it this far with her dumb antics and talentless performance. Oh well, there's just something about almost-naked women that can curb even the most acerbic tongues -- Simon Cowell be ashamed, be very ashamed!

marathon dining

Bauhinia at The Avenue

The degustacion gang: (l-r) Rey Ponsaran of Promenade, Chef Miner,
Marichel Teves-Magalona of TNT, moi, and RV of The Avenue

Tonight is my second night of gorging on Chef Miner del Mundo's dishes. Yesterday was Pinoy food night at Bauhinia, a Filipino restaurant and tonight I was at Mojave Grill and Steakhouse both at the newest Ilonggo resto strip -- The Avenue. I've been a bad girl what with the juicy and sinfully good Angus Steak that I've been eating for two straight nights. But since I'm naturally thin (ahem), am I complaining? Not!

In the coming days I'm expecting other invits from different restaurants and coffee shops. I like writing about food as I enjoy dining and conversations with friends over a great meal. Will clogged arteries be the result of this little eating marathon? Abangan!

flak and then some

Oh to be (in)famous and detested for it! Tsk..tsk... Didn't want to blog about negative issues, but some people are just asking for it. When 2009 opened, everything was all roses for me. I've even decided that I should cut some slack on the idiots that roam this earth, but alas, like irritating mosquitoes that can be slapped dead in a heartbeat, some people with egos the size of elephants and d--ks the size of peanuts (I've heard from reliable sources) have come out of the woodwork to attempt to make my life hell.

Ho-hum. Boring. I've been subjected to a lot of bull---t these past few years and insulting words from a talentless wannabe who calls himself an artist don't faze me. Question, when a man attacks you with insulting words and idle gossip, is he a man or a FAG? I don't have anything against homosexuals, in fact, I love most of them. My bestfriend is gay for crying out loud! But how do you deal with a closet gay wannabe artist whom you hardly know but has made it his life's mission to destroy you? The thing is, I've never done anything wrong to this person (if you could call him that) and the one time I worked with him (I had no choice in the matter), I was in fact very amiable and pleasant (even if I've heard stories of his bad behavior -- one person even said that I should wear seatbelts if and when I'll have the misfortune of working with him -- hahaha). So why is he being a d--khead? Because he is!

Here I am trying to live quietly, doing my job the best that I could and I get flak from someone whom I've met only once (maybe twice) with very colorful stories about me. Hey you, if you have an issue with me, say it to my face. Don't blog and bitch about me behind my back you gutless non-artist!

10 Lessons learned from the senseless flak I'm getting now:
1. Don't let publishers who don't pay you get away with it without suing their asses.
2. Don't trust publishers with bad nose jobs who can't pay their office rent as well as their writers, stylists, and employees.
3. If it's not your fight, then honey, shut the f--- up.
4. Fight only those people you have issues with, otherwise, do number 3.
5. If you're talentless, accept it and move on.
6. If you're gay, come out, it's okay, believe me, everyone knows you're gay anyway.
7. Good work will always shine through and you can never bring a good gal down.
8. You don't have to explain if you know you didn't do anything wrong.
9. If you suck, then don't vent your "suckness" to other people who are trying to live decently.
10. Some things can't be settled by mere words. A fist fight is better. Heeya!

new year, new life -- cliche, yes, but so true

The holidays have been both cruel and good to me. Cruel because I had deadlines to meet for a magazine I was doing and good because projects poured from all directions. I was harassed of course, but I managed to pull everything off with my usual aplomb. I still have pending projects and businesses to start (somebody in New York is probably mad as hell right now -- sorry Glad!) but I'm taking my time because I don't want to dish out something half-baked and mediocre. So I guess, NY has to wait.

Right now I'm busy with editing a newspaper supplement and in the next few months, I'll be gathering material for a new lifestyle magazine. Things are looking good. In between my deadlines I've also managed to move to a new place sans nannies and maids. I'm living my life my way and the whole family couldn't be better. Life is treating us well this 2009. I'm so inspired and fired up!

I miss blogging. I miss my newspaper column too. Guess I have to make time for these two things that have become a big part of my existence. I've also officially come out of hibernation. Er, I've said this before, I know, but this time, hopefully it's for real! I actually don't have a choice now. The business that I'm in right now calls for a 24/7 social life. Argh! There are some days when I just want to curl up in bed and cuddle with my hubby and kids especially with the "bed" weather we've been having these past few weeks. But a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. So, hibernation time is over!