25.09.04; Blog beerday; 02:17
Frustration of the Week: My inability to access and post in my multiply account. Song of the Week: Alicia Keys’s If I Ain’t Got You. Soplak of the Week: Lornadahl: Happy Mothers’ Day ka dyan! May pa ‘yun ha! Hubs: ‘Because everyday is a Mother’s Day,’ New form of battle of the sexes: Females and gays fighting for the perfect view of the hot, hot, hot men in this year’s Cosmopolitan Bachelor Bash. EIC: Did you enjoy the party? Lornadahl: Yup! *then remembers the 2-hour wait my heeled-feet had to endure, lack of carnal creativity, the ‘press’-looking gals and gays who stood on their seats AND snapped away using their personal mobile phones and the disappointing absence of the crushie* New celebrity crush: Geoff Eigenmann.
Because the (baby) dinosaur is now a blogwhore. From the old days of incompetent typing fast forward to the absolute abuse today: I just turned 1!
Just like chona, I patiently waited until 12, or past 12 to be accurate, to make a merry memoir.
My infancy has its roots in Xang-Ina (copyrighted by my webdesigner Phoebe) when she took baby steps towards Howard’s fatherly hands. Technical tragedies are no fiction, escpecially for fools like me. Miss my old jar? You’re not alone.
I also found out I’m not the only Lornadahl in this whole wide web world. Check out my guestbook. Aside from the countless calling cards who articulated their appreciation for my musings, there’s a sole visitor who commended my cat. A Google Driven Life (copyrighted again by Phoebe) deity possessed me and ushered me to the right door. Wanna meet the feline-friendlier LornaDahl?
Ahh…the therapeutic year that was. Although I’ve been born to rant and make my problem other people’s concern, having a blog is my ticket to sanity. For someone who dreads the word maintenance, it is an achievement. Cheers!
Maybe I’m now equipped with the words to share in About Me.
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For someone who craved for non-junk foods and company for and during meals, my Thursday dinner (16:10 EST) was the ultimate dream come true. A bowl of sinigang, my top drool-worthy viand, was fresh and hot from the microwave oven. Surrounding the table are the matriachs of the clan: my lola, my Mom and the youngest and the most beautiful among my maternal aunts. Since they can’t contain their fury for one another, I decided to play a mute role.
My cousins are taking their time to grow up. They believe the world is still their playground and their parents are green plastics they can push around. Is it rebellion or ignorance? For someone who rush to see the end of her life, I choose the latter.
What a week for the family.
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