My eldest son decided he will learn a foreign language over the summer. More accurately, three. Before I left for the US, he sweet-talked me into buying him CDs and books on learning conversational French, German and Spanish. Two months later ...
ME: Carlo, your room is messy. Take these books off the floor. SON: [bad french] But I've already filled out the custom forms! [/bad french]
ME: Turn off the Playstation and clean up your mess, anak! SON: [bad german] Let's call the flight attendant. [/bad german]
ME: Please don't let me repeat myself! SON: [bad spanish] Waiter, the bill please! [/bad spanish]
I. Created. A. Monster.
The Burning Questions: So, what other language (aside from English and your native tongue) can you curse ... I mean, converse in? Or want to learn to converse in? Why?
At the mall today, a young boy, no more than nine years old, walked up to me, squeezed my left boob, muttered "sexy" and scampered away.
When the shock wore off, I was torn between ...
... one, running after the little turd, grabbing him by his tiny balls and hurling him through the Baby Gap store window with Terminator-like calmness -- just to shake the future rapist out of him;
... and two, saying "Thank you."
All this is sooo disturbing, ain't it?
The Burning Question: So, what childhood naughtiness did you get away with?
After our first lunch together since my return, they asked me, very non-challantly, to buy them some cement. Cement? CEMENT?! While I have always encouraged creativity and made sure we had enough supplies around the house for their craft projects, I had to draw the line on construction materials.
Apparently, they started "building" a swimming pool in our backyard. There are about several 2-foot by 6-inch holes all over the area where we usually entertain guests. My knee jerk reaction was to raise my blood pressure a notch and get them to fill the holes immediately, but decided against blowing my top when they seemed so proud of what they'de done. Besides, it's a great accomplishment, considering they only had Tonka trucks to work with. A bigger accomplishment still was keeping their summer project from my husband, who had no idea our backyard had officially become a construction site.
What the hell. As soon as they finish that, I'll get them to re-grout the bathrooms.
The Burning Question: So, if your fairy godmother gives you a clone for the summer -- someone to go through your life's routines, what would YOU do for two months?
I had been away from my husband and my kids for three weeks to be at my sister's wedding. That was reason enough to make my last trip home the longest ever. But the horrible creature I sat next to made the trip last an eternity -- almost as long as sitting through "Gigli".
The flight started out with the 50-ish man next to me spouting that he will be rescued from the wasteland that was economy class and promoted to business class very soon, as he was an "elite flyer". My face registered no interest in this bit of information so he had to clarify that I should be ready to move my knees. I knew where I wanted my knees alright.
It was yuck at first sight. At take-off, I was disappointed that business class didn't want him either.
During the 14-hour flight, I barely slept (a first!) as he kept getting up and striking conversations with his pals four rows up and with the poor defenseless female flight attendants. I was in an aisle seat, he had a middle seat -- do the math. I so wished that some guy in business class had to jump off in the middle of the Pacific -- so they could upgrade his greasy face out of my row.
And finally, as we were making our descent, 45 minutes to NAIA, Mr. Frequent Flyer fished his mobile phone out of his pocket and started to make a call. A big hunky steward grabbed his phone and removed the battery in one fluid motion (part of flight attendant training perhaps?). Me and the guy in the window seat applauded.
I wished the balikbayan box one lady squeezed into the overhead bin would fall on his head and knock him unconscious.
I wished he shared a name with an international terrorist so he could skip immigration control and get a thorough body cavity search instead.
I wished the carrier sent his luggage to hell so he had to go fetch it.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
5.12.2004
MY SISTER, THE FELON QUEEN
My younger sister, up until she got married last May 8, worked for a staffing company and interviewed applicants for a multitude of positions. And among the many recruiters in her office, she has had the fortune of screening the most felons.
SIS: (interviewing a young girl) Have you been convicted of a felony?
GIRL: Yes, substance.
SIS: Oh, possession?
GIRL: (offended) Hell, no! (pause) Sale.
SIS: (screening two cousins who live in the same house) Have you been convicted of a felony?
BALKY: Yes.
LARRY: Yes.
SIS: So, did you two have the same offense?
LARRY: Oh, no. We only live together. We commit crimes separately.
Despite how my sister felt about her job, I think it definitely had considerable entertainment value.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
5.10.2004
LAND OF THE FREE SIZE
I love America.
In America, I actually look "thin" next to the hoardes of full-figured women who populate the streets of Southern California. My experience in this country is very different to, say, travelling to Scandinavia, where fat-free yogurt comes in 2 liter cartons and fast food has no grease.
In America, a "regular" meal can be too much for me -- for once, I do not need to upsize my diet Coke. Most clothing stores classify me as "petite". Okay, that means "short" but the label makes me sound dainty -- give me that. I can go to a brassiere store and find my size in a heartbeat. Not so in the Philippines where cup sizes beyond C are unheard of. Literally. A saleslady once thought I was joking when I gave her my size.
In this country, I feel rock and roll sexy! Being here makes me feel I have the ummmph to strut in all-white halter top, spray-on pants and stilettos!
Yep, out here, anything is possible. And the possibilities can get damn ugly.
PERMALINK
|
EMAIL ME
|
