Dog-tired

In case you're wondering, I did not fall off the cliff...just the blogosphere. I won't be able to visit your blogs for about 2 weeks. No, I'm not on vacation---how I wish I am. Just working hard.:p

See you again in 2 weeks!

Limp salad

From one of my late and rushed lunches recently---roast beef salad and freshly baked bread. I was starved from driving around the city like a cab driver the whole morning that I didn't even complain about the limp veggies in my salad. Yes, the lettuce leaves needed reviving but the avocado was sweet and the roast beef tender so I kept my mouth shut and gobbled the whole thing. Did I say I was very hungry? I was afraid I might faint from sheer hunger if I had to wait to get my salad replaced!:p

I made a mental note not to order salad in that hotel resto again. By the way, the shape of the salad bowl is interesting, whatyathink?

Join fellow foodies at Food Trip Friday and Food Friday

Chicken for a hungry soul

For a change, I'm posting everybody's favorite bird---chicken. If you noticed, a chicken dish is rarely featured in my Friday post. I am not very fond of chicken, or I should say, I'm tired of chicken---especially the fried and breaded kind. I admit I have my fair share of fried chicken. It's the first thing that comes to mind when I'm working late and needed a quick fix. Just dial **** or take the elevator and walk across the street, there is a row of fast-food chains serving fried chicken.

When it's past 8 in the evening and everyone was still slaving on their computers, then our hungry eyes would meet over the monitors and we would read each others' minds. Somebody would call delivery and I am always left with a choice between McDo and Jollibee because KFC takes 48 years to deliver, and Kenny Rogers is perpetually late "through the years." Sometimes I would suggest Wendy's or Max's, but I'm always out-voted.

Back to my grilled chicken [from Texas Roadhouse Grill], I know it looks like something Hannibal Lecter would love to serve. But yes, it was really grilled, although I don't remember slathering it with ketchup. I was probably too hungry to care. And here's my favorite chicken, Max's spring chicken (clucking :P) in its headless glory.

Join fellow foodies at Food Friday and Food Trip Friday

Excuses

Yeah, I know I’m late again. It’s not as if I can’t wake up on time. I have three alarm clocks, you know. My mother knocks at my door each morning. I have no trouble getting up, which I think is the primary source of my problem. Let me explain.

My alarm clock is the siren of a fire truck. I wake up, drag myself out of bed. As I open my bedroom door, there’s the burgundy sofa, with new silk covers and

My alarm clock is the siren of a fire truck. I wake up, drag myself out of bed. The sand feels warm under my feet, pebbles wet from the ebbing tide. The sky is deep blue with purple and orange hues at the horizon. The sun kisses my face, I’m late for work. I cover my sequined two-piece swim suit with white fur coat, put black fish net stockings on and slip into a Happy Feet bakya. As I leave Batanes

I wake up. I’m on a wet cement floor that smells like fish. I get up and run, trying to evade the man with a butcher’s knife. The wet market is crowded with TV cameras and rallyists; Mar Roxas is inspecting fresh meat and refuses to help me. I scream but the voices of market vendors drown me out. I fly like Jackie Chan from stall to stall, ceiling to walls, and seize a police motorcycle in the hope of escaping the butcher’s knife.

“Mag bra ka!” screams the butcher with a knife. I look down and I’m wearing an oversized white t-shirt with a Red Cross logo, braless.

Scared, I squeeze the throttle and the motorbike zooms towards MoA, but soon the butcher is riding a horse like a jockey. I am driving at maximum speed but the butcher’s horse seems to be bobbing up and down beside me, almost catching up. I switch the sirens on and close my eyes hoping I can scare the horse. Then

I wake up to a soft-lighted room, it’s warm and cozy, New Age music at the background. “Swedish massage?” Cesar Montano with hairy chest and a British accent asks, looking lean and tanned in his Egyptian loin cloth. I blink my eyes and go back to sleep. This is too weird, even for me, and besides, I have to get to

I wake up in a bowl of oatmeal with sago. It feels rather nice, warm but a little slimy. I try to swim out of the bowl, but as anyone who has wakened up in a bowl of oatmeal with sago knows, this is easier said than done. After a while, I decide to eat my way out instead. Wishing that the milk is non-fat, I nibble at the sago and

I wake up and drag myself out of bed. As I open my bedroom door, there’s the burgundy sofa and I think, here we go again…

And that’s why it takes me so long to get up. It happens almost every morning so it must be chronic, and you wouldn’t blame someone who’s suffering from something chronic, would you? That’s discrimination.

Silence. Legs shifting.

So does this mean I don’t get the deduction?

Weekend Snapshot: Daranak Falls

I haven't been anywhere lately and the daily routine is making me crazy. It seems that the only thing I look forward to these days is the time when I get to play with Fritz. A friend calls my affliction "tamaritis" because I'm just plain lazy to do anything after work. It's probably from all the left-brain thinking I do lately. My left brain has been in atrophy for the longest time so imagine it flexing muscles to cope with rolling forecasts, business plans and strategies on my desk.

Beneath the busy clatter of ideas thrown back and forth around here, what I’m really craving are the sight of an open road, sound of rushing water, and of trees whispering. To feed the yearnings of my right brain, I dig through my archives and unearthed these photos of Daranak Falls. These were taken a couple of years ago when my friends and I hiked through the mountains and caves of Tanay, Rizal until we reached Daranak Falls. The kind of adventure I need right now---kidnap me, please!

Posted for Weekend Snapshot

Personal time

A friend invited me to join an early dinner with her former office mates last Saturday, and I was surprised to hear them talking about their office Christmas Party next week. Yes, you read it right---a Christmas Party in January! December was a busy month for them that they didn't have time to organize an office party. We chatted over coffee until half past 2 in the morning and they were still receiving work-related calls---from 8 pm until 2 am! The girls told me that they couldn't even enjoy their vacation because their Korean bosses wouldn't approve it. I was troubled and shocked that these women who work hard until late every day, get calls about work at 2 am, couldn't even have a decent vacation! That's horrible!

We work long hours in our industry so all the more reason to respect each others personal time. I believe it's a matter of "educating" the people we work with that our time after work is our own. I used to read business emails even when I'm on vacation, call suppliers when there were problems---in essence, I was working while on vacation. Then I realize that I should take my personal time seriously because it's my time to de-stress and experience down time. Remember---we teach others how to treat us through our own actions. For the past year, I have been able to establish healthy boundaries that separate my work and personal time.

Mobile phones certainly reduce our private time. I used to receive work-related calls while watching a movie, having dinner, or sleeping even. And I'm not a surgeon! Then I learned the wonderful features called "call divert", "voice mail" and "caller ID". Divert work-related calls to a voice mail after office hours---you can decide if it's an urgent matter for you. Someone else lack of planning does not make a matter your emergency.

We all need time away from work even for just a few hours...so make sure you take back control of your personal time. Use your unplugged time to connect with your family, your friends, or spend some much needed time on you---not to do laundry, spring cleaning, run errands, or other have-to's.

Refuge

I’ve been scarce lately. Sorry about that. Last week, I buried my nose in a little novel called “Memories of my Melancholy Whores”. Yes, I devoted my free time to Garcia Marquez’ effortless storytelling, guiltless, to distract myself from myself. Reread it to recharge and excite my funny molecules after almost 2 weeks of nerve-racking, back-breaking, mind-numbing virtual battle of wills with somebody up in HQ. It was like two bulls, horns locked in battle, nobody was willing to give up or give in---he wanted world domination, I fought for what is right and logical. Leaving a trail of smoke, he relented, not without protest, as he figuratively picked up his ego on the floor. And learning from lessons of the past, I didn’t rub his nose in his “surrender”…I was magnanimous in my small victory.:D

There was no celebratory coffee at Starbucks with my team, either. I celebrated my own way---by re-reading Garcia Marquez’ seductively funny novella. Reading is my brain-food, my energy booster, like a bowl of hot Bulalo to somebody with a hangover. It usually sends me in the right direction, an invisible hand that guides me along the road, throws light in the dark streets, and gives my weary mind a place to rest. And by cruising along my favorite haunts, in the mood to admire the sleepy world once again under the moon, on the shoulders of the highway.

Driving to places where nature grows refreshes my eyes and invigorates my soul. It gives me an opportunity to pay attention to the small things that accompany my daily journey but overlooked during stressful days. I spent an afternoon listening to the whispered gossip of the leaves, admiring the rhythm of swaying branches from between the pages of "Memories"...filled with Garcia Marquez' delightful and witty exploration of old age and desire, grinning at the author's twisted sense of humor. I am happy again.

It’s my way of coping with life…by creating an oasis of calm and sunshine inside and outside my mind.

Job hazards

beach at Mactan Shangri-La

My trip to Cebu last week was interesting. The client from the Middle East was fascinated with the designs he saw in the booths as well as the factories I brought him to. But the Cebu X has gotten smaller this year. A lot of furniture exporters in Cebu has closed shop because they couldn’t compete with China prices. The depreciating US dollar has not also helped the export industry. It’s sad that the old, lively Cebu market is now wilting.

The client was also captivated with the lush Mactan Shangri-La. I booked him at the hotel’s spa on his second night, and he couldn’t stop talking about it the next day. He was delighted with our dinner of lobster, crabs, prawns, and oysters at the Cowrie Grill, Shangri-La’s beach-front restaurant.

We were at a factory one afternoon, selecting furniture, when the client asked me where the west is. For a minute, I wondered at the question---then he asked for a fabric he could use to kneel down to pray. It suddenly dawned on me that Muslims pray a couple of times a day. I couldn’t find a fabric or a carpet, so he asked for a folded carton instead. He doesn’t smoke or drink alcohol, and we talked about Islam and Christianity while stuck in Cebu traffic, about terrorism, and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I also got two offers that day. The client offered to double my pay if I'd work for him in the Middle East. Then the Italian guy who owns the furniture factory suggested that I relocate to Cebu since I'm single, and stay at his 3-bedroom condo, rent-free. Yeah, right! Rent-free, indeed!

What surprised me was the client's interest in girlie shows! Frankly, I am not that naïve to be surprised anymore…but after seeing him pray a couple of times a day, I find his interest a bit strange. Oh well…he’s only a man after all! I’ve been going to Cebu regularly for the past 9 years but I’ve never been to a girlie bar there. I called a couple of my Cebu vendors and was advised to bring him to Jaguar or Arena, both class A bars, or to Gold Fingers for some raunchy dancing, or to the Silver Dollar in Jones where the Australian tourists go, said to be the wildest of them all.

More than a decade ago, our American clients would ask me to take them to Firehouse in Ermita, or at the Hobbit House. I would leave them there and go home, the driver would take them back to the hotel. And some of our auditors and IT persons from Hong Kong would shyly ask about girlie bars in Timog or Pasay. My male colleagues would take them, and I usually stayed out of it. But with nobody to turn to in Cebu, I brought the client to Jaguar, Gold Fingers and Silver Dollar in a span of 3 hours, feigned nonchalance and drank beer in-front of gyrating bodies of young Cebuanas.

By midnight, I brought the client back to Shangri-la, returned to my hotel and took a very long shower.