29.11.03; Sober Saturday; 23:02






Last week’s God: Sisig still. This week’s God: Coffee. No. of times I lost my retainers on Thursday: 2. No. of times I recovered my retainers: 2. (trash can at work and trash can at Auntie Anne’s). Total minutes of spent in aux 5 (restroom, in layman’s term) Wednesday (13-hour shift): 46.05 Total minutes spent in aux 5 Thursday (9-shift): approximately 02.30. Telenovela-like discovery about my family: We’re a bunch of anacondas AND Amazonas.






Dear Niwee,






Haven’t received my pay slip yet but the 5-figure salary for this cut off alone confirms that the appraisal was successfully processed! Every single cell in my body is screaming for shopping and therapy. Too happy to oblige, I went on and had a facial, resisted the urge to devour sisig again at Gerry’s Grill, beat the closing time in the Nike/Doc Martens sale in Rufino Building and did Christmas shopping for the men in my lives (I don’t have incestuous relationships with my dad and younger brothers, thank you.), hunted for my desired, out-of-stock lantern and cellulite-friendly swimwear for the company outing until it was too late for a massage.







I just read this over and I sounded like a machine narrating how its day went. Scratch that. Re-read the first sentence then attach my bubbling fear for getting used to earning this much. My bills for Globe have arrived. Hooray! The torture has begun!






I arrived home just in time to see Mika Immonen rise from the 12-12 battle of pool, wits and dollars and kick the local magician’s ass. Sigh. For a celebrated figure nearing his 50th year, Efren Reyes should be maintaining the winning streak. Oh well. Manny Pacquiao will make a noise for us again. Do I sound like Nostradamus than a credible coach?






It’s been a year since I had my practicum. It is inevitable to fall victims to vivid images of me on a power suit (low necklines still) defending my usually quirky concepts or collaborating with an art director about a specific detail I want to emphasize. Sometimes I go back to the old days of casting, location hunting, costume fitting, shooting, indulging on caramel bars, chatting with known cinematographers, producers and directors, being bitched at, getting freebies, falling prey to a long-haired looker’s charm and…Stop.






Move on, Lorna. Especially from those who request second chances. Especially if they call you Florna Dhal.






Sarcasm is a wonderful, wonderful thing. Why keep it to yourself?