Archive | March, 2006

Got a Funny Feeling…

Posted on 11 March 2006 by Flisha

She loves me. Or so I thought. I mean, we still make out and get passionate most of the time. Yet, there’s a coldness in her eyes and a certain rigidity in her smile that tells me that maybe…just maybe…

It all started around two weeks ago. We were out on another jaunt along the East Coast. Destination: Vitali. There were no problems on the way, save for a few grunts from our trusty (?) Pao-Pao.

We were greeted by spectacular views of imposing mountains, lush green valleys, sparkling calm seas and even a flock of white birds.

The trouble began as we were riding home. She offered to drive and I let her (you can’t blame me, I love her!). She was wearing a helmet, I was not.

Suddenly, in a momentary flash of bravado, she let go of one of the handlebars and WHAM! Total darkness. The last thing I remember was the concrete pavement of Putik rushing right up to meet me. The first thing I thought was “Wow, so concrete really is hard”.

Well, we were OK. Thankfully. I just used the left side of my face to sweep the pavement so aside from a nasty scrape along that area, I was fine. She sustained an abrasion on her arm and shoulders. And we both had bruises all over our bodies. But nothing serious. Although I couldn’t say the same for pao-pao.

It was in the hospital that I thought I heard her mutter, “Sayang!” as the doctor declared me fit as a bull. I wondered why, but didn’t give it much thought.

Exactly one week later. We were cruising along Campaner street. Pao-pao was still missing his chain guard. I told her to take extra care with the unguarded chain ’cause her pants or anything for that matter could get tangled up with the chain and that we could end up in the pavement again.

I had just said it when RRRIP! That was definitely the sound of cloth being ripped. I turned around and she was smiling sweetly and sheepishly as she said, “Oooops, soweee Gimmi”. Then she batted her eyelashes. I just stared at her open-mouthed.

Later that night, I couldn’t help but get that funny feeling that maybe, just maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. Why? I mean it’s obvious! Aside from the two “accident” attempts, there was this time when she slammed my head into a steel post! I’m serious! First she asked me if I trusted her. I said I did. Then she she told me to close my eyes. So I did. Then she she led me by the hand until THUNK! I had a bump the size of a guava on my forehead for two whole days.

She also tells me how delicious I look. No, not tn the way you think. She often muses out loud how I would taste like roasted. ROASTED, mind you. So is that the reason she stuffs me with food everytime I go to their place. Is she fattening me up!? Not to mention the time where she hugs me so tight. I think she tries to suffocate me everytime she does that.

Sigh. I love her. She knows I do. But sometimes…to qoute wierd Al, “Sometime I get to thinking you don’t love me any more”. I guess I better dedicate this song to her…

You Don’t Love Me Anymore

We’ve been together for so very long
But now things are changing, oh I wonder what’s wrong?
Seems you don’t want me around
The passion is gone and the flame’s died down

I guess I lost a little bit of self-esteem
That time that you made it with the whole hockey team
You used to think I was nice
Now you tell all your friends that I’m the Antichrist

Oh, why did you disconnect the breaks in my car?
That kind of thing is hard to ignore
Got a funny feeling you don’t love me anymore

I knew that we were having problems when
You put those piranhas in my bathtub again
You’re still the light of my life
Oh darling, I’m beggin’, won’t you put down that knife?

You know, I even think it’s kinda cute the way
You poison my coffee just a little each day
I still remember the way that you laughed
When you pushed me down that elevator shaft

Oh, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s this poisonous cobra
Doing in my underwear drawer?
Sometime I get to thinking you don’t love me any more

You slammed my face down on the barbecue grill
Now my scars are all healing, but my heart never will
You set my house on fire
You pulled out my chest hairs with an old pair of pliers

Oh, you think that I’m ugly and you say that I’m cheap
You shaved off my eyebrows while I was asleep
You drilled a hole in my head
Then you dumped me in a drainage ditch and left me for dead

Oh, you know this really isn’t like you at all
You never acted this way before
Honey, something tells me you don’t love me any more, oh no no
Got a funny feeling you don’t love me anymore…

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I Cut My Hair!

Posted on 05 March 2006 by Flisha

I really love my hair. It’s the only part of me that I have no complaints about. So I like to keep it long. Like Samson’s crowning glory, I feel my hair has its powers – giving me confidence on the precious few days that I lack it, providing me warmth and comfort on the fewer days that Gim isn’t by my side and hiding the crest of my boobs when my bra doesn’t quite fit.

But sometimes, on momentous occasions, I do cut it. (Which is different from trimming, which is just a grooming thing, not a life changing event.) Like right after high school, to commemorate my entrace into trial-adulthood and to be able to distract people away from looking at the tires in my waist and the bags in my thighs that my teeny tiny tight college uniform couldn’t hide even if I had bribed the seamstress with double the cost, I cut it. Like in the summer of my junior year in college – when I had finally successfully shed the record-breakingly-enormous-baby fat from my thighs, arms, waist, hips and face after months and months of jogging and sit-ups and right before I got my first official boyfriend, I cut it. Like right before graduation, to look pretty and cute as I walked up the podium to accept my diploma and my cum laude gold medal as I bid my childhood goodbye forever and ever (and just to drive my boyfriend crazy with longing and desire), I cut it.

And last Sunday. I cut it. With my own scissors and my own hands. In probably the worst cut I have ever received in my life. A raw and edgy cut. My scraggly hair in uneven lengths. To represent renewal, birth. To celebrate life. To be grateful to be alive.

(If you’re wondering why my cut looks pretty in the picture, well of course I couldn’t leave my hair so raw and ugly like when I cut it! It would be blasphemous. So on Tuesday, I took myself to a salon and got it cut righteously.)

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