(500) days non-linear

i couldn't help admiring this movie's poster, it's very creative.

(500) days of summer is a non-linear story of whining about a fleeting love affair from the male perspective. borrowing from a SATC rip off theme, maybe the reason she doesn't seem completely enamoured is because she's not that into you. maybe that's the reason she doesn't want to be someone's girlfriend but someone else's wife.

it's got to be my female instinct that i find male romcoms subliminally pathetic. sometimes it just doesn't work out. love is complex. it's not always birds singing in the trees. it could also be the lack of chemistry surging in one or both directions. or incompatibility.

statue dance

surveying the scenes of christenings and kids birthday parties in the diasporic subsistence, urges the likes of me into contemplation. but the ones without the added baggage of a nuclear unit seems like the cool ones. really? really. the examples of irvin, et al informs us of the relaxing value of the limousine ride in the Strip and the comforting massage in the Moroccan deserts. rian, bo and joy are amazing writers and bloggers. they enlighten the universe about the beauty of good sentences and popular culture. janette comes to my last minute rescue to far away Walton on Thames event.

while the good souls with child care never fail to ask me the question i hate to answer. if they could help with doctors appointments, that would be great.

as yet, i'm at the outside peeping on a hole of their close intimacy with classmates from San Agustin, all the way from elementary to college. does the euphonic connection of school resonates more than the manacle of the workplace? maybe, maybe not. there's one person i know who would do party favours for anybody in her school yearbook yet make excuses for others she just met four years earlier and see almost everyday. there are also others who decided to form a clique. and when you're not included, you're not invited.

but.
we'll manage.
we'll survive.
and tighten the bond with those who like our esteemed company.

the current telly list

not in particular order:

House -- i like Stacy for House, but since Sela Ward (oh yeah, going all the way back to early second season) is in CSI: New York. i'd settle for the miserable geezer to remain miserable.

The Good Wife -- for Alicia to give Peter Florrick another chance.

Glee -- sophomore slump indeed. for Jesse St. James to keep on hitting the high notes.

In Parenthood, haven't seen the entire second season. It's a feel good show, the Bravermans would always be a one big happy family and Adam finding work.

at the art store

the folks (in laws) dropped by today for a visit the weekend before the hubby's birthday. roamed around brent cross, admired some wonderful artworks at white crescent, looked for birthday presents and bumped into the Sunday shopping crowd.

usually, shops are closed in Britain on Sundays. but it's a little bit lenient in London. although trading still halts at five in the afternoon, even before bank holiday Monday. fine, let's all read or talk about life.

here comes

can't wait to get rid of my winter coat. it's almost June. but hey this is the weather. it was a beautifully choreographed warmth in April while it is still a terribly nippy May. what awaits us in June, our household birthday month? sunshine? rain? deeply overcast annoyances? ah weather, a topic i adore.

wires

Mommie Dearest, both the book and the movie, based on the account of Joan Crawford's adopted daughter, Christina, about her life with the legendary actress might be or might not be fiction. In any case, controversy sells (alcoholism, wire hanger tantrums, physical abuse) igniting interest thus ruining a name and a legacy.

I haven't read the book (couldn't find my mom's copy) but I saw the movie recently, it was just a case of tiger mothering. Some overachievers are simply too strict with their children, pushing them to reach their potentials, not settling for their definition of mediocrity. Even in childhood, it's vital to prevent the kids from turning into brats. In this environment children may flourish or simply become resentful and rebel their heart out or write a scathing autobiography after the parent is dead (Mommie Dearest) or alive, like the case of Bette Davis daughter BD Hyman who penned Her Mother's Keeper and its sequel.

at goals bar

sat last night waiting for the hubby's 5-a side guys to finish their weekly ritual, munching vanilla fudge chocolate, trying to obliterate the noises coming from the barcelona shirt-wearing crocs. were they polish? or catalunians arriving as early as their team? glad they drank fast and did not linger, as the loudness reverberates in the chairs.

vanilla

promised myself to update this blog today. been procrastinating and reviewing the clutter enveloping my existence. i couldn't think when i'm surrounded by disarray. i'm usually a monica geller but you know i didn't marry chandler.

the weather is still schizophrenic. it's hot. it's nippy. it's windy. it's rainy. all in a few minutes. but the light is gorgeous. summer is such a mood elevator. keeps us calm and relax. maybe i should go for a walk.

lens

things in London that make me smile : sitting in a tube in front of someone who looks like Beyonce (she was a spitting image). or some dude so sizzling hot, he's not even aware of the havoc in his wake.

i hate hate packed lifts, buses, tubes. i mutter the F word. more frequently when people don't say thank you when i give them the right of way. there are times i also forget to say thank you and i ask myself as soon i'm aware, why i don't have manners?

why indeed?

plain

plain is a good word. it could be related to the self-esteem. or it's merely the rain in spain lies mainly in the plain. i'm full of gibberish.

i'm so knackered this week. there's even football on Sunday at White Hart Lane. last game of the season, thank God. the THFC campaign hasn't been fourth place ideal. but the oil money of Man City is worth its weight in trophies. nonetheless, it's not cool.

as i'm drifting off while writing.
GTG. BRB.

the fun, the conversations

having been a reclusive entity or so i believe for probably my entire life, last night's meet and greet proceedings with jessica zafra and friends was such an enjoyable affair. most of the participants were virtually strangers at half past four, but essentially familiar with each other by seven pm. pardon my sense of time, i can't figure out its highly-complex symmetry.

you know the feeling of meeting people for the first time and discerning in a span of minutes that you've known each other forever? i had that intuition on thursday evening. we could have probably written topics on a piece of paper, had it raffled and discussed it at length in all its glorious angles. meet and greet was a splendid idea.

yes, we should do this again.

and there was jessica, i've been reading her for more than twenty years. it was so odd talking about my married life or stopping my husband in divulging too much information in front of her.

anyway.

for pictures: check out ry's and jz's blogs.

twinge

there are tube ride moments when i'd rather read than write. such as now. but i forgot the right stylist, the free mag. the one with gwyneth. so here i am touching the screen of the phone that doesn't work.

i'm pitifully knackered. all i wanna do is reach home then sleep. or eat. there is hardly any time to get proper breaks at prostration central. too much clutter. too many aching backs.

keys

i was hungry and tired, couldn't wait to jump unto the bath and gorge on the lovely dinner specially prepared by the loved one, the next of kin. how i long for the patter of tiny feet.

now i'm talking.

0614

the sentence is so convoluted that I refuse to answer the question.

50's affair

an affair to remember is a timeless chickflick. there is deborah kerr opposite cary grant, actors who should've won but didn't win, Oscars. but the lack of a naked golden trophy in their mantelpieces does not reduce the shimmer in their star powers, bringing me to this classic, a remake of a pre-war (1930's) drama called love affair starring irene dunne and charles boyer.

the lead characters who are both engaged to wealthy partners, bumped into each other on a cruise across europe and fell in love after the scenes in the mediterranean. upon docking in new york, they promised to meet at the empire street building after six months. on the day in question, the girl got hit by a car then cut to frames with really talented children singing, to the melodrama in her apartment. it's absolutely yuck and shiver with the sweetness of candy floss in full technicolor. very implausible even before the age of e-mails and cellphones.

nicky's (grant) got to wonder what ever the hell happened to the beloved. there should be ways to communicate. the telephone has already been invented and the post office was a force of reckoning. but it's a movie, a medium utterly devoid of realism and wrapped in the bubble of improbability.

some kind of pissed

right before my very touch, a post vanished in this site. google is not perfect? the geeks are not infallible. would the lost texts ever come back?

as for me, i'm still poorly and vehemently annoyed with the health service. there's this eureka competition at work, a venue to suggest innovation and improvements. the winning entries are good, geared primarily toward clinics and appointments. i applaud those with the time to come up with entries. but why do i always have to dig deeper to see a specialist? why are the appointment clerks ever so rude? just why?

straw

what happened to the post entitled straw?

rest

coughing horribly and constantly throughout today and the weekend made me wish for the simple pleasures of not expelling air with sounds, before i was struck with this discomfort. i'm weakened, debilitated, flushed.

the dancing romcom

one thing i've realised from more than 90 minutes of When in Rome is that Kristen Bell and Josh Duhamel are such good dancers. the dance number during closing credits is very much unnecessary. it reminded me of Maricel-William during the early 80's. why not just let the leads kiss at the fountain, the end? or finish their vows and their wedding ceremony?

as any other regular romcoms, the plot, the characterizations, aren't much of a stretch for any member of the cast, like anjelica huston (who played kristen bell's boss) or danny de vito ( who was one of the suitors). wait, don johnson is now father of the bride(s)? that's like a slap of old age reality.

bell is good in comedy and also teeny tiny. at 5-1, she's my patron saint, as do the actress who plays her sister, alexis dziena, whom i observed to be even shorter. long live these lovely ladies.

off line

i'm super back to horizontal today, feverish and coughing, bed bound and terribly weak. i label it bad weather management. i cannot practically fall ill during sunny days. it's against the laws of nature.

it's not really summer yet but it was such a warm April that it was almost poetic. the elegance is gone in May. what is left are clouds of drizzle, the gloomy side of existence and it's beating the crap out of me.

at the lane

i don't like the west side of the lane. it's too quiet. a lot less cheers. there are too many kids, hence not being able to curse as much or if at all. when the ushers say sit, everybody sits. during halftime, nobody goes for drinks, nobody goes to the lavatory, every one remains in their spots like obedient robots. really, three lav cubicles for the ladies for four (or was it five) blocks?

as for the game, another afternoon of heartaches and frustrations. i got an e-mail about a goalfest from the spurs press relations office. what goalfest? messi is more prolific than the entire spurs squad.

finishing seventh is vividly not cool.

bless

written 5th may

we have a new addition to our family today. my brother and his wife has a new bouncing baby boy, their third child and son, an all boys network. his name's brydon. his parents are still deliberating his second name.

this is such a happy, happy news.

waiting redux

and another

sitting again in the same wembley goals bar as last week's, it's not too bad this time. no tempestuous El Classico match to corrupt the head of the patrons. it's merely Man U--Schalke, where those grating bores from Old Trafford are three goals ahead on aggregate at this point of the game. i'm sipping water, the preferred mucolytic. i'll be fine and dandy with the proper sleep then comes the light work out.

thought was back to vertical

while the phone is not hibernating. let's publish this drivel.

i'm gripped in nausea, also coughing to the point of annoying the one standing/ sitting next to me. i'm not sure if it's just my overactive imagination, but whenever i cough, i see a white person rolling his eyes, like thinking "what kind of infection this brown girl is bringing to good 'ol england?".

however had my rest, prolonged sleep, well enough to work last night, although completely dying during handover, felt better, went to sleep then feel crap.

currently embroiled in the coughing, nauseating and weakening mysteries.

howl in disgust

my phone is annoyingly useless. so sensitive to minor bumps. i lost my phone connection. i lost my aerial signal. i lost my 3G. two blogs gone unpublished. can't email without 3G. damn the manufacturer? if people are calling me on that number i wouldn't be able to answer.

yes, we are dependent on technology for our existence. i grew up without a phone line. i remember those dark ages when we have to go to the neighbours' to avail of their analog device. i could surely survive this minor setback. at this juncture, i need to scream to the world at large. bad, bad mood, indeed.

let's do may

i've picked up this throat infection that's making me weak. one rule in life is not getting sick during summer. the weather is nice, there's no excuse for hovering underneath the blanket and miss all the fun, the errands, the chores and work.