The (Week)End

Like every movie, book or song, every week deserves a good ending. I realized that today. No, not realized-- I decided that today.

I haven't had a Sunday off since July of last year, until today. To celebrate that, I decided to do something I hadn't done in a long time: to walk around and window shop without being pressured by time constraints. I ended up fulfilling my duties as Chiquitta's personal shopper. And it felt great! I got for her a black corset, a choker, two lip liners (Miro and Jeth, no need to get her those. I already did.), four brushes ("one brush for white eyeshadow, one for black, one for color," according to my makeup teacher, Ricci Chan. Plus a smudging brush, for the pasmado in me.) and a few MAC things. (Vivian of MAC, Lane Crawford, I hope you come across this entry someday. You are a star! Thanks for being my guardian angel!) I also got to shortlist the three gown designs for La Chiq to choose from, for the "Finals Night". (Prodyu, ready ka na ba? Wendell, flash?)

After three hours of walking, examining, trying on, and swiping, I called T and asked whether I should go back home, or meet up with him for dinner. He suggested the latter. I am glad he did. For there couldn't have been a better way to close the week than by sharing with T, the simple, yet sumptuous pleasures that the Three-Sixty organic food court bring.


Here's to the many endings in the future!

No Day But Today

The angel came down from heaven and said to me, "Haven't you been wanting this for four years now? What's stopping you? Just do it. Take it. Go!"

And so I did.

Dan, get your appetite ready. It's war-in-the-kitchen time once again!

A Medical Opinion

Because of a terrible migraine attack that disrupted my life this afternoon, I went for a medical check-up early tonight. Such episode paved the way for a couple of first's in my recent medical history.

First, it was the first time for me to go for a private doctor, post-Disney. Since I left Disney--- since I surrendered my AIA health card, as a matter of fact--- I worked so hard at keeping myself healthy so that I didn't have to pay $240.00 only to be told that I needed to rest and take some medication, which I could obtain OTC anyway.

Second, it was the first time for me to visit an unfamiliar doctor. Ok, so maybe Dr. L had, to a certain extent, a somewhat shady personality. But he was familiar and comfortable. He knew my medical history, and it just was oh-so-convenient to know that I didn't have to relay everything there was to know about my body everytime I went for a check-up. Unfortunately, Dr. L had moved to a different clinic already. I didn't have any choice but to succumb to the mercy of another medical practitioner.

Third, this was my first migraine attack in so long. The last time I had it, if memory serves, was in summer of 2007.

Fourth, and most importantly, this was the first time I had a very useful realization about my medical analysis. "Dr. New" said that my migraine was caused by heat, and the extreme brightness of the sun. I knew that for a fact. He said that to prevent it, I need to stay in enclosed spaces as much as I could. Knew that too. If, and only if, at any case, I need to subject myself to the scorching heat of the sun, I need to protect myself with an umbrella (for the heat) and a pair of sunnies (for the brightness). I knew those too, and I've been practicing them.

That's where it all made a difference. The question was: if I was practicing those preventive measures, why then did I not see a migraine attack coming, and how was I not able to prevent it from happening?

The answer was utterly sophomoric: Because my Burberry sunnies are dated, out-of-season, weary, have become incapable of fulfilling their duties. So... in the iterest of preserving my own health, allow me to say, "Tom Ford Andre, see you very, very soon!"

The Great Lip Balm Debacle

"The LORD has made everything for its own purpose, Even the wicked for the day of evil." --Proverbs 16:4

Everything, even lip balms. Nothing on earth is useless, in such the same way that no lip balm is completely useless. They all have their plus and minus points, and if you are clever enough to study these points, you'll know the right lip balm to use for every ocassion.

Let me focus on the four brands that I and my friends use the most though. In no particular order...


Burt's Bees

Tastes oh-so-good. They smell the best of all these four brands. And they cost the least, too. It's great to use when you know you'll be in a kissfest. It makes your lips feel plump, while they're still sitting on the surface. But they don't last long. And the feeling of plumpness is gone soon after the layer of lip balm vanishes on your lips.


Kiehl's

Not as creamy as the other three brands, so it is absorbed faster than any of them. It can't boast of scent or flavor, but you feel the moisturizing effect long after the cream on the surface has been transferred to your coffee cup or wine glass. So even if the shine is lost, you feel that the moisture is retained, for hours.


Carmex

Considered as the "best" in the western culture. It sits on the surface long after your facial moisturizer has faded. Having said that, it is best used in the extremes of climates: doesn't dry up easily whether you're enjoying the dry, freezing temperature of winter or frolicking in the humid summer sun. Its downside, it tastes awful. Imagine Omega Painkiller.


Murad

All the qualities of Carmex, only better. And a bit more expensive too.

Of Duvets, Curtains & Tips

Hoping to find the perfect duvet and sheets to suit his needs, and the perfect closet that will keep my room organized, Enan and I walked into Ikea yesterday with an overflowing sense of excitement.

Halfway through our spontaneous field trip, I had already made my choice and the picture of what my room will be like in a few weeks was already very vivid in my mind. Enan, on the other hand, was starting to have second thoughts about the purchases that, about an hour ago, he was so willing to make. It dawned on him that he would be spending about a thousand dollars for a set of bedding and a pair of curtains.

My take on his dilemma is this:

In this world that we live in, where technological advancements and overpopulation make it almost impossible to draw the line that defines where privacy and personal space begin, it is the bedroom that remains our own. It is our sanctuary. It's what cradles us when night falls and all the other avenues of comfort are no longer accessible. It's our sole companion in our slumber, when all our friends (and/or lovers) have gone away. It's what energizes and revitalizes us. It keeps us safe so that we can succumb to vulnerability and sleep soundly at night. In our weakest moments, it remains sturdy . It has to be affectionate and warm. Personal and comfortable. It has to have what you want it to have. It has to look the way you want it to. It has to have a part of you. While it's true that no amount of money can pay for a peaceful sleep, it is also true that a little bit of money can bring you closer to it.

---

When I was a few years younger, I didn't really understand the concept of tips. I always questioned the idea of giving your hairstylist, or your waiter tips, because they did their job. I often retorted, "Why am I not given tips whenever I finish a show? I did my job too! And why do we not give teachers tips after a class? Or a bank teller after we're given our withdrawal?"

When my good friend, James made a career shift from performance to F&B, I began to understand the dynamics of service and how, as patrons and consumers, we have the natural (almost innate) desire to be treated special. We pay for service, after all.

So without even deliberately deciding to, I started giving my favorite bartenders (those who know my drink, those who know the special drink that Eben has concocted for me, and those who pour an extra ounce of wine in my glass --- and do it with a smile) tips. And then my newly-cultivated generosity got extended to taxi drivers: those that do not talk on their cellphones at the top of their voices while driving, and those that try to speak English and start a conversation with me. (Unlike in the Philippines, taxi drivers here do not demand for tips. In fact, they don't expect to receive it more often than not.) And then of course, and they are the ones that deserve it the most, salon assistants.

I have so much respect (almost to the point of adulation) to salon assistants here in HK. They are very attentive, always smiling, and always willing to go the extra mile. They will shampoo your hair, blowdry, brush the fallen hair off your face, give you a massage, tell you you're gorgeous, and even pick up the magazine that you accidentally dropped. They're almost like PA's. Once, while I was being shampooed and my phone rang, the salon assistant attending on me even went to my station to get my phone, without me asking.

Because of my fondness with them (not in a malicious way), I have come up with certain standards to measure the efficiency of salon assistants. And since tipping is rewarding them for a job well done, I thought it was but fair to give them what I think is commensurate with their efforts. The standards that I set, I realized, are an effective way to decide how much they will get from me.

It's very simple. As soon as I am assigned my salon assistant for the day, I already value him at $30. For every minor mistake that he makes, like getting my collar wet, or not rinsing my ear well, he gets a deduction of $2.00. For every major blunder, like exposing a specific spot of my head to heat for a long time because he's busy gossiping the other assistants, he the deduction is $5.00.

For every kind or helpful gesture he does that he is not obliged to do, he gets a $2.00 reward.

When my session is over, I round off the total amount to the nearest 5. The least I've given is $5.00, and the most is $45.00.

Now, when my assistant is someone who is far beyond twinkness, and he has biceps and pecs that make small beads of sweat appear on my forehead, and he knows how to stare and smile at me like a man, then he gets a $200. voucher for drinks. But he has to redeem his prize with me, not with anyone else.

If, during drinks, he shows exemplary niceness and he is willing to go beyond the call of duty, then he is rewarded free board and lodging at my place for one night, where he is assured to sleep tight, because the duvet, the curtains, and the sheets are warm and accommodating.

Of Challenges

Exactly a week back, a Wednesday, I saw him for the first time. He was new to this place that has, over time, become my mid-week hangout. He looked unfamiliar not just to me, but to the other denizens as well. But he had a certain charm that drew people to him. At some point, he caught me staring at him. He looked me in the eye and smiled at me. A little bit sly, I thought. Immediately, I knew I could never trust him. I turned away and left.

Yesterday, I was surprised to see him there again. He was stunning and captivating. French. Givenchy. Son nom est Givenchy.

But this time he was no longer alone. He stood there, proud and self-assured with his friends. Three of them. All Italian. Versace, Prada, and Versace.

They locked their gaze on me as soon as I walked into the warm hall. Trying so hard to keep my composure, I pretended not to see them and forced myself to walk fast past them. But I could feel them still. I knew that behind me, they were staring at me, waiting for me to make a move.

I turned around and walked back to were they were. Before I knew it, they were all lined up right in front of me. "We're on sale. What should you do?", Givenchy, their leader, asked me. Challenged me.

We stood there: all five of us, in awkward, difficult silence. My heart was beating fast and my hands were sweating. I was ready to take on the challenge. But not with every one of them. Only one. (Or maybe two, but that would mean I'll have to sacrifice a lot this month. One is safe. That only means I have to postpone a planned purchase till next month.) But which one? I reached inside my pocket for my phone and checked the time. 5:20pm. We'd been standing there for more than 10 minutes. One missed call. T.

I dialled T's number and apologized for missing his call. "I was making a very important decision."

"May I ask what?"

I explained to him the situation and asked for counsel.

"You don't need it. You have sunnies," he said matter-of-factly.

"But they're two years old," I reasoned out.

"And still functioning." T was very clever. He caught cornered me in a cul de sac. "Hard times, Rye. We shouldn't be spending on unnecessary things."

"It's necessary."

"It's a want." He punctuated the discussion.

"What should I do?", I asked him feeling defeated.

"Put them down and walk away."

I was silent.

"Did you hear me, my love?"

"Putting them down." And I started to walk away. "Walking away."

I left Delay No Mall with a heavy heart and million second thoughts running in my head. More than four times, I attempted to go back and give it a second chance. Eventually, I realized I was gonna be late for my dance class if I stayed longer. I gave up.

All throughout my back-to-back classes, images of them four sporadically flashed in my mind. And images of them and me in the sun. In Boracay. In Floatilla. On the train. On the bus. In Cheung Sha. In South Beach. I struggled to forget them. I needed them out of my system before dinner, when I was gonna meet up with T to celebrate our second month. I succeeded somehow.

But I woke up this morning to thoughts of them.

And, through an incident today, I learned a lesson from yesterday's challenge: In shopping, as in life in general, not all challenges are worth spending our energies and resources on. Some challenges serve nothing more than our egos. And it's not bad at all. But other challenges serve our egos and some things else. It is but wiser to save our bullets for these ones that prove to be more worthwhile.

That incident today, I will blog about tomorrow.

Seeking Answers In Central One Friday Afternoon

Sometimes I just want to hate myself for always thinking I am privileged enough that I can get what I want at anytime that I want, in any way that I want it.

Like last Friday. I needed an emergency haircut and color touch-up badly for the Volume Anniversary show which I was gonna perform for. So I browsed through my phonebook and dialled Paul Gerrard. As soon as the guy on the other end of the line said, "Hello?", I inquired: "Hi! I was wondering whether you can accommodate my last-minute appointment booking for Brad?"

With Brad,
my post-Disney makeover hairstylist,
after my first ever session with him

The guy, trying to be polite, answered, "Well, you'll have to call the salon." It was Paul Gerrard himself.

My stupid ass dialled Paul Gerrard the person, instead of Paul Gerrard Salon. How humiliating is that?

Then he said, "And Brad won't be in until the 17th."

In an instant, my world shattered.

So I went to see another hairstylist. I told him what I wanted with my hair and what my problems with it were. I thought I had already told him everything when I asked him for suggestions. He spoke rather eloquently and described what would become of my hair, with utmost pride and confidence, as if he was one fine chef and I was his sumptuous 7-course dinner claim to fame. I got excited, and with sparkling, dreamy eyes and a million-dollar Hollywood diva smile, I commanded him to commence.

Two minutes into the session, I looked away from the mirror as he started to razor the sides of my head. Brad and I were growing my hair! He was supposed to make it thin, not short. But he's done the right side already so I just decided to keep my mouth shut. We all know that more often than not, I unintentionally piss people off when I go by the impulse of verbalizing the first words that come to my mind. He had a pair of scissors, a razor and huge hair clips in his hand. I wasn't gonna risk it. In my mind, I just told myself, I could always go back to the shaved head look (which my very good friend Christian Glassl insists to be the best look he's seen on me) if it didn't work.

Twenty minutes later, he was brushing hair off my neck and unhooking my salon gown. I looked in the mirror and realized it wasn't so bad as I had foreseen it would be. He looked at me in the mirror and with a satisfied smile, he said to me, "It frames your face." Then he asked his assistant to lead me to the wet area and have my hair rinsed.

He started applying the bleach solution to the roots of my hair and when he finished, he put me under the ring of heat and gave me some magazines to spend my idle time on, which I gracefully turned down. I had my own stash: "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris, which Steve gave me on the eve of my birthday as a prelude to the expensive main gift. I was roasted for 10 minutes. And another 10. And another 10.

With Steve,
a very dear friend who Me Talk Pretty One Day was from;
and my blonde lock with their black roots

The next part, that where he took off the foil and rinsed my hair, was when I realized the mistake of forgetting the most important problem with my hair that Brad and I learned the hard way. My hair strands are thick and they are way too black. They have too much melanin that they require long hours to be bleached, and even so, they could only be bleached so far. In other words, the roots of my hair didn't lighten so much as the ends. He wanted to reapply the bleach but if he did, I was gonna be late for work. So I said, "Never mind, we'll color it green anyway."

"It will probably take almost an hour for the color to settle," predicted Nostradamus' soul which had entered his mortal body at that particular moment.

"Oh? I don't have that much time. I'll be late for work." So I decided that, over the next two or three weeks, I will just pretend that the gradient in my hair was done deliberately and that I am happy about it.

I was quite content with my haircut. That, I had to admit as I was staring at myself in the mirror while settling my bill. That satisfaction would later be fueled by my students, colleagues and friends who think that the 'do actually framed my face and made my cheekbones more prominent, thereby highlighting my smile. (Although personally, I think it's my ever-reliable weight loss program that actually made my cheekbones more prominent. So I deserve the credit for that, not my new second-fiddle hairstylist.) BUT...

Looking at myself at the elevator mirror, I noticed something peculiar. I knew, deep in my heart of hearts that he more or less achieved what he wanted to do with my hair, but I knew too that I wasn't quite getting the overall look that the hairstyle promised. With the thickness of the top section and the thinness of the sides --- something that looks like a fusion of the conservative mohawk and the clean military cut --- I was supposed to look more butch. (I know... I know... High hopes, yeah! But I can try, dammit! And stop rolling your eyes, my beloved reader!)

So I walked the busy streets of Hong Kong Central, trying to seek answers to my questions, "Why not?" and "How?" Half an hour later, I still couldn't find the answer to the former. But to the latter, the answer stared at me directly in the eye. So how? Here's how ---

A dogtag.


For the butch in me.

The Best Part Of Having A Brother

...a gay brother, that is.

...a gay brother who earns more than you, if I may add, is this ---

3 DKNY bags! What more could I ask for? Oh well, a pair of Ferragamo shades and a nice pair of powder blue moccasins would be nice too.

_________

Choices

I am lost.

I believe that one of the purchases that have to be given much thought and consideration is that of perfumes, because the scent one is wearing can make or break him. Most of the time, people associate the scent with the wearer; and I don't wanna be associated with the wrong scents (or wrongly associated to scents. Whatever.). How often do we hear people say, "Eew! You smell like that cocky brat who thinks he's God's gift to mankind!" or "Oh you're turning me on! You smell like my ripped gym instructor!"

That's my point.

I decided to ditch my Paris Hilton scent and am currently seeking for a substitute. As suggested by the uber chic and sophisticatedly trendy Desiree Guico-Alonzo, I dropped by Sasa, the leading cosmetics and perfume chain here in HK, to check out the Carolina Herrera line.

Two of the many scents charmed me the most: Carolina Herrera 212 and Carolina Herrera 212 Sexy.

212 is more playful, while 212 Sexy is more sensual. 212 is more youthful, while 212 Sexy is more sophisticated. 212 is the scent I'd love to flaunt, while 212 Sexy is the scent I'd love for the man I'd want to sleep with, wear.

I sprayed each on either wrists and apparently, they both work well with my body chemistry. I told the salesgirl I was going back tomorrow. But I really don't know whih to choose.

---

There's this white leather DKNY bag that I've been salivating for and decided to buy come next payday.

When I saw the Ricoh R8 print ad sometime two weeks ago, I decided to purchase that instead of the bag.

As I was walking to Sasa tonight, I saw a really nice beautiful pair of shades by Salvatore Ferragamo.

It's been a while since I treated myself to a leather bag.

My Sony digicam isn't functioning anymore.

The shades tht I'm using now are about two years old and are way out of style.

All three of them cost around the same price. I can only afford one, unless I decide not to eat for a whole month.

Which should I get?

---

I could only hope for that time to come when I could buy everything I want and not have to make difficult choices anymore.

Welcome The Divine Ryeness Back

Difficult as it may be, he had chosen to bid his Dell goodbye, to give way to a new member of the Divine Court--- Pink Becky.

Another One On Compassion

I know somebody will not be very happy with this post (i.e., my financial planner). But what the heck! He's gonna find out sooner or later anyway. Might as well blog about it now.

-----------

So yeah, my computer crashed and I need to have Windows reinstalled. Dell tech support assured me earlier today that there is hope. The hard disk is ok and the files are recoverable. Not all of them though. They can only recover up to 10 Gb of files. I could have bitched and bickered nonstop to force them to back up my whole C:/ partition, but I was just drained of energy after staying on the phone with them for about 3 hours, that I just accepted their offer with a sigh.

Still, I really think I need to get myself a new computer. My Dell is 3 years old already and I'm sure it will crash again in the near future. And next time around, on its 2nd major stroke, I doubt it will still be revive-able.

I was on my way home early this afternoon, and I passed by this little shop in Citygate, when I felt a strong force of energy calling me. It was irresistible. I looked to the direction the energy was coming from and I saw a little green reptile. He was lonely. He stared at me as if saying, "Are you just gonna stand there and ignore my plea for help? Where is your heart?" I was dumbfounded.

This untimely tantrums my Dell is throwing, plus the planned trip I have with friends to Bohol before the next payday, and the many unforeseen expenses this month have all made my March budget really, really tight. But I'm only human. I have a heart and more often than it may seem, my compassion takes over me. Like today. When I saw the green reptile. Maybe I will just scrimp on tuna and rice over the next couple of days. Maybe I will need to re-adjust my social life this month. Maybe I will just ask Dan to extend his graciousness some more so I could use his computer until the next payday, when I have more financial freedom to get myself a new one. Maybe I will just have to press pennies harder over the next 3 weeks. It doesn't matter. I was bent on adopting the reptile to make his life just a tad happier. In my warm apartment, he will have friends who will welcome him with loving arms when I bring him home. So, without thinking twice, I asked the foster home to allow me to bring him home. After about 2 minutes of negotiaitons, I found myself clutching him in my arms.

And look how happy he is in his new home!

The chocolate brown cowhide baby that I adopted in December is now also enjoying her new-found joy. She is French but was born and raised in the UK. They are the newest playmates in my family. Oh! (How could I forget?) And there's also the black little trendy kid from Manila that I adopted from my good friend Jethro. He's a bit shy though. He's still finding his place in the family. In time, I'm sure he'll be ok.

There's just one more kid that's waiting for me to own her from her foster home. Her name is Donna, a big, white girl from New York. Maybe next monthy, Donna.

So, in honor of my ever-growing loving family, here is our family's song...

"...We are a family/ Like a giant tree/ Branching up towards the sky..."

Closure

Chris, one of my best friends here in HK, wrote as a comment to "Just Another Date":

ayan ka na naman sa mga "to be continued" mo te eh..... sabi nga ni nelson "asan na ung mga kaduktong?" :) parang sa dinadami nung gnawa mong ganito, lahat ata wala pang ending.... tama mali? :) hehehe

And he said it right. None of my series ever ended. So in the interest of closure, I will be ending them all one by one in the coming days.

So for those who have forgotten some of them, and for those who might want to catch up, here are the hanging series this blog has produced:

• About A Boy At The Gym - an unexpected encounter at the gym
• How To Lose Your Money In 4 Hours (Or Less) - going out on a date unprepared
• The Birthday Saga - my week-long 27th birthday celebration
• Bonne Vacance - Cebu-Boracay-Manila with friends, bloggers, an ex and Rems
• The 12 Days Of Christmas Highlights - the 2007 yuletide
• Just Another Date - how my "first sex for 2008" turned out to be.

The titles enumerated above are linked to the most recent post in their respective series. Clicking on "continued", which could be found on the top of each page will bring you its precedent.

___________________

8 In Chinese Is Lucky

...And today, Can't You Read? reached the 8888 mark in page views starting from June of this year. Of course, that doesn't mean I have 8888 readers. But I reached the lucky mark. Same lucky mark China aimed for and won in bidding for the 2008 Olympics. 8/8/08




To all my regular readers, thank you for always insipiring me to inspire you.

To everyone who has left at least one comment, thank you for reaffirming that people indeed read my posts.

To Khalel and Empress Maruja, thank you for the very flattering nomination in your respective blog awards.

To the Berate my Blog ladies, thank you for the kind words in the first ever review this blog ever received.

Lastly, to all my colleagues, to my ex, to my friends, to the people of HK, to my crushes, to the men I dated, to the I wanted to date, to the men who wanted to date me, to the guys I've slept with, to Remi, to Mai, to the boy at the gym, to my flatmates, to the many artists all over the world, to every sentient being who's caught my attention, to every bag, shoe & belt I've desired and to myself, thank you so much for providing me with such interesting material.

I love you all!

Monday Is The New Friday.

for me, at least. From today until six weeks hence.


What to do on a Monday night? Uhmm...

Moving on...


To celebrate my new Friday, I went to the mall on the way home to check if there was anything interesting playing the cinema. Nada. As I was on my way to the taxi stand where I was to meet up with Dan, I passed by Esprit and my attention was called by this little baby.




He was lonely and abandoned. He needed someone.

So I took him home with me, to be with others who will love him the way he should be loved.



Now, that's family.

This Christmas will be a merry one for him, his foster family and friends. :-)

For my new baby and his foster family, this song is for you, this Christmas:




"...We are a family/ Like a giant tree/ Branching up towards the sky..."

(I'm guessing Steve would either be shaking his head profusely in disapproval or flashing an I-told-you-so smile when he reads this. But Steve, you have to understand. It's the Christmas season. We should be spreading some love and goodwill. I just did my share in making this world a better place to live in. And besides, I've been a good boy the past 4 days. I deserve to reward myself. Reward. I said reward. My Christmas gift [for myself] is still in IFC, waiting to be picked up. We'll start saving up after Christmas, I promise.)

Claim To Fame

This is the limited edition Philippine flag-inspired track jacket by Adidas.

A friend of mine, Marah (a shopaholic by birth), placed her order in Manila last week and is already in the waiting list. She expects her jacket to be shipped to HK late December.

Another friend of mine, Nelson (a fashionista), got his last month from an Adidas store in Singapore. It was the last piece.

One of my flatmates, Mamu, watched the Black Eyed Peas concert at the Venetia in Macau. He said the Pinoy guy from the group wore the same jacket.

A good friend, Steve, found it in Germany and wanted to buy one to give me as a belated birthday gift. The store didn't have it in my size. He ordered from the Adidas factory and had it shipped to the Philippines. Three nights ago, he came back to HK from a week-long vacation in Bohol and Manila, bringing with him MY jacket.

I wore it to and at work today.

People were jealous. A lot of them.

Thanks, Steve! I loooooooooove it. And the attention it caused.

Donde Esta La Ryeness?

I won't be blogging as often over the next 6 days. I might not be blogging at all.

The reason being ----

I'm flying to the Philippines tonight to parteeeh like a son of a bitch!

A Penny For This Thought

It's been weeks since a good friend, Steve, first heard of me being broke. It's nothing new to me, really --- being broke. I've always been reckless with my finances. And I'd have sporadic moments of guilt here and there but it never really bothered me. But on Saturday night, when everybody was out and having fun, I was at home, being punished for overspending AGAIN. that night, I knew I just had to admit: My recklessness is getting way out of control!

So this good friend once mentioned that he was willing to be my financial planner. But we were drinking that time and we were humoring my spending habits so I didn't think he was serious. And I would guess he didn't think I was serious about my problem either. I talk about it all the time that it has probably lost its "value". Almost short of saying, it's already become a joke.

To cut the long story short, Steve offered again tonight. And he seems to be serious about it. He seems to already know which of my expenses are unnecessary and how much I REALLY am capable of saving. I am impressed, really. It almost seems to me like he's reviewed my financial profile all those nights we were out getting hammered and trying to get a decent lay.

Immediately before I started writing this blog, we were chatting online about this. It got me quite excited and here's why---

He doesn't ask for anything unreasonable in return. Nothing unreasonable --- not even sexual favors from me or any of my friends *winks at Steve*. He knows his Math. He will educate me on Excel. He promised he will never ask to be the sgnatory of my bank account. He doesn't intimidate me with all those sickening financial jargon. He talks sense. And an observation based on friendship, he is rational. (Too rational in fact, that he overanalyzes even matters of the heart)

But come to think of it, all the basic principles that he's mentioned from the first time ever that we talked about money, I've already heard and read about. His offer is just more difficult to resist because of his scientific approach. Hello! Microsoft Excel! Well, that and the fact that I've come to a point that I know that I really have to start doing something about my finances.

Then he said it. What I knew was the ultimate solution but wished he'd be more scrupulous in telling me --- I'll have to be ready. More than anything, it's a complete change in lifestyle. That means cutting down on shopping, abstaining from too many night-outs, and less rendezvous with Collins. It's quite daunting, I must admit. But it's necessary.

The thing is, my willpower, valid reasoning and sound judgement don't always triumph over my impulsiveness. They rarely do, actually. Even with their powers combined. There's only one way that could possibly defeat my being a spendthrift. From the words of Dan, Julius and Chris, I have to be addicted to saving up.

How can I do that?

How To Lose Your Money In 4 Hours (Or Less)

SHOPPING.

It was 6:13pm on my cellphone clock when Brad, a good friend of mine who is in HK for business, called. I was in Central, doing my errands.

"Dinner at 8:30?" he asked. Well, more of demanded confirmation.

How the hell could I have forgotten? Damn! "I'm just doing my errands, I'll be done by then. So yes, dinner at 8:30. But nothing fancy, ok? I'm in a tank top and cargos. And trainers! But if you insist on a fancy dinner, I'll just go and get some really nice shirt."

"Cool. Find yourself a nice shirt then meet me at Bo Innovation. 8:30. See you, buddy!"

Wait, Brad! I was kidding when I said that I will go and get some really nice shirt! "Ok. See you. Bye!"

A little short of an hour later, I had everything I went to Central for. Time to decide where to get a nice but inexpensive shirt for dinner. I walked down Li Yuen Street, and as soon as I reached Queen's Road Central, a red and black logo greeted me:

See, I'm not really a fan of H&M. I think the idea of H&M is cool. They have really, really stylish stuff from street wear to chic casual. They have bags, belts, shoes, accessories and underwear. Their image model, who happens to be one of their designers as well, is Madonna. And they're very, very affordable!

But that's where the problem begins. They're so affordable and stylish, they're just too available for everyone. Nothing wrong with that, I agree. I just don't like it when I see somebody on the street wearing the same outfit that I am wearing. I do have H&M stuff, I just don't wear them where I'm very likely to see another being that would look like my fashion clone. And that's basically EVERYWHERE in HK.

At that moment, though, I thought.. what the heck! I just needed something I would look presentable in at 8:30.

So I walked in the store and headed straight to the basement --- the men's section. I saw a really nice white pin-striped dress shirt with a nicely standing collar and tuxedo sleeves. Very clean-looking. I could wear it with light denim jeans (which I intended to get there too), and my trainers. Presentably casual. Cool.

As I was heading to where the jeans were stacked, I saw the shirt that I was holding on the mannequin. No. Not the "shirt du jour'. So i searched and found another shirt. Very simple. Very basic. It could be anything other than H&M. Black, cotton, slim fit shirt. I tried it on. Perfect. So then, what to look for next? Simple dress pants with a nice silhouette. Found them instantly. Grayish-brown, slim cut, flat-front, 98% cotton, 2% spandex, with sublte plaid prints. Elegant-looking, flattering and again, nothing extraordinary. It could be anything.

I was already in the queue to the cashier when I realized I needed shoes to go with them. Size 44. Black. Leather boots. All set!

By 7:40, I was in the public toilet off Hollywood Road, just a few steps away from Volume, getting changed.

I walked down Hollywood Road through Wyndham Street and found no one dressed the same way I was. Whew! Well, somebody must've seen me and said, "I have those too!" I don't care. I finished my emergency shopping without the slightest bit of stress I thought would have.

It was about 8:20. I was climbing the tall, steep concrete staircase to Lower Albert Road when I realized I didn't get a belt. And my shirt was freakin tucked!

god give me a belt!

to be continued...

Everything Happens For A Reason

I finally decided to buy a new Ipod to replace the one that I had that was stolen at work two weeks ago. After calling Fortress, Broadway and Designer Group, and asking the staff to check their other branches for stocks, it dawned on me that Ipod videos are SOLD OUT in all of Hong Kong.

Frustration.

So I went to Times Square to get some nice Puma shoes for myself and for my ex. I got there only to find out that the store was closed for renovation.

Frustration.

As soon as I got out of the mall, I called my friend, the ever-reliable shopping buddy, Lawrence and told him to meet me up at CK Fashion Island. I wanted to buy a bag just so that my trip to Hong Kong Island wouldn't turn out to be an utter waste of time and energy.

Then I saw a fruit stand that makes freshly-blenderized juices. I asked for a banana shake. The vendor realized, as she was about to make it, that their blender wasn't working. She gave me the banana instead and suggested that I just eat it while walking.

Frustration.

I walked in the CK store and two bags instantly caught my attention: a black canvas tote bag with leather handles & top piping, and which carries the CK pen that is their standard for this season's bags (Image shown below);

and a white canvas duffel bag with dark brown leather handle & piping, and which also carries the CK standard pen (Image shown below).

After about 15 minutes of deliberating which one to buy: the black tote OR the white duffel, I remembered what my friend, Steve (funny he once referred to me as "material girl" when he is the one who I am quoting now), once said: "Honey, we don't say OR, we say AND."

Not wanting another frustration for today, I said to the salesgirl: "I'll get both."

And so here they are, my newest roommates:

Now I understand why the Universe conspired to not give me that Ipod or those Puma shoes -- so that I could get the deer skin that I adopted a month ago, playmates.

Note to my mommy: Rems, it's my birthday month! I'm allowed to splurge, aren't I?

...

Hong Kong, How Ready Are You?

Typhoon signal no. 8 was hoisted today at around 1:30pm in HK, as the strong winds of Tropical Storm Pabuk's speed exceeded 62 kph.

After receiving the announcement that our afternoon shows were already cancelled and that we were to leave work pronto, Dan and I decided to go on an impromptu shopping in Mongkok. In took us less than a minute after getting out of the train station to realize that even business establishments closed down and that everybody (probably except us) was rushing home. We headed towards the ladies' market anyway, which looks like this on a regular day:

This is what we found instead:

Ghost town. Well, not really. There were a few people on the street --- half-naked, hunky chinese and middle-eastern men running back and forth, trying to save their merchandise from getting wet. Quite a sight, I should say!

We decided to head to Langham Place. It's a mall, for crying out loud! It's made of concrete and the engineering is quite advanced. We were sure it wasn't threatened by the scare of a typhoon. In Manila, in our younger years, and even until now, as soon as the teacher announced suspension of classes, everybody heads to the mall. We were wrong. That's not the case in HK.

It seemed like there was no other option but to go home and just spend the afternoon sleeping. We got in at around 6pm and started to make sotanghon for dinner. A few minutes later, I got an sms from Joseph, the manager of Volume which read:

Typhoon party tonight at Volume! 2-4-1 drinks extended until 12!

Ok, I must admit, that was quite enticing. But because of what I had witnessed earlier on, I was just scared to go out. So I didn't. And I was thankful I didn't go, despite Chris's eager invitation to go with him. A few minutes later, we got news that the train service has stopped because of the inclement weather. Lawrence, a friend of mine, was in Central station and took this video:

It's a bit of a bore how HK welcomes tropical disturbances. I grew up in Manila where typhoons flooding were nothing extraordinary. I grew up seeing roofs flying in the air with the strong wind and trees just collapsing in the streets. I remember watching the news one stormy afternoon when I was a kid, where the field correspondent had herself tied to a post while reporting on-cam so as not to be blown away by the wind. The university I went to was on the street that flooded after just an hour of continuous downpour. I have walked more than 2 kilometers going home from the university, half of my body submerged in dirty, murky, smelly flood --- along with a host of other people: fellow students, faculty, robbers, snatchers, employees, etc. (and along with other elements as well. i.e., a dead rat, a swimming dog, and a drowning cat). It was gross! But it was fun.

My french ex-boyfriend witnessed this once and he said nothing but: "It's like Disneyland!"

...