. . . DAVE'S PLAYHOUSE OF HORRORS

February 20, 2011

Last Saturday, I caught up with Team Cabigas at SM. When I got to Harbor where they were already having dinner with my children, Nyx excitedly told me that in her new Victoria's Secret bag are her socks. And Draco's socks because they were gonna go to Dave's afterwards. Dave's Playhouse was one of the favorite destinations of my children. Nyx especially. She always brings socks with her -- "just in case". Her "just in case" meant just in case we went to Dave's.

But this particular Saturday proved to be really traumatic for us. We left them at Dave's at around 5:40 pm. They were hesitant to allow Draco and I was trying so hard to console him and bribe him with ice cream so he'd stop crying. But then eventually they caved in and allowed Draco, too, to go play with her sister and the other kids in the Playhouse.

An hour and seven minutes after, we got back to pick up the kids. Nyx and Draco were already by the shoe rack looking for their shoes when Mae, the receptionist, entertained us. We paid an extra PhP50 for each kid since we exceeded 7 minutes. When she told the other attendants that Nyx and Draco were good to go, I was already talking to Nyx who was complaining about a lost flower jibbitz on her Crocs. When I looked at her feet, her Crocs were already plain. Not one jibbitz left. She told me that she left one at home while the other one was in tact when she took off her shoes to play.

While this was happening, attendant A was busy talking to another Mom asking her which one Draco was. And she kept shouting Draco's name, not noticing that Draco was right behind her by the shoe rack. She was ready to give my son to some other woman.

Attendant B was putting on Nyx's shoes while she repeatedly asked me about her flower jibbitz. I told her it's gone already. And she said, "gone where, Mom? Here?" I said, "I don't know, babe, because they are not looking for it and they are pretending no to hear me." I was already irritated and so Att. B started scouring the shoe rack again for the flower jibbitz that might have fallen off which is not very surprising with the way they were carelessly handling things.

While Att. A was at the shoe rack, Att. B decided to let Nyx out the door already. She was not looking at Nyx when she slowly let her out but when she unlocked their door and pulled it back, she hit Nyx square on the face with their aluminum latch! F*cking b*tch! I told her, in vernacular, that she hit my daughter. To which, she just feigned laughter. Clearly pissed, I told her it's not funny! When I looked at Nyx, she was already crying and her right cheek red with the door's latch! I was so mad, I got Nyx by the hand and we went back to receptionist Mae. I told her about what Att. B did to Nyx and showed her right cheek. She mumbled sorry and I told her to say sorry to my daughter. Att. B said some sorry excuse and blamed the other kid who was by the door. She said it was the kid who pushed the door. Still, she was the attendant. It only meant that she was not watching both the kid from outside (alleged door pusher) and the kid inside (Nyx).

I was so mad because my daughter was crying and I know she loves Dave's but she whimpered and said she does not want to go back there ever again because they were bad people.

Dear Dave's:

I think you need to train your people some more. They could not be careless since they are dealing with children. Also they have to learn how to handle complaints better. I did not get a decent explanation why my daughter's Crocs jibbitz when missing in your shoe rack and I did not get a decent apology after one of your attendants hit Nyx on the face with your door latch. (I should have taken a picture of my daughter's red face!) I got the impression that they did not care about everything that happened. You need better customer service training.

In the meantime, we are boycotting your establishment.

DAVE'S PLAYHOUSE IS LOCATED AT THE NORTHWING OF SM CITY CEBU.

. . . MANNERS.

Manners. It’s either you have it or you don’t. Good manners, that is.

When we were younger, our teachers rated our Good Manners and Right Conduct (GMRC) with the letters A to F. But what we did not know was that it was our parents they were judging. Of course, who else would be responsible for our proper upbringing? That’s why I always pride myself in comparing my children to other children, say, in a restaurant. While other kids are all over the place, mine are seated beside me enjoying their food. Being rowdy in a public place is unacceptable -- at least on my terms.

It’s the upbringing that really counts. In the Philippines, breeding is the accepted term for upbringing. (Although the word “breeding” has an entirely different definition.) You can be wearing the latest collection off the runway of a really popular international designer but when you’re poorly-bred, oh well, you might as well have dressed in rags. If you are in appropriate behavior, you could be wearing an old shirt and faded jeans and you’d still pass off as impeccably stylish. You could have the best dermatologist to beat the aging process and make your face as smooth as a baby’s but when you start talking sh*t to the point of oral diarrhea, you might as well be eating those Obagi creams and what-nots so that you could be beautiful inside, too, and not just out.

When you think shouting your answers to a question will make your point clearer, then you’re dead-wrong. It just makes your lack of manners more evident. Shouting will not let people hear you better. Shouting makes me block your voice from my register. And you proudly declare that you answer that way to everybody? Sheesh! How embarrassing. For me. To be associated with such kind.

. . . V-DAY MINUS THE BABIES

February 15, 2011

I knew I should have written this earlier. But I was afraid I might seem too excited for Valentine's Day. And so now, I'm doing this the day after. Boo-hoo!

I was never a Valentine person nor am I a Christmas person. That's why I greet people with text messages that read "HVD" for Happy Valentine's Day and "MC" for Merry Christmas. Ain't it odd that Valentine's Day, when a lot of couples have so much crazy sex, has the same initials as "Venereal Disease"? Just a thought. So when I say HVD, it can mean Happy -- either of the VDs. Hahaha!

Anyway, last Sunday, Feb 6, my 5-year-old daughter already handed me a heart cut-out because it was gonna be V-Day soon. And I told her that we will not be together for V-Day because of our sorry set-up of not having a yaya. She gave me her sad face and said she was gonna make the V-Day cards already so she can give it to me. I asked her who she wanted to give out the cards to and she automatically replied:

"You first, Mom."

Awww. My Nyx is really the sweetest! (I wonder where she got that sweet gene. Definitely not from me. I was never sweet.) This was what she made me. She said heart with wings because it's also like an angel. I felt soooo sad. Sad because I could not be with them for V-day, heck, I would not even see them!

I've been married 5 years and this was the only time, I will not have my kids for V-day. So much for not being a Valentine person. Isn't Valentine's all about love? My kids are very important to me. My love for them has never wavered. Never. So the consolation of being alone with my boo for V-day did not even do much for me since we were both working and we were kinda used to being in the office all 5 years of our married Valentine's Day.

By Sunday, I was already all shaken up by not having to be with the kids on V-day Monday. We all went to church with Team Cabigas and to a diet-ending buffet at Ding Qua Qua. When Dad left for work, we all got haircuts at Salon de Rose. I bought DVDs because I planned to lose myself in the movies so I wont be thinking so much of missing the children when I discovered I left my keys in the house. Freaking stoo me!

On a happier note, I slept with the kids at the Cabigas' and Nyx told me she planned that all along. She said that was her plan in her head. That I sleep with them that night so that when we wake up on Valentine's Day, she, Draco and I will be together! All about love!!! And when I left for work, Draco gave me a tearful Happy Valentayms Day, Mom. (Nyx just looked for her rose because she said someone better get her flowers coz girls get flowers on Valentine's!)

Happy Valentine's Day, kiddos! It is because of you that this over-rated non-holiday ocassion has gotten more meaningful and (choke) heartwarming.

...THE OTHER GARCIA

February 11, 2011

Someone forwarded me an email about General Garcia's son whom I haven't heard of nor knew about until that mail. I surfed the net for the full article and now I'm sharing it to you because I have not moved on since yesterday after reading this.

This is the link from The Daily Beast: http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2009-09-11/fashions-night-on-probation/?cid=tag:all1

I copied and pasted it to my blog, too, for the lazies. I did not write this. I do not take credit for this. Give the props to the writer , Mr. Peter Davis. He is the editor at large of Paper, his articles onstyle and celebrities have been published in Vanity Fair, The New York Times and The New York Observer.

Timothy Mark Depakakibo Garcia, a 25-year-old publicist for Marc by Marc Jacobs, has a court-ordered Fashion Week curfew.

Perched on a sleek white Armani Casa chair in his apartment in the modern, gilded Trump Plaza at 502 Park Avenue, Garcia is decked in head-to-toe designer: a supple caramel leather Alessandro dell’Acqua jacket, Alexander McQueen jeans, a thin white LnA tee shirt and YSL boots. His wrists are adorned with a big Cartier gold and silver Tank watch, a Cartier Love bracelet, a white enamel Hermes bangle and a $1000 dollar large gold plated spiked Hermes cuff called the Collier de Chien.

The ankle bracelet limits Garcia’s fashion choices. “I can’t even wear my knee high croc boots by Sergio Rossi for the fall,” he laments.

Then Garcia daintily rolls up his jeans to reveal one accessory he’d rather not be wearing: an electronic monitoring house arrest ankle bracelet, code number “HGM94472.” The thick plastic black box, the size of a pack of cigarettes, is snug up against his tiny ankle. Garcia’s movements are recorded by Homeguard 200, a big black machine connected to his angular, futuristic Bang and Olufsen phone.

“I’m sorry it’s so messy,” he frets. His good friend, the outrageously outré Manila based fashion blogger Bryan Boy is staying with him. Near the kitchen in the cozy, all-white one-bedroom apartment, Bryan Boy’s massive Louis Vuitton steamer trunk explodes open with designer duds. A white mohair Gucci dog bed, for Garcia’s five-year-old Yorkshire Terrier “Cartier,” rests under a an enormous flat-screen TV. On the kitchen table, two laptops are open and towers of fashion magazines, costume jewelry and beauty products are everywhere.

On March 6, 2009, ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) barged into Garcia’s apartment—purchased with his mother Clarita D. Garcia, in 2004 for $765,000—and handcuffed him “right in this chair I’m sitting in,” he says. Garcia couldn’t stop crying. He was taken to the Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Center, and then moved from a special housing unit to the general population. The only thing he could see from his cell window was a cemetery.

Garcia was arrested as part of a criminal investigation into the business dealings of his father, Major General Carlos F. Garcia, a former comptroller of the Armed Forces of the Philippines. The elder Garcia stands accused of racking up more than 303 million pesos ($6.2 million) of ill-gotten gains, in the form of cash, real estate and other property. General Garcia is not an American citizen and is in jail in the Philippines where the scandal has taken on Imelda Marcos-like proportions in the local press. General Garcia’s wife and their three children (all American citizens), Timothy Mark, Ian Karl, 30, and Juan Paulo, 27 are all facing plunder charges in the Philippines, which carries a penalty of 30 years to life. They are all also subjects to extradition.

Tim Garcia remained in lock-up for 95 days. “It was the doorway to hell,” he remembers, in his soft voice. “I was in with trannies who needed hormone treatments,” he goes on, spinning the Hermes cuff like a toy. “Pete Gotti, the brother of John Gotti, was there…organized crime families. It was a long time, a chunk of my life.” His friends tell him he is resilient. And for someone being threatened with extradition and losing everything, he seems somewhat calm. “It’s life altering. Imagine yourself being secluded and out of sight and out of mind and being trapped. Imagine living a comfortable lifestyle and than all of a sudden you’re forced to coexist with armed robbers, organized crime people and people who sell drugs. The cream of the criminal crop. They put me with pedophiles. I was trying not to get raped every day. It was scary.” At the same time, Clarita, Garcia’s mother, was also in prison. “That hurt me the most. She’s 60 and to put her in prison in conditions like that is difficult for a son. She was in prison longer than me.”

In April, Garcia says he was asked to hand over his “apartment and bank accounts.” He protested. “I knew that it was all bullshit. I was like, ‘No! I will never waver in the conviction of my father’s innocence and doing that would just hurt my father’s case.” The government still contends that some of that $6.2 million dollars went into purchasing the Trump Plaza apartment. The government also says the Garcias transferred $2 million from the Philippines to the United States.

On June 8, Garcia was released from prison on a million-dollar bail. He was despondent and in shock. Then, in a strange twist of fate, he was offered the coveted job as a publicist for Marc Jacobs. He didn’t dare tell the fashion house about his court ordeal, but then Page Six broke the news for him. His bosses at Marc Jacobs didn’t blink. “I didn’t tell them about my situation. I don’t have a criminal record. They arrested me to put pressure on my family. I’m just fortunate that no one [at Marc Jacobs] cares and if anything, they are very, very compassionate to my situation.”

“My father is a government official in the Philippines,” Garcia explains carefully, his small voice growing deeper. “Basically they are accusing my father of stealing millions and misuse of public funds and me being his son, they locked up his entire family. The picture the Philippines press paints of my family is that we were dirt poor and with my father in this position for two years, we rose to astronomical riches. We are third generation despots in the Philippines.” Garcia pauses and checks his Blackberry, which makes a ping noise every few minutes. He silences his phone. “I can’t actually talk about the legalities of it all because it’s still pending.”

Garcia shows me his bedroom, equipped with two flat-screen TVs and a wall of DVDs. By his computer are two vintage Cher dolls. Piled on the floor are a half-dozen orange Hermes boxes. At the bottom of the closet, three gigantic Louis Vuitton suitcases are filled with clothes. By the bathroom door, a rolling rack sags under the weight of a giant pile of couture. Garcia has been a fashion fiend since he was a kid. He counts YSL by Stefano Pilati, Dior Homme by Kris Van Assche and Marc Jacobs as his favorite labels. When a student, first at the University of the Asian Pacific (run by the Opus Dei) in Manila and later at Parsons in New York, he was always dressed to impress. “I’m lacking in closet space,” he says with a groan, waving his small hand at six stuffed YSL garment bags hung from doors. Garcia cherry-picks a new, fitted black Gucci leather jacket, which he mentions Madonna wore. It’s his statement piece for fall.

“Imagine living a comfortable lifestyle and than all of a sudden you’re forced to coexist with armed robbers, organized crime people and people who sell drugs. The cream of the criminal crop.”

House arrest definitely dampers Garcia’s glamorous life. He’s accustomed to being a regular at store parties and nightclubs like The Rose Bar in the Gramercy Park Hotel. But now, Garcia has a curfew of 9am to 9pm and is not allowed to leave his apartment on the weekends, except to go to church for two hours on Sunday (a Catholic, he attends the service at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral nearby). “For Fashion Week, since I am a publicist, they extended my hours. I am allowed to come back at 1 a.m. this week,” he smiles widely. “There is a 30-minute grace period for lateness.” But after that, the Homeguard 200 alerts the authorities and Garcia could end up back in the slammer.

Despite all the drama, Garcia claims he’s adjusted to the curfew. He orders in food from Serafina and Freds, the restaurant at Barneys. Friends visit constantly.

The worst part is the actual ankle bracelet. “It’s uncomfortable,” he moans, tugging at the plastic strap. “It hurts when I run at the gym. We have to pay for it too, the whole thing. My lawyer is taking care of it though.” The ankle bracelet limits Garcia’s fashion choices. “I can’t even wear my knee high croc boots by Sergio Rossi for the fall,” he laments. “I had to make adjustments with my wardrobe. When it was hot in the summer, I didn’t want to go to Marc Jacobs wearing shorts. I just felt it was in bad taste.”

The forfeiture case against Garcia and his mother was stayed on March 10 to allow the Philippine prosecution and investigation to proceed – and possibly seize the Park Avenue pied-a-terre. While Garcia waits to see whether he will lose his apartment, his bank accounts and be extradited back to the Philippines, he continues to work hard at Marc by Marc Jacobs. On his bedside table, under a fashion book by the street style photographer “The Sartorialist” sits “You Don’t Have to Be Famous: How to Write Your Own Life Story.” Garcia plans to pen a book about his family’s whole ordeal. But for the time being, he goes on with his normal life. He saunters into the bathroom and sprays on his favorite scent, Armani Mania. It’s hard to imagine Garcia, now decked out in couture, in the prison garb he wore last spring. “I was in an orange jumpsuit and then after a month, they change it to khaki,” he tells me, hanging up the “Madonna” Gucci jacket. “I will never wear a jumpsuit in my life.” His slight shoulders shiver. “The thought of that jumpsuit just makes me cringe.”

The photo of Garcia also came with the article.

Tell me if you find this unbelievable, too. Suddenly, the game of the generals has gotten even more interesting.

. . .THE FAMKADA

February 8, 2011

Like I said, I will be blogging about the Famkada soon.

Famkada, this one's dedicated to you.

From the beginning, my husband's family have always made me feel welcome. So much more when the kids came. We were then based in Bacolod and whenever we had a vacation in Cebu, we stayed in either the Master's house or at Team Cabigas' house.

I think it was last year when "Famkada" was coined. We always had get-togethers and it was just always us -- the family barkada. But family barkada was too long a term so we cut it short to Famkada -- family + barkada = FAMKADA.

On my birthday last year, we 'partayed' like a rockstar at one of Imperial Palace' suites and Bai Brill declared that as "the best Famkada moment ever" with matching hand signals to the camera. Yup, it was on video. (The sober Bai Brill then said the next morning that he no longer knows how to dance like he did in the video!) Fun times! Famkada moments!

We all know how Kuya Dov gets all mushy when he is bloody. He no longer wants to be interrupted when he speaks of his loves and lusts. Oh yes, bloody can mean drunk and/or drinking. (To this term, Nyx has once asked: Mom, are you drinking blood?!) Or how Jessa slaps whoever is beside her. And how we once had a hard time looking for Ate Jen in her own house one bloody night. And there was this one incident that we were all knocked-out, bloody-wasted. Hence, I called it The Massacre. I barfed everywhere! And since I had squid for dinner, I had black puke streaming out of me. Glamorous! Ate Jen had to wear a leg stabilizer for about a month coz she missed a step and fell -- in their own house. Kuya Dov slept on the muddy grass in the garden and wondered why he was full of mud the next day but still proceeded to work -- all bloody and shower-less! Jessa dared to dance low and fell on her butt -- twice! To this day, my kids have not forgotten that! They still blame Roy for shaking me and making me throw up. Hahahaha!

Fast forward to Sinulog 2011. We no longer call our Famkada get-togethers as get-togethers. It has now become Party! Party!. So a text from the Master, forwarded to all the members would normally read "Party! Party! at (insert venue here)". LOL!The Sinulog Party! Party! was done in style! We all had Famkada shirts made. _____ heart Famkada.

And at the Sto. Nino Vill Sinulog, we once again wore our Famkada shirts to the Party! Party! to which Ate Jen said, in between Colt 45 tagays, that the Famkada was Tribu Yagat (Tagay spelled backwards) because we were always tagaying! And so, FamTagay was born! Hahahaha!

I am and will always be grateful to the Famkada for the support they have given me and my children. It is because of you and your love for Nyx and Draco that I have strength, that I have not given up. Thank you so much and I love you all. (bow)

. . .SUNNY DAYS

February 8, 2011

January proved to be a super wet month in Cebu. Not only was it raining for days, there were floods to boot. I used to tell my family back in Bacolod that it very seldom rains in Cebu. If it does rain, it does not last long. Oh well, how times have changed. It's getting harder and harder to get a tan in Cebu now.

Last month, it rained so hard for about an hour and a half and right outside our house was a flowing river -- complete with current! We are lucky our house is elevated because the house across ours had to take out flood water using pails and tabo!

I needed to get to work then so I readied myself by using a sling bag, water-proof & hooded jacket, huge umbrella, high Havs and yes, I rolled-up my uniform pants! The height of shoshal-ness!

I sooo hate getting my feet wet, how much more getting them wet with murky, coffee-colored floodwater! I thought of all the dog poop, human waste, spit, rat pee, trash (good thing trash was collected before the mighty rain started!), used sanitary pads and all the ewwwy, icky stuff in the world! When I got out, the sun was already peeking through the clouds but wait, raging flood water while the sun shone??? Weird!


I had to hail a pedicab & so as not to get my a$s wet, I was half-standing in the sikad that I had to share with another person! I was forever muttering 'ew! ew! ew!' and I did not care if the guy I was with in the sikad was rolling his eyes to kingdom come. I hated seeing my feet fully submerged in the freaking murky waters!

When I was finally in the comforts of the cab to work, I wiped my feet like crazy with alcogel and wet wipes!

Oh, Cebu, I remembered when I got here that I was complaining about the heat. Did you take so much offense that's why you flooded on me? Please don't do it again. Leptospirosis, you know...

...HOW THE YOUTH ARE PARTYING NOW

February 7, 2011

From Friday's 'rock night-out', I sleepily went out with the Famkada for party!party!. Initial plan was IT Park and then MO2, but woah! how the place was crammed. No parking space and of course, no available table. Kudos, Orville & Orly for MO2 successfully invading the Cebu party scene!

Okay, so the Famkada is how we call ourselves. Long before Cougar Town introduced "FRAMILY" -- friends + family = Framily; we already had FAMKADA -- family + barkada = Famkada! I am very proud of this group because they have welcomed me in their circle since I really don't have time anymore to make friends and they were the only people I always, always hang out with whenever we had a Cebu vacation. The group is my husband's family + us, the in-laws. This is the only group that I can comfortably be drunk with. And I guess everyone else feels the same way since we practically know how everyone behaves when drunk. I will blog again about the Famkada because for now I wanna focus on the Saberday party party!

(See, how was I diverted from MO2 to famkada?? So like me!) Anyway, since MO2 was crazy full, we crossed to nearby Parkmall to go to Pier One. When we got there, it was crazy empty! We could've literally had one table to ourselves -- per person! Sad. Tito Bong, group-proclaimed Master, decided we go to Yo.U. The place was also crowded and we could not get the spot we wanted, we again, walked over the bushes that separated their outdoor area from Mooon Cafe's outdoor area. So, again, we ended up in Mooon -- one of the Famkada's some kinda fave hangout.

Representing Team Brillantes were: Tito Bong, Ate Jen and Bai Brill. For Team Cabigas: Jessa, Joeby and Mar. For Team Suelto: Kuya Dov and myself. Papoy doing the graveyard shift and I was sorta hating him then, so it was good that he wasn't there.

The younger members of the group, Joeby and Joshua, were obviously feeling bored. Bai (Joshua) was almost dozing off. Joeby was reluctantly passing drinks to everyone as the designated Tanggero. When the Master broached the idea of moving to Vudu, where Meanie's prom after party was happening, Bai's eyes literally sparkled.

And when we did move to The Coriander beside Vudu, Bai was the first person to go in Vudu and was smiling from ear to ear. So much for Famkada bonding. Hahaha!

Since I am bordering on TLDR blog entry, I will proceed on the partyphiles that night. Party population majority was junior and senior students who just came from their prom. It didn't take long before Jessa, Ate Jen and I became Fashion Patrol. It was so much fun to judge the outfits! Some kids were just so inappropriately dressed and were also, sad to say, behaving inappropriately. There was this Korean girl who lost her friends when she started barfing. Her friends literally scampered off like mice who just saw the cat enter the room. When she tried to sit down in one of the circular benches, she fell right into the thorny bushes! It was soooo funny! Such a loser! Another boy was yelling 'free hugs -- even to guys'! Maybe it was his way of coming out? Ate Jen broke his idiotic trip when she asked him how his mom was. When he recognized her and Tito Bong, free-hugs boy slumped on his chair with his head on his arm on the table.

It was almost irritating to watch the children smoke and passing out (cheap) tequila shots to everyone. I wonder how everyone felt on family day Sunday.

When we got inside the club (after alcohol did away with whatever shame we had left), we witnessed kids kissing! This 'overweight' girl was literally tonguing everyone she danced with! Poor fat girl with no self-worth. Tsk tsk! She must have wanted to get some that night.

Props to Meanie, who I felt had better judgement that night because she did not allow herself to be the topic of everyone's convo for misbehaving. She might be talked about coz she looked fresh hours after the prom and maybe, just maybe, coz she walked rather awkwardly with her sky-high heels -- I think everyone else was walking awkwardly -- even Jessa who was wearing super flat sandals! LOL! Party! Party!

P.S.
Here are some interesting ideas from http://after12.failblog.org/...
The challenge is how to get the 'wasted' to the ceiling -- and tie him securely.

Did anyone spend their early Sunday morning like this? Some kids got a hotel room after the after-party, this guy looked comfy in the toilet...

Apparently, she dispensed weewee faster than the money dispenser! And she couldn't pee in the bathroom coz above guy was taking his time -- sleeping..

...HAPPY DAYS -- REUNITED

February 7, 2011

Like I actually know them. Haha! The band is called HAPPY DAYS. And the only band member I know is Dammasch. A Fil-German who now lives in California. I knew him because he is my husband's friend. DBTC Batch 96.

So anyway, since Dammasch is home for a really short time, my husband and I went to the reunion gig of their band over at The Outpost. A quaint, aged house that has been converted into a bar which reminds me of frat houses in the US because of the setup. Everyone having drinks in all parts of the house -- living room, terrace, front yard and there was a band playing at the 'garage area'.

THE OUTPOST, Lahug, Cebu City (photo from totallycebu.com)



In attendance were: Nakar and gf, Bodge & Wella, Gesta and gf, and Jomai. (And some other people who were also members of other bands.)

If I was a bit younger, I would have super loved that night since the place was filled with rockers and guys with long hair and band music filled the air -- not the type of songs you hear on the radio. Cover songs were so not welcome in that gig.

Happy Days, according to Papoy, is Weezer-ish. Geek punk was how they called their music. I am not sure I understood what that was supposed to be. But the music was not so bad. It was not bad at all. Considering how they have just recently tried jamming again. They actually made me miss my band, too. (And sorely, my youth.)

Surprisingly, we weren't the last ones to go home. Coz normally, my husband likes to be the 1st to arrive and the last to leave. And since I was working the next day, I kinda appreciated that.

The perfect ending to that night was the stop over at "high blood country" for some pork innards, pork blood and more cholesterol-infused food. Cheers!

New blog entry! New blog entry!

Hello blog!

It's been awhile, I know. I've been quite busy since the last post. I've since moved to a new zip code, tried my hand in being a new bride, lost my super-trusted yaya and am now in the process of dismissing this new week-old househelp -- the babysitter from lazy-crazy world!

To the latter, I credit this renewed love for writing. I have never seen anyone so inefficient as this woman. She's 36 years old, married and has a 5-year-old son whom she says has the same shoe size as my 3-year-old! And on her 2nd day with us, she asked for a mobile phone. I knew that would have made me turn around already. But beggars can't be choosers. Yup, I'm currently in that beggar-state already since Yaya left us last December 29. I hate her so much for leaving us. She who has been with us since I was still carrying now 3-year-old Draco. I hate her for breaking all our hearts especially the little ones'.

And now, I'm HAPPILY sending off this good-for-nothing yaya who did nothing unless she was told. (I must have been given a droid and I just did not notice it!) She did not do anything unless she was told to do so. Like even just setting the table for breakfast or lunch or dinner! Nada!

And once again, we are without yaya. So help me God. (Pretty please....)

(Photo from Babysitter Wanted movie. www.moviesonline.com)