It’s Not What You Think It Is

Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m looking. But then again, just because I’m not looking doesn’t mean I’m not hoping. It just means I’m leaving that bit to Fate, to Life, to Destiny, to Serendipity, to Whatever. I know that when (if?) I meet a guy I’m truly interested in, then I’m going to actually exert some effort and go for it.

And besides. The guys I’ve met recently in the past? I feel like they skip on the whole friendship part. Don’t they know? Friendship is a great basis for a relationship.


Early Morning Wake-up Call

O-kay! After my previous post’s embarrassing all-out confession about being single, let’s go somewhere light and fluffy.

It’s a fresh Sunday morning here in our household and the weather is actually cool. (Wait until noon. That’s when it feels like we’re in an oven. Now I know how Hansel and Gretel felt.) I had to wake up well before six because Adam just caught and killed a bird. And my poor father, too gentle for such a nightmarish scenario, woke me up and told me the news. And because I grew up with boys and pretty much adapted their “I am tough and the world isn’t.” mentality, I yanked myself out of bed, marched over to that lovable cat from hell and cleaned up the mess he made.

After taking care of Adam and waiting for breakfast to be cooked (our housekeeper takes care of that; I’m hopeless in the kitchen but I reckon I can bake rather than actually cook), I suddenly remember it’s Easter Sunday. It’s Easter Sunday and I was woken up because of a dead bird.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Happy Easter!
Happy Easter, everyone!

credit: Warm ‘n Fuzzy

Why? Well, Why Not?

“Why are you so choosy?”

Turning twenty-nine and still single. My parents are starting to worry. My friends are starting to drop hints for me to date around. Once, my mother even sat me down and asked bluntly if I was gay. She can scrap that notion because my interest with the male specie is quite healthy. I told her that with the way I kept on appreciating good-looking men, she shouldn’t have even thought of the possibility that I was gay. My friends had gotten past the point of dropping polite hints and instead went to saying things like, “You should go out. Date some men.” They say it with such feeling that if I was a fragile soul, I would’ve taken it to heart and then cried and then whispered to my pillow each night, “Why? Why can’t I find a man for myself?” Instead, I tell them with a laugh that if there’s someone out there for me, he’ll pop up in my life sooner or later. What’s the hurry? Oh, right. I’m turning twenty-nine. OH NO! There goes my biological clock ticking, ticking, ticking away.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

I understand most girls in my shoes would be alarmed. I’m not sure if something’s actually wrong with me but I really don’t mull too much about this issue. I mean, whether I end up single or married doesn’t make a difference to me. Right now, I’m enjoying my life even without a man. I know I’m single not for the reason of men lacking in my social circle. Quite the contrary, actually. I’ll let you in on a little secret that my family doesn’t know: Guys have actually been asking me out. I’ll be sitting at McDonald’s, eating my breakfast and surfing the net with my smartphone and a guy will casually introduce himself. Before I know it, he’s asked me out after a couple of “accidentally” bumping into each other and some text messages. At a party, a guy will walk up, talk to me and give me a ride home. Before I know it, he’s asked for my phone number and is asking me out. Another time, a well-intentioned friend of mine will set me up with one of her friends. She’ll tell said friend to check out my Facebook profile. Before I know it, the guy is sending me text messages and asking me to meet up with him.

I have pointed these scenarios out not to flatter myself or boast because really. I am not disillusioned enough to know that I would walk inside the room and not all men will stare at me and wish they were with me. I’m just saying that the reason I’m single is because I want to be single. I’ve fallen in and out of love in painful ways. I know what’s it like to love and be loved. It’s just that right now, now that I’m older and I’ve learned my lessons, I know better.

Maybe someday I’ll actually go out on a date. Maybe someday soon I’ll find myself in love again. Maybe tomorrow, next week, next month, after two years, I’ll meet someone and that’ll be it. I mean, who knows, right? I just don’t want to jump into a relationship just because I feel like I have to because society dictates that a female my age should be well on her way to settling down. But I’m willing to wait, whatever is planned out there for me, whether it be me being single for the rest of my life or me settling down. It’s just simply a matter of being happy with myself and having faith.

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts. And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.  And I’ve always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance…

– Paramore, “The Only Exception

Bite Me Friday

I’ve only been in the house for not two hours more and already I am ready to pack my stuff and go probably to Greece or Ireland or Brazil. IF ONLY. And the funny fact is this: The reason for this feeling of wanting to just throw my hands up in the air and run away? A cat. Or, to be more specific, a kitten.

I’ve had an easier time dealing with my nephews when they were in their Terrible Toddlers stage.

Now,  forward march to other things not cat related!

Um… Well, let me grapple with other things to say… Let me consult my checklist:

  1. basketball games of my guy friends here in our Village
  2. long weekend due to Holy Week
  3. basketball games of my guy friends from my former company
  4. pending get-together from one of my sets of friends
  5. Dianne leaving a Facebook message about going out for some drinks
  6. throwing in something more to my nest egg
  7. eat breakfast RIGHT AFTER THIS BLOG POST
  8. watch the rest of my “Ghost Whisperer” DVD
  9. play with my PSP
  10. go somewhere on Sunday (maybe in Ruins for new DVDs and new PSP games AND eat shawarma!!!)

That’s it, folks. Next post will be an anecdote, a blast from the past. So I can share my utter stupidity slash klutziness. Also, I was thinking of starting a vlog. Just a thought but then I always end up with “Nah. No no no no no NO.” Because I wouldn’t want to be responsible for giving you nightmares when you’ve seen my face shoved in this.

Should’ve Renamed Him “The Cat from Hell”

So I impulsively bought a kitten last Friday and I didn’t realize how much I was subconsciously wanting a laid-back kitten until I got a chubby 2.5 month-old Australian Blue Mist/Chinchilla Persian who refuses to listen to instructions, whether said instructions were delivered firmly or gently.

On said kitten’s first day with me and my family, I was torn between chucking him out the street along with his toys, food and water bowls plus one collar and two leashes and pampering him with the best food and the best toys. In the end, he’s always too adorable to kick out our house.

I named my kitten Adam but after just two days of him screwing our otherwise gentle (although filled with boisterous laughter, corny jokes and crazy antics and squabbles) household, I realized I should’ve name him Hurricane or Cat from Hell.

It’s a love-hate thing.