Scripta Manent

~An officious little puffed-up canary wearing glasses with faded maroon wire-rim said in response to my last post: "Feeling jobless and useless isn't nice to feel in combination, especially since you ARE jobless."

I said-- well, I didn't say anything, just *nod-pouted*

Hehe.

~Oh, after Mass last Sunday, I lounged in the pew while waiting for the Communion to finish. I normally always sit straight, but that particular evening, I was stuffed with ginatan, a banana and jackfruit dessert with coconut cream and brown sugar, among other decadent trimmings.

Josh and I always attended the last Mass, so we had the pew to ourselves. It was okay to stretch my legs, cross my ankles, and lean on the arm I had propped two feet from me on the seat. Across the aisle, the girl who didn't have my subtlety at looking at the other churchgoers' attire and shoes seemed to be paying me more attention than was warranted by my non-special getup.

And then she whispered to her mom.

Seconds later, the mom also looked at me, though with more finesse, on the pretense of shrugging her wrap higher up her shoulders.

I saw all this from the corner of my eye, so I just dismissed it. Maybe they weren't even looking at ME.

And then the priest rose, we all rose, and we were blessed in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Thanks be to God... *applause*

That's God you're applauding, so you do it with energy and high in the air.

That's when I felt the air on my tummy.

Apparently, the two lowest snaps of my blouse had come undone-- maybe from my bloat and my slouch.

At least, the mystery of 'the looks' was cleared up.

And my navel was clean.

/giggles.

~And while I'm recalling things, let me go back further and let December 21st of last year be on the record:
J called J "Mr. Good Son"
And J called J "Ms. Bright Side".

Friendship and a sputter-inducing news last Tuesday. Can't shout about the news here yet though. Still under wraps. I'm in Saran wrap, that is. LOL. Marinating. I hope I become good enough to officially be popped into the oven.

Ooh, oven talk. Nope, I'm not pregnant.

Saturday gave me that thrill again of meeting and befriending new people, a thrill I haven't had in quite some time-- three months. The last time was last July when I met Aljo and Joey.


From top row to bottom row, left to right:
Darlo, Eunice, Sarah, CJ, Zech, Erin, Irish
Tonks, Sonny, Medea, Ross
Carmela, Sherly, moi,
July, Aldrich, Ian


Potter Synidicate star bottle made by Tonks

Saturday had been different in that there were SEVENTEEN of us. We used up to six tables in Goldilocks, and generally attracted stares, wistful smiles and grins from the other people in the mall.


The Slytherins posing, with July as the reluctant 'angel'.

They were always joking and laughing and poking fun at each other. I couldn't hear the jokes, but I couldn't help giggling along. And everyone were so nice and warm. I also had two new beloveds: Medea (that sweet adorable girl in the center of the picture above, holding the Potter Syndicate star-bottle) and Carmela. Sarah, too. Wasn't able to take a photo with Medea because she went home before we really went berserk with my Kodak.

Of course, there was Sherly and there was Tonks, my precious brujas.





Other highlights of the day were: the pictorial, (in which we made the photographer's day and at the same time harrassed her to near catatonia), the raffles (in which I won a Getbackers poster-sticker, one of the pictorial's prints and I gave away a copy each of the Harry Potter Creative CD and a DVD of the first five movies, won by Ross and Zech respectively), an UNO game (in which Medea and Carmela nearly came to blows). We only played one round. The last two had to refresh the deck six times before Medea lost. And then the dare she picked was to unravel Tonks's braids. It was a challenging dare. Haha!

Oh, and it was my brother Josh's birthday. Unfortunately, the date of Potter Syndicate's End of Term feast couldn't be moved, so I had to compromise. Josh had a little party. I got him a Naruto keychain he likes very much, so much he doesn't want to use it in fear of losing it. Hee.
Love you, Josh.

Josh not being with me posed some worry to these friends, new and old. Tonks wanted to see me all the way home, but she, Carmela and Ian had an hour's worth of road before reaching home. They only left when Tonks thought I'd boarded the van. In truth, I'd only fetched my camera. So then, the boys stayed with me. Wouldn't have gone to dinner if I didn't shove them away. Hehe. Such concern was both sweet and also a little embarrassing. I wish I didn't give so much anxiety just by being away from home and without chaperone. Mom called Sherly-- on the phone Sherly had left home. /facepalm

And then the van took a different route. It stopped for gas. I thought that was it.

But it continued down the lane instead of turning back. The entire duration of the ride, I was always a second away from panicking and telling the driver to let me off. I'm glad I stayed quiet and trusted that I didn't ride the wrong shuttle. Of course not. I'm not stupid. I just watched the windows. In the end, we did reach my subdivision. Phew! If the driver was avant-garde in his route, kudos to him. I did notice less traffic.

Yesterday, my grandmother and uncle and cousin Carlo stopped by. Played UNO. I have a feeling we cousins will have a tournament come 29th, when our newest niece gets baptized. I'm godmother, by the way.

(Godchildren: 5
Jobs: 0
Cash: I always have 'cash'. In the dictionary)

Been a lovely weekend.
I was pinching Edward's...um, posterior-- and I didn't even realize. /dies laughing




Rolydee said Twilight's been rated R-16 here! Poor Jouie.

Had a little too much fun with this, snagged from ozma914 !

"Hi,

Today I received my own rejection for the story I submitted to the HAUNTED LEGENDS anthology. I'm extremely disappointed, but not with the editors or with the form of the rejection -- for some very good reasons. First, I know Ellen wasn't too keen on open subs. (Let's not send her the message that having one this time was a mistake. I know that rejections don't exactly make a writer's day -- in fact, they flat out flatten me -- but they are not much fun for editors, either. I've had a chance to experience both sides of the rejection notice: I edited an anthology last year and had to reject a couple hundred stories. It was the hardest part of the process. After I sent out many personalized rejections, I quickly realized I didn't have the time (or emotional stamina) to state the reasoning behind (and defend) each rejection. Sometimes my reasons were a bit abstract, and explaining my choices would have taken too many words; sometimes I simply couldn't bring myself to say "this sucks!" (And as a writer, I hope I never have to hear those words.)

I felt the letter did what it needed: it gave the writer 4 general explanations for the rejection, it spared the editors unnecessary grief, and let the writer down as gently as possible.

Be sure and send your story out again. We knew from the beginning the competition for this one would be rough. The sheer number of subs instantly puts the editors at disadvantage: "wow, we have space for 3 or 4 more stories, but we received dozens of good tales." Hence, fabulous stories like yours and mine didn't get a seat on this bus. But take heart, I see another bus rounding the corner. It will take us where we want to go. ;-)

--Tom English"

~ * ~

From The Resilient Writer by Catherine Wald: Janet Fitch... says, "Rejection plays an overwhelming role in your career as a writer." She emphatically tells her writing students that they can’t consider themselves writers until they’ve received at least one hundred rejection slips. She also tells beginning writers that you can’t get crushed by just a handful of rejections because "that’s a lot of what being a writer is."

Wesley Brown says that rejection is a persistent experience for writers. He calls it "an integral part of any creative endeavor." But, he adds, just because you accept that rejection is part of the process doesn’t mean you have to agree with the rejections or take them to heart.

What’s the key to getting past rejection? For Elizabeth Benedict, it’s understanding that the publishing business is just that – a business. "What you’re trying to do is interest a businessperson in your writing, and the businessperson has to decide whether this is the right article, book or short story for his or her publication." She adds that it’s important to remember that rejection is "not necessarily a definitive comment on you or your talent."


~ * ~


Desiderata a la Joanna:

... Write. Especially, do not coddle submissions.
Neither be cynical about editors;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
pithiness is as perennial as the grass. ;)

~ * ~

I love LJ, and the people on my f-list. Such warm people. Lucky me. *hugs* Thank you for being there in my OW moment (and it WAS but a moment. I now doubt I'm equipped with enough bodily chemicals for wallowing in non-happiness/contentment/squee-worthy things). ^_^ Allenpot, you should move here NOW.

~ * ~

It was a kare-kare day today. And inihaw na tilapia (grilled milkfish). And tokwa't baboy (tofu and pork). And Bicol Express. And maja blanca (coconut cake/white pudding/Filipino version of corn bread). And minatamis na saging (candied bananas).

Also was a Stardust and Alvin and the Chipmunks (again) day with the cousins. As well as eyebrow-trimming day with that pregnancy-test-look-alike gadget with the of-age girl cousins.

Went to church with tummy distended.

Laughed with HIM when I saw one of his cousins? friends? take his hand and make the mano (Filipino token of respect, wherein we take the hand of our elders, or priests/nuns to our forehead. Sprung from 'beso las manos' of the Spanish, where they kiss the hand). Hee. He slapped the girl playfully with his white handkerchief.

~ * ~

Oh, and accidentally sat on Josh's you-know-what. Poor boy. We were both of us riding behind Dad on the motorcycle. And Dad didn't slow down enough over this huge hump on the street. We all bounced. And... Josh emitted a short howl. LOL.

My wonderful brother cum bodyguard cum chaperone cum conscience.

With the bay on his backside.



This post especially for Chiara. LOL. So that I can mention being so buddy-buddy with jay-oh-es-eytch without being glared at through cyberspace. *giggles*

My little brother Josh was circumcised last Friday. I don't know where the tradition stemmed, really, and I'd rather be mystified all my life, but it's some sort of initiation or baptism into manhood here in my country. Boys ranging from ages nine to sixteen (!) troop to doctors during summer for this.

We had a rip-roaring time last night when I questioned Josh and Oncci about it. I even opened our medical book and asked them to point out what is removed. Oncci crowed that the illustration of the penis there is 'supot', a Filipino slang I won't be able to translate. Oh, gad.

Oncci said the doctor makes a slit on either side of the foreskin and then folds the foreskin back... Eew. So how does that heal? Like a scar?

They just laughed my curiosity off. One day, I'll know. Hmm, hmm.

Anyway, I'm realizing just how dependable (hen-pecked) Josh is. Since he was incapacitated (yeah, he is), I had to feed the dogs, unchain and chain the gate, buy my own snacks, get juice/iced tea myself, walk to the fridge to get food and to the center table to get the remote myself...

But then he says he'll make it up to me when he's healed, because I also hang up the crotch of his shorts/jammies on a needle and thread on our spare upper bunk when we go to bed.

I can't wait til he's healed so we can go biking again.

Right now, I relish teasing the way he walks. Like a duck.

Lilias told me my posts seem to be monotonically jolly. No angst at all? No grouch days?

Erm... no.

I don't know. I just... Yesterday, when we went to church, I was scowling fit to kill because my family insisted on not being up to my attire standards. Josh wanted to wear these Beachwalk flip-flops that I only ever deem acceptable in wet markets, for goodness' sake! Only after a yelling match did he back down and change into his shoes. And Mom didn't want to change either. Ugh.

I also realised I've messed up at the SPEW discussion thread again. *sheepish*

And then of course, when I woke up late this afternoon again, my Mom went 'all you do is sleep and eat' on me while I was pigging out-- I mean, eating.

And, another of course, there's my maddening, irritating, infuriating, bothersome, exasperating, aggravating, frustrating, trying, grating (Microsoft® Encarta® Reference Library 2005. © 1993-2004 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved) writer's block.

See, it's not all roses for me either. But the thorns just don't cling long, I guess.

What thorns? you say. LOL.

<.<
>,>

You forget I'm deaf, I say.

So you can forgive me for my smugness about being happy. Not really, though. I'm thankful. Not smug. However much I sound so. Heh.

Thank you, Lord. I don't deserve this.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


Amazing how much you can enjoy even without cable. My brothers and I laughed our hyena laughs again last night over My Girl and I. Tearjerker ending though. Korean version of A Walk to Remember.

Titanic was re-run again, too.

It's been eighty-four years, but I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called 'the ship of dreams'. And it was. It really was.

...

Rose Dewitt Bukater.

I'm gonna have to ask you to write that down.

...

I believe you're blushing, monsieur artist. I cannot imagine Monet blushing.

He does landscapes.

Yeah, yeah, some of the rest of Cameron's dialogue is mushy, but some I like.

And then we watched Gothika on DVD. *slippers flew from Mom* I'm no judge of acting but the story is almost good. The title makes one go that blue confused emoticon we have at the Betaboards, that's all.

Oh, well, plenty more fanfics and stories to read.

I can't wait for this Thursday's litcrit post of mine. I love the story I'll share with you. /squish


Two men leaning drunk on the bar:

man1: Mate, guess my name. It begins with R.
man2: Reg?
man1: nope.
man2: Ron?
man1: nope.
man2: Richard?
man1: nope!
man2: fine! What is it?
man1: Arman. (Briticised and translated from Filipino)

I don't know why I laughed so much over this one when I woke up. *rolls eyes*

Maybe because a tiny, good something happened to me last night. *sighs*

MOOD:

... short for Pegasus.

Pegasus is an immortal steed.

And an immortal steed is an everlasting nag. -Reader's Digest LITBM


I was a nag last night. Why wouldn't I be? It was 12 midnight, and I was reading myself to sleep but my brother and sister, who are supposed to wake up at 6 in the morning for class (!), were in and out of the room, first asking for staples, then asking me to cut a circle, a heart... asking me to write her name in the cover page, asking me to help cover his top hat with art paper...

"Why didn't your teacher teach you how to do this?"
"Why didn't you ask Mom to buy you a folder and slide?"
"Why do you lot always wait until the last friggin minute to do your stuff?"
"What if I don't help you finish this? Just to teach you a lesson?"
"I'll hide your Gameboy, see if I don't."
"Cut me more tape!"
"Don't you laugh, you have no right to laugh."
"You're irritating."
"Leche."
"Leche."
"Leche."
"Leche." (I dunno either how this perfectly wholesome Spanish word became a malediction in Filipino)

Jouie went to bed at 12:30 am. Josh went to bed at 2am. After we finished his top hat, he just had to have a last goodnight session with Pikachu and Torchic. Yeah, peace again and I spoiled them again. They're my brother and sister, anyway, not yet my children. *evil smirk*

The nag was conquered by sheepish smiles.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

It's rare that I don't delete quotes from my phone sms inbox. I don't dislike them but I don't love them. I prefer simple, funny things that came from my friends' cranium in answer to mine. But this is quite precious:

"A friend is someone you can call at four in the morning to say you've killed someone. But a true friend is the one who will knock at your door five minutes later with a spade." (translated from Filipino)

Aww.