I know I know. Pepperella and sashayingpepper is sooooo spreading like a bad disease in the whole internet owrld. Google search will attest to that.

Try typing "pepperella" or "sashayingpepper" in there and wait for the result.

But see here, I am now at blogdrive. Blogdrive is really flexible. It's going to be hard leaving tabulas and blurty but then, the pages for the metaphors stop here. OF course, my penchant to talk metaphors is still there (i could never ever talk or explain clearly), but then, it's gonna be in the other pages. Cleansing tayo mga ude..cleansing. My old entries will still remain here BUT please visit me on my NEW home:

http://thispetridishlife.blogdrive.com

For those people who has ben aware of my pepperella attitude, please visit her in her NEW domain: http://acquiredtaste.blogdrive.com

thank you.

i know, i know, i've been spamming the whole blog world by signing up to different blogs site. I'd like to say that it's part of my world domination plan since people are into blogs these days and it would be easy to spread my word to those brain-fried individuals who spend most of their time in front of the computer, getting hypnotize by pixelic wonders of high-tech imagery. I'd like to say that every blog that I make contains special hidden characters that you could read in easy "english alphabet" BUT the cognition of every word means only one thing "WORSHIP PEPPERELLA".

I'd like to say that... really. But then, I am worried about not getting my wish list from Santa last year (Santa only gave me toothpicks for my club sandwich, but I never did received the atom bomb cannister I wished for) so I am trying to be a goody-two-shoes for awhile.

 Ok...so where was I? Oh, the main channel...(what's my main channel anyweyz?) Ahhh... Blogging.. Right... The reason why I made so many blogs is that I really wanted to know which blogspace is the most flexible host. Blogger.com was my very first weblog. I have that since 2001, i think. But then, I was such a lazy git, my entries count to a total of 2 every 3 months. Sometimes, I have flashes of amnesia, I forgot doing my assignments..let alone blogging. Then I decided not to bother at all. My blogspot looks like crap anyweyz. 

Then I was introduced to myspace.com. It functions more like friendster because you it serves as an online-dating-service-within-the-sixth-degree-separation-rule. But the thing is, if friendster became popular because of it's ego-boosting feature called the "testimonials", myspace is gaining raves because of the skins (translation: them horny people). But anyweyz, it was of a later age that I realized the difference... The reason why I signed up there was because of the blog feature (and the fact that you can also deconstruct the template of your myspace page.. I had my page there overhauled, thanks to Maki, my hmtl-css expert/iRC friend who looks a bit like Kramer, my fellow PP and fellow blogwhore of cyberspace.)

Blogging is therapeutic, and catalystic to any emo-crap you are undergoing. And myspace was a haven for me that time because my mom was becoming paranoid from my sudden metamorphosis from Shirley Temple to Emily Strange, that she would snoop into my room and read all my notebooks that I keep as my journals. (The event was as trying as if I woke up with my face having done with by a San Jose plastic surgery expert without my permission). MY mother was shocked that she had spawned such a villain in her purified womb, that I had a lecture in Sanity 101 and was given a misalette that I should put under my pillow.

 

 

I have smarten after that episode: Rule #1: Never leave hard copies of world domination plan. So now, I eat every plottings I did on paper, and write all my campaigns in secrecy... in blog secrecy. I know, there will be a time that my secret plans must be unleashed, but in the meantime, I became creative in making the papers edible. (NOTE: mustard is a good alternative of pepper and salt).

 

 

2004 is my year. I know because the planes of my dominating future manifested into the sky on Janury the first in the form of clouds forming something that looks like a cross between Mozzarella wrapped in Peppermint leaves. But on one hand, it also looks like fried tikoy with langka toppings... Hmmm... come to think of it, I wasn't so sure since I wasn't wearing my contact lense that day...

 

 

Anyweyz, I signed up at here at blurty... Since I was a CSS and html idiot before, and couldn't care less about those numbers that looks like my that abbreviation in my grocery bills, the inflexibility of this blurty is just fine. Until Maki came along (remember him?). And then I upgraded from idiot to not-so-idiot. That's when I started checking out tabulas, xanga, and livejournal. If I have known any other blogsite then, you can count on me signing up.

 

 

And then blogdrive. I'm happy now at blogdrive...

 

 

Message from the saner character:

 

 

The blurty page is transfered here -> http://acquiredtaste.blogdrive.com

 

 

The one that talks in metaphors (the compressed tabulas and myspace blogs) -> http://thispetridishlife.blogdrive.com

there is senso-erotic
about the smoke of cigarette
slim shifty slip dress
coming out of a white stick
shaping arms
forming legs
blowing your kisses back
as you blow it free from air.

***

Ok.. random thoughts... i'll develop this later

"People Read what they want to read...aka. cognition" Jardine Davies Buenviaje *** Flirting skill is an inevitable result of a Prozac-spiked bloodstream. I am guided by the extrovert spirit of the "stereotypical blonde", meaning, I am agreeable, bouncy (even literally speaking, for I sometimes cannot help jumping when I am seized by over-excitement) and most of the times, minxy. A few years ago, I wasn't like this. I was a complete snob who limits her link to the world through her five bosom friends and loves to barricade herself in the world of make-believe. Always chin-up, walking straight, and mindful of poised, you will see the word "Proud" written all over me. Some guys with weird taste found that attractive, but they were treated to a highfalutin set-down covered in condescending smile. I was a shrew and I know it... But I was liking every moment of bitchiness. Until I saw the box I put myself into... Until I became open to all things... Until I fell in (and out of) love... ...and oh, until I tuned in at RJTV 29 and saw myself in Miss Tapia at Iskul Bukol. Brrrrrrr... Thank goodness Vanity... I am saved from being a dried prune. Things are infinitely easier when one isn't taking things TOO seriously. If you've come to pause and think about it, life isn't always out to get you: Life is not bitchy enough to force you to wear thongs when you worry about panty bunches or VPLs (Visible Panty Line). You always have choices: Bear with the wedgy or don't wear any undies at all. (If I am getting my messages across, you would know what kind of choices I make.) But there are times that the old me would resurface, and it would remind me to care to those things I believe in. I have named the bitch part of me as Pepperella, and she would always make a comeback in full battle stance (frothing mouth and laser beam eyes) and in full battle gear (leather body suit, spiky dominatrix boots, and cynical barbs for weapon) whenever passion would call her like an anito. She usually lurks in her own domain ( www.blurty.com/users/pepperella ), plotting world domination and getting anal about polishing her leather whip collection. But tonight, she possessed me and somehow mananged to half-mocked a poor blogger's entry ( http://psylentspyder.blogdrive.com/archive/18.html ). Thank goodness she's into chocolate moods these days that her comment is just 2% of her vitriols. It couldn't be me that does that. I am nice (*big smackeroo* there... don't complain anymore). And I am just a blonde bimbo caring about nothing mentally straining except plotting my calendar events, deconstructing former juicy couture -ish ukay-ukays, and rearranging the "kikay-stuffy" on my vanity mirror. Message from the Saner Character: Join my example. Don't take things too seriously. Don't TAKE ME seriously. Now in Pepperella's case... she's the one you should take seriously, because if you don't you'll just find your face kissing the ground, and her feet pinning you down. She's taking sumo-wrestling you know. Again. Do not take me seriously. PS: I'm so sorry Dave... hindi nagmanifest yung cigarette stupor... na-trap kase ako ng isang gagamba.. tapos, tapos, tapos... si Pepperella kase eh... init ng ulo lagi kapag "lalake" at "pag-ibig" ang topic. Ahehehe.

Currently listening to: there she goes by sixpence none the richer
Currently reading: spyder's blog

"Ever come across this Zen koan that JD Salinger used in one of his books? You know, the one that asks what is the sound of one hand clapping. I don't know the answer to that one. But ask me what's the sound of one heart breaking and I might have an answer." Karen Kunawicz

Somehow I just needed a quote here for an introduction, but it wasn't anything drastic as my heart breaking.

I know the sound of a broken heart all to well to know that this time isn't like the last time: my heart only said "ouch".

***

He already has a girlfriend. I was right in supposing that he already have one. I was right in taking my time and pausing before going for the kill (translation: asking him out for a get-to-know-each-other coffee tete'-a-tete'). I was right in thinking things through...

And I feel right in knowing I was right.

*happy happy grin*

***

I was asking the fates to settle these things so that I wouldn't have to make any choice. There was the case of choosing between to dream about the future for the past or living the present to move forward to the future..

....to dream or to live reality.

The omnipresent HIM is not here... and current-interesting-specie HE has a "forbidden fruit" tattooed on his forehead. So that crossed out "this" or "that", and I am left with... ME.

...the sky became clearer at every nanosecond of breathing. Just two days ago, I was bleeping bothered by the sudden imbalance of my emotional scale. But now? Whatdoyouknow?

I am happy happy happy... hehehehe

Message from the saner character: There is happiness in getting out of the responsibility of choosing.

Currently listening to: Lets get it on by Marvin Gaye
Currently reading: On the Verge by Karen Kunawicz

i am bored. my eyes are droopy but i cannot sleep. my back aches. my favorite pair of sandals is broken. i miss staring at the moon without the niggling feeling of work at 4 am. i miss the mornings. i miss complaining about the morning traffic. i miss a whole lotsa things because , frankly, i am bored.

down with love. i love that movie because of the fashion chorbah, not because of the cheesy content. i am that shallow. sue me.

spinsterhood. amazon credo. break alpha-males' balls. iron maiden. bash bash bash. old lady living in a cute cottage in the middle of the woods. seven cats. hairball galore. the old woman turned her head to look at you... Hi! It's me.

he saw me. i saw him. im interested. but im not ready. my angel said, what is real is what is happening right now. tomorrow, it'll be different. he will not affect me because i will not let him. so i want a shredder. or a garbage compactor. your smiles will be purged. tabula rasa. i would love that... heyyyy, he looks familiar? do i know him?

last conversation. down in the dumps. it was the cold weather you said. and you were tired. just freaking tired. i wish i could give you my eyes so you could see what i see when i look at the world. rose coloured. sun shiny smiles. happy happy twenty bunny. you cannot dream even if i whispered. you see black roses. i insisted it's pink. and yellow. and silver with aquamarine soft thorns. you aren't moving. no words ever came out of your mouth. just tired you said.

i hope the next time i catch you, if i catch you, the weather will be warmer. damn winter.

and damn, i miss you.

Message from the saner character: him, you, and i. someday the sky will be clearer.

Currently listening to: you don't know me by jan arden
Currently watching: down with love (ewan mcgregor - renee zellweger)

Six hours ago, I was kissing my Pinoypoets (PP) buddies goodbye at the Sunken Garden after the meeting for the Folio poems selection at Likha Diwa. They are going to the UP Fair, and I am going home to sleep.

*Yawn*

"I have work at 4 am mga mahal ko sa buhay... kelangan kong matulog para mabyuti ako kapag binanggit ko ang opening spiel."

It was obvious that I am dead set of going home, so they dangled the chosen carrot for me: "Van, babalik pa siya."

"Ha? Ok," I said, smiling wanly, and then I waved at them goodbye. This is the first time that I passed up a PP bonding for sleep, but since they know I am kinda anal about my work, they just have to let me go.

*snort* Bullshit work! I was running away.

***

Anyone who has read my blogs (or goes to PP "numan session) knows that I have an omnipresent "HE" that governs my life. HE is the ghost that never fades, the torch that makes me write, and the memories that makes me smile.

Yeye, I know. I sound like a bleeping basketcase of a masochist with a heavy duty hallucination going on, but that's how it is when you call purgatorio (getting over phase) your comfort zone.

But tonight, HE is nowhere: this is the start of my blonde dilemma.

***

A knowing smile transfered to another observing eyes, to another to another to another. Everyone sees I wasn't acting like the "blonde" vanessa that is ever present: the bubbly, noisy, talkative self-appointed PP mascot.

What is up with that?

I have developed an interest in a guy without the initiation of boredom - meaning, I like this guy simply because i like him... not because he is "challenging" (translation: those high-handed prick that needs to get his due in bringing down his horse or those two-timing slimeballs who hit on plunging neckline-wearing girls).

There is something in this guy that interest me enough to make me pause and just... feel. His closeness. Observe. His movements. And listen to his voice... he really has a nice voice.

For one whole day, I never ever thought of the omnipresent HE in my life... and it scared the shit out of me when I realized that my Sabbatical for warding off prospects is coming to an end. And the scarier part? I am interested to know if I hold any interest to him... for all I know, he's just really really into poetry that's why he braved our council tete'-a-tete' like no other new members would. And besides, he might have a girlfriend tuck away from the background.

I have a "ditzy blonde airhead" reputation to maintain, but since I don't feel quite so schizophrenic-ish tonight, I can't push the flirt mode button. So I'll just go home and sleep.

"Sige guys, una na ako. Tulog pa ako eh."

"Ha? Eh pano si [bleep]. Yiheeeee" (Pffft....matchmakers... *mutter mutter*)

If I'm in the airhead phase, I'd just toss my hair and wink teasingly in response. But I am me that night, and all I could afford is one pathetic "Eep" accompanied by something that looks like a warm-colored rouge in my cheeks.

***

Three hours of tossing and turning in bed for that elusive sleep, I got up to write this shit, and then spend two hours staring at the monitor just debating whether I am going to post this or not.

Guess which decision won?

PS: I'm safe. Why? 1) There are more people who wishes to be heard than people who likes to listen. 2) Time (lack of it). 3) This is the age of MTV... ADHD is like a common trait now to the generation rather than a disability. My point? Long blogs are boring.

Currently listening to: crickets' symphony

There are about a gazillion trivial things that happen in a day. Things that may seem unimportant can past off as relevant to those people who were looking for signs or clues that would decipher life’s mysteries.

It was raining really hard that bleak November afternoon. You were supposed to come visit me in my new place in Sampaloc but the rain made in impossible to know for certain if you would come. I wouldn’t bet on it. You’ve broken too many promises already. You’ve scratched off too many hopes of getting together. What chance would I stake on seeing you today?

A part of me wished that you wouldn’t come… but more than half of me wishes to see you badly that I searched the sky to look for clues. The rain stopped: my first sign. I smiled.

And so you came when odds tells me that you wouldn’t. You look thinner and darker from the last time I saw you. What have you been doing these days I wonder? You were wearing a black leather jacket over a blue jersey-like t-shirt that has the same hue as the blouse I was wearing that time. It’s amazing how we seem to unconsciously wear the same color of clothes whenever we meet up. Sign number two: Color-coded clothes. I smiled.

Your guitar was slung over one shoulder. I remembered you saying that you were on your way to practice with your band. I remembered you saying you’d play for me. I remembered you promise me a song or two. I hoped you’d fulfill it. I hoped we’d have a nice day today. We made our way up the stairs to the dorm’s rooftop. At this time, the sky is clear with a few smattering of feathery clouds and unhindered rays of the glaring sun. Nice day sign: Glaring sun and clear sky. I smiled.

You sat across me, looking serious. You reached for your guitar and brought out some music sheets. You picked out one song. I was holding my breath in anticipation, wondering what the first song might be. And you strummed a familiar tune… something I’ve heard before but don’t really care about. I sat back and listened to you play.

“This is the last time / that I’m ever gonna be here tonight”

The rooftop is an ideal entertaining place for visitors. I remembered postponing a guy friend’s visit just so you could have the honor of being the first one I’ve brought up to my favorite stargazing spot. You are that special to me. You were here today charming me with your music. Transfixed by your dexterous strumming, I failed to hear the ominous first line of the song…

“this is the last time - I will fall / into a place that fails us all – inside”

… and even the ominous second line. I tried to look into your eyes behind your ever-present aviator glasses. But you weren’t looking at anywhere except at the music sheets. Still, I tried to peer.

“I can see the pain in you/ I can see the love in you”

And then you looked up at me and caught me staring at you. You held my gaze for three seconds before looking back down the music sheets.

“but fighting all the demons will take time/ it will take time”

And I looked up the sky with the smattering of feathery clouds – looking every bit like angels’ wings –

“the angels they burn inside for us/ are we ever/ are we ever gonna learn to fly”

- and I squint at the glare of the sun – fiery like devils’ ire.

“The devils they burn inside of us/ are we ever gonna come back down/ come around/ I’m always gonna worry about the things / that could make us cold.”

And here I caught the lines at last… the song started to emerge like an ominous soundtrack of our relationship (or the lack of it). The sun was definitely hot; I felt a trickle of perspiration went down the side of my face but, oddly, I felt cold inside. Did you picked out this song for a purpose? Were you trying to say something to me?

“This is the last time / that I’m ever gonna give in tonight/ are there angels or devils crawling here?”
“I just want to know what blurs and what is clear/ to see”

We were in a gray area: not really friends but not really lovers. We loved each other but there were some things in our lives that ruled out a relationship for both of us.

“Still I can see the pain in you/ And I can see the love in you”
“and fighting all the demons will take time/ it will take time”
“the angels they burn inside for us/ are we ever/ are we ever gonna learn to fly/
“the devil they burn inside of us/ are we ever gonna come back down – come around/”
“I’m always gonna worry about the things that could break us…”

Every note poured significantly. Lyrics echoed those words you’ve always said before we harbored the gray area. You told me you have issues in your life that you need to fix. You said you wouldn’t want me to get involve. And so I cut back from my demands of your time and gave you the space you needed. You asked if I would accept you despite the fact you are into deep with the band scenario and have tasted stuff that would otherwise balk a two-goody-good-shoes girl like me. Yet I gave you my acceptance readily, despite the fact that my friends thought me mad for my decision. You sought trust and understanding about your colorful past. And I gave it in an instant. In fact, I gave you ten thousand assurances that I love you. Yet you still worry. You hurdled secrets at me you think I wouldn’t be able to accept. You assumed about those things that we would fight for in the future. You supposed I wasn’t ready for a commitment. You believed wrong: I am ready to be committed only if it’s you.

“If I was to give it / give it up/ and then/ take a breath/ make it deep/
cause it might be the last one you get/be the last one/
that could make us cold/ you know that they could make us cold/
“I’m always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold”

But pride is something we have in common. My pride got tired of waiting for the time that you would give me the attention I sought. So I told you I’ll be walking out of it… and you let me go. I wanted you to kiss me and tell me I need not go. But I guess I was asking too much. You have your own pride. It’s what kept you from running after me.

We are in a gray area: not really friends but not really lovers. Considering the fact that I was the one who walked away, it was a wonder that I invited you here. Considering the fact that you have a busy schedule ahead of you, I am amazed that you’re here. Not really friends but not really lovers, we just couldn’t keep away from each other can we?

As you strummed the last note, I realized that impish Fate had her eyes focused on us. I was looking for signs before you came here, and Fate gave us the biggest gist (the fourth sign): this song you're playing. I smiled… bittersweetly.

Message from the Saner Character: Sometimes going back from the past enables you to move forward and deal with your present baggages :) This one's dated way back November 2003.

Currently listening to: the pouring rain
Currently reading: love etc by julian barnes (again)

Skin is definitely a way to incite reactions...in various levels.

***
Camisole Story Number One
***

Four years ago, me and a college friend planned to pose topless behind a camera. As Interdisiplinary students who were munching literary books for breakfast, drinking art galleries' soul for lunch, and theorizing the delusions founded by bunny-shape-clouds in the sky while eating fishballs at the Sunken Garden, we have grand visions for ourselves:

We wanted our person be viewed as an object and our youth be immortalized in negatives

(Bleeping Id: Great. While some other kids in college dreamed of being in the corporate worlds, slaving for the system and enslaving others for the system, me and my friend were aspiring to be nude models.)

With me and my friend posing side by side, we would've provided the perfect contrast: my long wavy hair falling to cover my chest, her straight hair falling to cover her chest; my fair skin, her dark skin; my full lips, her thin lips; and my petite bones, her tallness.

As we already have a photographer (a friend whom we can trust not to pirate the negatives and have it distributed to various uhhmm... markets)...

(Bleeping Id: Our vision is strong but popularity is too much. Hmmm... Maybe we should've commissioned a follower of Picasso instead? )

... we would've that vision materialized long before, had we not been bothered by other worries such as: homework, projects, org meetings, movie reviews, poetry reading nights...

(Bleeping Id: ...and worrying how to take off a couple of pounds from the waist area so that we would look good on photos...)

...etc. etc.

(Bleeping Id: ... and we continue to worry still while conferencing our diet plans among savory porkchop menus at Manangs)

***
Camisole Story Number Two
***



Of course, repression will resurface at some point. Four years later, I am reduced to a bored blogging creature of the Internet who cannibalizes herself in every possible way:

Pet Project #5: How many will see pass the skin? (see the picture above)

My follow-up questions will be: 1) Is this sensual? Or just basically jerk-factor? 2) Does the brain stem for imagination stalks down the south hemisphere of a male’s body? If so, how many times does the penis imagine?

I posted the picture as my primary photo in friendster…I have such a nice set of supportive friends:

“Ay! Ang taray ng lola mo!”
“Wow! Diva na diva!”
“Keri!”
“Astig ang pagka-sepia… anong camera ang gamit mo?”
“Twit-twiw”

But then, those that said that are girls and gays. And oh, there’s also a small deviation though: “Vaaaaaan! Ano yun? Parang poster ng bold movie!,” said my ala-Maria Clara fellow PRO in our poetry org.

So I posted it in my myspace account. Lo and behold! In the span of 5 days, I am already swamped by friends requests and IMs – average 5 invites and 3 IMs a day (that’s 15 IMs for 5 days – only 3 are uumm… “innocent” in content). Suddenly, I am a celebrity of skin, spiraled to the abyss of attention by males who favored their own isolated body parts as their identification. (Bleeping Id’s translation: yung mga lalakeng penis ang main picture sa profile)

Thinking about the statistics, I think I have reached the “vision” of becoming an “object” (RE Youth) captured in a still shot, separating the person from the body. Unfortunately though, instead of being viewed as an object of art, I am viewed as an object of lust – a situation that my Filipina prudishness is vehemently protesting.

For a long while, I was thinking of ending the project and changing my primary picture into a sepia shot of my shoes… or my raggedy ann dolly. But those are thoughts done with hot blush on my cheeks.

***
Camisole Story Number Three
***

Then HE saw it and commented, “Van…what is up with those almost naked pic?”

This time, I can feel my ears whistling from the boiling steam…the roots of my hair resembles red carpet. You can call me, “beetroot” that very moment. And boy was HE ever so direct!

“Feeling kinky, huh?”

My sensibilities went bristling with indignation but poise won over so I tried to answer him with my “visions of poetics from college” as best as I can.

“Sure, sure. Admit it. You’re aiming at a sexy playful online flirt pic.”

And the beetroot became a fire-breathing dragon. Scowling, I was all ready to bludgeon him to pulp IF he was near vicinity. Thank his lucky star this was a ym conversation.

(Bleeping Id: Wokei...me think i need to take karate-lesson first before I spout bloody murder. Five feet tall pitted against five feet ten looks real shrimpy

“Why won’t you just admit that you’re aiming for the sexy look? Nothing wrong with that.”

True. There’s nothing wrong with showing off some skin and celebrating my confidence. Nothing wrong with hinting sensuality, winking playfully at everybody, and admitting that “yes, I was aiming for the sexy look”. So why deny it?

Because I thought he thinks I look ridiculous. Suddenly, the project’s statistics became inconclusive. Who cares about those horny dweebs who IMs me anyweyz? They’re just part of the survey. What HE thinks matter to me, but of course, since I have a temperament of a hungry termite trapped in a metal box, and pride akin to a pampered pet poodle, I refuse to let him know that his very direct statements sting. For someone like me who lives and moves in a bourgeoisie’s euphemized world and sanitized id, mincing words are common practice.

Most of the times I thought he thought I am ugly… and too child-like to be considered as sexy. Sometimes I thought that if a man can reduce my self-confidence, then it’s not worth being with him. And at those times, I wish for someone else... but even when I tried (believe me when I told you I tried), the gnat is firmly stuck under my skin.

I was also thinking of taking the photo down, but my petulance got the better of me… and suddenly, for whatever kind of anito possessing me, I was saying things I didn’t plan in the first place: “Next time I’ll be naked! No clothes whatsoever! I’ll ask my gay bestfriend to take shots of me in the nude. How’s that for kinky?”

(Bleeping Id: Talk about sounding childish... geezus)

But he said something that dropped all my indignation and forgive his oh-so-American tongue. For all his directness, the guy has an issue when it comes to telling what he really feels. And I know when he said those statement (of which will not be revealed in this journal...lest a "minion" steal the line and sampled the effect of it), I know now that he thought I am beautiful.

Message from the saner character: I guess the rationale of my falling so deeply for the gnat is that he pulls me down to earth when I am flying so high with my dreams.

Currently listening to: White Horses by Tori Amos