Friday, July 21, 2006

Still, when you're strange

Earlier this year, during my darker days of excess, I had another story reminiscent of ghostly occurrences in my mum’s bar. This one's totally unforgettable, not just because it happened overseas, but because I nearly lost my mind after my encounter with them. Think I'm exaggerating?
Well, read on...

I’d moved into a house with a friend of mine, when things started to happen. The music would come on upstairs for no reason. Then there were windows shutting and closing, doing daft things, and then the Banham locks started shutting, closing. The Banham locks…..

Do you get the sheer impossibility of Banham locks moving on their own?

Then tables would move in front of me. Furniture would move around. People would run up and down stairs and it got to the point at night where they were running around the bottom of my bed. Now, these may be delusions, drug- induced psychosis or whatever because I was pissed a lot at the time. But anyway, the friend would say, “Don’t be silly, go to sleep”, but I couldn’t, so I’d take a bottle of vodka to bed with me to get to sleep and sleeping tablets. Then I’d wander around the house with the bottle going, “Come on yer daft bashtards, yer don’t shcare me”, because nothing scares you when you’re pissed. It got to the point when they were running around my bed one night and I said, “I’m going, I’m off”.

I thought they were in the air each time I went down to the pub. Anyway, I went and left and stayed at the Swiss Cottage Marriott Hotel.

I was telling the story to a new friend I met in a bar, a good friend now.

“If it had stayed with me, I would have had to kill myself, it was that bad.”

The friend just looked at me blankly. I thought, “Okay, he thinks I’m a nutcase. Go on, say something.”

But he just looked at me, and then finally he said,

“I didn’t suffer it for two weeks, I suffered it for seven years and it put me in a coma. What did you say you did? Me too. I moved out and I went to the Swiss Cottage Marriott Hotel."


It emerged that my friend had been staying in the same road. It was some land the Duke of Westminster had bought off the church. It turned out to have a Black Death burial site underneath it.

- Next stop, the lady from the vacant lot. But first, ciggy break. -

Saturday, July 15, 2006

When you're strange

It’s fairly obvious to those who know me that I have a somewhat strange relationship with the opposite sex. Then again, those who know me well might point out that I also have a strange relationship with those of my own sex. I also have a strange relationship with my dog. This often leads me to wonder if I might myself be somewhat strange; (but then one mustn’t leap to hasty conclusions) for I have a really strange relationship with the supernatural.

Susceptible to paranormal, you might say.

When I was three or four, I’d say things to my mum like, “There’s that lady in the bathroom again”. There was no- one Mum could see. Then I’d say, “She’s gone.”

One classic story from that period (which I don’t remember much of) took place in the restaurant/ pub my mum used to manage.

Mum describes me and my dad (bless him) being downstairs in the closed pub one time as he was taking me to my aunt’s. From the corridor there was a window into the bar, which was locked. I looked through the glass and said, “What are those two men doing still in the bar?”

Dad went along with it. “Just drinking.”

“I don’t like them,” I said. My expression was startled.

“Well, wave goodbye to them because we’re going to Tita Lyn’s.”

I waved at the empty room and the men apparently waved back.

“Dad, they haven’t got any hands…”

It made the hairs stand out on the back of my father’s neck. But Mum says that Dad was convinced I was not play acting.

-To be continued.-

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Flavor of the weak

From the usual Wednesday- night walk with Johnny Black:

“What? Since when? I’m pathetic, a bitter pisshead. How can you fall for someone like that?”

I practically barfed the questions, the awkwardness of the situation set off the panic button. I found myself again as the object of an urgent plea.

“I’m a loser, and spiteful, much like a hermit, only without the loincloth.”

I was blubbering, trying hard to get out or maybe even defuse the situation with humor. You smiled for two seconds, and then looked at me.

Sabay banat nang…….

“I’m not asking you to love me; I just want you to be in love with me.”

Nahulog ako sa upuan.



Monday, July 10, 2006

Effing mood

I know, I'm in a mess, a liability.

At one level, you could say that I successfully dropped my super- clean character by getting a drink and drug problem. But at another, it was obvious that this was not part of any kind of strategy; as I’d pop my head up from beneath the bar table and garble something incoherent. My buddies knew I was a sad girl, pretending to be a girl, really because when I was sober, I was a sensitive vulnerable individual.

When I smash things up, there is usually a reason. When you find me wandering around your house at six in the morning on various cocktails of drugs, there is usually a reason too. It’s not just because I wanted to party, often it’s because I’ve snapped under the strain, and maybe even disturbed.

From the outside it’s easy to see; “spoilt, pampered kid throwing wobbler” but I’m hearing alarm bells. There’s a difference between a prat acting like a rockstar, and a sensitive person going into meltdown. To the outsider like you, it may look the same: the archetypal egomaniacal bitch having her daily tantrum. But actually dude, there’s a difference.

Y’see, when I’m half- pickled, it helps me survive and it stops me addressing the real issues.

So, please man, let me be.

I appreciate the efforts but no, you can’t save me.

- Chacun à son gout -

Sunday, July 09, 2006

World Cup, Wimbledon and something to look forward to

Photo: Associated Press

"Germany won the World Cup in Italy and now we have come here and won it." - Fabio Cannavaro, July 9, 2006

Italy beat France 5-3 in a penalty shoot-out to win the World Cup after an absorbing 1-1 draw in Berlin.

I feel bad for Team France especially for Zinedine Zidane. Man, what's wrong with you?

It was not meant to end like this for one of the game's legendary figures - sent from the world's biggest stage in shame and into retirement.

France dominated the game overall and should have won. Oh well.


Photo: Associated Press

Roger Federer won his fourth successive Wimbledon title and buried a few demons by beating Rafael Nadal.

He really showed that on grass, he is streets ahead of everyone else.

Galing talaga.


Photo: Disney Online

Captain Jack Sparrow is back at may date kami tomorrow night.

Sino gusto maging chaperone? Hehehe.

- Stoked. –

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Wanna see what's inside a go- see?

I love what I do.

I get to see beautiful people, ogle them and talk to them, all in the name of so- called journalism.

I sit down and wait for fine specimens of humanity to walk in. One of the first to arrive is a guy named Chris and his friend Derek. Derek is an American, with jet- black hair and deep set eyes, his voice is just as compelling as his looks are. Chris had longish, F4-esque hair; he plops himself into a sofa and passes the minutes chatting Derek up.

The other models arrive. Some are scrumptious, some have the X- factor (a term so common in the modeling world and yet, no one can really give an accurate definition), some are elegant; some are pants- dropping gorgeous. A few of them puzzle me, however. I wonder, "How in the name of all that is holy, did you become a model?" But I resist. All of them are taller than me, and can very easily beat me to a bloody pulp with one swift kick of their designer boots or stilettos. Plus, I admit it; this is one business where style counts more than substance.

I digress. The waiting room for this go- see (the term used by the modeling industry to refer to an audition) quickly fills up. The call time is 2:30, but even after 3:30 PM, steady trickles of hopefuls still find their way into the office. Everyone must fill up a little slip of paper asking for their name, contact number and agency if any. Most of the models tote their portfolios and comp cards (postcards with a collage of their photos), and are dressed to the nines. The girls are more elegant than the guys, who seem to be clad in either suits or grubby jeans.

The minutes tick by, and everyone becomes more and more impatient. Some of them, like Chris and Derek, have been here since the call time. It's now past 4 PM and the tiny waiting room slowly but surely fills up with hot air, both literally and figuratively. I spot a delicious looking fella named Sean, bespectacled and in a tight, gray cotton shirt and black trousers. He's tall, with baby- soft hair and a smile that should come with a warning label. I give him a questionnaire to fill out, and his voice drips like forbidden honey. "Do you have a pen?” he asks. Silently, I fish one out of my bag and hand it to him.

I move down the line, a look of dreamy content plastered over my face as I hand the rest of them the same questionnaire. So for the next 20 minutes, I’m adrift in a sea of my own estrogen.

Female models idly read magazines, touch- up their make- up, look at their nails or chat with each other. Most of these faces are familiar, seen in TV adverts or print- ads or maybe even one or two ramp shows.

I’d finally gotten the image of Sean-With-The-Baby-Soft-Hair out of my mind when he taps me on the shoulder, and hands me his questionnaire.

With regards to this questionnaire, I have to say that God is just. Whatever you lack in one department, He showers you with excessively in another. Half an hour later, and most of them are on question number three. Four ask me if they can e-mail or fax it instead because the questions are too hard. I glance at the paper again, bewildered at their responses. Did I ask about the Pythagorean Theorem? The solution to an X- file? The teachings of Lao Tzu? Hardly.

Well, at least there’s still justice in this world.

Two hours have passed and finally, the clients are ready to view their prospects. One by one they come in and walk a total of maybe 10 feet. Some hand in their portfolios and set cards, but more often than not, they aren’t even glanced at. With a nod and a thank you, they’re dismissed.

Hmm, two hours’ wait and all you do is walk 10 feet, then leave. Did I fail to mention on this particular afternoon that it’s raining outside and the hellish traffic has started to build up?

I’ll say it again – I love what I do.

- Stoked. -

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

::.. Remission ..::

A fundraising event for a friend, DJ Benjo Marquez and Carewell Community ( that will also feature the World Cup Semifinals. So come and have a blast at this two in one event with heaps of music to take you through the night.

July 5, 2006
Jupiter St. Bel- Air Makati City

Cocktails 9:30pm-3:00am, World Cup Semi-Finals 3:00am onwards
Open Bar P300.00

Anton Ramos of the Chillout Project
DJ Chip Dela Calzada
Martin Pulgar
DJ Owens Sun

Kung wala rin naman kayong ginagawa tomorrow night and feeling charitable kayo.... Go! Hahaha!

O pano guys, kita-kits!

- Stoked. -

Monday, July 03, 2006

Right time to go

Photo: Associated Press

"I have lived the dream. I am extremely proud to have worn the armband and been captain of England and for that I will always be grateful." - David Beckham, July 2, 2006

David Beckham has decided to step down as captain of The Red Lions after holding the role for six years. This was the time to go - and he chose his moment perfectly.

- Sozzled. -

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Yeah baby, yeah!


Manny won by unanimous decision.

I won the bet.

I think I'll be having Jose tonight. Hehehe.

Now, who's up for a tequila shot?

- Stoked. -