I'm still waiting for any online priest who'll come across my blog to explain these matters to me. I have read and researched and the one thing that always comes back to me is that people will have their own interpretation of the bible and can make it look and sound like it's supporting whatever action he or she intends to do.

What is the Bible? What is the definition of the Good Book? Is it the word of God or written reports and testimonies of what has transpired amongst them? If you believe it to be the word of God and use it for your arguments, may I then use it too as a reference for my arguments?

The church says that divorce is against the commands of god, or if you want to get really safe and technical about it: Divorce displeases the Lord as it destroys the fabric of the sanctity of marriage.

But it says in Deuteronomy 24:1 When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favour in his eyes, because he hath found some uncleanness in her: then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. 

And if we were to truly follow the bible, we'd have a lot of husbands killing their new wives on their wedding night.

If any man take a wife, and go in unto her, and hate her, And give occasions of speech against her, and bring up an evil name upon her, and say, I took this woman, and when I came to her, I found her not a maid: Then shall the father of the damsel, and her mother, take and bring forth the tokens of the damsel's virginity unto the elders of the city in the gate.... But if this thing be true, and the tokens of virginity be not found for the damsel: Then they shall bring out the damsel to the door of her father's house, and the men of her city shall stone her with stones that she die: because she hath wrought folly in Israel, to play the whore in her father's house: so shalt thou put evil away from among you. Deuteronomy 22:13-17

And if you're saying that gay marriages are wrong, then why allow heterosexual marriages but say this to them:


It is good for a man not to touch a woman.1 Corinthians 7:1-2

And truly, if we read the bible, it clearly states that everyone should be stoned to death. Read it here.


I'm just saying...

I find these highly disturbing...hilarious too but disturbing nonetheless. This is why I sometimes wonder about white people...

I find it funny how people still mistake me for a guy - just because of my name. Well, I don't blame them. I do have three male names. I've learned how to live with it and just laugh at it and make fun of it. It breaks the ice and is a great conversation starter. Of course, I don't imagine every conversation to start off with "No, I don't have a penis" but still, it's a great opening line, you have to admit.

I'm also used to being called a bitch (among other things) and I've never denied the allegations. Now, this is nothing new and trust me when I tell you that this does not hurt my feelings in any way shape or form. I usually just laugh it off.

This post, however, made me laugh out loud the most. See for yourself and if you don't laugh, then you have absolutely no sense of humor.

As a kid, I've only had 2 Barbie dolls, and even that lasted for only 2 months. I would look at my Barbies and look at all the women around me and thought, "Damn...there's something wrong with this picture". Of course, this was back in the early 80's, back when the concept of diversity and racial identification was unheard of. So, I did what any kid would do - I tried to make Barbie look like me. I colored her skin with a brown crayon and cut her hair and made it black. I couldn't do anything with the blue eyes so I discarded them and favored my toy guns and my jeep instead.

Now, don't get me wrong - I think Barbie has been trying really hard to make women believe that she's real. If anything, I absolutely know how that feels. The effort is appreciated but the delivery is still wonky. Take her latest foray in the tech world...I'm not sure how to categorize it - whether it's an epic fail or if it deserves an A for effort.

The peg is that women in IT can still be fashionable and trendy even with the trappings and requirements of their jobs. *awkward silence* I had this article sent to me by Dave and I couldn't help but check and re-check if this was a gag site or something.

As if it wasn't hard enough for a woman to be working in a man's world/domain, now we have to look trendy too? What kind of image are we asking our young girls to project? What kind of mentality are we asking them to take?

Thankfully, my daughter knows that Barbie isn't real. If you ask her who her hero is, she'll always say "You and Bai, of course" like it's the most stupid question I had to ask her.

No offense, Mattel but you gotta step up your game.

I was watching this Filipino movie on TV and I couldn't help but laugh my ass off. The scene was a confrontation between two women - the wife and the mistress. The wife asks the mistress to tell her the truth about how she's sleeping with her husband (or something like that) So, the mistress says the one thing that everyone knows except for the wife: that she and the husband are having an affair.

Wife: "Sabihin mo sa akin ang totoo! Nagsisiping ba kayo ng asawa ko?" (Tell the the truth! Are you sleeping with my husband?)

Mistress: "Bakit kailangan ko pang sabihin ang isang bagay na alam mo na?" (Why do I have to tell you something you already know?)

Wife: "Sabihin mo! Gusto kong manggaling sa iyo ang totoo!" (Say it! I want you to tell me the truth!)

Mistress: "Oo. Kinakama ako ng asawa mo. Ayan, sinabi ko na. Gusto mo pa bang malaman kung gaano kadalas?" (Yes. I'm sleeping with your husband. There, I've said it. Would you like to know how often too?)

*Wife launches into hysterics*

Wife: "Kasinungalingan! Sinungaling! Hindi totoo yan!" (Lies! Liar! That's not true!)

*Cue my laughter*

I find this hilarious for a number of reasons. One - it's actually so true to life! One important lesson here is that we should never ask for the truth if we can't handle it. If you want to know the truth, you must be able to accept it no matter what the outcome would be. If lies keep you happier then be comforted with the fact that you will never know the truth. This reminds me of that scene from the movie A Few Good Men. Jack Nicholson said it best "You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"

To quote Shark: "Truth is relative. Pick one that works" If you want truth so badly, you must be mature enough and responsible enough to accept it. If you're craving for truth and yet you only want the good kind - the one that will make you all giddy and happy about yourself - I suggest you walk away before things get ugly.

You want the truth? Here it is...

There is no spoon.

I know my kids will never have the guts to call me this, but just in case, I've got a great comeback if and when they do. SCENE!

My kid (Any of my kids): "Mom, you're such a loser"

My response: *shrugs nonchalantly* "It's genetic. Guess what you're going to be after this conversation is over and you have an epiphany of what I've just said?"

I'm awesome.

I got this post from Trixie (One of Manila's hottest bachelorettes, next to me, of course. *wink*).

***
We guys don't care if you talk to other guys.

We don't care if you're friends with other guys.

But when you're sitting next to us, and some random guy walks into the room and you jump up and tackle him, without even introducing us, yeah, it pisses us off. (I completely agree, but it's not about anything else but common courtesy)

It doesn't help if you sit there and talk to him for ten minutes without even acknowledging the fact that we're still there.

We don't care if a guy calls OR TEXTS you, but at 2 in the morning we do get a little concerned.

Nothing is that important at 2 am that it can't wait till the morning. (Again, I agree. It goes both ways too you know.)

Also, when we tell you you're pretty/beautiful/gorgeous/cute/stunning, we freaking mean it.
Don't tell us we're wrong.
We'll stop trying to convince you. (Yeah, okay but sometimes you tell us we're pretty/beautiful/gorgeous/cute/stunning when we've just woken up, hair all over the place or when we're sick and green like the damn Grinch or the Incredible Hulk! You have to kind of build your credibility there...)

The sexiest thing about a girl is confidence.

Yeah, you can quote me.

Don't be mad when we hold the door open.

Take Advantage of the mood I'm in.

Let us pay for you! Don't feel bad. We enjoy doing it. It's expected.

(Just)[sic]Smile and say "thank you".

Kiss us when no one's watching.

If you kiss us when you know somebody's looking, we'll be more impressed. (Voyeurism anyone? Hehehe)

You don't have to get dressed up for us. (We're doing it for us. We don't want to look like your nanny. Besides, at the perchance we bump into your ex or our ex, we want them to see us at our best.)

If we're going out with you in the first place, you don't have to feel the need to wear the shortest skirt you have or put on every kind of makeup you own. (Unless it's a costume party. Halloween is different story altogether)

We like you for who you are and not what you are.

Honestly, I think a girl looks more beautiful when she's just in her pj's.

Or my tshirt[sic] and boxers, not all dolled up.

Don't take everything we say seriously.

Sarcasm is a beautiful thing. See the beauty in it. (Oh we do.)

Don't get angry easily.

Stop using magazines/media as your bible.

Don't talk about how hot Chris Brown, Brad Pitt, or Jesse McCartney is in front of us.
It's boring, and we don't care. You have girlfriends for that. (Well, stop talking about how hot Jessica Simpson or the latest FHM cover is too! They're airbrushed and photoshopped anyway. And you wonder why we use magazines as our bibles...)

Whatever happened to the word "handsome"/'beautiful"
I'd be utterly stunned by a girl who greeted me with "Hey handsome!" instead of "Hey baby/stud/cutie/sexy" or whatever else you can think of.

On the other hand I'm not saying I wouldn't like it either ; )

Girls, I cannot stress this enough: if you aren't being treated right by a guy, don't wait for him to change! Ditch his sorry butt, disgrace to the male population and find someone who will treat you with utter respect. Someone who will honor your morals. (Amen.)

Someone who will make you smile when you're at your lowest.

Someone who will care for you even when you make mistakes.

Someone who will love you, no matter how bad you make them feel.

Someone who will stop what they're doing just to look you in the eyes....and say "I love you" ..and actually mean it.

Give the nice guys a chance.

Every Guy who isn't a jerk will agree with this,
so we hope that all the girls that read this will repost this.


ADVICE:

*Holding Hands
Girls: If you want to hold his hand, gently bump into it a couple of times.


*Movies
Girls: During a movie, if he puts his arm around you, tilt your head on his shoulder.
Guys: Lift her chin up and kiss her.


*Loving each other
Guys: When she tells you she loves you, look deep into her eyes, give her a peck on the lips, and tell her you love her too... And mean it.


*Laying below the stars
Girls: When you're both laying under the stars, put your head on his chest and close your eyes as you listen to his steady heartbeat.
Guys: Whisper in her ear and link your hands with hers.

***

This is all nice and ideal. It is quite refreshing to think that there are men like that still existing in the world and not just in my head.

I guess the next questions are, WHERE THE HELL ARE THESE MEN??!! and HOW DO I GET ONE?!?!

I should know by now that rugs are pulled out from under me the moment I feel any kind of stability. It's one of those universal constants - like how the sun rises and sets.

I feel like I'm missing a limb. There's a hollow and I'm slowly being sucked in and soon enough I'll be lost.

It's so tempting to just give in. To walk on the ledge with my four inch heels on, arms splayed and face to the sky. The call is so seductive that it might just take a few more words, a few more disappointments, just a few more secrets before I succumb to the idea.

But I'm a coward. I'm too afraid to jump. I'd rather be pushed. And maybe that's what I'm doing - I'm provoking you or anyone who'd give a flying crap, to push me.

So, I'll stand here and wait. I'll drink in the view, just because it's a fucking hell of a view, and I'll wait...

(Photo by Rafael Rosales)

I was three when I first saw the ocean and remembered it. It was a beautiful day and there were families all along the beach, kids playing on the sand, trying to build castles and other kids wading on the shore, letting the waves lap at their feet while they happily scream and run away from it. I fell in love with the ocean and vowed that I would come back every weekend or at least every time my father would take me, which was as often as eclipses would occur.

I was four when I almost drowned. My inner tire tubing/floater was a little too big for me and my assigned babysitter was too busy with something else to look after me. I slipped right on through and oddly enough, I felt like it was home. I stared from the bottom of the water, looking at my feet all up in the air and I didn’t move a bit, not until I couldn’t breathe anymore. I must have thrashed a little bit because then I heard screaming and someone yanked me up too quickly, making me cough and sputter. Everyone around me was either scared to death or angry. I was confused and displaced.

I was always in a beach somewhere for almost every year between 13 and 19. I’d look forward to it every summer. I held on to the smell of coconut oil on my skin, the rough feel of sand in between my toes and the sticky saltiness of my skin after the sun dried off the water from my ocean dip. I would stay in the waters until I felt I was one of those sad driftwood that float aimlessly towards an unknown and undiscovered island. I’d still feel the bobbing of the waters long after I’ve left the beach and was lying on my bed. I’d then dream of mermaids and brightly colored fishes dancing around me and twisting around in my hair as if it were anemone.

I was at a beach when I first realized how it was to be in love. The sun was kissing the horizon with its orange red hues, a perfect color sandwiched between an almost blood red sky and a dark red sea. He came up to me with a coke in his hand and a smile on his face. “Beautiful“ He said. I smiled and nodded in agreement. “And the sunset is kind of beautiful too.” I looked at him, almost about to tease him for his lack of originality and utmost cheesiness when I saw the ghost of his grin wrapped around that glass of coke. I did what I usually do. I blushed, said my thanks and never spoke of it again. He broke my heart, eventually, as all good lovers do. But the ocean and its sunsets will always have me to compare with.

One summer, the ocean decided to play a jealous mistress when I didn’t set foot anywhere near it. She took my uncle with her, dragging him under her torrents and undercurrents; jealously and angrily wrapping her arms around him, taking him hostage until I came to her. I was too far inland to hear her cries and humans weren’t built to breathe under her embrace. When she realized I wasn’t coming, she finally let him go, lifeless. She’s petty, the ocean. I never went near the ocean for a long time after that. I had to punish her, mercilessly, the only way I know how.

The next time I was anywhere near a body of water was when I was 25. I was alone in another country, with a dying boyfriend and a basket of heartaches. It never occurred to me that I lived in a town near the beach. I walked and walked until I felt the harsh salty wind slapping my face, the cold gritty sand in my sandals, the loud roar of the waves crashing on the rocks. My mistress was livid, accusing me of forgetting her, leaving her and now coming back to her. I dropped to my knees and screamed – rough and beastly and hoarse. I screamed at her, I screamed at the world, I screamed at God. And then, I cried. I cried until I fell asleep on the shore. I woke up to the waves gently lapping at my feet. The sun was beautiful, up in her wide opposite expanse, the wind was gentle and everything seemed right again, at least between the ocean and I. My life at that time would be a maelstrom of confusion, regret, pain and learning. It would be a long time in between when I’d see my mistress again.

My daughter came on a starry night, in the middle of the end of summer. She came into this world as if she were a woman of experience. Soon, soon, soon – I’ll take her to see the ocean, just like my father did.

The problem with idiots is that they're idiots and can't comprehend anything that requires 2 brain cells to process. He, in all terms, definitions and technicalities, is a grandiose moron. Then again, calling him an idiot is probably an insult to all the idiots in the world.

She ponders upon a particular thought and possibility: If pheromones attract certain members of the opposite sex, could it be possible that her pheromones attract idiots to her? If that's the case, she should seriously contemplate on suing her maker of at least quality control because they seriously fucked their job up. Yet, here she was, trying to be nice as humanly possible to the little fucker even though it goes against her better nature; there are times that being nice to her own father went against her better nature - and by George, she's almost reached her annual quota for niceness.

"Are you listening?" he asks

"I am purposely ignoring your complete lack of coherency to save my sanity."

"What?"

"You know, I'm going to do a public service and advise you that you shouldn't do drugs. You already have a loose grip on sanity and reality anyway and the drugs will take you to a very bad place."

"Huh? I don't do drugs?" he was truly perplexed.

"That was meant to be... oh, never mind." She exasperatedly sighed.

"So, anyway..." he continued as the insult rolled off him like water beads on a duck's feathers. "I was asking what you thought of me."

She scoffs. This was way too easy. It would be funny if it weren't annoying. "You seriously look like a guy who'd eat hair and hump dead bodies."

Finally, he gives a reaction similar to that of insulted.

"So, I guess you don't like me."

"You powers of observation astounds me." She hopes that he'd finally get it and will finally leave her alone. No such luck with her though.

"So, what now?"

She takes a deep breath and lets her obvious annoyance roll off her like waves. "First off, stop starting your sentences with 'so'. You don't need to add on to the existing impression of your hapless idiocy. Second, how the fuck did you deduce that my annoyed talking to you equates to an actual liking of you? Third, we are not even on the same wave length because that would actually suggest that you have a brain that emits waves. Lastly, dude, you're short. I'm not freaking Dorothy, munchkin."

He had tears in his eyes. She actually made a full grown (well, in his case...) man cry. All of a sudden, she was bound in a full on body wrap by a vapid diminutive.

"You already have a nickname for me! I'll call you sweetie and you call me munchkin."

"It's a feat to realize that you're survived this age with your sheer obvious impairment."

"I want salmon with white wine"

"I want a world where Air Supply is a crime"

"You're like a music racist."

"Seriously, dude. Soft rock should be deemed illegal."

"They're not all that bad."

"Lemme play Islands in the stream on a loop for you."

"Alright. I get your point."

"Alex Cabot?"

She stood up and raised her hand. "That would be me."

He looked at her in shock and disbelief. "Alexandra then?"

"Does it say Alexandra in my passport?" she deadpanned.

"No." They both said.

"My father was a firm believer in equal opportunities and cruel humor." She offered.

"I'm sorry. When did he pass?"

"Oh, he's still alive. He just doesn't believe in equal opportunities anymore. He's now convinced everyone within a 50 mile radius that he's a feminist." She smiled.

He took a moment to manage a fierce blush. "I think I've reached my recommended daily allowance of running my mouth off, don't you think?"

She smiled and nodded. "I think so."

The email had a subject line of "To those with hearts". I find it absolutely hilarious that they even considered sending that to me, and I am impressed with their bravery to actually send it to me. Although I find it semi - insulting. I mean, I've been working in that company for more than a year and they still don't know me.

***

The thing is, I have been putting major restraints in myself. Don't get me wrong, just because I'm not acting on it, doesn't mean I'm not thinking it. I have scenarios in my head that would put Ted Bundy to eternal shame. It also doesn't mean I can't do it, trust me, give me a letter opener and a stapler, I can be Picasso with a razor.

Truth is, I don't want to do it. They are so deserving, oh god, are they so deserving. Their hypocrisy oozes from their pores like slime from a slug, but I think it's just not worth it. If and when I do retaliate, it wouldn't be retribution. It would be a waste of time and effort. Plus the dry cleaning bills would be a bitch.

I watch them mulling about, going on about their lives, and it's almost funny that they don't have any concept of what evil is. Evil for them is getting stuck in traffic in Makati when they have a meeting in Alabang in 10 minutes. Evil for them is getting kalamansi juice on their paper cut. Supreme Evil for them is a maxed out credit card when there's a huge sale in Mango. Evil for them is the snags of daily life. It's laughable.

Let me tell you what real evil is - the kind I had to go through; the kind that molded me:

Evil is seeing your aunt battered, bruised and bleeding after she escaped a psycho rapist who drove her to the middle of fucking nowhere. Evil is having a great uncle point a gun on your head because he thought you were influencing his daughter to be sluts when it's the exact opposite. Evil is suffering through starvation because your multi millionaire grand-aunt won't give you any money because she thinks you can stand a little suffering. Evil is dealing with the aftermath of an asshole who thought it was cool to force you into sex and then threaten to kill you if and when you told. Supreme evil is having aforementioned asshole beaten half to death and making sure he'll walk funny for the rest of his life while you contemplate on pulling the fucking trigger on the Glock that's positioned on his bloody temple. Evil for me is my daily life.

***

They have no idea how lucky they are. Everyday, they don't know how close they are to living the last day of their lives. Kinda makes me feel god like. I get to choose when and where to torture them.

It is a comfort then, that they don't know who I really am.