Super Lekker!

Um, what just happened? I'm already rusty, and don't know what to write, then Blogger suddenly has this new look. Well, Blogger, guess what? I can do a new look as well. As we speak, I'm doing my best triangle face with my eyes wide open, and my nostrils flared.

Okay. Normal face.

I took a trip, you guys. On the last week of April I flew to Holland to meet one of my childhood friends. Which explains the Lekker title. I heard it a lot on the radio and on TV commercials. My friend and I, we grew up a few houses away from each other in a street called Paris, where skinned knobby knees were badges of honor, news of fighting adults traveled quickly, and parents finding neighbor children in their homes, any time of day, was normal.

Aside from catching up, reminiscing, LOL-ing with tears in our eyes, and wondering about other characters from our childhood, we got to see a little bit of everything, such as:

Rain, sun, wind, and hail, all during an hour-long lunch of savory pannaku... GOOGLE BREAK... Pannakoeken!

Amazing buildings, and weird sinking ones. As in, sinking forward, back, in the middle, on one side...

An eye-popping Turkish market at The Hague with vegetables, meat, fish, cheese, jewelry, socks, bread, watches, and so on. I loved it! If you're a shopper, and are willing to brave hordes of Grandma-to-grandkid-sized groups, tricked-out strollers mauling your foot, and the interesting smell you will have on you after you shop, then this is the place. There are many treasures to be found...except fresh herring. I could only hold down one bite. I'm sorry. I know it's like a national delicacy of sorts but I need some acid on my raw fish, and white onions don't cut it. P.S. Nagtitinda sila ng malunggay!

A very enthusiastic after-work crowd in bars and pubs, and their outdoor tables. Even if it was cold. AND IT WAS COLD, I TELL YA!

A chip-in, chip-out train/bus card system, combined with stern drivers, that will have you obsessing about whether your ov-chipkaart is in your person at any given moment. No, sorry forgot my Orca card today excuse.

One of the best dinners ever at a tiny Italian restaurant called Giuliano's, run by an Italian father-son tandem. My friend ran into a pair of co-workers, one Dutch, one from Southern Italy, and we all decided to have dinner together. Some of Mr. Italy's recurring, wine-induced lines of the evening were SHHH, don't talk, this Paolo Conte song means a lot to me. Also: Seattle? Seattle? You stay here. Your life is changed. We capped off our delicious meal with these yummy little cakes soaked in, gosh, I don't know, something as strong as jet fuel I guess, and limoncello. Oh, and this was followed by a ride. In a car. To a casino. With a horrendous Limp Bizkit song playing in high volume. I don't know how this happened.

The best-treated cyclists. And I thought Seattle peeps were doing great, but no, the Dutch are doing a lot for their bicycle riders. They have their own lane - everywhere - and if a pedestrian dares to wander off into their path, you'll hear a yell and a honk.

Stunning works of art at the Rijksmuseum. It was heart-warming to see the line of people snake around the building.

The Red Light District. Looks like the on-trend attire is that onesie style Borat favors, but worn with a pair of glasses. Interesting how the farther away from the center you are the less, um, fit, the women in the windows get.

A gorgeous day that just happened to be Queen's Day. Everyone was in a great mood. We walked over to this area called The Fred where stores, and just about anyone could have a little spot in the sidewalk to sell goods. And by goods, I mean this loosely. I mean, there were kids selling suspicious, homemade juice in plastic cups. Some were singing, or playing instruments. For charity they would say, but it kinda looked like by charity, they meant themselves.

Finally, a collection of words/phrases for you to string together as you please: Queen's Night. Tourist. Party. Legal.

Maligayang Pasko

Christmas is coming! I just wrapped some presents this afternoon. It took longer than I thought it would, but I am hoping that wrapping presents now will save me from that dreaded '2 hours before heading out to Christmas dinner' time crunch, where somehow, you're still taping gift wrapper and finding another way to say 'Merry Christmas' on the little card. Years past have seen, Have a fabulous Christmas, have a blessed Christmas, a meaningful Christmas, good luck on your diet this Christmas. Just kidding.

While I was wrapping presents, I got to thinking about previous Christmases. I'm not sure why, but in our culture, it seems like Christmas eve always overshadows actual Christmas Day. When we were kids we'd head over to our mother's side of the family. There would be an elaborate program of song and dance numbers, both from the adults and the kids. I remember a fashion show one year. And then an over-the-top Madonna dance number another year. And if we were lucky we'd get a full-on drag performance courtesy of my Uncle and his friends.

Look, it got pretty crazy. We had to be dragged home because guess what? On Christmas Day, all that indulgent fun had to be balanced out with morning Mass. Not that Mass was particularly solemn. The manger scene was tricked out. There may be a baby figure swooping from the ceiling down to his crib. Who knows what the choir came up with, not to mention what the church's electric bill looks like.

And then after Mass, we would go to my father's side of the family. There would be more eating, but not that much entertainment. And of course it couldn't go on that way forever. When the relatives started leaving for abroad, we all just tried to have our own thing at home. Which meant my mom would have to cook. And she would make this complicated chicken relleno dish which involved deboning it, getting the meat, mixing it with vegetables, stuffing the meat back in, boiling the whole thing in cheese cloth, blah blah, blah. That was not a recipe. Do not follow that word for word. It is so delicious, you guys. The best part is she makes chicken liver gravy which makes my mouth water as I type the words.

Fast forward to years later. We left the Philippines too. And not even the whole family moved. But we managed. We were reunited with my mom's side of the family. My grandmother, when she was still alive, absolutely enjoyed having everyone around her sing Christmas songs on karaoke. Just make sure to hand her the microphone when Feliz Navidad came on. Now, there is a bit of shame as I say this, but yes. There were still dance numbers. There was even a contest for best costume. I will have you know I came as a Macy's shopping bag, with presents inside... and I won, but it was a tie with my sister who was a parol. I mean, literally. She wore a contraption that looked like one, and if we hadn't stopped her, she would have attached lights to it and plugged herself in.

So, what is the point of all this reminiscing? Well, here's my emo paragraph of the year. I'm just saying, amdist all the celebration, the presents, the food, the elastic waistband pants and ponchos, the Christmas shopping pressure, there is only one thing I cannot imagine being without on Christmas, and that is family.

Merry Christmas y'all!

Observations From The Riffraff Room

It seems like models only have two approaches to eating in public. The first approach is to eat a lot and be all, "sorry, this is the way I am. I burn calories naturally, like when I put my shoes on and brush my hair."

The other approach is to eat like a bird, elicit concerned comments from people around you and then shrug them off with a, "sorry, my stomach is the size of a watch pocket on an XS pair of jeans made in Europe."

Oh all right, that was a bit harsh. Let me start from the beginning.

Last weekend I helped my Uncle out with his bridal gown fashion show for charity. By the way, an event of this kind is just a normal occurence in our culture. An outsider might step into one of these events and think they've entered a circus where someone's always trying to comandeer the microphone with songs by Tom Jones and no one will order a drink unless they've made sure it's inclusive of their ticket, oh, and where someone is guaranteed to wear metallic leggings and cirque du face make-up. But for us, well, maybe just for me, I both love it and hate it. It has a unique charm, like fish sauce with chilies.

Anyway, what I overheard or observed as I pulled on zippers and tied halter straps and spent some time with recent graduates of the Don Jobert Showers Online Modeling School who were actually quite nice, were:

Wait, a minute. This just in. Don Jobert Showers is not a click-to-print-diploma kind of institution. It is in fact an actual school.

Let's continue:

1. "I don't look good in a bathing suit." First of all, don't ask me why there were bathing suits on a bridal gown fashion show. Second, I'll show them what not looking good in a bathing suit is. Some of those kids may have had few encounters with saggy bits and batwings and blubber and stretch marked asses but I have. I enjoy cruises and whale watching is practically a required activity when on deck... I'm just kidding. Really, I am (and I do not want to end up in hell).

2. "I don't put dressing on my salad." Right. I wish you did. Us women, we know, the years to come will offer plenty of opportunities to cut calories and wish for a hacksaw to trim muffin tops and bread backs but while you're really young and your body is naturally slim? Take advantage. Eat a donut. Or two.

3. Cheesy 80s poses are still in in some places. By order of the fashion show producer, all models must stop and execute one of the following poses - Flamingo in Repose, Please Buy My Wares or, Be Still My Heart. Optional poses are as follows, Beheaded Broken Doll, Were You Looking at My Butt, and Fractured Pelvis with Sprained Ankle.

4. The food backstage must be rescued by staff, like me. Seriously, are we letting that loaf of pound cake go to waste?

5. Let's have some French and Saunders, shall we?

The Art of Concealment

I love my older sister but she will not give that bag up. No, sir, the bag stays on her lap. From appetizer until dessert it's going to be sitting there all snug and well-fed. She says it's like a security blanket. I say there's nothing wrong with a little overspill on your waistband when you sit. That is perfectly normal. In fact I pity all those people who have never had a flab in their life. Because you know, flabs are there for a reason. Yes. There is a reason of some sort. Don't ask me what. Go away, you.





Aah. The pits. Look, not everyone has the luxury of keeping them completely hairless ALL of the time. Sometimes you forget that they're a bit stubbly. You wear your cool and airy sleeveless shirt and off you go and then you realize that today will have to be one of those days when your forearms will have to do all the work.





How about a round of applause for the permanent hand on waist, brought to us by the Starlets' School of Posing, now an affiliate of Phoenix University, enrollment starting soon? For TV hosts and red carpet celebs and regular women getting their picture taken, it truly is useful in minimizing your batwings. Forget about numbness and the feeling of pins and needles on your flesh. Nothing is more important than the illusion of toned arms.

I am not a stranger to tucking my stomach in. This particular concealment tactic is probably what I'm most guilty of. But I am also not a stranger to wearing an oversized top when I know there's food involved. In fact, from now on I'm not going to bother buying anything in extra small or maybe even small. I am done sucking my gut in. Yeah, no more oxygen deprivation. No more quivers in my abdominals from flexing those muscles. No more crazy eyes from trying to keep my gut safely tucked within my waistband. From this point forward my stomach will live a free life.

Go forth little one, unleash your jelly.