Nasal Fixation

A gift that is

NOT appreciated

is much better

taken back.

(It's ok, you can keep the wrapper. The gift is most beautiful naked.)

***

Me: Making love with an inhaler. I have a Neo-Freudian concept - nasal fixation.

Him: Oh. What happened to my nasal spray?

Me: I left it in my bed.

*this is the part where I realize the seeming wrongness of what I said.*

Me: No, no, it's NOT what you think!

*this is the part where he ignores me for 7 hours...and counting*


***

We named "it" Kim Chiu, and it doesn't take a lot of imagination to figure out why. Today, "it" will be nourishment to my mom's plants. I was terrorizing my tears to go back to the glands. Launched into a pensive mode. Sulking over losing those that I pour my affections on. And then I remembered that I ate pork today. A piglet, which could've been someone's Marian Rivera, had to be murdered for me to have lunch. I felt better.

***

I wish there was an antidote to growing old that doesn't come in a jar.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish.

(Rub, rub, rub)

Voila! I'm still old.

Nineteen Dumplings

Looks like it's not over...

***

I never tell anyone I date where I work, or exactly what I do. But he knows. And I have shown him something that I never show anyone save for our TextTwist addict Manong Guard - my company ID.

Over a dinner - 19 pieces of assorted dumplings...

Me: Hey, hey, I have something to show you.

Him: *chews siomai*

Me: *gets ID, untangles the lace, shows ID to him*

Him: Why are you smiling your fake smile?

Me: How'd you know it's my fake smile?

Him: It is your fake smile. *chews siomai*

He knows me quite well. He knows my fake smile, for Susanssakes. Maybe because of this - he has seen my true smile.

***

After the fracas with Baygon Boy (and about 12 or 13 similar incidents before that), I have avowed NEVER to introduce anyone (I need not elaborate "anyone") to my mom. I never want her to meet someone who'd be persona non grata in about 3 months. I didn't want this to happen, but last night, an "anyone" did meet my mom.

So he drives me home after an evening of 7 million balloons, 500 bits of sago and 19 dumplings. I gave him more than the dose of hugs he can tolerate. Off he goes. I see mom prancing in slacks, in a denim jacket, with a paper bag of clothes, looking for shoes. Something must be wrong. My sister got into a minor car accident. It was almost 11 pm, on a Saturday night, and outside is a gentle drizzle threatening to be a raging rain. These times, drivers of the tricycles that ferry us out of the village are singing 4-5 versions of "Delilah." The last cane umbrella we have, I "forgot" in the office.

I text Dan to come back. In four minutes, a red car was making a roundabout in our cul-de-sac. In another two minutes, my mom is inside a car that I never thought she will ride. Ever. They exchange pleasantries. Dan punctuates his every sentence with "po," and this reassures my mom that I am not dating someone who is older than she is.

We drive to the hospital that I've only seen in election flyers. My mother says she knows how to get there, and usually, when my mom says this, she feigns conviction. Not knowing where to go stresses him out. Knowing that he'd be stressed stresses me out. Remembering that my sister is injured, and we don't know the gravity of it, somehow, distracted, and oddly, relaxed me.

We get off the car, me and mom. He offers to stay. He mentioned earlier that he has a packed Sunday. I told him to go and do what he has to do, we'd be fine. And I surprised myself because I meant it.

And my mom told him "Bye. Nice meeting you." And I am surprised because I knew that she meant it.

***

A new level of intimacy - he gave me his nasal spray. Wow.

***

Public hospitals are not my happy place. They are dirty, and it seems that the most acceptable dress code are bath towels.

A man gets off a tricycle, a turban of a towel. He takes it off. He is missing an ear.

Bench in the waiting area. A thermos, 2 plates, styro cups. A packet of diapers, one is on a gaunt baby barely a year old, sleeping on a box that once held Piattos. A woman is tired, she sleeps, could not care less that people see her right breast. Another woman comes to her. "Ipapa-CT scant si Tatang."

A young gay boy, the pockets of his pants inside out, on a phone booth. "Nanay, kailangan mong pumunta dito sa Ospital ng Muntinlupa. Nag-paint si Tatay. Hinimatay siya."

Beside me is a very pregnant girl who couldn't be older than my sister Andrea (who's a college "frosh"). An aunt fans her, she grimaces, breathes deeply. I look at her. It must have been her very first kiss. Now she has stretchmarks, and her underarms are stained with pregnancy. She will not wear tank tops in a long, long time. She whines in pain, like she would if her date stood her up at Festival Mall. She is a child. She is with child.

An ambulance comes. There's just skin and bones where a man used to be. He convulses and cries for the next 20 minutes. A son, barefoot, walks inside the E.R., pleads for his father to be admitted. They are denied. The ambulance speeds away. He has to find some other place to die.

People. And here I am with my cute little concerns.

***

This I promise you - it will no longer be a one-man show. :)

***

No expectations.

The Aftertaste of Mindoro Sling

"His girl is so bland. I want to douse her with patis."

***

Three months shy of a year. Saltwater. Fire. Kisses that have their own life. A reggae band that will stay broke. A missing bikini bottom. The aftertaste of Mindoro Sling is gone.

***

Mindoro: Naiinis ako sa mga tao. Including you actually

Joie: Why?? That's interesting. I mean...come on. Amuse me. Bakit ka naiinis sa akin? (Someone who is not amnesiac and/or insensitive DOES NOT shove this question to a person she once dated…together with 3 other people, all at the same time.)

Mindoro: Actually kasama ka sa pool of people na yun. They say they want something new…

Joie: Like?

Mindoro: Something better. And you people know what to do.

Joie: It's this simple - I can't get what I want from you

Mindoro: You guys know what you want and need to do.

Joie: I wasn't motivated to be someone new.

Mindoro: They have the will to change, but don’t have the guts to actually do it.

Joie: Motivation. And time, I think. Circumstances. If it's not meant to be, it might be meant to be in some parallel universe.

Mindoro: Oh come on, we should be able to define our own circumstances.

Joie: That's so un-you. The I-am-the-master-of-my-fate-I-am-the-captain-of-my-soul ishnny. Don't William Henley me.

Mindoro: That’s exactly my point - we define our future, and the outcome of things. Naiinis lang ako kasi...

Joie: Once upon a time, I wanted a future with you. But I changed my mind, we changed our minds and got over the whole melee.

Mindoro: We want and need a lot of things.

Joie: We sure do.

Mindoro: We fail because we didn’t try hard enough.

Joie: And right now what i want is... sleep

***

Needles and Pins. I will soon give birth. :)

Two Boys and A Man.

This fondness for stoic people - so... Joie.

***

Queen G: Deaders siya, Ateh

Joie: Ow?

Queen G: Yiz.

Joie: I didn't know that.

Queen G: As in. Deadma. Be it work or non-work things. No reaction.

Joie: Oh. So it's pointless for me to bring this issue to him.

Queen G: Yes. Deaders.Let's take care of it. If we involve him...deaders.

Joie: But, but... he was answering my questions.

Queen G: Espesyal ka, Ateh.

This is 5th Grade. This might as well be written on a piece of Yasaka intermediate pad, using one of those glittery, scented Panda pens. Everyone should have a crush. Something fancy and dandy and light. Something that makes one sing a Tina Paner song. So he's stoic. Doesn't matter. I'd give anything to be his green-and-yellow-striped-once-upon-a-time-white shirt. Or one of those. I'd like to believe that he does have a lot of those shirts, and that he doesn't have questionable hygiene.

***

This is lunacy. I'm Googling him shamelessly.

***

My heart was fast, and then slow, and then furious again. Then, I can't hear it pulsate anymore.

I thought I saw the last of him the day I put my shoes by the door, beside his packed bags. This, I resignedly thought, was it. No turning back. No room for goodbyes. He was watching TV. Not a flick of his head or a grunt, anything to acknowledge me, getting home after yet another day on a job that I have no love for. He cared not. The food I left for him, untouched, unwarmed. Indifference. It's more painful than hatred.

Once upon a time long lost, I was his love. And he was mine. We knew of no other love as such. I was his fount of joy. He was my fount of wonder.

And we drifted apart. And we did ugly things to each other. And we lost sight of each other's humanness.

He sat there. His frame, drooping. Those shoulders were once my wall. He sat there. Savoring a P20-bowl of goto. His shirt, unwashed, no different from his hair, it seemed. I was hoping he'd see me. I was hoping he won't see me.


And it wasn't him. It was some stranger, a stranger like he is to me now.


I miss my Dad. So much. But like most men I so loved, I know he's not coming back.


***

I. Hate. You.

(I wish I can claim indifference, but I can't. I care a world.)

***

This is different, but it isn't working. No, this is not for me.

Schwarz. Weiss.

Always one foot on the ground.

***

This could've been one of my more favorite (yes, there is a more and a most favorite) vids, save for some of Spektor's absurd outfits.

***

"Watching IndieSine later. I miss Niknok."

"Consolidate your thoughts. You can't do the things you're doing then say you miss Niknok."

***

Moment of clarity - love doesn't have anything to do with it.

Ridiculous. Inconvenient.

Two blacks, one blue, one red. New scissors. A new notebook. Hopeful. Very.

***

Dinnering in Greenbelt. Alone. I'd invite him, but I know I'd feel lonelier. So I sit. With food that I know I'd never finish. By myself. Alone, but less lonely.

The person who asked me to stay home with him on a Saturday night to watch Master Showman - he's not coming back. He's but a trick that my eyes played on me.

I'm moving forward.

***

"You're not in love with him, Ate."

"I don't know."

"Were you in love? Ever?"

"Yes. Once."

"Oh. I know."

"Yes."

I refuse to believe that lightning never strikes the same place twice.

***

Yes, this is me with lazy fingers, and an even lazier brain. I'm tired. Of thinking things over. Grappling for the right words, saying them, and then seeing that it aggravates matters by exponential proportions. I'm tired. He is, too. We deserve better than perpetual frustration. Must let go.

***

Oft ripped, ripped one more time, but can't find it less true for myself:

"I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love." - Carrie Bradshaw, SATC

Torrid, Tepid, Frigid.

"Today's a holiday. I'm sure you weren't too stressed."

"Gah. You're wrong. I had to work today."

"Let's burn your office."

"It'll take gallons and gallons of kerosene, and at least 7 stray cats."

"So you've thought of doing that before?"

"I have a criminal mind."

"Scary."

"HE should be scared."

"You're thinking of cutting IT off?"

"I find IT rather useless."

***

Tsoko.Nut merienda with mom. The person whose brain gave birth to aligue pasta is pure evil. Lord, they shouldn't have invented such a food item. I will die early because of it (Although I feel that I will die due to head injuries, by smashing my head onto a fire extinguisher that will never be used. Ever.) It was a delicious crime. I forgot that my mom was sitting a sneeze away from me, prying on my "love" (yes, those quotation marks were necessary) life. I was anticipating a coronary any second. A better way to spend P90, compared to getting 2 boxes of Durex. Perfect meal, save for the tsokolate eh, which I should've had piping hot instead of ice blended and topped with whipped cream. I should know this - a lot of things, aside from old fashioned chocolate, are best served hot.

***

Today, I planned to buy:

1.) A new sports bra.

2.) 3 tubs of mineral eyeshadow.

3.) 1-2 makeup brush(es).

4.) Creamsilk hair treatment.

5.) Lycopene face mask from Watson's.

6.) 5 cans of pineapple juice.

7.) Baby wipes.

I went home with:

1.) 3 curtain rods.

***

I was sleeping. Something hairy and breathing and warm by my legs. It must be Zo or Maki or Nori. A vine of earphones.

Purr...purr...

I'm looking for love this time, sounding hopeful, but it's making me cry...

Purr...purr...

5:07 a.m. Salt mines. Five more minutes.

***

The only thing

that I love

subzero

is

my

beer.

(I want things hot. I'll try not to spit it out.)

Scream

I should be sleeping, but I'm screaming.

(And nobody hears it but me.)

***

My name...my name should've been on that list.

***

Dinner of cat food. The new maid opened the can upside down. I let go of it. There are more than one wayS to open a tub of tuna. Betsy is lotioned with tuna oil. I have been composing this text message for a good part of the day, thinking many, many, many times if I am to send it. I hate it when I'm indecisive.

***

Today was one of those days that I realize the utter pointlessness of my job. It was a day from hell. I was left with barely enough energy to change from my 5-inch heels to my reliable flip flops. I just want to wrap myself in a big enough carpet, and roll on the road all the way home. I'd care not I'd become a human hump. I was just...spent.

I should be sleeping now. I should be dreaming of (and in) cat hair. But I am still awake. Staring at a blinking cursor. Popping a blooming pimple on my nape. Talking to Cezar. Cursing. Wondering. Just wondering.

***

"I am tired of being snapped at. I am tired of being perpetually wrong. I am tired of saying sorry. I am just plain effing tired. I know you are, too. Thanks for the better times."

Sending...

"CHECK OPERATOR SERVICES"

Death By Calamari

With a greasy, vinegary smile on her lips, Joie found her way to her next existence. She met her new beginning choking on a piece of calamari dusk of Tuesday. She lived with a passion for street food, she breathed her last in pursuit of this very passion. She is survived by her 9 cats, 3 sisters, one mother, and some guy who vowed to bring a ginormous can of M.Y. San Animal Biscuits to the a party in her honor, which she will attend in a horizontal stance. It is believed that she requested that the giraffe biscuits be set aside as a tribute. In lieu of flowers, donations to a trust fund put up for her orphaned felines would be much appreciated.

***

Today, I thought I would die. By squid.

I don't remember the last meal I had. It must have been gum or non-fat milk. I tend to be less pleasant when famished. Way less pleasant. I abandon my manners and regard for safety. Manongs with hammers in their bags were waiting for the next batch of calamari. I have a uterus for a good reason - to get ahead of them in getting the fresh, backstroking in god-knows-how-many-times-recycled oil slivers of squid. Love. Come near me, get your stick near me, and you'll meet a spattery end.

So I dunk my catch in a tub of spicy vinegar. Dan says, the more opaque, the better. Elation. This is life - the best things are bad for the heart. Munch. Munch-munch again.

One stray tentacle. I chew away. I know my face was shifting color. Go for the gulaman. Two- thirds through, and the tentacle won't go down. It was fighting my gagging reflex. To spit or to swallow. I never thought that my life would depend on this choice. The chunk was too big. I was praying that someone nearby knew how to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

My tongue wiggled and wagged and felt weak but I won't give up to a tentacle. I was in tears. I had those cliched near-death visions. I wondered what nice things they'd have to invent to say of me, or which, if any, of my exes would come and play mahjong. I don't know how long the duel lasted, but I was back for air before a crowd had gathered around me.

Yes, two feet are better than eight. I won.

***

Things to be thankful for even if I died today:

1.) Bouncy locks, unshampooed hair. Free curling iron demo at Watsons.

2.) My cats will be loved and fed and de-liced.

3.) We didn't have a spat on my last day.

4.) I didn't watch "And I Love You So."

5.) Will die in decent underwear - I was wearing a Victoria's Secret bra.

6.) Carb fest with my better friends the night before.

7.) I finally told THAT secret to Joy (and she loves me still).

8.) I am loved. Very much so.

9.) I'd find a way to have that Wednesday breakfast at Jollibee. I know I will.

***

The best part of my life is this - it will only get better.

No Cheese, Please.

Fiery(leftmost), and friends

"I might not know where to find love, but I know where I won't find it." - Gooey Jo.

****

Take me back to Makati. Better, to Diliman. I am so not a Manila person.

Too proud to ask for directions. I asked Dan , but he is all the more not a Manila person. So I got on the next bus that looked like it had clean seats, ones not scented with pantry gas. I try to sport this appearance of knowing exactly where I'm headed to. "Buendia(?)" It's so good that bus conductors can't read question marks, or else, my front would be ruined. I got an unobscene change for a fifty bill. Amidst watching LOTR (I don't know which installment. I don't have patience for such movies.), I started SMSing people for directions. I have unlimited texting, and one battery bar. A thousand pairs of left contact lenses.

A third of the people got off by LRT. I figured I should be getting off, too. I don't know the difference between "Buendia" and "LRT". Yes, laugh at me. I hope it made you feel better. Five shawarma stalls. It's P25 - with cheese. I don't like cheese in my shawarma. I don't like cheese in most food items that non-Joie's deem putting cheese on a brilliant idea. I don't like my food salty and tarty. So I get myself a shawarma, and gulaman to wash it down. I need energy for "regrouping". I believe I am left with enough coins for a train ticket (and I didn't know how much it would cost to get to Pedro Gil).

I had to maintain the this-is-my-daily-commute face up the platform. In pure Joieness, I outsat a pregnant woman. I don't know which would be more cruel - that, or thinking that she's just fat. I held on to the bars, shoving an elderly. Yes, hate me. This is the funniest bit - I don't know which way the train was going. I don't know if I'll end up in Monumento, or if I'd get to Rob Place before they start thinking that I flaked on them. Next station was a stop nearer Pedro Gil. Cruelty to expectant mothers and the aged, God still loves me.

***

"Deretsuhin mo lang yang Pedro Gil, Rob na." - Kuya tricycle driver (was he tracing the line between my boobs, or motioning to the general direction of the mall?)

***

Will watch "And I Love You So." Will try to keep facial muscles relaxed.

***

"Andito kami sa McDo. Maghanap ka ng mataba." - Juvy Sampang (my future OB)

***

McDo. We can't go wrong. We'd sit for hours, ordering 3 large fries, 2 McFlurry's, pretending to study, while making memories (that we'd later talk about. In some McDo.) I love them too much, I can't be envious about them being MD's in a matter of hours. Allan - he stuck it out with me when I only had enough cash for 3 Ikot rides. Juvy - she was there to police me. Melvin, who was all composed minutes before a Bio exam, taught me the art of surrender. And Joy - Joy was there. Macel, Tin and Angel were missed.

They were family. Nine years, and we're never stangers. I used to think that I can't keep friendships. They are the anti-thesis to that.

***

I want to be with you for a long, long time. I don't want you to be a stranger. Not soon. I l-

(Word vomit suppressed)

***

1:46. I'll be up at 4. Shower or sleep?

Sex.

(I tend to fancy what I can't have).

Emotional Acetone

****

We pulled too many false alarms. - JM

***

I find myself missing someone. Very much.

How he'd laugh at me/with me. How he'd look at me as if I was not of this earth. How his kisses would put me on timespacewarp. How we planned to travel. How we planned to go to the Avilon Zoo (and how I thought he was, again, not really serious about it). How he'd massage my beflipflopped feet while we wait for our food to arrive (only a quarter of which I'd consume). I miss how he'd let me drizzle him with affection, knowing all too well that he's just so allergic to it. I miss him, painfully miss him.

I was with him four days out of the week. I never missed him more.

I wish he'd come back, but that's shooting for the stars.

***

You tried. I think you're quitting. I can't blame you.

Just tell me when to pack my bags.

***

Learning to love the rain again.

***

Painted my nails orange pop. Changed my mind. Painted my nails cayenne. Smiled. Ate cheap donuts. Got drunk on Chuckie. Made love to myself. Basked in boredom. Rolled in cat hair. Said "I love you" - to a cat. Danced in the rain. Laughed. Tried to cry, but ended up laughing. Cried for real. Then cried some more. Bought 2 bars of soap. Tried mineral makeup, got blah-ed with the colors. Said "Thank you". Meant it. Said "Sorry". Meant it. Slept. Slept some more. Slept til I was more tired than I was before sleeping. Cheered for both teams. Booed both teams. Looked at Betsy. Nothing from him.

Wrote.

Lived. (Or at least, tried to.)

***

BP: And you know me. I never order what's not on the menu.

Joie: I don't order what I have at home.

The Ballad of Fiery and Water

Metaphors

are

exempt

from

censorship.

This

is what you call

(C)literature.

***

Chapter 0.54 - The Ballad of Fiery and Water

Fiery: But i don't want to read your blog. I don't want to indulge you

Water: Why do you refuse to read my blog?

Fiery: It's like you asking me to give you head. I don't like giving head. At all.

Water: I ate your cunt!

Fiery: I never asked you to.

***

Yes. You are black. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

***

Q: What do you call a relationship that's devoid of affection and passion?

A: _____________

***

I deserve more, way more than just another Band Aid relationship.

Love Is Like Free Sabaw*

*It doesn't cost anything, and it could give you a funky tummy.

***

Him: Oh, and one more thing.

Me: O?

Him: There's nothing wrong with The Discovery Channel. *kiss emoticon*

I wish he'd be just as generous with real kisses.

***

"When you've tasted something stale, it all comes down to this - deciding it's stale and throwing it, or pulling a friend and saying, "I think this has gone bad. Can you taste it for me?"

- S

We...we are not friends.

I don't think you know my cup size, neither are you aware of the fact that I hate mascots with a passion. We have known each other for barely a year. This bond that we have, it started with questions. Back then, I was on the answering end. Lately, I have been asking you questions that I never will have the gall to ask people I label as my friends. I know I can run to you for bite-sized Tao. You have been a fount of wisdom. Your words are Band Aid to my sanity. For every time you'd be my Jiminy Cricket without even trying, I owe you a kiss. Thank you.

***

People are pleasantly surprised knowing that I have been seeing (i.e., sex and dinner and movies at least once a week. Or more. Of sex, that's the hope.) the same person for (canned music that usually accompanies the rolling of game show tambiolos) ...more than three months. DISCLAIMER: I am not one to count monthsaries. But yes, I am surprised. It has been effortless, really. I take things one Wednesday breakfast, one weekend dinner at a time. I don't have any expectations. I have learnt to expect just a good meal, or a good laugh over something that we've had a good laugh out of before (yes, it's confusing, but I know he gets it).

We're not fans of settling. Having been in dysfunctional relationships, we know better. We know that we've been cruel to people who least deserved it. We acknowledge that people have treated us in the foulest of ways. We do know that this is true - we deserve only the best. Whether we find the best in each other or in people who have yet to come into our respective lives (or come back), there's not a single clue. He's my friend. I'd claim that I am his friend, too. It is my hope that having the other in makes us better people.

Yet another DISCLAIMER: HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND. Applicants are welcome, but are not encouraged. Previous applicants need not apply.

***

I

miss

the

intoxication,

the

empowering

helplessness

of

being

in

love.

Monthsary Cards

Feet hurting. Looking for a card for mom. I'll take care of the cake later. Kat reminded me to get a "5" and a "1" candle. It appalled me that she had to remind me, but I let it go. Today is for merriment, not for snappish remarks. The hunt was triply tricky as there was a vast variety of cards. Little ones that can hold money in them. Those that can cradle the picture of an ugly, in-dire-need-of-threading girlfriend. Strains of Beethoven upon opening, most of which will run out of battery way before the intended recipients get them. A card fit for virtually any occassion. For Golden anniversaries to the vaccination of one's dogs to...yes, monthsaries.

And they make "monthsary" cards now. Wow. In this age of 3-day forever's and 3-hour happy endings, is a change of a calendar page a monumental achievement for a relationship? I want a love that will count years, not menstrual periods. I know I have not received (nor given) a "monthsary" token. I don't want to. Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT jaded. Fact of the matter is, I am an idealist. The relationships I had didn't reach regular Sunday lunches, yes. This has been my choice. I stubbornly refuse to settle for something which I know will not weather changes of Senatorial sets.

So while I wait for Mr. Right, I celebrate weekends watching Discovery Channel with Mr. Right Now.

***

"I won't be home tonight. Dito ako kaynila Tita Lit. Steady lang kayo jan."

- Text from Mom as I was looking for a "5" and a "1" candle.

***

I was craving for cake. The yellow confetti rain depressed me so. A blink of bliss, thanks to sweet spaghetti from the pantry. I was looking forward to the Birthday Taste - a cocktail of icecream, tomato sauce and icing. Tuna again for dinner, it seems.

I was royally upset. I wasted a leave for today, thinking we'd be up videoke-ing in icing hyperness all night. Mom preferred to spend her birthday elsewhere. Maybe this is what love is - letting someone have their perfect day, even if it means that you're not part of it.

***

"Ako na lang. Hindi ka naman niya mahal e."

***

Maybe I secretly like where I am now. It's not much, but it's what's best for my sanity.

Yes, Another One About the L Word

I love its flavorful succulence, but I am allergic to shrimp. Very much so. Only shrimp on the dinner table. Fingers trembling famishedly. Too lazy to open a can of tuna. So I sat down, got a golden orange curl, popped the head off. This is where the good stuff is, yes. Ditch the cutlery. This is eaten with one's bare hands. Satisfaction. Tender. Tangy. Oh sweet Jesus.

*5 TV ads later*

Pouty lips. Swollen digits. Hives. Stinging. Everyeffingwhere. I was downing massive portions of sugar, good thing we have muscovado. Another shower gave me only 8 minutes of relief. I've always love the Tomb Raider lips and the orgasm cheeks, but this isn't making me feel sexy at all. It's painful. Thinking that it might give me a valid reason to miss work tomorrow made me smile for 7 seconds. But the stinging came back. I shouldn't have trimmed my nails. Oh sweet Jesus.

***

I have this little quirk that nobody can take. I told him about it just lately, and he told me that had he known it the first week we were dating, we'd be strangers now. The quirk is this - I have to nip sachets at the upper right hand corner. Then I take the little excess of a triangle, make sure that it's flicked into the waste bin. I appreciate that sachet manufacturers put that little "Tear Here" nick, but it just won't do for me. So there has to be a pair of scissors in the shower room - All. The. Time. I have a pair, sharp ones. And I know that they work good not just for plastic, but also for unwanted hair in the Southern region. I don't really care if non-Joie residents of our home use it for that purpose, as long as my snippies are right where I want them to be every morning when I take a shower. If they're not, my neat little 5 a.m. universe becomes scrambled like a breakfast egg.

After more than half a year and hundreds of sachets, my scissors just vanished. Last time I saw it, my mom's husband was using it to trim nosehair. Pure abomination. Now he's the-devil-knows-where-down-to-the-GPS-coordinates, my scissors, with him (My mom's husband, I meant. The devil has no use for my scissors. But then, Beelzebub taking my scissors is a much funkier story, right?). So I buy a new one. Blue handles. On our way out of National Book Store (My heaven second only to Watsons. The smell of office supplies makes me high.)...

Him: "How To Find True Love" - let's buy Kat this book.

Me: Yes. But I should it read it first, noh?

Him: *gibberish that I forgot, a survival mechanism (his survival, yes)*

***

Why, why do I love delicious things that I know will make me sting?

***

Concerned Citizen: Here is the question - does he love you?

Joie: He's good to me.

CC: And...

Joie: He knows that I don't eat rice. He knows that I divide it into half. Then into quarters. Then into eighths. I take a spoon, two at most. Then I just play my fork with it.

CC: You're not answering my question.

Joie: At this point, it doesn't matter.

CC: It's too easy to answer my question - does he love you?

Joie: I think he's the type who'd say it when he feels the impetus. He doesn't say the L word, so I don't think he loves me.

CC: And you're ok with that?

Joie: Maybe.

CC: You're not ok.

Joie: I prefer this lack of passion, of tenderness, than having someone who takes insecticides because of me.

CC: It won't last.

Joie: More than three months. It has exceeded my expectations in terms of time.

CC: It has not exceeded your expectations in terms of intensity. I know you. You live for passion.

Joie: Steady is good.

***

Mom,

We'll make it. It's just us, this is not new. It has been this way for more than a decade now. We should be used to this. While it is more, way more convenient for me, for us sisters,to just jump ship and live our own lives, we cannot give up this house. This home. This is where you raised us. This is where I had the best memories with the three playmates you made for me. I love you, and I will not let you down.

And yes, happy birthday, mudra.

With love filling this house to the brim,

Djoanna