Saccharine Irony

This site is a compilation of fluid thoughts, a collection of poetry, random glimpses of humor and tragedy, spontaneous notions of an extremely sensitive mind.

Coffee and Muffins and Some Thoughts on Marriage March 15, 2010

Filed under: confessions,Events,Love,Strange Men,Women — Aimee @ 4:52 pm
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Mocha Espresso. Yum.

What a full day I’ve had. I woke up today and blogged about going down with the flu but now it’s almost 1 a.m. and I’m still wide awake, having just arrived home from Bo’s after a long evening over espresso and muffins. I think the flu has subsided a bit, thank heavens, after taking lots of Vitamin Cs and loads of water.

My aunt who’s now married to an American and already based in the U.S. arrived at the house this afternoon and will be staying for a few weeks or so while visiting friends in the city. I got myself two white leather handbags and some makeup as pasalubongs, which is great because I’ve been planning on buying a really nice white bag for the summer and some eye make up for impromptu parties. And tonight she’s decided to treat us out for coffee and muffins because she cannot stand the 5-hour rotating brownouts for the entire evening. Of course I would not want to be left home while the power was out so I slipped into my jeans and top and kind of looked forward to coffee.

While we were at Bo’s some friends of my aunt came to sit with us at the table, and one of them jokingly asked me and my sister if we were already married. We politely replied that no, we are still in our mid-twenties and not at all planning on getting hitched very soon. But the old man was quite in the mood for kidding around, and opined that now is the best time to get married and that marrying when you’re already thirty and up is a huge, huge mistake.

Really? I’m 27, single, having the time of my life, and not at all wanting to settle anytime soon. Well, okay, stability is a huge factor, and at this point, my savings are not anywhere near impressive, so perhaps that is one huge reason why marriage is the farthest thing from my mind right now.

Perhaps, a year or two from now, if that someone proposes to me, I’d gladly say yes. If. A huge IF. But anytime soon is not at all possible. So whoever says I should get married now will do well to shut up. You don’t get married because it’s the right age, you get married because you have the right person in your life at the RIGHT TIME.

Who cares if you get married at 35? At 40? Hello. At this time and age, not every girl is lucky to have a decent man just when their cheeks are at their rosiest and their ovaries are at the pink of health.

But tonight I did not shut the old man up. He was fortunately too funny for that. 🙂

 

The Electric Dental Chair August 13, 2009

Filed under: confessions — Aimee @ 2:56 pm
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ms. crooked teeth :)

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.

 

Trapped. Squeezed. Swallowed. December 10, 2008

Filed under: Career Chronicles,Sarcasm — Aimee @ 9:58 am
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The workplace, no doubt, is an interesting place for people watching. People are trapped more than eight hours everyday inside freezing, dull-colored buildings: facing computers, flipping papers, mollifying clients, chewing at ball pen caps, sipping instant coffee, and spending the rest of the time wishing they were somewhere else.

You see them in stiff blazers and glossy neckties, scurrying around, trying to look as if they are actually busy with something. The fact that they are pretending to be busy somehow gives them the assurance that they are doing something worthwhile with their routine lives.

And maybe they really do have hectic days, no argument with that, but at the end of each day, they would begin to wonder if the careers they had chosen had put them where they have always wanted to be, if perchance the endless tapping on keyboards or the ingestion of brainless policies define who they are.

Then you see the arthritic supervisors, those fifty-something superiors who stay rooted to their posts merely because of that beautiful thing called “security of tenure”, which most government-funded agencies take to heart quite liberally, and so that they are able to retain their plush swivel chairs, those soft back cushions, the huge tables that hold nothing but family picture frames, plastic flowers, and useless what-nots.

The females paint their faces in an effort to obscure wrinkle lines, perm and color their hair in a vain effort to regain its fading luster, and embellish themselves with heavy glittering accessories – gold, shiny jades and rubies, oversized pearls in hundreds of colors- perhaps to remind everyone that these jewels are their trophies, trophies for toiling inside freezing, dull-colored buildings in a span of long decades. The males have protruding bellies, brassy voices, sly gazes, and huge groping hands; and if you’re careless, they could read way too much between your quick glances and contrived laughter.

These middle-aged folks have earned their respective positions no doubt, but some of them no longer make any contribution to the organization at all. Most hours they just absentmindedly sift through papers, verify checks and tinker with their high-end cell phones, wondering whether the husband is not with some mistress, or the if the wife is not flirting with the boss. And the worst of their kind never grow up at all. At their age, they still gossip like thoughtless adolescents, feign friendships even as they kiss each other’s cheeks, and nurture their little prejudices like confused toddlers. The workplace compels them to fake smiles and get crafty with small talk, to fashion handy compliments and throw them to the air whenever the need arises.

These bosses give out orders like automatons, get panic attacks at the slightest blunders, seek perfection where there is none, and all the while not fully understand the gamut of their jobs. The madames come to the office because they need to, because they have huge credit card debts to pay off, new car accessories to purchase and not necessarily because their perfume-laden presences are still needed.

The workplace is their, home, a stretch of land subdivided into their own little countries where they rule as royalties. And beneath them, their minions toil over their mindless employments – tap away at computers, flip over papers, mollify clients, chew at ball pen caps, sip instant coffee and wish they were somewhere else.

Well, the simple-minded ones are happy where they are, content with everyday work because there are mouths to feed, and because unfortunately, they know nothing better. They have spouses to come home to, and children to tell stories to, so what is the point of yearning for a better profession? Their thoughts are flying in all directions as they work at their tables, wishing they were home because if truth be told, there is nothing like home in a pretentious, dull-colored building.

Millions of hearts are trapped in places they cannot love, but only be immune to. They have grown gnarly and old, and they cannot fuel their souls to dream of something else. They just sit and watch, at the budding ones in stiff blazers and glossy neckties, lip gloss and stilettos, wanting to tell them to go and follow their heart songs. Wanting to tell them that yes, the workplace is interesting.

But the wide open skies are breathtaking.

 

Paralysis September 14, 2007

Filed under: Saccharine thoughts — Aimee @ 6:19 pm
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A fairly normal Friday; decided to travel home the following morning

Too much work can be paralyzing. Especially when you’re stuck with work you’re not really too passionate about. But then again, it’s not just work that can send you into a subjective paralysis — anything that you are not too passionate about, but that which you are unfortunately stuck with, is asphyxiating. A relationship you’re not too crazy about, a home you can’t even call a home, a spouse you can no longer connect with, a job that does not inspire you — all these can drag anyone down to the dregs of desolation. I can now imagine why there are too many unhappy people in this world. And it all started with the fact that most, if not all of them, made the wrong choices in the beginning.

A new graduate chooses the first job offered him thinking that he made a noteworthy decision, and sticks by it for years and years to come, duped into the notion that a highly secure, stable job is always enough. A girl gets courted by an affluent egomaniac, and eventually marries him, believing that love is merely found in books but never between two people, or worse believing that the egomaniac she married would actually change. A spoiled rotten child follows the dictates of his parents blindly, never knowing how to subsist without the comforts of home, even at the ripe age of forty plus years. Or the proud career woman who keeps on searching for the perfect man, that perfect mate she has so consciously fashioned in her subconscious, foolishly thinking that it does and can exist.

It’s just amazing how one choice can alter lives so drastically, and how the unwillingness of making one can stifle the very nature of what our lives are supposed to be: free, spontaneous, independent and impassioned; flawed and unpolished in some areas, but sublime all the same.