Suffice it to say that I’ve just been very busy lately. And with Christmas just a few days away, things have gotten really hectic and well, crazy. Here’s me hoping that I’ll get to write a real post soon, and maybe even update my new food blog.
Enough with the drama already. Suprisingly, my heart is okay. 
you broke my heart 
~~~~~
… writer’s block. The one person who I wanted to greet me on my birthday never did so here I am, still sulking, still a bit depressed, 11 days after I turned sweet twenty-seven. My birthday had been fun without a doubt and I do have friends and family who keep me occupied and sane but I spent the entire time waiting. Waiting for a call, an SMS, an email, heck even just a forwarded, cheesy text message saying Happy Birthday and May God Bless You. But there was nothing. So here I am, still a bit bruised and blue, still unable to swing into the usual rhythm of things. I haven’t written a single entry in my blogs for almost 2 weeks now. 2 weeks. And to think I have so many things to write, to blabber about. The spark, sadly, has not yet returned.
I may deserve your silence, for all the years I’ve been a bratty, mean, opinionated bitch who demanded control and almost always got it, but I’ve stopped being one since the day you let go of my hand. I hope you’re reading this, cheri. I’m not fine. I’m so not okay. Eventually I will be, but I don’t know how long that’s gonna take.
I’m really not the cheesy type of gal who loves to make her heart’s sentiments public property but I’m going to risk sounding all corny and cheesy to say this:
All this time, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to come home.
Nothing else.
~~~~
Dead Until Dark on my bookshelf
I got the first book of the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris as a birthday present from my very good friend Nashy. I also got a gorgeous scarf as a pasalubong from her recent trip to Baguio. I’ve been wanting to buy the first book of the series for so long, but I’m so thrilled now that I got it for an early birthday present. With my birthday only a mere 3 days away, I have no expectations whatsoever. I do plan to have a good time and to blow a candle on my birthday cake. I’ve already made early morning plans with a friend, whom I’ll be spending my birthday breakfast with. And except for the birthday dinner and happy hour with the family, I’ve made no other plans so far.
Well, there will be no roses or sweet-nothings this year I guess, but I think I’ll be fine. I hope so. I never thought I’d be able to say this conviction in my lifetime, but now I can: Even with a broken heart, life can still be grand. Jessica Zafra got it right, nobody dies of a broken heart. It’s actually a case of swallowing the bitter pill for me, since I was the one responsible for getting my heart splintered in the first place. I can only wish for forgiveness and love on my birthday, but I am not in the position to say that I deserve it now, or if I still deserve it period. Missing my cheri is all I ever do these days, but I know I’ll get by. After all, everything has a time under heaven.
In the meantime, I have Charlaine Harris to keep me company. I’m still on the first few pages, but already I’m looking forward to more books.
Wish me a happy birthday, will you!
~~~~~~~
Stop for a while and take a few deep breaths. This whirlwind existence is interesting, but pretty exhausting. I miss my lazy weekends, movie and DVD marathons, books and hot chocolate, leisurely me-time, and some belly dancing classes in the evenings. I miss having unplanned dates with someone who loves to hold my hand and smell my hair. I miss taking my dog to the beach. Heck, I even miss doing the laundry during quiet Sunday afternoons.
And even with all these chaos, I still plan to take up some Web Design and Dreamweaver courses and an English writing-related diploma course next semester. What am I thinking? It’s almost November. As if all the holiday rush, year-end parties, and gift hunting deadlines are not crazy enough. As if I am not stressed enough.
~~~~~~
Well, breathing is enough for now.
happiness in a pitcher
There are many reasons why I love a strawberry margarita.
One. It has a lovely color. I love pink, but not the cheesy-schmaltzy shade of pink you see on baduy curtains and school uniforms. See that lovely coral pink concoction above? That’s the strawberry margarita from Macumba Cafe. I almost did not want to touch it! How divine.
Two. I love strawberries. I like how they look like small human hearts (not that I want to devour human hearts, no), I love how they smell (gosh, that smell! I can bathe in it!), I love how they taste sweet, tart, juicy, and crunchy (the seeds!) all at the same time.
Three. It has tequila in it. It’s margarita, so of course!
Four. It reminds me of my favorite drink way back in high school, the strawberry Fruittislush. Ah, high school! Why didn’t I flirt as much as I wanted to?
Five. The blended ice is a real thirst quencher. I always forget that I’m drinking alcohol, until I’d realize that my knees almost feel like nothing and then I’d suddenly crave for my bed.
Six. I want to name my future daughter, or my granddaughter, or my neice, Margarita. Margarita Manuelle for my future daughter, if that guy takes me into his life again and whisks me into marriage. Ah, daydreams.
Seven. It’s girly. Daintily sipping on a margarita sounds more feminine than say, gulping down beer, don’t you think?
So how would you like some strawberry blended margarita for tonight?
:|
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don’t miss him, I miss the person I thought he was.
I wanted to be a pastry chef so much I used to make mud cakes and sand muffins during late afternoon summers in my childhood. My mom had a garden filled with a few flowering plants and orchids, small stones and white pebbles, and lots of dark loam soil. I also used to tear the leaves and flowers so I can chop them and pretend I was tossing a salad, but nothing excited me more than scooping soft earth with my bare hands and placing them in little molding containers, from Coca Cola caps to old Tupperwares.
If I had my way, I would enroll myself at the Center for Culinary Arts, take up a diploma culinary course in New York, and learn everything about the world’s finest cuisines, from exotic Creole food to the sophisticated Italian delicacies. Nonetheless, I think my weekend baking classes is a small step in the right direction. It’s not really phenomenal and the facilities are not exactly first-rate, but this will suffice for now. Today we made delicious pineapple and cashew boat tarts, after the orange chiffon cake and icing of the previous week. Next week will be sweet dough rolls or ensaymada, topped with generous pats of butter and lots of shredded cheese.
I still think pastry chefs are one of the happiest folks this side of the cosmos.
… I went to the dentist today and almost lost consciousness. It was that painful. Like someone was pulling your jaw bone out. It’s a good thing the pain did not persist for more than 5 seconds. Still, I am quite embarrassed to admit that I almost bawled my eyes out on the dental chair. I’m already an adult for pete’s sake, not some 7-year old who inadvertently spat at her dentist’s hand while being asked to swallow an awful-tasting mouthwash. Pain or no pain, crying is no excuse. My next appointment is still 2 weeks away, but already I am dreading it, as if it’s gonna happen in the next hour or so.
ms. crooked teeth
I have crooked teeth. I know I do. A less than perfect smile is actually what happened to me when I started dreading the dental chair of my childhood. I used to view dentists as secret madmen, monstrous people who would talk decently to the mommies then terrorize the children with sharp tools and drills, boring holes into gums and excavating tender milk teeth without mercy. I dreaded dentists so much when I was younger, and now that I have begun wearing orthodontic braces to bring back my winsome smile, I secretly fear them still. Of course, my dentist now is actually a very patient man, surrounded by equally patient partner dentists and assistants. I love going to the clinic, with its cute television, comfy chairs, and old magazines on the waiting room coffee table. Yet, the dental chair is another thing altogether. I wish a musical dental chair was invented, so that when I begin to lie down and have my sensitive orifices pored over and probed, a medley of Jason Mraz and Nat Bedingfield songs would explode, bringing me to a state of near nirvana.
Tomorrow is my next appointment and until this hour, no musical dental chair has been invented yet. So wish me the grandest of lucks.
I am tired of writing.
Don’t get me wrong, I will forever love writing and I still dream of writing that novel someday. My love for words, pen and paper, PCs and keyboards, books and printed ink, bookstores and libraries is something that will forever be etched in me.
It’ s just that after making a decent living out of researching and writing, I suddenly feel the urgent need to explore something else. I want a job that can take me places, one that allows me to speak to people, or to market a product that I passionately believe in.
I remember enjoying the marketing subjects I took up in college immensely. Brainstorming for hours, racking my brains for the right advertising spiel, shooting a print commercial, and recording a radio advertising jingle had been pure euphoria. The results were phenomenal, and our professor, Mr. Lluch had been pretty impressed to say the least.
I still want to write, but I don’t want to do it for other people, all the time. Perhaps I am looking for some semblance of creative freedom, and not just in putting words to paper. I want to be a part of a team, to come up with creative ideas, and later on to write about them and to bring them to actual life. I want to market a valuable product, a belief, a policy, a lifestyle, one that I actually believe in and not one which others impose upon me.
I could be looking at a profession in the advertising industry, a marketing position at some decent company, or an entrepreneurial passion put to good use.
Whatever it is, one thing remains clear. I don’t want to stop at just writing.
 | Aimee on Depression Leads to… |
 | nash on Depression Leads to… |
| Aimee on Got It! |
| nash on Got It! |
| Aimee on A Chaotic But Fun Weekend |
 | Kristine on A Chaotic But Fun Weekend |
| nash on A Chaotic But Fun Weekend |
