Friday, March 19, 2010
Is it possible to elbow one's self?
YES. I tripped the other day on hard concrete, sideways, and elbowed my lower left ribs. Ouchie. I don't hurt easily but this one really hurts...
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
My Artist Friend
Surprised to find out my friend did the layout for PBB Commemorative mag (yes, I watch the show, so sue me). Checked when I got home and lo and behold, it IS his name there. To think I remembered him while browsing. No wonder!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Chills to you
Woke up an hour ago to a very chilly January dawn. It promises to be a cold day, methinks. Oh well, gotta get ready. Body and soul not willing, but...
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tugger Attends the Ball
*NOTE: Okay. I am not a fan of fan fiction, but I came up with this one for a writing group I belonged to before. We had to write something about a big black cat and I thought of 'Tugger' so...Guess this qualifies as fan fiction...
The big black cat made his way through the junkyard, careful not to hit any of the junk thrown about. It was the night of the annual Jellicle Ball after all and Rum Tum Tugger simply had to look his best. Not that he was any worse.
Tugger was not especially big by Jellicle standards. Among the present set of toms in the tribe, however, he was one of the biggest, perhaps even bigger than the group’s protector, Munkustrap. Heck, let Munk be the bouncer, he thought rather smugly, I’M getting the girls!
He did always get the girls due to his exotic looks and charm. Tugger, in a sense, was a star judging by the physical alone. His body was covered by the most beautiful coat of black, not unlike a panther’s. Strangely enough, around his legs were tiger stripes and leopard spots which rather made him curious. Could he by any chance be sharing the same lineage with that old, looney do-gooder Jennyanydots? Up to this day, she still thought that cockroaches just needed employment. Hah! Mental, that one...Well, she was all stripes and spots. Not a thought Tugger cherished but in the Jellicle tribe, such a thing was not at all uncommon. After all it was much believed that the Jellicle leader, Old Deuteronomy, sired most of them. Lineage aside, the stripes and spots did add to his mysterious charm. His seemingly overwhelming confidence just oozed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Tugger’s biggest pride was the mane around his neck that would remind one of a lion’s. Indeed, with all the envious glances from the males and the adoring looks from the females, Tugger felt like a king, the Ultimate Tomcat…
Back to reality, the alpha tom could hear singing from a distance and realized he was near the ball. He hurried up a bit and true enough, there were the Jellicle cats dancing, basking under the Jellicle moon. He would have wanted to make a grand entrance as usual but all the she-felines were doing their dance ritual. Watching them had always been quite seductive to him. He would have drooled if he wasn’t protecting his image. Besides, drooling was more for dogs, those clueless fools cursed to a lifetime of servitude to humans.
Tugger was not especially big by Jellicle standards. Among the present set of toms in the tribe, however, he was one of the biggest, perhaps even bigger than the group’s protector, Munkustrap. Heck, let Munk be the bouncer, he thought rather smugly, I’M getting the girls!
He did always get the girls due to his exotic looks and charm. Tugger, in a sense, was a star judging by the physical alone. His body was covered by the most beautiful coat of black, not unlike a panther’s. Strangely enough, around his legs were tiger stripes and leopard spots which rather made him curious. Could he by any chance be sharing the same lineage with that old, looney do-gooder Jennyanydots? Up to this day, she still thought that cockroaches just needed employment. Hah! Mental, that one...Well, she was all stripes and spots. Not a thought Tugger cherished but in the Jellicle tribe, such a thing was not at all uncommon. After all it was much believed that the Jellicle leader, Old Deuteronomy, sired most of them. Lineage aside, the stripes and spots did add to his mysterious charm. His seemingly overwhelming confidence just oozed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Tugger’s biggest pride was the mane around his neck that would remind one of a lion’s. Indeed, with all the envious glances from the males and the adoring looks from the females, Tugger felt like a king, the Ultimate Tomcat…
Back to reality, the alpha tom could hear singing from a distance and realized he was near the ball. He hurried up a bit and true enough, there were the Jellicle cats dancing, basking under the Jellicle moon. He would have wanted to make a grand entrance as usual but all the she-felines were doing their dance ritual. Watching them had always been quite seductive to him. He would have drooled if he wasn’t protecting his image. Besides, drooling was more for dogs, those clueless fools cursed to a lifetime of servitude to humans.
Meanwhile, Tugger lazily yawned and smiled like only a smug cat would.
Copyright © September 2007 by lildovefeather
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Jumping Jeepers!!!!
I am now the Editorial Assistant/Writer
for a magazine! I start tomorrow!
I said before that I was the 2nd choice
out of the six short-listed. However, after I was interviewed by the
President, I think I was her first choice. Not because of my
writing experience, though, but because of my five-and-a-half years'
experience as part of the administrative staff. You see, the job will
entail administrative work, too, but I don't mind. I'm just happy!!!!
I could've told you this last Monday but wasn't able to go
online again till today.
BTW, to my Pinoy pals here, if you love
to write (I know Raine, Jeffer, and Stephen do), just tell me and
I'll send you info/details about an opportunity I found. It's not the
magazine I mentioned, but under ___________ Publishing. I applied as
contributor (saw an ad) and they replied, stating submission details.
You'll get paid for this if your stuff are accepted plus royalties
later on. This is legit, guys, don't worry!
Oh, I'm so happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Well, what have you been up to?
As usual, I've been staying at home watching TV and messing with things. I've decided to do some exercising M-W-F. Wanted to do it everyday, but not easy to do it on a regular basis (hey, I'm a bum). Since I've just started, sometimes, my body aches that I'm not ready to do it the next day. That's what happens when you've been idle for quite some time. So I just try to do some stretches to start the day. Also trying to remember the stretching stuff I learned from the dacing workshop, but for the life of me, I've forgotten most of them. So I just added a new dance-exercise technique I saw on TV which I do only when I'm alone (if I tell you what it is, I'll have to kill you, he he...).
But anyway, Happy Birthday to the following: Sharon, Cindy, Dawn, Debbie, Jasmine, Jon L., Justin, She and Snoozer. Sorry if I wasn't able to greet most of you guys in time...And, oh! Happy Aniversary...to me!!! It's my first-year aniversary here in Multiply!
STOP RIGHT THERE!!
I have a question: Why are there some men who will hit on even a post if you put a dress around it??? You could just be standing in line at the supermarket waiting for your turn to pay and you wonder why a guy decides to pester and tries to make a pass at you, especially when you know you actually looked lousy. Or you could be walking, wearing something decent, and a driver-cum-maniac passes by on his vehicle and gives you that look and lets you know he is looking, complete with a sneer...Girls can relate, for sure, but this is actually dedicated to all the pompous, chauvinists pigs out there...
OH, NO, STOP RIGHT THERE!
Oh, no, stop right there!
'Cause you're not getting anywhere
lay off me, get off my back,
take a hike and don't come back.
Oh, no, stop right there!
Yeah, you may like me, I don’t care
please take your hands off of me,
turn around and leave me be.
Oh, no, stop right there!
No, we won’t ever be a pair
contraries to what you think,
you should really see a shrink.
No, no, no, stop right there!
Ask no questions, oh, don’t you dare
for I could really blow my top,
This one's from a forwarded e-mail. Kinda funny, but mostly true. Girls can relate and boys will learn a thing or two about girls:
"Only a woman will TRULY relate to the following, but it's a 'hoot' for all! My mother was a fanatic about public bathrooms.
When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, 'Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat!'
Then she'd demonstrate 'The Stance,' which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more 'mature years', 'The Stance' is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to 'go' in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think you've found a half-price sale on Victoria's Secret underwear.
So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (mom would die if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume 'The Stance.' Ahhhhhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance' as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!'
Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose in yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do.
You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work.
The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.
At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door."
Author Unknown
When I was a little girl, she'd take me into the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, 'Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat!'
Then she'd demonstrate 'The Stance,' which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. By this time, I'd have wet down my leg and we'd have to go home to change my clothes.
That was a long time ago. Even now, in my more 'mature years', 'The Stance' is excruciatingly difficult to maintain, especially when one's bladder is full. When you have to 'go' in a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women that makes you think you've found a half-price sale on Victoria's Secret underwear.
So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, who are also crossing their legs and smiling politely. You get closer and check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. The dispenser for the new fangled 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.
You would hang your purse on the door hook if there was one - but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly hang it around your neck (mom would die if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume 'The Stance.' Ahhhhhhh, relief. More relief. But then your thighs begin to shake. You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance' as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.
To take your mind off of your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you would have tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!'
Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose in yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. That would have to do.
You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work.
The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle, and sliding down, directly onto the insidious toilet seat. You bolt up quickly, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because you're certain that her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain that suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged off to China.
At that point, you give up. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and, at this point, no longer able to smile politely.
One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the Mississippi River! (Where was it when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has since entered, used and exited the men's restroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'
This is dedicated to women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!).
It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other woman can hold the door and hand you Kleenex under the door."
Author Unknown
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