I think that, as far as normal and proper go, my single, childless self will never have a conventionally happy Christmas. And quite frankly, I’m a little tired of it. You know it’s bad when you look back on blog entries from three years ago, hoping that circumstances have changed majorly, hoping for something unrecognizable (now that you’re older, now that you are capable of making changes, now that you finally have your life in your hands and under your control— things like that) and you find yourself…disappointed at how familiar everything still is.
LJ entry, December 17, 2005 (oh, how I remember this month of that year, and how badly in need I was of holiday cheer and how I didn’t get it):
New Year’s is the only thing I’m looking forward to. Christmas is going to be spent with my parents at the house in Antipolo, which is devoid of sparkly lights, gifts, tinsel and anything else related to Christmas. I’m probably going to spend the 24th and 25th sleeping or in front of the computer or watching DVDs while stuffing my face with non-Christmas food.
This does not make me happy because I will remember those years when my family used to celebrate Christmas and there were gifts to open and a tree to decorate and an inflated snowman to hug and Christmas carols to sing along to.
[...]
I swear, when I have my own family, Christmas will be celebrated every year. I’m going to do all those annoying Filipino traditions, like start decorating the house as soon as the -BER months hit and won’t take them down until February. I will search high and low for an inflatable snowman, just like the one we used to have in our house in Los Banos, so my children would have something plastic and poofy to hug. I will also let them put whatever they want to put on top of the tree, just like how my brother and I would take turns putting our favorite toys on top of ours.
And I will not be boring and uncreative and just hand them money because I will give them real gifts wrapped in Christmassy paper with gold ribbons on top. The gifts will be unexpected and surprises, because I remember how happy I was this one Christmas when my mom and I went shopping and she wouldn’t buy me this toy gun I wanted, and then come Christmas morning, I open one of the gifts and there it was.
Okay, I’m making myself sad again. Last year’s Christmas was fun, but it can never compare to my childhood Christmasses when it was just the four of us in a little town, snapping photos of two happy kids opening presents and two happy parents opening badly-wrapped packages with scraggly “Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy”s written all over them.
Last year’s Christmas was fun…? Luckily, that LJ account held my blog entries to as early as April 2004. A few clicks and I found this:
LJ entry, December 25, 2004:
I fell on my left arm and my cousin pushed me towards a wall and so I am now drubk, paralyzed (my left-side, that is), with a massive bukol on my head. I am also v v v v hoarse, thanks to the videoke machine.
I was crying like anything half an hour ago. And then I decided to just eat the pain away (with my right hand side). Until my moomy came along and said:
Anak, don’t over-eat again. Pag nalaglag ka na naman, naku.
I’m, crying again. Headache.
I can’t find my cam and my phone. Which is kinda irowneec, since my phone is glow in the darkey.
Love grows in me like a tumor,
parasites bent on devouring its host.
I’m developing my sense of humor,
till I can laugh at my heart between your teeth,
till I can laugh at my face beneath your feet.
Skillet on the stove is such a temptation,
maybe I’ll be the lucky one that doesn’t get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Love plows through me like a ‘dozer,
I’ve got more give than a bale of hay,
and there’s always a big mess left over.
What did you do? What did you say?
Skillet on the stove is such a temptation,
maybe I’ll be the special one that doesn’t get burned.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Love tears me up like a demon
Opens the wounds and fills them with lead,
and I’m having some trouble just breathing.
If we weren’t such good friends I think that I’d hate you.
If we weren’t such good friends I’d wish you were dead
Oh it’s so embarrassing
I’m this awkward and uncomprable thing,
and I’m running out of places to hide.
Now excuse me while I disappear and search for the meaning of life, love, and the best natural skin care products…or until the next PayU2Blog deadline.
Two days into the week and I’ve already had enough heart attacks (caused by my stupidity) to last me until I finally and glamorously keel over and die of a drug overdose on the eve of my 25th birthday. You could say I haven’t been having a good week and I can only hope that the sucktitude has reached its peak when I accidentally deleted Adobe Photoshop on my office-issued Mac machine this morning, five minutes into my shift.
When I finally got home from work, there was a merry group of beady red ants convening on my bed. MY BED! I swallowed my fear of the evil creepy-crawlies and— one by one— squished them between my index finger and thumb, gleefully exclaiming DEAD! with every kill. Nuking them with insect spray would’ve been easier but that would require asking my dad where he keeps the spray can which would trigger a slew of questions which would eventually lead him and my mom into banning me from snacking while in bed. Living with the parentals is an everyday challenge, I tells ya.
Enough thinking out loud. It’s an hour into Wednesday aka Hump Day and everything’s going smoothly. The internets is not acting up (or conking out like it did on me, Monday early morning) and the weather is perfect for sleeping in (yes, it’s 1 in the morning and I’m thinking about sleeping in). But I can’t. I hope everyone’s been having a better last-two-weeks than I am.
That up there would be my baby, Peachy. We got her December last year so I’m guessing she’s about 6-7 months old. Now as much as I love cats (and all animals, actually, except ugly ones like snakes and chihuahuas) and despite having a handful for pets, I admit to not knowing much about them (save for cat care basics and how to keep them happy and cute).
So OMG, why is my baby in heat!!! She’s not even allowed to date yet!
Peachy isn’t spayed since my mom plans on finding her a fine upstanding Siamese boycat to mate and breed with. The thing is, she’s still too young to have babies and her being in heat is killing me. I asked the internet for help (meaning I googled ‘cat is in heat‘) hoping I’d find some tips to make it a little easier for Peachy. Aside from this completely horrifying tip involving a Q-tip and some very unfunny youtube videos, I also learned that there are health risks (risks that eventually lead to death) involved when you don’t have your kitty spayed.
I feel like crying.
She keeps calling out for tomcats and it’s driving me insane and all I want to do is let her out of her cage but I don’t want her mating with the ugly neighborhood males, either. Lover keeps telling me not to stress about it and I keep trying to convince myself that it’s for her own good but whenever I hear her meowing pitifully, my heart just breaks.
Have any of you ever had to deal with a cat in heat? Help!
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I’m turning 23 in less than a week and I’ve been asked several times what my plans are. I have nothing. Oddly enough, I have yet to find the desire to mark the “occasion” with alcohol and other shows of early-20s debauchery.
You know what I want— what I really want— for my birthday? Ice cream over cupcakes and him mouthing the words “I love you” at me from across the table.
Bah.
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23 for 23 is me posting one birthday-related entry a day (or at least attempts to), ending on May 31st. See all posts here.
Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 24. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. More?
Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 24. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. 
