30 June 2010

Above the legs doesn't mean your thighs, dummie...

Eons ago when I was still in my junior year in college I innocently asked a classmate, "Do you shave above your legs?"  We were jogging down the steps of our college building to hurry on to our next class. At first she tried to ignore me. I thought she didn't hear so I caught up with her and repeated my question. She kinda had an irritated look on her face and reluctantly whispered "Yeah sometimes." Then she just sped off. I wondered at the time why she seemed pissed.

Well  I got my answer after approximately more than 10 or 12 years. No, I am not exaggerating. I did learn the real meaning of "above your legs" after over a decade. How? I think it was while reading about it in a blog or website or something. But I'm sure I actually read about it "by accident" no less. I was shocked to discover "above the legs" in that context meant the ultimate girly girl part of my anatomy! And I had asked a totally personal question back in college. My classmate (I forgot her name now) probably thought I was some kind of perv. Sheesh! Since learning that, I've been mentally kicking myself. And the memory and my utter dumminess always pops in my mind whenever I'm in the bath and shaving my legs.

Aaargh! How I hate the sheltered life my parents raised me in! It wasn't me being naive or my naivete; it was sheer dumminess! Now I just hope that poor girl's remembrance of me isn't my totally embarrassing question. 

12 June 2010

Sudden Surge

Ok. Ok. So three new blog posts may not exactly qualify as a "surge" but to me they do. I'm such an irregular blogger so this is definitely a surge for me. 

The truth is that the latest posts are "transferees" from my first blog--which I have terribly neglected. Probably  because I couldn't decide what my focus there would be. I was so vague. They were random thoughts. Ok fine. This blog is pretty much random thoughts of a SAHM so what's the big deal. For one thing, I wasn't blogging as a stay-at-home-mom there. Rambling again.... 

To get straight to the point, I transferred some posts from there to here because I finally decided what to do with that first blog, Yes, I am sure about it now. My only hope is that I can sustain it. I believe I can. 

As for this blog, it is what it is at the moment. My random thoughts. =)   

Job Stress

Those first couple of weeks back in  October last year was like hell. 

I was offered a project I thought I could handle until I got all the details and the client made a paradigm shift midway through. Then I figured that this wasn’t for me. I didn’t want it. Not that the project was a bad idea. In fact, it was a very good project. I just doubt the client’s true objectives. 

But of course it is business. So the bottomline really is to rake in earnings. But that’s beside the point where I am concerned. Although I think the project is worthwhile, it just isn’t my personal priority. Sure I love animals. Like I told my soul sister, we had nine dogs at some point in time. But that doesn’t make me an animal protection and habitat conservation activist. 

To cut the story short I had some fall out with the company’s client. The project had left me cold so I really couldn’t care less if I understood the emails I was being sent regarding it. I didn’t do a good job to put it bluntly. And when the client expressed dissatisfaction, I hoped it would turn into an escape route for me out of the project. 

But my boss called me after hours and tried to talk sense into me. Of course I couldn’t tell him straight to his face that I didn’t want the project. Nevermind if it meant a "step up the corporate ladder" or a raise of some sort. I just wasn’t into it anymore. And God knows how I prayed to Him to be let off the hook. 

It got to be so stressful I actually broke down in tears and told my husband, “Ayoko na yung trabaho ko. Di ba pwede tayong suportahan ng Lord ng di na ako nagtratrabaho?” 

My hubby gave me a hug and told me something that sort of brought things into perspective. Although I have to say it did not completely convince me to embrace the project again. I just let it go and took it one thing at a time. 

I ended up apologizing to the client without totally losing my dignity. Apology was accepted and instructions were given again to draft something for marketing. Inwardly I’m groaning. I wish this would not be on me. I wish I were doing something else. 

Lately, I've been receiving emails from the same client regarding the same project. Call me paranoid but the way the emails are worded, I seem to be a moron. I could actually hear the client in my mind, speaking ever so slowly then ending the instructions with "You did understand, right?"

Remembering Daddy

Daddy passed away about four years ago. i don't exactly remember. I was pregnant with my third child (then unborn Dianelle) and my two boys and I were about to go to my parents’ house for a reunion of some sorts.  The reunion never happened. Daddy died a week after we got to their place.

My relationship with Daddy wasn’t that great. It wasn’t that bad either. I just have an overall feeling that he was kinda disappointed with how things turned out with me. I guess I never met his expectations–whatever they were. I really never knew what they were exactly anyway.

But I did have memorable moments with Daddy.

One that will probably be with me for a very long time was when he agreed to shop for a blouse with me. We were already living in Angono at that time. And the most accessible shopping place then was Cubao. It was a commercial complex.

He tirelessly accompanied me from store to store as I checked out rack upon rack of blouses. I needed one for a piano recital. Imagine, me in a piano recital. Funny, after doing the rounds of all the possible shops that sold blouses and girly girl dresses, I ended up buying the first blouse I seemed to like at the first store we had stepped into.

If memory serves me right, I was kinda apologetic towards my dad. But he just smiled at me and said it was okay. He commented that I was like him–quite picky with clothes and unmindful of the effort it takes to look through every store until I finally found what I really wanted. Mildly OC I should say.

I also remember his back rubs. He had good steady warm hands, my dad. I had asthma as a teenager. Whenever I had an asthma attack, I couldn’t sleep. He would rub my back as I drooped over the backrest of a chair. He’d rub in circular motions that freed up the mucous in my lungs. My chest would somehow clear and I would be able to breath and finally get some restful sleep.

There is one painful memory though. And I suppose it has influenced the way I look at myself physically. It was way back in high school, probably my senior year in high school or my freshman year in college.  Whichever, I was standing in front of our bedroom mirror checking out a zit. I wasn’t a zitty teen. I was blessed with fairly clear skin. But that night I noticed a pimple and I sort of lingered on the sight of it on my face.

My Dad chanced upon me as he passed by our room and heard me mumbling something about the lone pimple and my face. To which he responded, “There’s nothing that can be done about your face.”
Honestly, although the statement’s meaning registered vaguely, I felt hurt. I guess, deep inside me, my dad’s statement translated into, “You’ll never be pretty.”

I suppose that has affected the way I respond to my husband whenever he’d comment on how I should comb my hair or wear my make-up or what dress I should wear.  Any statement that even slightly refers to the way I look I deflect with “Pacencya na. Hindi maganda yung asawa mo eh.” (My apologies. Your wife isn’t pretty.)

Do I miss Daddy? I sort of missed him several months after we buried him. Now, I don’t really know. I haven’t deleted his email address from my list of contacts. And I’m pretty sure I have not deleted his cellphone number from my cell’s phonebook either.

I do regret not texting him or calling him. Maybe that would have improved our relationship. Maybe he would have warmed up to me again. We got pretty cold when I got married. Although he was cordial when he and mom visited me, still…

I guess I took him for granted. Or simply thought that I would see him again on their next visit.

used, reused, overused...

I am upset. I am angry. I am sad. I want to cry. 

Am dying to scream my head off and at the same time smash something.

I’m way over burnout. I’m not even smoldering coal. Just cold ashes. 

And still people around me won’t stop using me.