Jigsaw Puzzle Reviews!

Jigsaw puzzle reviews!

One of the few things that I can do to pass the time here is a super nerdy pastime-- doing jigsaw puzzles. A few years ago I started to really get into it, when I was working at a Daycare Center. I found a few puzzles by a particular artist (my family had several of them), and I became totally obsessed with collecting puzzles by this artist (Bob Martin), and I collected several off Ebay. I also put them together in my spare time, becoming a "Bokker"- a person who greatly prefers Springbok puzzles over any other kind.

The deal is, there's two kind of puzzle-making "dies"- the metal tool that they roll over the cardboard to make the pieces. One type is "homogeneous"--all the pieces come out looking the same. YAWN! Now, Springbok does do this occasionally, and with today's puzzles, most are homogeneous.

However, with Springbok puzzles from the 1970's and 80's, the die is irregular, meaning the pieces come out uniquely. This is a huge boon for someone like myself, with very poor spatial relationship vision, ( I actually started doing puzzles to help strengthen my spatial relationship abilities), and I much prefer the art, the quality of the pieces themselves (made of heavy cardboard with a felt backer). Yes, I am a dork. I own it.

Anyhow, once I arrived here in the Philippines, I immediately sniffed out all the available thrift stores (my original boss had been here 2.5 years and was astonished that I had found two in her neighborhood when I was staying there. What can I say, it's a gift. I can locate a thrift store in the Amazon Basin with only a compas and a machete.) and I found a huge backroom stacked literally floor to ceiling with puzzles. It was a gold mine. I was like Indian Jones in the Temple of Doom. The first one I got was called "The Family Tree." (Fig 01). It's a 500 piece cartoon of cats (purchased to honor my new family members, Truman and Niffy) that I started and I talked Erwin into trying, and then he finished like the wind.

Fig 01: "The Family Tree"
A side note is that Erwin had to be talked into trying puzzles and by puzzle three was making videos of stop motion time lapse of the puzzle being put together. I created a monster! One of my favorite things to do is sit at the table and banter over a good puzzle. I have a tendency to introduce people to my private obsessions and make "converts" (Examples: Gossip Girl, the books of Jennifer Weiner, the Vampire Diaries, etc.)-- now if only I could use my powers for good and not trashy fun...

After "The Family Tree" was done, I ran back to the thrift store and picked up a MONSTER puzzle called "Penny Candy." Penny freakin' Candy was a headache in a box- the problem was two fold: we were probably missing about 100 pieces, and the colors were all alike- every piece looked like every other piece. "Penny Candy" beat us at our own game.

Fig 02: "Penny Candy"

After about 2 weeks and 3/4 into it, we gave up. The third puzzle was my favorite: "The puzzle of the Universe". This was one of the COOLEST puzzles I've ever put together. Missing only about 7 pieces, it is AMAZING. It's the best kind of puzzle- it has "markers" (sections you can put together easily and build out from) and tons of writing all over it, and it "tells a story"--it's pleasurable to see it come together. I wish I could do that puzzle all over again for the first time. It also came with a booklet about astronomy. That was from the "golden age" of Springbok- mid 70's to 8O's.

Fig 03: The Puzzle of the Universe

You can "like" them on facebook- facebook.com/springbokpuzzles.

After that, other puzzles kind of seemed blah. However, I took a chance on a bag of pieces that I recognized as Springbok that seemed interesting. It was like, tie dyed colors-- all kinds of colors. I bought a puzzle without a box or picture, people, that's how dedicated to Springbok ONLY I am.

So after "The puzzle of the Universe" was done, I started this new, box-less puzzle on a Saturday night, around 6 PM, and I finished it in about 5 hours, with four beers. I just turned on the radio to the dance station and worked it out. As soon as I put together the bottom part, I saw these perfect golden circles on a pale golden background, and I was like "what's all different colors and has circular bases?" Also, in a kind of Holmes-ian move, I also had a "feeling" for the type of photographic subjects and tone of the puzzles that Springbok makes, and I clicked on the image immediately: Ice cream cones in sugar cone bases. I was right. It was one of my favorite puzzle moments: after my correct guess, it all made sense- hyper close ups of peach, raspberry, mint, and vanilla ice cream really does look like tie dye. It was really fun putting that one together. It was called "Do yourself a Flavor".

Fig 04: Do yourself a flavor

It was complete! In an odd coincidence, I picked up a new puzzle a week later and inside it was the cover for the box for "Do yourself a Flavor" AND a bag of pieces for the same puzzle (not complete). So now we have backup pieces AND the cover (not that we need it, but it's nice to have).

So then came the dark days where there was no more Springbok to be had except puzzles that me and Erwin didn't want. We settled on "Roving Rascals" which remained unopened, it just didn't really catch either of our fancy. Erwin wanted a puzzle that "said something". I kind of know what he means- he wanted a more traditional puzzle, but a compromise usually lets down both parties, so Roving Rascals only pleased the cats, who slept on it for a week until we put it away.

Fig 06: Roving Rascals

Then I tried to bring home "Heirloom Quilts" which was also a flop. I'm not sure what it was, but it was just a snore. I never even really opened it. Just didn't feel it.

Fig 05: Heirloom Quilts
So I tried the store again recently, hoping that there would be new stocks, and there was one puzzle that caught my eye (not a Springbok, but close- Great American Puzzle Company), "Underwater Mardi Gras".
So now I'm in the middle of that one, which has the upside of having no repeat colors or patterns but has the TINIEST pieces on EARTH. They say it's "over 1000 pieces" but probably what they did was fold a 500 piece puzzle in half and then cut it that way because my GOD are these pieces small. And it ain't no Springbok.

Fig 07: Underwater Mardi Gras

Happy is the child who grows up remembering the feeling of running their hands through the box of pieces, over and over.

Is “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” the answer to international relations?

Is “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” the answer to international relations?

This story has two equally sugary- sweet parts:

Part one: When I was 19 or so, my mom was dating around after getting divorced, and was into going to night clubs to listen to live bands and other fun stuff she could never do while married to my computer programmer dad. So one Halloween night, she was bopping in and out of her room getting ready to go out for an evening of fun and I was sitting on the couch, happily absorbed in an ancient, well respected holiday tradition—watching “Rocky Horror Picture Show” on VH1.

This love began long ago. When I was in high school, the dressing rooms for our stage were under the stage itself, tiny wooden labyrinths that rocked with the sounds of two tapes on repeat: The soundtracks for Grease and Rocky Horror Picture show. Hours were spent arguing over who would “play” who (it was decided that I would be Janet, as I was the most “sweet and innocent” of the group. Hey, I was the youngest, this was ultra-decadent Catholic school, and this was the theater crowd, here!) and the girls’ dressing room rang with the sounds of girls singing the kooky lyrics to “I can make a man of you.” So I’ve had a special place in my heart for the campy cult classic ever since.

So as my mom came out to get my opinion on her latest outfit manifestation, she became entranced with the black hole of charisma that is Tim Curry in full on Franknfurter mode- like a glam rock Freddy Mercury with a touch more of…edge? Glamour? Sex Appeal? Freddy always seemed heartrendingly sincere, whereas Tim Curry is menacingly vampy and seductive. It’s hard to make a man dressed as an ironic 1930’s cabaret vamp seem attractive to women (and believe me, he is INSANELY attractive in this movie, probably for the same reasons that, some years later, bands like Poison would become attractive to women) but Curry does it. Writhing around on stage and stomping his 5 inch sparkling platform heels, Curry owns it.

“Who is that! I want to do my eye makeup JUST LIKE THAT!” She was riveted. I remember her watching at least half of the movie and really digging it! (15 years ago my mom was much more of a free spirit than she is now, Post- Hippie Ex. Her usual taste runs to Frank Capra movies, Jane Austen, and Victoria magazine). It’s one of my favorite memories because she was so cool about it, especially considering the drugged out, oddball, over- the- top dance numbers, prominently featuring the type of freaks you usually only see hanging half way off the back of someone’s truck during Mardi Gras parades.

Anyhoo, I made a tradition of watching it on Halloween until I got into my later 20’s and was too busy partying to watch movies on Halloween.

So this past Halloween I asked my roommate if we could rent Rocky Horror and he gave me a blank stare. I attempted to describe it and settled for a mash up of a few lines of the most famous songs, and a breathlessly positive review based on the above story. Then I sent him this from IMDB.

Well, my roommate and I were at the mall today and were looking for the trailer for another holiday classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life” (after giving him the plot summary from what I could remember---I’m famously bad at such things, he was strangely hung up on the “suicide” angle (“But WHY was he trying to kill himself? WHY!!??”) and I was trying to show him that the film wasn’t really about that), and he reminded me “Oh, how about Rocky something or other?”

Thanks to the magic of YouTube, he was plunged into the “Time Warp” (a song they play on the radio during Halloween as well, unless I’m out of my mind) which he took to like a fish to water! He was singing the intro lines (ostensibly so I “could hear too” since only he had headphones, but I think it’s really because it’s IMPOSSIBLE not to sing along) and kept asking “I want to see the guy with the lipstick! When does the guy come?” (He means Tim Curry).

Well, at the end of “Time Warp”, Tim Curry has a solo number “Sweet Transvestite Transsexual from Transylvania”, which is the number my mom caught that caused her to fall fathoms deep in love with Curry’s eye makeup. We cued that up on YouTube, and… Whelp, same effect on my roommate. Despite being firmly hetero, he was tickled pink and clearly had a bad case of Curry poisoning, gleefully diagnosing “Oh, he’s a gay who likes manly men!” as if he alone “really understood” Franknfurter the way no one else would. As Tim Curry purrs out his first lines, curling his heavily lipstick-ed mouth, in that deep plum pudding voice of his, my roommate was about to propose on bended knee “Nice voice!” He grinned. Keep in mind that my roommate doesn’t drink, smoke, swear, or even raise his voice- he’s very conservative and old fashioned, he sort of disapproves of two piece bathing suits, and he was SUPER into this movie. Ah, Rocky Horror. The magic stays alive.

We could have had it all.

As usual, our heroine rides in on the coattails of a major social movement, dazed from the crash and burn through the atmosphere on the way back from the moon.

I was killing time between mock calls for certifications the other day by reading salon.com news about OWS (for my local readers, it's a social protest movement, the largest and most significant of its kind since the Vietnam War Protest "Occupy Wall Street") regarding the overweening greed, malfeasance, and bad decision making of Big Business in the US.

The slogan that's come out of this is "We are the 99%", meaning basically, that the stolen and cribbed wealth of the "1%" at the top should be redistributed to the rest of "us." The articles there say really anything I have to say better and more coherently, but as an American living abroad, there's something more than a little melancholy for me seeing this. When I left the country, I felt that I was leaving a beloved relative to die of cancer, and now it's like watching the desperate members of the extended family gather round to cast a spell to reanimate the dead body.

Tragic and frightening, sad, and something to admire in its intensity at the same time. I've never been an activist, it's something that I admire in others, but I have a tendency to think things are going to go the way they're going to go no matter what, and a candle has to burn out all the way, a kind of "We didn't start the fire" mentality. When I think of the scope and depth of the planet, and of history, the protests seem both large and extremely small at the same time. I'm proud of my countrymen who are taking a stand, and I also have to smile: Welcome to the way virtually everyone else in the world lives.

I too feel ripped off. I too mortgaged my life with crushing school debt with the promise of a "good" job after I did what I was supposed to do and got good grades, played the game, and rolled the dice. Well, shit, they came up snake eyes, and I found myself working in collections, alongside ex cons, women who had been laid off after 20 years in the same industry and who had to start over at 9 dollars an hour, and desperate people who had nowhere else to go.

Aside from my beloved friends and family, there is nothing in the decayed, corrupt, played out US for me. I was robbed, along with hundreds of thousands of Americans who bought into the American dream, which slipped through our fingers somehow, while we were bent over our books studying the past, hoping for the sunlight to touch our shoulders, our faces, our necks, to gild us the way it had everyone else, and would forever, and ever, and ever, amen.

From afar, gazing backwards, now I see it all, playing out on the world's stage, a sad and dingy affair, the gathering of the tribal bands that will dominate the wasteland that once was the mightiest land on the planet.

Some of us will go to colonies, some of us will stay and accept the "fait accompli", some will sink into despair at the sight, some will gather around the standard and fight, never knowing if their efforts will come to anything, or will just be another toy war with wooden soldiers.

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

I can see clearly now, the wallet is empty

When I was a kid, my parents, god bless 'em, deeded my sister and I with a series of gigantic, blush pink or tortoiseshell colored glasses that would have looked more at home on either Krystal from Dallas or a super hipster installation artists from Brooklyn. (Fig 01)
I really did not look this hot: Fig 01

There's photographic evidence, people. I mean, first of all, it was the 80's, and second of all, we broke glasses like it was our job, so if it were me I would have made my kids wear those basketball glasses that strap to your head with a rubber strap, so I guess we got off easy. Anyhoo, with the years, I've inherited their titanic miserliness when it comes to shelling out for eyewear. I often watched with envy tinged with scorn as my friends slapped down 700$ or more for glasses they inevitably sat on in a drunken scene at Nietzsche's (Buffalo dive bar) a week later. (Shout out!)

Thus we came to have the 150$ pair of "glasses" that came with an eye exam and a year's worth of contacts. The exam was performed by a beleaguered white guy in early middle age who looked stunned to find himself in a crumbling "mall" in the worst, most decayed section of Buffalo surrounded by Sean John glasses with anti theft tags obscuring most of the lenses.

I vividly remember trying to joke with him: "Does anyone really have lavender eyes?"

He gave it some thought. "No." He intoned with the seriousness of a judge handing down a verdict in court. Oof.

So after that was over I was allowed to choose a pair of "glasses" from the "poverty stricken" rack, which held a vibrant selection of huge 1970's aviator bifocals (which I probably should have went with, if I had the balls, but that look can only be carried off by the Amanda Beales of this world) horrifying flesh toned glasses that screamed "I am NOT a crook. I am a molester." and etc. I actually went to the "upgrade" rack and picked the least offensive glasses I could find, a pair of black wire rimmed slightly oval frames that my GIANT lenses threatened to break with their sheer thickness.

So I wore my contacts every day (which is what I took advantage of the special for anyway, since usually contacts alone are 150$), and I didn't think my glasses were that bad. Well, then I moved to the Philippines, where people think it's fun to shout out your every flaw at top volume in a crowd: "WHY ARE YOU SO FAT?!" "YOUR BRACES MAKE YOU LOOK LAME!" etc.

So one day my eyes were bothering me and I wore my glasses to work, expected SOME teasing, but not what I got, which was the kind of remarks people make after you've been in a disfiguring accident and no one knows what to say exactly. "Wow...your glasses are really....thick." they would whisper, shocked, like they were gazing on the dessicated body of a mummy, preserved for thousands of years by the harsh desert heat and dry sand. I can't lie, that hurt.

Well, anyway, when I went home to tell this to my supposedly sympathetic roommate, he concurred with all the jerks that stared at me, slack- jawed. "Well, when I first saw those glasses, I thought they made you look so old, and I wanted to say something, but I decided not to."

Gee, thanks.
Anyhow, I'm too cheap and stubborn to spend money on new glasses when I have PERFECTLY GOOD horrible glasses already, but fate intervened when I rolled over on them (I usually take them off and put them on the far corner of the bed when I sleep) and the bow snapped off at the hinge.

"My glasses broke!" I screamed to my roommate the next day.

"Good riddance." He drawled, sipping coffee.

Well, that's that.

The good news, is that while in the US, a decent pair of glasses that looks like you didn't get them from a cardboard box at the back of your local house of worship, costs about 500$ if you don't have insurance, over here it varies, you can spend that much, but you'll be rocking Dior or Chanel.

So I grabbed up Wills and went shopping. Most places had these "Euro Artiste" glasses everyone has now- slim rectangular lenses in black rectangular frames. I guess I feel like those are "run of the mill"---everyone has them. I had in mind something cool, something stylish, I did NOT want to settle.

So I tore out a picture of these cool, slightly over sized tortoiseshell frames, like 1950's librarian style (fig 02). I actually did find those frames (or very close) from Dior, and they were 11,000 peso, on sale for 30% off.

Dior Glasses: Fig 02

But I just couldn't do it. Visions of my sister and her infamous 5- glasses year (the year she broke five pairs in five equally dramatic scenes, one involving roller skating down a flight of stairs, the terminus of which was made of cement. Basement: 01. Glasses 00.) danced in front of my eyes.

So I shopped around and found a pair of Vera Wang on sale from 10,000 to 5,000, with about an extra 2k for the lenses. That I can live with.

When I put them on, they were a perfect fit for my face. They're a pale Venetian green tortoiseshell, slightly larger and more oval version of the rectangle architect glasses, with a little square gold initials button on the bow. They just really looked good- they didn't overwhelm my small features (I like to think of them as "dainty") or make me look like Ensign Geordie from STNG (NERDS UNITE!, those of youse who know what that is), so I said "sold". (Fig 03)
Fig 03: the Vera Wang glasses.

And now I have nice glasses. And they came in a mini bullet proof titanium glasses coffin that I plan on using, since they cost me the same amount that a civics lesson, a cultural tour of inner city Buffalo, a free heartbreak, a set of contacts, an eye exam, and a pair of "glasses" cost me five years ago.

Inflation. It's a bitch. A well dressed bitch. But a bitch, nonetheless.

I was thinking of ways I could get inside

The day was clean, warm, and breezy. It was 9 AM, and I was at the Maharajah Hotel, where I had retired to leave the bachelor pad to Erwin and his girlfriend, who was in town for the night. The website had me at "60's boutique hotel". It was totally deserted, except for me and Wills, who I brought with me, since we all know a stay-cation is much more fun if you bring a stowaway.

The lobby was large, dim and warm, with a swirling black iron Gothic chandelier, zebra print leather chairs and white couches (kind of Kelly Wearstler Lite), a balcony level, a circular indoor garden- *very* 60's. The room we got was inches from the pool, which was lovely. Turquoise, with slightly faded tiles and tatty poolside furniture (looked like it hadn't been changed since 1965), and a tiny little plunge pool off to the side, it was secluded, and eerie, while being beautiful at the same time. It was Anne Bancroft in Great Expectations- super glamourous, sad, faded, iconic, deep, and everything you want in a Third World Eden. The landscaping was lovely- deep emeralds, the hot pinkish red of flowers and new palm bark growing up to the old- the sun glancing off everything, making it sparkle and hold still, shimmering in the heat.

Several cool pix on this link:

http://www.asiarooms.com/en/philippines/pampanga/181861-maharajah-hotel-gallery.html

We dropped our things and had a swim in the late afternoon, then dinner at a Mexican joint up the street, then watched the fortuitously timed Charlie's Angels- Full Throttle, then sleep.

The next day was a mix of sun and clouds that resolved itself to sun, and I got some sun while Wills got some shade, as he wanted to avoid getting darker. (Kind of a lost cause, since his skin is already espresso dark), and we carried on a high volume conversation about our favorite Tim Burton movies (the atmosphere fairly cried out for such topics). Even the towels were super chic- white, rough (the way I like towels to be) with a faded, preppy laundry stamp in true red- a circular design of the iconic "M" that makes up the first letter of the hotel's name. So cool, really wanted to buy some.

Breakfast was fresh, if a bit bland, and then all too soon it was time to leave- but hoping to come back soon.

So nice. Loved it. This was the reason I came here- the place was laughably cheap, and I could never do stuff like this at home. Tropical vacation is literally up the street here- every other weekend I could go "spa day" for the day and never leave my home town.

Third in line to the throne

So I went on a date last night. Here's how it happened:

About a month ago I was chilling in the kubo with my coworker Jess, and this very unusual looking guy rolls by in a pack of friends and Jess jumps up- "So and So! [didn't know his name then]" She screams, recognizing him. "Bebe! Get over here!" So he comes over to say hi, it turns out they worked together at another call center awhile ago. Anyway, he toddles off and I told her "That's a cool looking guy. What's his story?"

"Super nice too. Extremely polite. This other job took a chance on him because of his looks [ he has a very artsy look], but he was like, top of the line, work wise. He's an artist and a musician, he's from [surf town in the north]. Great dude."

Now I trust Jess, since she's a single career gal who's been there through every romantic fiasco of the last year, so we'll see.

So then I kind of forgot about him, until I saw him at the other training facility recently, and I was knocked out by his looks and I was like "Do I know that guy? Time to GET to know that guy."

He's hard to describe, but he's about 5'8" and bone thin, narrow frame and delicately made, has dark skin (coffee with no milk), with large eyes, and delicate "true Filipino"features (Filipinos are mostly a melange of other races, and most have soft, round faces with "European" eyes and rosebud mouths, full cheeks, and wide, softly-made noses. Those who are "true" have dark skin and sharp, delicate features- like Elves from Lord of the Rings- that "otherwordly" look that some people have) - including something I'm obviously very into, which is that exaggerated cupid's bow mouth with a slight overbite, deeply cut into the face around it, so that every movement when he speaks is elegant and arresting. In his case his mouth is deep plum, he has the "purple" lips of some dark skinned Asians. Watching him talk is a deep rush off the diving board into pleasure, especially since Filipinos have a wide repertoire of mouth movements that are not used for Americans, including the "frown of yes" and the "caught- out speaking vernacular" smile that's a a complex half bite, half smirk.

His most striking feature is his long, curly-curly hair, hanging in luxurious ripples to his waist. Jet black and fine, put plentiful, very classic Asian hair. He was wearing it twisted into a perfect obsidian knot at the back of his head when I saw him, something that normally would be a huge turnoff but somehow this guy was makin' it work, ya know?

He's not traditionally good looking, he has one of those faces that's "arresting" or "interesting" rather than "handsome", but that's his appeal for me, he looks like a piece of artwork. His face has the sharp contours of the very slender, the camera would probably love him. When I first saw him I wasn't sure if I was attracted to him, but I knew I wanted to study him closer. At least that's what I told Jess, heh. "I think I need to examine that person from a closer range."

So when I saw him waiting for the shuttle in the lobby after seeing him at the other off site facility, I approached him to say "hi" "on behalf of Jess", and when I saw him, I thought "Yeah, he's a looker." Anyway, it so happened that after that little chat, the next day I ran into him at the Mini Stop where he was having an after work beer with his friends. I toddled into the store to check out kilo bags of superfine sugar (oh, the glamourous life!) and he came in and approached me to say he was sorry for not shaking my hand when I saw him the other day, "it was so rude, I hope you can forgive me." SCORE! Mama didn't raise no fool. I know a man taking his shot when I see it, so I rolled with it, having it. So the upshot of this is that he told me that we should hang out sometime and to get his number from Jess and text him anytime.

Needless to say I was on it like white on rice and got his number and we set up a dinner date.

The date was fine, we like a lot of the same things, he's the oldest of 3 (one of each, just like me!!), we had some drinks, we talked, he treated me like a gentleman (a girl could get used to having a man fuss over you like you're in some kind of Disney movie), and of course, like every guy, he took his "Hail Mary" shot at the door:

"So, want me to stay, like...overnight?" He asked.

I told him "Um, maybe later. After I know you better."

"I'm serious!" He gurgled. I laughed. EVERY guy is "serious" about trying that "long shot" at the door.

"I'm serious too, Trip, time to go home. I'll call you later." (He's a "Roman Numeral" Guy- William Garcia III, (yes, children I somehow located an Asian with a super- preppy name) so I was teasing him, calling him "Trip" when he couldn't be any less of a "Tripster" if he tried.)

I'm kind of taking my time with this one. I like him, he's my type, and we have strong chemistry, but you know the one thing... I know it's crazy, and it's hard to relate to, but it's very hard to trust guys over here- being dated because you're a trophy sounds great until it happens like 4 times in a row.


Dating a white person is a status symbol, and some guys can't really see beyond that. I have to say I'm being a little careful, because he did say "You're the nicest client I've ever met" (he is under the impression I work for the accounts, not the Back Office company, even though I told him I work for the BPO).

In a way, I *do* work "for the client", I represent "North America" but I'm not "the client", in the sense that I didn't arrive in Clark to be treated like a king and have people fawn all over me and tell me what I want to hear....oh, wait, I guess I did.

Heh. But I don't like it!!! I'm not like those other white people!! I'm different!! I don't choose my partners for their gorgeous exotic looks and then try to buy their love!! I don't try to make myself understood by shouting! I don't swan around throwing my money at any problems oblivious to how awful it looks! I don't complain about terrible service while 7 dark skinned people try to meet my every whim while I sulk like the Queen of England visiting a hill town "in the colonies"! I don't carry on jargon laden conversations with heavy- jowled white guys in bikini bars, everyone bored or pretending to be bored by the beautiful babies in scraps of clothing dying for your money! That's not me AT ALL!!!

Uh, shit. Reality Check much?

The plate stops here, part 1

This past weekend I went to Manila for attempt number three to get my passport updated (spoiler! I was successful, finally!). I had a room with twin beds so I grabbed up Amanda to come with and we were on a gustatory adventure through Manila!!

We began with a place called "Slammer Burger" which had slider burgers, that I rate a 3 out of 5. The rolls were out of this world, but the cheese was like cheese whiz. We recommend the garlic and the caramelized onion.

Then it was off to shop for a bit, as we needed nice shoes for going out later in the evening. I found a pair of key lime pie green mary janes in kid glove leather with a wedge heel that are just too cute for words, and Amanda bought some Gap stuff. Then we toddled off to the hotel, so Amanda could take a nap and I could have some cocktails and read for a bit.

That evening I whipped out my accordion-folded mini guide from these guys: http://enjoythebest.ph/manila/venues

and I picked Barcino Restaurant, a hip little tapas joint. We dressed up (me in a vintage slip I got in my care package, and a pale blue tunic over that, and of course, the new green shoes). The place was "the classy joint of my dreams" that I used to whine I couldn't find anywhere in Buffalo. Dark wood walls, a balcony level, a wine room, an *adorable* owner/ chef who came bustling out to convince us to come on in, and gave his personal recommendation on the wine (the wine was pretty good, especially compared to the plonk that passes for wine 'round these parts). We split (and by split I mean I drank most of it, heh) a bottle of Albarino wine, a light, citrus-y wine that goes well with cheese dishes, which we ordered. We both ordered tapas---Amanda got some potato thingies, and we both got empanadas filled with veggies and cheese that were to DIE for, and I got mushrooms with jamon--the food was out of this world. The ingredients were the real thing, not some pale substitute, the food was hot and fresh, and well prepared- you could taste the flavors, which were intense and delicate.

This is really what I'm missing from the US--the way the cooking layers flavors without mushing them all together in one big stew pot of bland, the way most of the cooking here does. I mean, I love me some "Chicken Zippo Egg", but it can't hold a candle to a Bleu Burger from Friday's, ya know?

Anyway, stuffed to the gills, we then toddled over to the club at the hotel, only to be turned away for Amanda's "too casual" footwear. Sigh. So I whipped out my guide and we hi-ed over to this AWESOME place called the CoLLECTIVE, a warehouse turned shopping mall (for high end alterna-goods, like handmade bags, limited edition tee shirts, tattoo parlor, etc). This was Mecca to me, who has been dreaming of Buffalo hard core- with it's tatty mix of used bookstores, HOD tattoo parlor, organic food markets, used clothing stores, etc. I strolled around with Amanda, taking in the 'hood rats (woah....yeah, really- hood fabulous Filipinos! They *do* exist!), boys slouched around the outdoor bar with "Manila 420" shirts, tats up one arm and down the other, hooded eyes, sleepy grins, and hats covering dreadlocks. The whole nine.

Okay, BUT the only grit in the salad was this total wiener dude---let me see if I can describe him: There's a "type" that you get to know REAL QUICK as an ex pat--he's an ex pat with "money" (usually less than it seems, since other people have a tendency to pay for him) who's tall and good looking, usually looks a lot like this guy:
Except "dirty". Like, sleezy, blown out, coked up, with eyes that long ago lost all sense of humanity-- it's a really scary, scary look. Like, "cut a bitch" look, but with no heat. Like, Patrick Bateman, call your office. The thing is, Southeast Asia ain't for those with "uncontrolled appetites". It's been a struggle for me to keep it under control, since the feeling of being "the king" at bar after bar and only spending 20.00$ or so for a night of partying is insanely addictive; and even more addictive is the cognitive dissonance that lifts you up and sets you on cloud nine while burying you under layers of guilt, angry, hunger, happiness, pleasure, lust, curiosity, confusion, and sorrow, crushing sorrow that makes you want to plunge back into the night and have 12 more drinks.

So this jerk, he's sitting in the window of the handbag store, which is having a little after- hours party that looks like it's really fun, and he focuses his drunken, empty stare at me and Amanda, who are outside considering coming in, and he slowly shakes his head, with a look that's pretty close to pity/ disgust. The message was pretty clear: "You're not welcome here, touristas".

I wanted to crash through the window, drag him out by his greasy, tousled hair, and shake him while yelling "I LIVE HERE, ASSHOLE!! I AM NOT A TOURIST. AND FURTHERMORE, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK *YOU* ARE, WHITEY!!"

But, eh. We moved on. Some things aren't worth it.

So the next day we slept in and then ate at "Heaven and Eggs" which is an oddly "rock music" themed breakfast place:
and that was TASTY! I have eaten there once before and it was bleh, but I really like the place and I wanted to give it a second chance, and I wasn't sorry. I had a veggie omelet and Chai French Toast...mmmhmm. Then Amanda and I went to MarketMarket, a big shopping area on Bonifaco highstreet.

We found a little market inside the mall called "Gift Market II" and I was like "hey Amanda! Want to get some GIFTS!" Hee hee. The place was pretty cool. I got fabric, which was my objective, since Manila has super amazing fabric for super cheap. I got lovely cream and celery toile de jouy fabric with a very interesting print--- Louis XVI- ish stuff; some crepe de chine ish fabric in light creamy beige with a really cool print of greyhounds with racing numbers on them- very Marc Jacobs, a sturdy cotton in a beautiful jade blue green with mustard and cream stylized wheat stalks print, and a vibrant, unusual Hawaiian print for a dress.

Well, the rest will have to wait, as I feel like this entry is already pretty long. Later, babies.

I can see clearly now, the rain hath gone

In which I get new contacts!

So my first attempt to get new (replacement) contact lenses ended in silent fury (on my end) and tearful terror (on the store employees' end) due to the fact that I was turned away from every store with terrified squeaks: "No ma'am! We no have!" since my eyes are literally too large for even the largest size in stock. And they DO NOT special order. Or else, that was the look on their face, who knows what the real story is.

Then I got JoelMari involved in the mix, went to a bigger mall in a rich part of town, and told JoelMari to help me translate and make sure I wasn't getting shafted. So the first step was to get an eye exam (duh!) so I popped out my current contacts and then the assistant told me to take a seat so I could "relax my eyes".

Okayyy. I've had contacts for 15 years now and NOT ONCE have I had to "relax my eyes" prior to an exam. "Is this really neccessary?" I asked. "Oh, yes, ma'am!" But whatevs.
Then I got measured (I assume) by this machine that takes what appears to be a picture of your eyes. Then came the pizza of resistance:

As those of you with faulty eyes know, in the US, you sit in a darkened room in a kind of tricked out dentist's chair and a huge futuristic machine on a swivel arm comes down from the ceiling to fit to your forehead and eyes; you look through a series of plates that the tech adjusts, asking you "better? worse? better? worse?" (See the title shot)

WELLLLLLLL NOT HERE!

Here they take a tiny, bright yellow plastic pair of Buster Super Dweeb eyeglasses with one eye blacked out and they HOLD UP various perscriptions to the "test" eye until one "takes".

Honestly, I expected them to wave a feather over a fire pit "Great Spiritttt please tell your humble servantttt Naomi's strength of perscriptionnnnn....", and put minature glasses on a voodoo doll at that point. I was like "what on earth are these? are you fitting me for glasses size or something?" Good thing my eyes were nice and "relaxed", eh?

Heh. Anyhoo, the story ends happy with me with my -7.00 (for those of you who know anything about glasses, that's "blind-o" level) contacts (a years' worth for 60.00$) and some free lens solution.

Movie reviews! Part 2,789:

Crazy, Stupid,Love:

This review says it far better than I could, so check it out:
http://antagonie.blogspot.com/2011/08/crazy-is-as-crazy-does.html

not that I won't still try!!

Okay, first hand me a bib for my drool over Ryan Gosling. I mean, is it just the perfect body, the cute face? The slight, sexy "New York Thug" accent? No, all that is great, but it's that melancholy sweetness that infuses his face in repose. A lot of kerfluffle has been made over what an amazing actor he is (and he is great) but my personal theory is that he is most likely bringing out some heretofore hidden side of his kaleidoscopically complex personality, which in a sense isn't acting, it's just being, but I'll take it.

The plot is a cute tangle of various people being in love with each other, some requited, others not. The main plotline is hapless pre-divorcee Steve Carell finding Ryan's character (called Jacob) in a bar, and getting a man-over to emerge from his divorce cocoon ready to date.

I have to say, the music in the movie is really stupendous. The scenes in the bar have earthshaking, thumping, fuzzy not- quite- dance music (think club remix of Kylie Minogue) that is very real and very, very sexy (not the bossa nova crap they usually show in "clubs" in movies). Whatever music they play while the camera pans up and over a leonine Ryan Gosling as he lounges over a second floor balcony surveying his prey while waiting for Steve Carell to show up is *perfect*.

The style of the movie is well done- it's light, which is something you don't often see in movies like this--the movie lightly *shows* you things rather than having reams of exposition, or worse, leaving you wondering "wait, how does Aunt Myrtle own a classic 1963 stingray again?"

The movie was really enjoyable, with a few laugh out loud moments, but the last few minutes dragged, after a truly inspired slapstick routine that expertly tied all the plotlines together in one crazy rainbow of comedy and tragedy. Delightful. And then the movie limped along for like another 30 minutes. It was kind of like Sex and the City 2...you kind of hoped it would end 3 times before it really did.

But other than that one flaw, it was well worth it.

Rating: 3 out of 4---would have been 4 if not for the crippled ending.

Columbiana:


A very, very stylish romp through the gun- heavy fairy tale world of another Luc Besson muse: A female killer who's touched with angelic madness.
Luc Besson does one thing very well: he creates and populates a dense, heavily archetypal world and sprinkles a soupcon of humor, sex and pathos over it, and serves it up piping hot. His world is full of characters that get 2 seconds of screen time (the Gemini Cartel twins, in this case) that you somehow want to know more about. "If you don't know everything there is to know about these twins, you don't belong in this room" the lead FBI agent tells us during a routine ex-positional briefing. But I DO belong in this room! Damn it!

I actually have a more lot to say about this movie. I really liked it. Here's what I liked about it:

The earliest setting, in 1980's Bogata, made me nostalgic for my own neighborhood in the Philippines; "HEY! That's just like MY baranguy!" I thought as the bad guys chased the girl heroine through the tattered and colorful tropic streets, crashing in and out of houses full of religious icons and ladies cooking and doing housework, the camera pulling back to go aerial over the maze of concrete, lush flowers, and laundry EVERYWHERE.

The color palate is really well controlled, so that a simple scene where the grown up heroine rests on her side on a bed is as beautiful as a Vermeer painting.

The set dressing and costuming is well done- everything feels "right", like that character would really choose that item. The movie never seems to skimp or go cheap, another Luc Besson characteristic is screens filled to the brim with meaning- everything is going to be used in one way or another- but it never feels cluttered or obvious. When the heroine takes two wooden toothbrushes with bright light neon blue bristles to defend herself, you 1) believe the bathroom she's in would really stock them and 2) enjoy watching the colorful bristles flash around light butterfly wings in the intricately choreographed fight scene that follows. When the camera pans around the small, cheerful kitchen that orphaned Cateliea comes to at first, it skips and dances over the very ordinary ceramic wall decorations and red and white wallpapers; we later see those same bright, homey decorations mocking her as she wails over the body of her murdered adopted mother.

I also like the way that the story just *is*, there's hole after hole in the plotline, it's basically a crocheted afghan of a plotline, but you don't cay-uhr! Because the movie's so fun. You also kind of go with it, the movie doesn't explain ANYTHING, leaving you floating in the crazy, sexy, stylish and odd world of Luc Besson.

4 out of 4. Go see it. Just go with it.

The Looking Glass

My Dearest Penelope:

I know it has been a long time since my last missive, but ink and paper of a quality I would send to my lady love are in short supply here, so you must content yourself with my last letter and my photograph---although how I wish I had been able to smile at you as the photographer made the print!

Well, my dearest, the weather here is nothing short of a miracle, balmy and breezy. As I stroll the promenade on the Bay of Manila I can only wish that you were here to see it all. The very creamiest of the cream of society is all here, taking in the sights as they cruise the South Seas. Cafes, restaurants serving the freshest, most succulent seafood, and of course shops that have the most exquisite fabrics to tempt even the most jaded seamstress to spend every centivo in her purse---everything is here. Anything a man could desire or dream is all spread out, under the gently waving palms.

Small brown children scamper between the white clad ladies, carrying baskets of mangoes and coconut juice for sale, and vendors sing out their wares in the lilting, melodic local tongues--so different from our broad American tones and blended words.

The American military walks around like so many red coated flamingos, girls flirting with them but of course never daring to do more than peer around the lace edge of the skin- protecting parasol carried by their duenna; for fear they will "lose everything"--if a man were so to much as touch their bare wrist shame would come to the whole family.

On our days off Hensely and I take long walks in the coffee and rice plantations that his family owns, or play cards at the Admirals Club, the rough, sweet local rum served with generous handfuls of mint and a whisper of soda. The whole afternoon can pass this way, as we play Pusoy, watching the coolies in the fields, it's often too hot for even conversation.

There are few other women here, so for now my dear I think it's best for you to stay in our beloved New York until perhaps I can find a proper home for us. But know each day in this sun drenched paradise is not quite perfect until I can hold you in my arms my beloved.

My everlasting Love, Phillips Exeter, American Businessman stationed in Manila, 1901.

Finally

ONE YEAR ANNIV!

So for my one year anniv party, I valiantly attempted once again to have people over and SUCCESS!!!

Thanks mostly to the bossiness and sweetness that is fabulous Bry, most of my "wave mates" from my training class came, as well as 5 guys from next door, Ant, and Am-boy, who brought a couple guys with him. So it was Bry, Nit-Nit, Freddie, Emon, Thon, Nonnie, Am-boy, Ant, Randy (not the American, a different Randy), Fitz, Enzo, Honorio, Mechel, Arman, Marbs, Ankit (for about 5 minutes) Joel-Mari and sort- of Erwin, who, as he threatened, retreated to the bedroom to watch TV in the deepening afternoon gloom and fall asleep (he had a shift at 2 AM and was trying to get some sleep).

So here's what I served:

Naomi's Electric Lemonade:

Take one bottle of Absolut Apeach and one bottle of Lemon Ice Soda from the organic shop and combine them in a plastic pitcher, then add lime slices, and freeze (the alcohol will keep it liquid).

Tastes like *pure heaven*.

Naomi's Monster Egg Salad:

4 hard boiled eggs, a couple teaspoons of mayo, a handful of chopped onion and two or three green onions all blended and refridgerated for a couple hours. It's very onion-y. Yummers.

It was actually pretty fun, Bry brought a cake with one candle (eek, so cute) and they also brought something extremely scary-- fingers of sticky rice that had been char-cooked and had to be dipped in, like marzipan icing. Just like it sounds, taste wise. Only had one of those.

The only "down" was that the party was so male-heavy. Only two girls showed up (actually this is a long time issue for me, for some reason, I have equal number of male and female friends; but my female friends tend to be married/ dating and my male friends tend to be "permanent bachelors"; ie, they're all availiable to party down on a Sat afternoon.

So we talked, tested each other on Trivial Pursuit, drank, laughed, the guys bought and ate an entire roasted chicken (from somewhere!) and then everyone drifted off slowly, leaving just me and Ant.

Ant has actually visited me at the house I live in now before, when I stayed there in Oct, and we sat for awhile and talked. I listed him as my emergency contact and my coworker had to ask him for his current phone number, and he told me he was suprized and flattered by this. It's a sweetly sad feeling to hang out "apres le guerre" with someone you were once *crazy* about, just talking about "the good times", and once again, I was reminded of how much I liked him and of course still do--the fire that used to be is more of a warm glow, but I still adore him and I'm glad he was the one to stay late and chat with me. Having "broken up" and made up no less than five times, it's pretty obvious that he's a bit of a cad and equally obvious that I can't stay mad at him for any length of time. Little charmer....

A great night.

I heard....

So, it's hard to know where to start on this one:

First, in the call center industry, it's a given that there is crazy gossip, 24-7, about everyone. And another "full disclaimer" is that I, too, love to gossip. However, there's gossip and there's gossip, ya know?

Recently a series of events happened that I'd like to discuss. It started back when I first got here-- my first "wave" of trainees contained this one kid "Matt" (named changed to protect the clueless) who was a team favorite for being sweet but totally clueless. Every week without fail he was in the hot seat for failing scores on "Understandability" from customers. And every week we would groan as we saw his name on reports. Then he finally got it together and he was immediately transferred to another dept, where there is no customer feedback. Heh. Anyhoo, he was always "the apple of my eye" even during training, but I would like to stress that this WAS NOT ROMANTIC.

So anyhoo, I gave him a test version of a program I was trying and followed up with him a few times, leading him to "friend" me on FB, a request I somehow let "time out" by accident. So then I get a message "Hey Na, how come you didn't friend me?" I was like "uh, no idea. Let me rectify that."

So fast forward to a few weeks later, it's kind of a grey zone where I *sort of* feel like he's "testing the waters" but not really. It's actually annoyingly common for much younger guys to try to make friends with me for hazy reasons- like, they sort of want to be friends, but sort of want to dance around flirty behavior, and they also sort of want their binkie, if you know what I mean.

Well, I invited him to a few group events, no go. Too shy, too broke, etc. Also add in texting back and forth and FB messaging, and of course the obligatory "walk over and say hi" at work. Seriously, not exactly US magazine cover story shit here. So after two attempts I gave up and then I got a message from him asking me to attend his *mother's birthday party* at his family house.
Uh, okay?
So I went, after quizzing my local girlfriends here "what's this?" My one coworker chortled around his coffee that "this" was becoming a pattern--out of seemingly nowhere, some guy picks up and asks me to meet the entire hoot and holler. Which HAS happened THREE times.
So the event was a study in super laid back anything but romantic times. His fellow Eagle Scouts (NO I'm not making that up) showed up and awkwardly shuffled around staring at their shoes and obviously fervently wishing that a comet would strike the tin shack we found ourselves in. At any rate, I would like to point out that there was THREE other FEMALE coworkers there.

But....the thing is...Matt was sort of frisking around being solicitous to me, finding me a special jeep, getting an electric fan for me, insisting on everyone speaking English, asking me if it was okay if he rushed back and forth between the main house and our perch on the "porch" (the immediate 3 feet outside of the door). So to be honest, I sort of did get the feeling it was somewhat romantic. That's okay, no big deal.

Well, then the next day the shit hits the fan thusly: to boil down a long FB conversation, he basically tried to backpedal all the way to "altar boy and flower girl" saying that he couldn't come to my housewarming because "people might gossip and you and me". Uh WHAT YOU AND ME?

Dewd.
Rilly.

Anyhow, I tore him up one side and down the other making the following points;

1) Is it really that horrifying to have people speculate that we might be dating? (SIXTEEN PLASTIC SURGEONS WORKING HOURS ON MY FACE *JUST* TO MAKE IT PRESENTABLE!!! Shout out to those of you who know where that comes from)

As my sassy female coworker put it "Uh, look in the mirror, Tom Cruise. It's a *compliment* that people think you two are dating."

2) Gossip is unavoidable. Either you let it drag you down into Starkweather town, or you rise above. I was like "Matt? What's there to tell? When people ask you, just be like 'we're friends. That's it." (Having said that, we all know that *is* the standard disclaimer for two people who shouldn't be but are.)

3) This isn't high school and even in high school I didn't play schoolyard games. We haven't, aren't, and aren't going to do anything "wrong" so there's no reason to worry.

4) what's the worst case scenario here? Are you running for Pope next week?


So he eventually said he was sorry, and took it back and tried to kick over the traces, even talking to me the next day and saying he was "sorry if I upset to you". But STILL.

The thing is, people get 'tight' over a Filipino male dating or hanging around me. If one has it, either everyone does or no-one does over here. And Filipino men don't benefit from dating Americans the way Filipino women do (because Male Americans support the whole lady's family, but it doesn't work that way unless you're Leo, my most recent ex. Heh.), so people get angry, jealous, scared, freaked out, and titillated. This was one of the things that broke me and my ex up.

(Oh, and Matt told me "I was just worried about people talking about me and you because I heard them talking about you and Ives yesterday." GOD DAMN IT. That's ANCIENT HISTORY. I've gone to great lengths to show "no fear" on the floor when it comes to him, even being "nice" to him when all I want to do is sucker- punch the F****r. Go know. I guess the "celebrity breakup" still has legs. Ugh.)

Well, Readers, When you live in Paradise, sometimes even the sweetest sunset gets a little...bloody. Until next time, XOXO....gossip girl.

Movie Reviews! Part vingt-et-un

Prom:

A funny cotton candy confection that Amanda and I impulsively stopped into one lazy Sunday. Surprizingly good for what it was, which was a by the numbers teen romadey.

The very thin plot line is a kind of sweet version of Breakfast Club, with the blonde preppy princess uniting with the latter day Bender to make prom decorations (eek! Okay, I kind of dug this) after they are destroyed in a fire (heh). Side plots include a nerdy dude desperately searching for a date, a girl agonizing over leaving her high school sweetie to go to college, two best friends (male) torn apart by one liking a girl and moving "past" their friendship, and a sort of mini "Stella got her groove back" girl who leaves her cheatin' jerk of a dude right before prom and goes solo.

The movie seems to be aimed at a rather odd demographic: Mothers about my age taking their ten year olds to a "clean" teen movie. Like, if I had a baby *right* after high school, she'd be eating Goobers with me while we watched this movie.

As it was, the movie was a sweet valentine to high school nostalgia everywhere- and John Cusack movies; the sweet nerd who takes his own stepsister to the prom is named "Llyod" (Hello "Say Anything"--one of the BEST movies ever made in this vein), there is a scene for scene reshoot of the Breakfast Club's deserted school hallway chase, and the closing prom scene where the punk comes to claim his preppy sweetie (Valley Girl, another great, great movie).

It's predictable, but that's sort of the point. There's one noteworthy scene, which is the "heroine takes her reluctant punky friend-cum- love interest to shop for dresses" and she comes out in various wedding cake creations to the strains of a cutesy song. Every "no" dress is very similar- tiers of ruched ruffles in pastel shimmery taffeta, strapless, and with a very distinctive design detail- the sweetheart part of the neckline is outlined with rhinestones. Where exactly in middle Michigan is THIS shop that stocks Vera Wang Purple Label, or whatever these are? But whatever, it's cute.

Rating: 3 out of 4: fluffy, popcorn fun.

Captain America:

Dear Mom:

This movie is totally your cup of tea.

No swearing, nudity, pot, adultry, racism, or anything else offensive. The jokes are creaky. The costumes are (or appear to be) pretty accurate. The plot line is SUPER patriotic and predictable. The good guys win. There's a cute multi racial crew of tag-alongs for the super hero. There's even a Framing Device opener!!

Hurry! See it before it closes!

Anyway, Erwin was disgusted and gave it a four out of 10, but I gave it a weak 5 just to be contrary. It was "eh". Very patchworky- like the faceoff over a boiling pit of fire on a catwalk, the disfigured villian, the plucky sassy heroine, the playboy/ cad best friend (played by Carter Baison, Gossip Girl fans!!).

It's not bad, it's just really, really, slow. It needs...something. Adam did make a valuable point tho: It's not to be judged on it's merit as a movie-movie, it's a superhero-movie. In other words, fanboys united!

Rating: 2 out of 4: only if there's nothing else on.

Planet of the Apes:

Okay, for some reason I had a really, really strong emotional reaction to this movie that I had to struggle to keep under control since my friend Bry was there with me and he seemed totally cool as a cucumber while I could barely see the screen since I was so drippy-eyes.

I'm not sure why I keep watching movies that involve ape sanctuaries in any capacity and think I'm going to be "cool"--it even has a silverback test the grass with his foot and be scared since he's been in a cage all his life!!

Dudes, I was somewhat of a small scale hot mess. Scenes where I was choked up: The beginning. The middle. The end.

Heh. I don't know why monkeys have such an effect on me (I'm sure I'm not alone, since they are so human like) but why am I not similarly moved by scenes of humans being in jail, busting out, coming home, etc. It was a very successful mix of creepy and touching, how they did that is beyond me. Well, James Franco's involved, and he's the hipster version of Leonardo Da Vinci so anything he does will be pretty good.

Anyway, as Ceasar the ape finds his true calling swinging through the California Redwoods, and the seasons change around him through the magic of CGI to show the passage of time, and then the camera majestically swings to show him as a adult, fully aware of his half-human, half- beast entity, a melancholy god, I was seriously contemplating snatching Bry's hankie off his lap for what promised to be a really good cry. This shit's deep, y'all. Don't have a glass of wine before going alone to the last showing of the day.

Rating: 4 out of 4.

Fully satisfied

Well, after falling off the face of the earth for a bit, Amanda (from Canada) is back in play!

After doing the Saturday half shift, which was the final certification and graduation ceremony (where the team gave me an adorable picture set--one of which was me in my Cebu tee shirt, a shirt I was less than thrilled to have memorialized for all time in group photos, but whatevs, that's the way we roll here-- I went home to collapse and sleep.

Then I woke up and got myself together and texted Amanda to see if she wanted to get dinner,
She did. She told me she wanted to meet Fritz and could I bring "my man". Well, crap. I dug around in my phone book and sent a few guys a text saying could they come to dinner last minute, it was my treat. Well, I had Am-boy at "free dinner", so he hopped on board the train to go to dinner and drinks. We ate at Fridays, then off to a place that Fritz (who's Filipino) calls "Doogs"- several tries later I get it: it's this place that's visible from the highway and always gives me a snicker "TUGS" Resto bar. Well, this place is located on top of a department store (?-no idea) and you have to take an elevator to get there. It's really nice, actually- waterfalls, plants, nice quiet, classy place.

Amanda asked "why haven't we come here before?" I laughed "Girl, it's called TUGS. I mean, come on."

A funny moment happened when the three of us (Fritz, me and Amanda) were already in the really small elevator and Mike stepped on last and this little tinny alarm went crazy. We all looked around like "what's that?" and then it occurred to us "oh, shit. It's the overload alarm". I stepped out with Mike, who was philosophical (as he is about everything) "I guess that elevator is made for little tiny Filipinos" he chuckled, heaving his 200+ pounds off the elevator and down the stairs with me.
So we toddled off to Hacienda, where Fritz was Mr. Romance with Amanda and I was the 3rd wheel, but I didn't mind. Mike was wandering around looking dazed and getting drinks, bumping into us every once in awhile but that's cool, I'm used to his hippie style.


Let me just tell you that if you ever find yourself in the Philippines, single, and needing a boyfriend, call my friend Arman, because MY GOD did that guy miss his calling as a matchmaker. Fritz is a college professor who teaches PE- cute as a button and very sweet, obviously crazy about Amanda--he told her she looks like Lindsey Lohan! Well, she's freckled, and she does have a cute little mischievous face, but to be honest, that's mostly where the resemblance ends-- (he did tell me he asked her if she maybe wanted to get in shape before she went home--that's either a very brave or very foolish guy, that one).

When I asked Fritz "where did you two meet" he told me "through Arman", my jaw dropped. Where in the islands Arman digs up these attractive, single, nice guys who are a near perfect match for the lady in question is beyond me. Fritz is both too short and too shy for me, but for me he pulled out an alpha male who's personality is just as strong as mine (if not stronger, he *is* a Scorpio, after all). Anyway, this unlikely Yentl can really bring it. Kudos to him!

School daze

Well, tomorrow is the last day of class for the "English" part of training. I'll be following this wave to product training, and I have to say, I'm pretty attached to them.

Here's the players (no names!)

Mr. Religion: (front and center)

Mr. Religion has a coffee tumbler he's customized with a picture of Jesus that looks *just* like Tom Brady. He's also my best buddy in the group, naturally, since me and religion mix about as well as oil and water, so following the laws of the universe, he gravitates to me and enjoys quizzing me intensely about the US, why I'm not married, and sundry other personal questions.

The Sweetheart: (black jacket, third from right)

Slender, and very good looking in a "perfect child" way, with huge liquid eyes fringed with long, curly, jet black lashes, he told the class a story about his childhood crush and was so emotional his voice was cracking.
The class was super supportive, shouting out "You're shaking, man! You're shaking!" (This is the Filipino way- to loudly point out what people probably would rather keep to themselves. The other day Mr. Religion and I were talking and I was making him laugh and his eyes were watering and people were shouting "Why are you crying?! You're crying!" He punctuated this story with a move we all associate with him now: the chest thump with closed fist right over the heart. Whenever we say his name we do the thump. It's actually affectionate. He's had 7 girlfriends from all over the country.

The Mascot: (very front, blue shirt, short guy)

There's two of these:

Miss Pregg-O (a super sweet shy girl, who's SUPER preggo)

And The Dude: The Dude is a very short (like 4'9") guy who's like a well- loved doggie with a curly tail- he's almost always got a genuine smile on his face. He takes his lumps with his oatmeal. He loves to laugh. He's married and loves his wife and kids. He doesn't miss a trick and probably barbecues a mean steak. He's cool but not as cool as....

The Cool Guy: (far left)

This guy treated us to a light show and dance moves for his "entertainment"- he knows how to pop and lock it and roll his body and look pretty good doing it. He has feathered hair and wears a sideways baseball cap and tight polos to show off his toned triceps and strategically ripped cargos. Hobbies include being a DJ and doing graphic design. Named his kid "Shanute"- "Shaun for "of god" and "te" for "to make it feminine".

The Reality TV star in the making: (striped pink and white shirt, right above Mr. Religion)

This curvy, loud, sexy, and flirty little bit of trouble likes to take candid shots with her camera, flip her hair, and run up behind guys and jump up on their backs for a piggy back ride. Looks a little like Kim Kardashian and a lot like someone who will one day grace a mug shot with mascara tears running down her face.


The Stoner/ Heavy- Duty- Drinker who's hot but a total mess: (back row, guy as tall as me)

This otherwise normal guy admitted to the class "I'm an alcoholic", when asked to tell the class something about himself. (He opened with "I'm gay. Just kidding." woah.....ho-kay! Calling Freud!) When the nonplussed trainer tried to continue the conversation "uh, what do you like to uh, drink?" He answered with unvarnished honesty "Anything that gets me intoxicated." Um...okay. Wow. He's dating....


Miss Clueless: (front, purple jacket, flashing the peace sign)

Sweet and innocent, somehow thinks she can tear the above away from his beloved Red Horse. Not a chance, honey.


Sara Zona: (next to me, mostly hidden)

"Sara Zona" is what I call really, really, really fucking cool girls that have a touch of the 'bian about their person but you can't really pinpoint it. They're really athletic and they often seem to be shimmering the air around them with a kind of almost male appreciation of other women, but they're not *quiiitteee* tipping off your 'dar. Gave an *amazing* acapella performance of "Moulin Rouge" since that's perfect for her register- mezza alto. Named after the original from Our Lady of Mercy High School, where I went to school.

Saran Wrap: (behind the Mascot, wearing Red)

Saran Wrap is the oddly clingy nerdy one that yourbestfriendOMGforever on day one, who you barely know the name of, who's kind of possessive and you *really* don't want to see the dark side of.... so you play along, hoping she like, drops the class or finds a new one soon.

The Doofus: (second from right, with his head tipped at an unnatural angle and his eyes closed since he wasn't sure what we were doing or even where he was at the time)

The Doofus is half cool, half glasses crooked on his head. He's a loveable goofball who's known for being way too casual at every event he's ever attended in his life. During the interview (I interviewed this guy and FAILED him, but he somehow wiggled in) he described his ideal job as "just chillin' ". Okay, guy.

He's actually teased *mercilessly* by Saran Wrap about being "in love" with this other guy in the class, Travis, and he always unintentionally eggs her on by whine-yelling "I don't care if he's absent! I don't care, okay!!" Not sure what's up with him, sexuality-wise, but he seems to sort of protest a little too much and Saran Wrap types have a positive genius for ferreting out the topic MOST likely to make you hate them forever, so he very well could "love" Travis. (who BTW is next to him in the photo.)


Mom: (next to me, with the pulled back pony tail and no-nonsense expression)

Mom actually hangs around Miss Cluesless and The Stoner as an odd kind of third wheel to the point where I at first thought that Mom and The stoner were together. It's probably due to her very strong mom vibe that these two lost souls gravitate towards her. Size "L" bra and kid-hollerin' voice. Nice lady, just wouldn't mess with her, myself.

Copung Copung

Okay, two more stories for one!

Last Monday, I decided to try something "new"- so I went off to a little cafe I had heard about and seen once or twice called Cafe Mesa (cafe table! Har!). I sort of had to drag myself, which is one of the catch 22's of being down- you don't want to do anything, and doing something is exactly what might get you out of the bad mood. Anyway, the place was gorgeous; a little fairy garden hideaway made out of one of the Occupation Era clapboard houses. Food was terrible, as usual, but the drinks and deserts were great. I slowly sipped my Campari and soda and relaxed.

It was quiet, green, and just warm enough, rather than being killingly hot. Just delightful. Then I decided to walk around taking pictures and slowly make my way to Holiday Inn to have another drink at Copa's and then use their car service to go home. Walking around on the SIDEWALK (something else I've really missed, being able to avoid coming within millimeters of being struck by passing cars) taking pictures of the lovely, well kept houses, lawns, and streets free of litter, ratty stray animals, burning trash, and other people's junk, I was so happy.

Then I went to Copa's and I got a text from this guy Tonti, asking me to come to Cofiacd, and that just made my night. Who's this!

So about 2 months ago, an old friend from when I first came here, Arman, set me up with his friend, Tonti, and Arman *swore* this guy was "my type". Since Arman was also the person who picked the one Ives clone in a crowd of thousands, I believed him. And my god, was this guy ever. When I first met him, I was the only girl in a group of 7 guys, and Arman was *determined* to make a match, so he encouraged us to dance (in front of all of club Bossa) to a super slow romantic song. I couldn't (and didn't want to) say no, so we gamely played along, and damn, readers, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man.

It was the ultimate meet cute, there we were, two strangers, dancing to like, "Butterfly Kisses" or something awful. But, the good news was, we had mad chemistry- it was like I'd known the guy for years. He had that calm, confident manly thing that turns most ladies to jelly- he wasn't an iceberg, he was just Clive Owen in Duplicity, amused and secure, and wearing a Cartier love bracelet. (even single men wear these over here- it's the "thing").

He's a little taller than me, on the slender side of average, but still 'built', and cute as the day is long- deep dimples, Rupert Brooke haircut, deep set eyes, wide smile, just sweet. And warm, not hard to talk to. Anyway, I don't want to jinx it, so I won't go on and on, but he's the TOTAL PACKAGE here, people.

Anyhoo, that's who texted me (we've been in touch this whole time, he's been traveling for his job which is lecturing for the dept of labor). So we had a ball at Cofiacad, just talking with his friends (two of them were there the whole time, one guy popped in for a quick hi) and then we went to Whyhaus, where we talked about books, movies, politics, culture (well, three out of four of us did, while this sweet, shy dude Benedict (that's a common name over here) dozed with his eyes open and drank beer and smiled cutely, lost in a haze).

It was a welcome change from the usual I get over here, which is either the freeze out and a wall of Tagalog, or me having to explain the economic meltdown using easy words (really happened in class the other day).

So we'll see. We're already in month 2 of what I've now found is usually a MONTHS long courtship process, moving at a pretty fast clip for Filipinos (we've gone out TWICE in TWO months, we're practically married here, folks!) so I'll just lay back and see what happens.
Anne's party!!!

So, this was actually not bad. We grabbed pizza and then toddled off to Flying V to talk shit and drink "off site". Since Anne's leaving, she went nutzo and finally told off a bunch of people at work (well, that's sort of par for the course, but she didn't hold back this time) and was "cleaning out her closet"- as an example, here's a story that involves me!

So, about a week ago, I went out with Davie (I didn't realize it would be my last time, SNIFFLE!) and Anne, and we wound up staying out until 10 AM at voodoo, having a grand old time. Well, this Indian guy that I've nicknamed Dreamboat blew in around 9.30 AM and was kiss-kiss with everyone at the bar, so I took my cue (and readers, I was a tad worse for the wear, here) and toddled off. And I can't get any play at Voodoo anyway, so why bother?

So Anne told me that Dreamboat asked "who's your friend?"

And Anne was like "oh, that's Naomi. And she has a HUGE crush on you!!"

Dreamboat "Well, why did she leave, then! God!"

Anne: "I don't know, but she says you're her Dreamboat, hee hee!!."

Dreamboat "Mmmm....tell her I'll rock *her* boat!"

Heh. Awesome. May I present Anne! Motto: Always Be Closing!

So, several of these stories later, we toddled off to Copung Copung (it means "Long ago" in Tagalog) to eat, drink, and finally break it off around 7 am. Dirty stories, people revealing their crushes, gossip, poor Nikki (the only man there) going a bit green around the gills when one super hottie told a "bathroom" story (that was "ladies only" if you follow me), several buckets of beer, me drinking water so as not to say something I would later kick myself for, and lots of fun....

Don't want to say too much, to protect the not so innocent! But it was super fun.