<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267</id><updated>2009-11-12T22:29:45.952-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Girl Becoming</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>171</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-3100489805634534593</id><published>2009-11-08T23:33:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T00:52:50.926-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>Almost-Credding Bells?</title><content type='html'>Well, J and I have been talking of "Step 2"*, and I look at &lt;a href="http://2000dollarwedding.com"&gt;this website&lt;/a&gt; for grounding advice and whatnot; I've also been looking at dresses lately that should still be affordably priced, 'coz who can't discount prices nowadays??? Plus most girls like dresses and like to look pretty, and I am one of those. I was looking at &lt;a href="http://www.jcrew.com/AST/Browse/WeddingParties/Wedding_Bride/gowns/PRDOVR~19836/19836.jsp"&gt;this dress&lt;/a&gt;. Now for shoes: I don't know what style, especially as I don't have the teensiest feet. Maybe &lt;a href="http://www.jcrew.com/AST/Browse/WomenBrowse/Women_Feature_Assortment/catalogjcrewcomexclusives/shoes/PRDOVR~12010/12010.jsp"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;? I was thinking something else: the more we can save, the more money we can use towards other stuff like honeymoon, or furniture, or other shopping stuff, or photographers like &lt;a href="http://sarahqblog.com/"&gt;this one&lt;/a&gt;, and so on. I love pictures, so it's a semi-big deal: they're memories, and those count. Pictures and maybe gifts for guests like from &lt;a href="http://www.alsgourmetnuts.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;? Plus we won free invites &lt;a href="http://blog.sugarhouseink.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;; yay! Ok, so things are still up in the air, no ring in sight, but J told me, "have patience, mouse*." And I said "mraow." We are going to a pre-crarriage* class next Saturday, which is completely free (whee!), by the way, &lt;a href="http://www.connectingmarriages.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;. That way, we save on a potential license, and all that, so yay more savings. Since I was too sick this weekend to go look at &lt;a href="http://www.reinersjewelry.com/"&gt;shiny jewelry&lt;/a&gt;, much to my frustration (body 1, me 0) and I will be going on a trip later this month with my folks to Machu Picchu, I playfully told J, now &lt;i&gt;you&lt;/i&gt; can look without me! And he said yes :) We tried Etsy, but we didn't find anything that really caught us. So eh, we'll see. And J said that it has to be perfect for me, nothing from a bucket out of Safeway, no sir. Aaaw &lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is where we are. May Fortune/Lady Luck/God smile on us. We'll see how this will all turn out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Step 1= serious committed dating/moving in&lt;br /&gt;Step 1.5= engagement?&lt;br /&gt;Step 2= marriage&lt;br /&gt;Step 2.5= preggers?&lt;br /&gt;Step 3= children&lt;br /&gt;- My folks did not follow this process AT ALL, so want mine to be perfect, whee! (Who can blame them for wanting the best for their baby girl/only child, though)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*mouse= me&lt;br /&gt;bee= J&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*credding= wedding&lt;br /&gt;crarriage= marriage&lt;br /&gt;-I refuse to say the actual word as I am too shy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-3100489805634534593?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/3100489805634534593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=3100489805634534593' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/3100489805634534593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/3100489805634534593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/11/almost-credding-bells.html' title='Almost-Credding Bells?'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-2738986613973506936</id><published>2009-11-08T08:07:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T08:13:01.189-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Time to get un-ill</title><content type='html'>Ugh. Sick as a dog. Getting better, hopefully, evidence being I'm typing right now, but yeah, my Mom says it's probably a head-cold: intense head pain (alternating between a band tightening around my head with a cap bearing down); chills alternating with feeling super hot; and aching joints. Not a lot of mucous, though. Oh well, I'm combating this with Dayquil first and Tylenol as needed. House-bound all the way, feh. J's mom said the first year she was teaching her doctor gave her this advice: keep your hands away from your mouth/eyes; wash hands as often as possible, or have hand sanitizer. Good advice; she reminded me it'll take a while to get enough immunities/antibodies to my kids' germs and whatnot, so yeah. I hope I get better soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-2738986613973506936?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/2738986613973506936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=2738986613973506936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2738986613973506936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2738986613973506936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/11/time-to-get-un-ill.html' title='Time to get un-ill'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-2130574265589133070</id><published>2009-10-29T18:13:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T22:20:44.714-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='education'/><title type='text'>Of Soup and School</title><content type='html'>Wow, it's only Tuesday and I already feel beat. A good thing I did (with J) today was vote at the local election for school trustee, mayor, and various propositions to be passed in state government, I guess. And as we parked, we saw the twinkling lights of downtown in the distance. Classic Houston moment: beauty amid lack of zoning laws. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I digress. As a backgrounder, I work at a public school's Montessori program as a teaching assistant, but given the nature of Montessori classes, and the added plus of my pretty good rapport (touch wood!) with the teacher I assist (Ms. T), I am a teaching assistant acting more like a co-teacher, which is great experience. It started out that I was only to work in the classroom, but now I act as cafeteria co-marshall, then after a brief lunch, work in the office/administrative part of the school, making my work experience pretty well-rounded. Tiring? Yes. Informative? Most definitively. I think--and hope--that it'll pay off in the end. Heck, last week there was a district-wide mandated online testing requirement for teachers/salaried staff called &lt;a href="http://portal.battelleforkids.org/aspire/home.html?sflang=en"&gt;ASPIRE&lt;/a&gt;, and even as I'm hourly, I was pulled to do it! It was mind-numbing to say the least, but I will say again that I (still) count my lucky stars. So all these experiences have been shaping me to hopefully be a better teacher: this week in particular found me especially stern with my class of kids. I love them, but they need to follow protocol! Man oh man, suffice it to say two kids had a curtailed recess period today. After being nice to them all morning, a stern Ms. S was a shock for them, and one of them in particular, who I've been especially encouraging with, rebuked me, saying "you're mean!" And I said, "I like you, but you have to make better choices; you know better!" to which he reluctantly nodded his head, even a tad ruefully. But I hated being stern and firm, to which end Ms. T patted my shoulder at the end of the day and said, "Be strong!" Indeed; the trials of a teacher continue. But as long as one of my 20 kids learns something, hopefully more than one; then it will all be worth it. I have hope yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, I made soup last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You heard that right, I who doesn't cook, made soup--not the kind from a can, but since I like to do things all the way, I made soup from scratch. Soup made of fish and clams and shrimp and saffron, to name but a few ingredients.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, so that's more like a stew than soup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all started when J and I went to &lt;a href="http://www.centralmarket.com/"&gt;Central Market&lt;/a&gt; with J's intention of getting some fish to make this little Asian islander happy. Well, yours truly had a sudden flash of brilliance: why not make a rustic bouillabaise of some sort? So we bought redfish, shrimp and clams, much to J's chagrin. To soothe his quiet alarm, I called my mom for guidance. Well, mothers know best, at least most of the time, and this time was no exception. Of course we Filipinos don't really use measurements, but rather do the "rough eyeing, taste-testing measurement." Voila, my mom's rough recipe. Note: this should only be done in 1 pan, making clean-up hopefully a bit easier!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Heat pan; cover pan with olive oil (maybe 1/4 c)&lt;br /&gt;2. Saute 1 whole garlic (minced), 2 whole onions (chopped), and 3 chopped tomatoes.&lt;br /&gt;3. Add fish one at a time: 1/5 lb. redfish, 1/5 lb. shrimp, 1/2 lb. clams*; brown.&lt;br /&gt;4. Drench mixture in white wine (better half of a bottle; don't be stingy!), add 1 small can of tomato sauce* to mixture.&lt;br /&gt;5. Add 2 bay leaves, 2 pcs. anise or equiv. 1/4 tsp., 1 Tbsp. saffron (I used 2 sachets); 1 pinch equiv. of 1/4 tsp. of sugar; add salt and pepper to taste. &lt;br /&gt;5a. Optional: add red peppers (in can--small can), or 6-8 olives (black preferably), or chopped potatoes, or garbanzos/chickpeas, or all of the above for a heartier stew &lt;br /&gt;6. Simmer, 30 minutes or a bit longer.&lt;br /&gt;7. Serve and enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*tomato paste can also be substituted: just use equal parts water for tomato paste: stir and add into the pot!&lt;br /&gt;*clams must be soaked overnight in ice and a bit of salt for the sand to be removed from the clams: they will spit, even when dead! Keep shrimp in shell, as well as clams, though DO clean clams beforehand to remove the sand; skin and chop the fish into pieces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Serve stew with either garlic bread or garlic fried rice, latter's recipe below:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Steam rice.&lt;br /&gt;2. Heat olive oil in pan&lt;br /&gt;3. brown some garlic&lt;br /&gt;4. dump steamed rice in (older, leftover plain rice is preferable)&lt;br /&gt;5. add salt; stir-fry&lt;br /&gt;6. Serve and eat!&lt;br /&gt;*measurements are up to you: Filipino style!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is most of it from my end: we had leftover soup from this recipe for tonight's dinner, as well as leftover pizza, and organic buttery popcorn for dessert, as well as coconut maple-pecan ice cream and blood orange sorbet, topped off with some red wine: trashy meets gourmet, hello! Next paycheck, I would like to buy some merchandise from &lt;a href="http://www.timbuk2.com"&gt;this website&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whee! Goodnight y'all! Enjoy the (hopefully) cooler weather! For those in the US, it's time to fall back; don't forget to get some rays to avoid getting SAD!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-2130574265589133070?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/2130574265589133070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=2130574265589133070' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2130574265589133070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2130574265589133070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/10/of-soup-and-school.html' title='Of Soup and School'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4795468586886832445</id><published>2009-07-21T23:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:41:53.241-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>2009 Juli</title><content type='html'>I have become a legal Texas Driver since July 14 :) Which means I have been driving to work. Woot woot; go me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Housewarming last Saturday: yay domesticity?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;September and October I have no obligations, so that means more "us time", just me and J. Yay. &lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking for good education postgrad colleges in Texas. If anyone has ideas, please let me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So little money, so much to buy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still studying to be a teacher. Hopefully, hopefully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cardio kickboxing but frustrated as I don't seem to be losing weight, or I don't know, I hope I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should eat less and exercise more. Even if J says I am beautiful. I don't think so, and wish I looked better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope it's J and me, more and more, better and better, together and for always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuzzy mushy thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodnight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4795468586886832445?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4795468586886832445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4795468586886832445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4795468586886832445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4795468586886832445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/07/2009-juli.html' title='2009 Juli'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5874658393664394043</id><published>2009-06-29T10:28:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T10:36:44.572-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>6.29.09*</title><content type='html'>is my last day of work before a 2-day off. Sweet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to make granola. and kombucha. and yogurt. 'Coz I think it can be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am also thinking of reformatting this blog, to create a new username for uniformity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still need to learn to ride a bike, and get my driver's license, and get a new SS card. And possibly change my health insurance. And maybe join a gym, beCAUSE I might be getting visibly fat. I feel tired, so I get lazy...and it's a vicious cycle. I SHOULD exercise but...NO BUTS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there are steps....maybe, steps to ascend? &lt;3 I can dream and hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course I've got to pay bills. Dammit. We cannot escape death, bills and taxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are good; I hope they can only get better. Life is good, not much to gripe about, but too busy either way. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this the new generation of yuppie-busy-blogging?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Happy birthday, D. I should forget, but I haven't: I don't think I can. You were the first, after all. I wish you well from my wellness; goodbye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5874658393664394043?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5874658393664394043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5874658393664394043' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5874658393664394043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5874658393664394043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/06/62909.html' title='6.29.09*'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-9205130683170025170</id><published>2009-04-02T23:28:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T23:40:55.781-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Of Things in the Now and Later</title><content type='html'>J and I celebrate a year of being officially together, next week. Next week, holy cow. And with a deciding education test looming 2 weeks after that, I should've been studying, but no, I was looking at schm(w)edding sites like planning and rings and stuff, how it can be done with $2000, or why can't rings be simple bands, and even engagement ones to not have big shiny rocks? And something of contention between us (even if we haven't discussed "it!"): schm(w)edding favors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is moving. We have found a place, and J is moving there on Saturday and I on Monday. A place of our own, he likes to point out. And despite my fears, I told my parents, albeit through the postal service. I had to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here we are. A year pretty soon, and then hopefully more and more. Onward and upward, I pray and hope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-9205130683170025170?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/9205130683170025170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=9205130683170025170' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/9205130683170025170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/9205130683170025170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2009/04/of-things-in-now-and-later.html' title='Of Things in the Now and Later'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4644203313207855998</id><published>2008-12-11T08:15:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T08:15:47.655-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Let it Snow.</title><content type='html'>It snowed in Houston yesterday. Small flecks around 4 pm, then increasingly bigger flakes, til when we closed shop for the night, my colleagues and I all had a snowball fight in the parking lot! Not super big drifts on the ground, but just on cars, a little on the ground, and enough to coat the steps leading to my apartment and front porch! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my God. It snowed. In Houston. Who would've thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who says global warming doesn't exist now?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4644203313207855998?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4644203313207855998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4644203313207855998' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4644203313207855998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4644203313207855998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/12/let-it-snow.html' title='Let it Snow.'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-1393485917564428335</id><published>2008-12-02T22:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T22:11:09.136-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='life'/><title type='text'>Life Got in the Way</title><content type='html'>I used to write and post little (and some not-so-little!) ditties and of-the-moments constantly. Granted, I still do, only less profound and more transitory, via the all-knowing, all-encompassing Facebook. But it's not the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life got in the way, that's what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are just so many things that happen. So many sundry tasks I never took for granted as they were all done for me in a past life but now no longer. Now I sweep my floors and mop when I can, launder my dirty clothing, clean my bathroom and sinks and everything else. It must get done, and done by me. Other tasks too like finally getting my car fully functional via a plate so I can finally drive and not be driven around. Then there is work. Work to pay the bills, and to get food in my belly. Work so I can continue doing all things myself. Old work, and now newer, more stringent work. Celluloid downloads to get away from it all, in itself a race to be up to date on. And then love: in my boyfriend whom I love more than life, who occupies my thoughts and dreams and hopes and whom I wish I could spend forever with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I forget to write. I forget to write about Thanksgiving, my first break in ages, after working 3 jobs. And it was a wonderful time of waking up late and cuddling and snuggling, of eating my fill and maybe more. Christmas is already around the corner: already people are putting up decorations and radios are belting out holiday tunes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Busy days indeed. This is life: this is my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-1393485917564428335?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/1393485917564428335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=1393485917564428335' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/1393485917564428335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/1393485917564428335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/12/life-got-in-way.html' title='Life Got in the Way'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4820873077765950583</id><published>2008-11-11T10:47:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T10:50:12.980-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='literary'/><title type='text'>You Know You're Filipino If</title><content type='html'>7 months yesterday &lt;3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;back to the matter at hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From &lt;a href="http://johnsuniverse.blogspot.com/2006/12/you-know-youre-filipino-when.html "&gt;this blogger&lt;/a&gt; who is a British expat that married a Filipina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*parentheses are my additions&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your middle name is your mother's maiden name.&lt;br /&gt;Your parents call each other "Mommy" and "Daddy."&lt;br /&gt;You have uncles and aunts named "Boy," "Girlie," or "Baby."&lt;br /&gt;You have relatives whose nicknames consist of repeated syllables like "Jun-Jun," "Ling-Ling," and "Mon-Mon."&lt;br /&gt;You call the parents of your friends and your own parents' friends "Tito" and "Tita."&lt;br /&gt;You have four or five names.&lt;br /&gt;You greet your elders by touching their hands to your forehead.&lt;br /&gt;You always kiss your relatives on the cheek whenever you enter or leave the room.&lt;br /&gt;You follow your parents' house rules even if you are over 18.&lt;br /&gt;You live with your parents until and at times even after you're married.&lt;br /&gt;You decorate your dining room wall with a picture of the "Last Supper."&lt;br /&gt;You keep your furniture wrapped in plastic or covered with blankets.&lt;br /&gt;You have a Sto. Niño shrine in your living room.&lt;br /&gt;You have a piano that no one plays.&lt;br /&gt;You keep a tabo (pail) in your bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;You use Vicks Vapor rub as an insect repellent.&lt;br /&gt;You eat with your hands.&lt;br /&gt;You eat more than three times a day.&lt;br /&gt;You think a meal is not a meal without rice.&lt;br /&gt;You think sandwiches are snacks, not meals.&lt;br /&gt;Your dining table has a merry-go-round (lazy Susan) in the middle.&lt;br /&gt;You bring baon to work everyday.&lt;br /&gt;Your pantry is never without Spam, Vienna sausage, corned beef, and sardines.&lt;br /&gt;You love to eat daing or tuyo (smelly salted fish).&lt;br /&gt;You prop up one knee while eating.&lt;br /&gt;You eat your meal with patis, toyo (soysauce), suka, banana catsup, or bagoong.&lt;br /&gt;Your tablecloths are stained with toyo circles.&lt;br /&gt;You love sticky desserts and salty snacks.&lt;br /&gt;You eat fried Spam and hot dogs with rice.&lt;br /&gt;You eat mangoes with rice--with great GUSTO!&lt;br /&gt;You love "dirty" ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;You love to eat, yet often manage to stay slim.&lt;br /&gt;You put hot dogs in your spaghetti.&lt;br /&gt;Everything you eat is sauteed in garlic, onion, and tomatoes.&lt;br /&gt;You order a "soft drink" instead of soda.&lt;br /&gt;You hang a rosary on your car's rear view mirror.&lt;br /&gt;You get together with family at a cemetery on All Saint's Day to eat, drink, and tell stories by your loved ones' graves.&lt;br /&gt;You play cards or mahjong and drink beer at funeral wakes.&lt;br /&gt;You think Christmas season begins in October and ends in January.&lt;br /&gt;Your second piece of luggage is a balikbayan box.&lt;br /&gt;You've mastered the art of packing a suitcase to double capacity.&lt;br /&gt;You collect items from airlines, hotels, and restaurants as "souvenirs."&lt;br /&gt;You feel obligated to give pasalubong (souvenir) to all your friends and relatives each time you return from a trip.&lt;br /&gt;You use paper foot outlines when buying shoes for friends and relatives.&lt;br /&gt;You're a fashion victim.&lt;br /&gt;You can convey 30 messages with your facial expression.&lt;br /&gt;You hold your palms together in front of you and say "excuse, excuse" when you pass in between people or in front of the TV.&lt;br /&gt;You ask for the bill at a restaurant by making a rectangle in the air.&lt;br /&gt;You cover your mouth when you laugh.&lt;br /&gt;You respond to a "Hoy!" or a "Pssst!" in a crowd.&lt;br /&gt;You'll answer "Malapit (near) lang!"--no matter the distance--when asked how far away a place is located.&lt;br /&gt;Goldilocks is more than a fairy tale character to you (it's also a bakeshop).&lt;br /&gt;You refer to power interruptions as "brownouts."&lt;br /&gt;You love to use the following acronyms: CR for comfort room, DI for dance instructor, DOM for dirty old man, TNT for tago nang tago (always hiding: staying illegally in the country), KJ for kill joy, KSP for kulang sa pansin (wanting for attention), OA for over-acting, TL for true love, BF for boyfriend and GF for girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;You say "rubber shoes" instead of sneakers, "ball pen" instead of pen, "stockings" instead of pantyhose, "pampers" instead of diapers, "ref" or "prijider" instead of refrigerator, "Colgate" instead of toothpaste, "canteen" instead of cafeteria, and "open" or "close" instead of turn on or turn off (as in the lights).&lt;br /&gt;You use an umbrella for shade on hot summer days.&lt;br /&gt;You like everything imported or "state-side."&lt;br /&gt;You love ballroom dancing, bowling, pusoy, mahjong, billiards, and karaoke.&lt;br /&gt;You have a relative who is a nurse (my aunt is!).&lt;br /&gt;When you're in a restaurant, you wipe your plate and utensils before using them.&lt;br /&gt;You can squeeze 15 passengers into your five-seater car without a second thought.&lt;br /&gt;You wave a pom-pom on a stick around the food to keep the flies away.&lt;br /&gt;You always ring a doorbell twice, assuming that the first ring was not heard.&lt;br /&gt;You let the phone ring twice before answering, lest you appear overly eager.&lt;br /&gt;Your other piece of luggage is a balikbayan box.&lt;br /&gt;You use a rock to scrub yourself in the bath or shower.&lt;br /&gt;You're proud to be Filipino - and you pass these jokes on to all your Filipino friends!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incidentally, there is the book by Neni Sta. Romana-Cruz, whose cover, along with book details, can be seen in &lt;a href="http://www.libros.com.ph/bookdetails.asp?bookid=9789716300819"&gt;this website&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just spreading the Filipino love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4820873077765950583?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4820873077765950583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4820873077765950583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4820873077765950583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4820873077765950583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/11/you-know-youre-filipino-if.html' title='You Know You&apos;re Filipino If'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4920181985587051168</id><published>2008-10-16T21:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T21:11:47.934-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Sometimes</title><content type='html'>...I feel I wear my heart on my sleeve too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I give my boyfriend too much leeway and try to please him too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I wish he'd tell me what's the score.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I wish I could take stuff I said/did back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I wonder how single-hood compares to attached-hood and if I should revert.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I overthink and panic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;STOP.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4920181985587051168?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4920181985587051168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4920181985587051168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4920181985587051168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4920181985587051168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/10/sometimes.html' title='Sometimes'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-7279120888153376931</id><published>2008-07-24T14:37:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T15:36:49.688-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quotes'/><title type='text'>Rainy Day Thursday</title><content type='html'>One more day to the weekend. Oh please God. I'm getting cranky missing Jess. How come the closer and closer it is to seeing him the more and more acute I feel missing him? That has to make sense, but right now it doesn't, and instead just seems very twisted and perverse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been raining cats and dogs for two days now, moreso today. Dude, WOW. And it's like why can't it be more like this?! Well technically it shouldn't as it means for more humidity, not that it isn't humid enough as it is. But I do like walking in the rain, especially when I'm not super dressed up but in flip flops and going to a job that requires me to sweat anyway, in very little clothing. So yeah. It's fun, I just don't like the bugs and the amphibians that may emerge. Them aside, the rain tends to bring a little quiet and calm and stillness to the busy city, making me reflect and go inward. At the same time, the rain brings happy memories of suspended classes, of childhood listening to the pitter patter of rain against the river stone-lined driveway of my gradparents' home, where I spent my childhood: that earthy smell of rain hitting earth. God I love that smell. It's nice to introspect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish there were a time set aside for us to learn things, then emerge, like from a cocoon, out into the world, ready to succeed, with all the right skills. This rarely happens, if at all, which sucks. I guess we just have to learn along the way. Tough, but I guess we have no choice if we want to succeed: it also makes success all the sweeter. Now to remember that, suck it in and toil on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As much as things are difficult right now financially, I can't help but feel a little cheery as the weekend draws closer. Even as I recall the quote a friend drew from "Eat, Pray and Love" on letting go:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;'Groceries,' Richard says, 'listen to me. Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You'll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing and you were in the best possible place in the world for it -- in a beautiful place of worship, surrounded by grace. Take this time, every minute of it. Let things work themselves out here in India.'&lt;br /&gt;'But I really loved him.'&lt;br /&gt;'Big deal. So you fell in love with someone. Don't you see what happened? this guy touched a place in your heart deeper than you thought you were capable of reaching. I mean you got zapped, kiddo. But that love you felt, that's just the beginning. You just got a taste of love. that's just limited little rinky-dink mortal love. Wait till you see how much more deeply you can love than that. Heck, Groceries -- you have the capacity to someday love the whole world. It's your destiny. Don't laugh.'&lt;br /&gt;'I'm not laughing.' I was actually crying. 'And please don't laugh at me now, but I think the reason it's so hard for me to get over this guy is because I seriously believed David was my soul mate.'&lt;br /&gt;'He probably was. your problem is you don't understand what the word means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. but a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holdling you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. &lt;b&gt;A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life is just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it. &lt;/b&gt;Your problem is, you just can't let this one go. It's over[,] Groceries. David's purpose was to shake you up, drive you out of that marriage that you needed to leave, tear apart your ego a bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job, and he did great, but now it's over. Problem is, you can't accept that this relationship had a real short shelf life. You're like a dog at the dump, baby -- you're just lickin' at an empty tin can, trying to get more nutrition out of it. And if you're not careful, that can's gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it.'&lt;br /&gt;'But I love him.'&lt;br /&gt;'So love him.'&lt;br /&gt;'But I miss him.'&lt;br /&gt;'So miss him. Send him some love and light every time you think about him, and then drop it. You're just afraid to let go of the last bits of David because then you'll really be alone, and Liz Gilbert is scared to death of what will happen if she's really alone. But here's what you gotta understand, Groceries. If you clear out all that space in your mind that you're using right now to obsess about this guy, you'll have a vacuum there, an open spot -- a doorway. And guess what the universe will do with that doorway? It will rush in -- God will rush in -- and fill you with more love than you ever dreamed. So stop using David to block that door. Let it go." &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno. Does it have to be this way? Can't we settle down with a person and continuously grow and stick it out with him/her? What if that's what I want? What if I think I know who I want to settle down with already, this soon? Holy shit scary thought but yeah. It's like wanting to be with him all the time, seeing him all the time, at the same time, thinking when he's around I don't get anything done, but wanting him near anyway. One question is if it's a mutual thought, but for that only time can reveal. The passage deals with non-attachment, but I like attachment; I think it makes me human, which I am, no denying that. Probably not over-attachment because that's just sad, but yes, attachment, we are earthly beings and have only so little time here in this plane, after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So little time: August is around the corner, lots happening then=money spending, too, aii-ya! But yes, also meaning four months in :) Gotta get a good job hopefully soon, to stay, and hopefully it will all be worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-7279120888153376931?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/7279120888153376931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=7279120888153376931' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/7279120888153376931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/7279120888153376931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/rainy-day-thursday.html' title='Rainy Day Thursday'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5526501478765440880</id><published>2008-07-18T01:20:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-18T01:36:58.982-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Aunt Flo rages</title><content type='html'>When I doubt myself, being in a relationship, doubting things that matter, I think it's time I go to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There may be rough patches, there may come a time when I feel feh and so see a relationship needs work too or ponder if I should do something else to prove I am capable of having fun elsewhere, thank you very much. But...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YES my boyfriend is awesome. YES we have a lot in common. YES I bring a lot to the table. YES I am awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly. -Anonymous&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I think of my blessings, I think of you twice. -Irish proverb&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is always the chance that things will be better in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5526501478765440880?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5526501478765440880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5526501478765440880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5526501478765440880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5526501478765440880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/thoughts.html' title='Aunt Flo rages'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5790315379706639364</id><published>2008-07-16T15:37:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T16:26:28.967-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Things to Do</title><content type='html'>-get a tattoo: Seriously, one day: on my nape or hip, but hip ones change shape easier, so.&lt;br /&gt;-get a better paying job: working on it, though gods I never knew how difficult and how it in itself is a process&lt;br /&gt;-learn how to drive: um, YEAH.&lt;br /&gt;-get a place with a washing machine and dryer: will help a lot but in the future, maybe: not really just yet&lt;br /&gt;-grow my hair, and not highlight it anymore: we'll see. I want a trim sometime soon, though.&lt;br /&gt;-join a band or choir (again): I miss singing. A LOT.&lt;br /&gt;-go traveling again: God I miss it. Maybe Tibet! or Morocco...&lt;br /&gt;-get scuba certified: maybe ask Mom if I can have that for Christmas?&lt;br /&gt;-go back to school: learn something new, or relearn a language (which can also mean travel, whee)&lt;br /&gt;-grow with my boyfriend: this would be nice to do :)&lt;br /&gt;-love myself more: er.&lt;br /&gt;-get healthier: figure out especially why especially I've been conking out so easily and frequently :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure there are more out there, but this is what's on my mind right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5790315379706639364?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5790315379706639364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5790315379706639364' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5790315379706639364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5790315379706639364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/things-to-do.html' title='Things to Do'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5761883640513702819</id><published>2008-07-16T15:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T15:23:39.476-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><title type='text'>Musings on a Late Work Day</title><content type='html'>Ok, ok, so maybe I am a mellow music girl. Mostly. I've been having this song on repeat in my head that a relative sang that just mesmerized me. It's called Crashing Home:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Storm's raging, now off course to the belly of a whale&lt;br /&gt;the drowning into darkness there is nowhere else to sail&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS: Coughed up on the beach last night, I'm crashing home&lt;br /&gt;I've got nowhere to reach for the light, I'm crashing home&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You try to hold me, I'm writhing, we both get beaten black and blue&lt;br /&gt;I hold you, you're smiling, we both learn something true&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You pull, I let you, til there's almost no air&lt;br /&gt;I pull, you leave me, we breathe in stale air&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You lick my wounds, I bite the hand that feeds me&lt;br /&gt;We pay us back and pretend to love each other sweetly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bridge: Drop through where the sky is open, I fall through where the questions burn to&lt;br /&gt;where my eyes shine from, to where my heart knows from, to where my soul melts and quenches as hope&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...Leastways that's what I heard (no lyrics, maybe I should ask for some, duh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway. As I looked up into the night sky going back home from doing laundry one evening (I was asked if I felt safe walking late at night and I'm like, well yeah, it's pretty much half a block and what are they going to steal from me: dirty, sweaty, stinky yoga clothes? Good luck with that. But yeah, touch wood anyway), I noticed the moon is again almost full, and it hit me how time truly does fly past. It is already July, and I have not really accomplished much yet. I have moved, true, but that has been a financial drain above all else. Not to mention I've never really cleaned before, and sometimes, sometimes, I think I am allowed to pout, stamp my not-so-little foot and complain that back from where I came from, I had people cleaning for me everyday, never having to worry about a dirty floor or bathroom, and worse, never having to kill roaches, which is what I had to do last night. Roaches: my worst fear. Oh gods. I had to kill one in my bathtub, suffocating it in Oust (TM) and then drowning it in antibacterial liquid soap. Then stepping out and seeing two--count 'em, TWO--roaches, side by side, almost on top of each other (OH GOD WERE THEY MATING????? NOOOOOO) on the hinges of my front door. Oh dude, no. I do not keep food out for the sole purpose of keeping roachies away, and granted, I swept last week, but that's normal for me. But dude, WHY? My neighbor and friend, whose flat I had to camp out in for a while just because I'd rather her over two roaches and a dead one for company, said it's because of the trees (the big ones are tree roaches, she said, but they looked like trash roaches, with the glossy coat and *shudder*), but her flat is closer to a tree than mine, so why did I get roaches and she didn't? Maybe a neighbor's lack of sanitary habits? I.don't.know. Seriously, though? GROSS-O. So yeah, I slept with the lights on, because I was told lights keep them at bay. Shit, I'll go for that. I might have to wait for more funds before doing anything regarding bait/extermination, but I guess I can go looking for future funding. Er. Yeah. And maybe look into going back to "school" in the future: I think I can handle it. Right now, though, there is that roach cadaver in my tub, so I guess I should clean. Oh dammit. Maybe in a while. Nyar. Then there are frames to buy, and a bedspread and tablecloth and mebbe hooks, and man I looked at friend's bathroom and hers looked so much better than mine: I felt mine looked ghetto next to hers... :-( I feel I can be more girly, so I feel I am failing somehow (and not financially, though I am improving at it: sucks to have to be patient and save, though: I never had to do it before: oh well, time to start, right?) So many things to do, so little money. Hopefully things will change for the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just finished reading these comics my lovely (beloved) boyfriend lent me, and yeah those was good readin'. It's amazing how the human mind can conjure ideas up, string them together to make a story, or even an anthology. Beautiful. Reminds me how I like to write, too, and how my imagination can run wild (though sometimes not in a good way). Stories remind us of our humanity. The human mind is a great wonder, I think so. It houses our emotions and feelings, which come not from the heart, but from our mind, though it does sound more poetic to say I love you from the bottom of my heart rather than (I love you) from the bottom of my hypothallamus. And even that is something we created, our thought processes, our discernment. How do beings think, though? How do we express them? Moreover, we may not the only beings who think and express as we do. But that...wow, that can be an eternal question. Now to answer if it is one we would like to think about forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indeed life is short and time is swift, and we choose how we shape it. I look around and right now, my existence is so different from what I was used to. Then again, now it is also shaped of my sweat (literally), my work, not anyone else's (ok, mostly). It has barely begun. It is difficult and scary standing up on my own new legs, and sometimes the ground looks so near, so familiar, so inviting. But that is giving in. Not just yet. With time, hopefully with support, no, standing up and then learning to walk and run are the goals. One step at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5761883640513702819?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5761883640513702819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5761883640513702819' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5761883640513702819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5761883640513702819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/musings-on-late-work-day.html' title='Musings on a Late Work Day'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5548347051962573047</id><published>2008-07-09T13:19:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-09T13:19:48.643-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='yoga'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Dancing with the Universe</title><content type='html'>I have to share this: http://youtube.com/watch?v=zlfKdbWwruY or his site http://www.wherethehellismatt.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch the video. Awe-inspiring, goosebumpy-ohmygod-tear-up WOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incidentally took my 1st class at Fountainview, Taz teaching (haven't had her in a good long while). This in the face of sleeping at 6 am, no breakfast, 3rd class in a row, practicing in the front beside Claire, and wearing a bra-top and loud faux-Pucci shorts to offset my tiredness, which worked, I guess. Yey for Bishnu Ghosh day!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5548347051962573047?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5548347051962573047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5548347051962573047' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5548347051962573047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5548347051962573047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/dancing-with-universe.html' title='Dancing with the Universe'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-7868596650336430216</id><published>2008-07-08T00:35:00.008-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T10:58:02.938-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Flip-speak'/><title type='text'>Bago</title><content type='html'>Sige na nga.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Minsan, minsan, na-mimiss ko magsulat, magsalita sa wikang Filipino. Kahit Tagalog, o Ilonggo, basta Pinoy. Wala lang: mas nararamdaman kapag ako'y wala sa bansa kung saan ko siya magamit at maiintindihan ako, at nararamdaman din sa pagkakataon  na ibig kong mai-share sa aking giliw, kahit hindi niya maintindihan; wala lang: siguro ganyan talaga.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sinasabi nilang may komunidad dito ng mga ibang kapwa-Pilipino, pero hindi ko pa sila natagpuan. Sana balang araw...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ngunit gusto kong manatili dito sa dayuhang bansa, dayuhang lugar. Ang sweldo ng aking trabaho ay 'di sapat, ngunit sana raraos din ako sa ganitong sitwasyon, at maipakita ko rin sa aking mga magulang na maaari na akong mamuhay na 'di nakasandal o gumagamit ng kanilang credit card, at pera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aminado akong may malaking kinalaman dito ang aking nobio, ngunit paano ang ganitong pakiramdam na tilang ibing mong kilalanin siya at masamahan siya habambuhay? Para sa akin, na kami'y natututo sabay-sabay ay masaya at nakakapagbigay-ligaya: na siya rin ay matalino ay mas nakakapagbigay-halaga sa aming relasyon. Kaya dapat magawan ko ng paraan manatili dito. Sana hindi masasayang lamang ang aking mga pagpursigi: sana may mga naramramdaman din siyang pagmamahal sa akin. Dahi oo, mahal ko siya. Sana mahal rin niya ako, sana matutuloy ito sa....hinaharap, sana sana. May posibilidad naman sa lahat, diba?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ibig kong manatili pa rito. Aminado ko na minsa'y hinahanap ko ang mga "comfort" ng aking napaka komportableng buhay sa Pinas, kung saan lahat ay gumagana ng karapat-dapat, pwede akong magpagupit o pumunta ng parlor kahit kailan, ang mga damit ay linabhan na, na-plantsa na rin at natupi, ang bahay malinis, ang pagkain linuto. Aminado hinahanap ko ang mga ito minsan, sa aking mga pagkakataon ng kahinaan. Ngunit. Ngunit. Iniisip ko makakarating din ako sa ganyan, sa panahon, at kapag mkahanap ako ng ibang trabaho na nagbabayad ng mas malaking halaga. Hindi ko kailangan ang lahat ng "comforts" ng Pinas araw-araw. Una, hindi ko nagustuhang may mga katulong kami na nakasandal na kami sa kanila. Pangalawa, ang pagpunta sa parlor: pwede rin dito, ngunit di sin-dalas. At ang pinaka-importante sa tingin ko'y bata pa ako, at malusog. Kaya ko pang makaranas ng iba, maghirap, magtrabaho. Kailan pa? At sana, sana, uubra ito lahat, makakaraos ako, sana kasama ko pa si Jess, at sana, sana, &lt;i&gt;it's all worth it&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Karagdagan: At the same time, kapag hindi kami matuluyan, paano na? Pag hindi umubra at kinailangan kong bumalik at magtrabaho sa pabrika, ano na ang resulta? Sabihin natin sa ngayon na ako'y ang "settle down with someone" tipong tao, eh ano kung hindi? Siempre pwede rin ang mga itong mangyari, pero sana sana hindi. Kaya sa aking sarili: maghanap na ng trabaho, rumaos na!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-7868596650336430216?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/7868596650336430216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=7868596650336430216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/7868596650336430216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/7868596650336430216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/bago.html' title='Bago'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5650018827882228478</id><published>2008-07-01T15:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T15:15:48.249-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Sick day</title><content type='html'>Incidentally, maybe low feelings can bring one's health down, but I got really congested and runny nose last night, and so I slept with (alcohol-soaked) socks and a sweater. This morning I woke up with a heavy head (like a bowling ball!) and tight chest, slightly feverish. Everything hurts and I feel so tired. I am moving in slow motion, I swear. Tomorrow's interview 2 for a PR job I'm applying for, so I dunno how that'll go. It's outside of the loop, so I might seriously ask someone for a ride and pay them back with a good dinner, or something. And I teach afterwards in the evening (it's a whole day affair), so ack. I heard shady stuff about it, so we'll see if there'll even be interview 3. Gotta check bus sked, as well! Drinking a fortified herbal beverage now to strengthen my immune system and rev up my energy. I hope it works. Someone also mentioned epsom salts to maybe align my thyroid, salt, magnesium issues as I've been craving salt and electrolytes like anything. The fat and sugar and protein, maybe a side-effect, but hopefully it'll get fixed. Maybe I should do yoga, as well, after I teach, to push myself: I feel like doing that today. Get my mind focused. Or take a nap, that sounds good, too. Or both. Heck, why not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5650018827882228478?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5650018827882228478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5650018827882228478' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5650018827882228478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5650018827882228478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/sick-day.html' title='Sick day'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-5920299171311722142</id><published>2008-07-01T02:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T02:46:37.333-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><title type='text'>I (kinda) figured it out</title><content type='html'>I shouldn't open my heart too much, but guard it. Maybe I like him too fast, too much. I don't know why, and he seems to like me, too, but I don't want to be devastated again. It's painful, and crushing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laundry. Feeling congested. Hopefully tomorrow (or later) is better. I teach the noon and 4:30: those are usually good energy classes. Then take 6:30? Maybe, maybe. Hopefully eating should be scaling down, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yeah, gotta protect my heart. Never be too vulnerable. And do I need to talk to him later? Maybe I should hold out. It hurts too much to be so open. As much as it is beautiful and exhilarating, it hurts. I don't like getting hurt. Then again, there is that common sentiment that love is a roller coaster ride: full of highs and lows, thus it can't be love without these extremes. I dunno. I can be passionate, but it can be too intense, I guess: the lows too low. Maybe I should step away from this first, see if he misses me, see if he feels similarly, at least. 'Coz it'll hurt even more if he doesn't, and that, that I might not bear as easily, bounce back from as unscathed. I love him so much it's scary. Now to step back, and see his side, maybe. Burrow myself in work, in yoga, in reading, whatever else maybe. Maybe? Again, I dunno. Oh God the ache. Oh God the drama? Maybe I wanted it: maybe I told the universe I wanted something different for a change, but still good. But now, enough, make it good times again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should turn in soon. A good thing about being sad is I usually have much less desire to eat. That and not do anything else, though, so oh well. I have stuff to think about. Scratch that. I need sleep. Yes. And yoga.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Job interview #2. It's a ways out, past the loop, so hopefully they'll give me a good offer. I need all the luck and prayers, so storm heaven, please--regarding Jess, regarding employment. Incidentally, I got told off by my boss, that I should study to get better, that mistakes should no longer happen, yadayada. I resent that, but he is right, I just wish he said it better. But it is what it is. We shall see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-5920299171311722142?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/5920299171311722142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=5920299171311722142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5920299171311722142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/5920299171311722142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-kinda-figured-it-out.html' title='I (kinda) figured it out'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-583492122247268018</id><published>2008-07-01T00:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T00:42:32.269-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Eff it.</title><content type='html'>I am as miserable as a bird who got left behind for the winter migration. Or something. Moping like mad. All this over a missed phone call. I wanted to tell my boyfriend about my day so bad, but my Mom called ahead by about a minute and I very well couldn't hang up. So I called the minute I hung up, but got voice mail. No call back. I get desperate and miserable and a feeling of "d'oh!" permeates my being. Damn tear ducts decide to start working overtime this instant. What. the. hell. Anyway. How can it hurt so easily, so deeply, so quickly? Damn it all, I am not used to this. I don't like this: feeling too useless to do anything, not even enough to go out and get a drink. I feel like an effin' zombie. Why is it like this? I don't like being this vulnerable. I feel like I was at fault, but that doesn't seem right: it's not like I deliberately missed his call: I was speaking to my MOM. So I feel like taking a step back and not answering calls or any form of communication from him half to punish him (in a skewed way for not calling back--female logic), but also because I don't like getting this involved, this deep into and vulnerable to someone. At the same time I miss him so much it hurts. Fuck it. I hate this. Why, why, WHY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn leaky ducts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-583492122247268018?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/583492122247268018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=583492122247268018' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/583492122247268018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/583492122247268018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/07/eff-it.html' title='Eff it.'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-8149705282461761152</id><published>2008-06-18T17:17:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T17:20:54.835-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>To the Universe</title><content type='html'>I am putting it out there. Yes, I am in a relationship--a real, honest-to-goodness one, after all this time. Seemingly on equal footing. And he treats me right. He has professed to the four-letter word, and I must confess the emotion is strong in me, as well. We shall see how it goes. It goes without saying I am hoping for the best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a new apartment that is slowly but surely taking shape. I am liking the freedom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes, I must tell my parents, soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is Step One.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-8149705282461761152?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/8149705282461761152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=8149705282461761152' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/8149705282461761152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/8149705282461761152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/06/to-universe.html' title='To the Universe'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-2687821603622057738</id><published>2008-05-16T11:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T11:57:50.447-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Random Thoughts</title><content type='html'>Dinner with my family. Tweena included. Ooh, did full camel for her and Cleod. Excerpts from the conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleod: "ooh, you look like hakaw (steamed shrimp dumpling)!...Ok, I guess it'll be a bad idea for me to take your class...Of course, it probably does not help that you are wearing that shiny, white top...like wrapper...yum"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katrine: "Your students must love you; you're so hyper, like a happy tree friend! [then me reminding her I get all moody] OK, an emo happy tree friend!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*on us discussing chat-lingo:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleod: "Seriously, if you type LOL in World of Warcraft, your character laughs! Aside from dancing...&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Awesome! And then make it do the dance! Yeah yeah yeah!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "OK, so there's LOL for laugh out loud, FTW for the win, ROFL for roll on the floor laughing, LMAO for laugh my ass off...and HAH for hah!" [cue me laughing hysterically and Trina just O_o]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*on karaoke:&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Trine, look, there's a song, called CHARING!" (I kid you not)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[me doing the ing-ing-ing sound a la pick axe murderer just because]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cleod: "OK, awhile ago you sounded like a chicken on acid; now that was a version of Psycho done real badly..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Katrina and I were balancing pens on our upper lips. It took a while because we were laughing so hard at each other's appearances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I love it when we all hang out. Awesome, awesome, we make the weirdest jokes, and laugh like loons while people all around look at us askance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called Trine up today and she tells me that if Jess knew how crazy I really was then it would be BDSM and I'm like whut? And I wiki it 'coz Wikipedia is awesome and I'm like holy cow. Um. Yes, my 18-year old cousin is telling me what to do in *that* department. She and I both agree I will always be a little girl this way. I have found my confidante..at least for now: my best cousin who is my numbah one fan...when she's online, hehe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I make weird sounds, especially with my dogs. And I love how big my dogs are (Labrador Retrievers) because I can totally monkey around with them. They LOVE me, just because, and knowing that, I am totally comfy with them,  not afraid to do whatever with them. Sometimes, I wish life were this easy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;When do you get to know a person? Sometimes I wish it were faster, but then I guess that wouldn't be fun, right? And not as worthwhile?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;****&lt;br /&gt;Met with a friend, who told me I look the same: still look pretty good, and my eyes...are awesome. It was good to see him, but he also said something in me has..hardened, and again I say it: I have grown away from this world, this place. As much as I still have issues sometimes feeling special and worthy enough, I have grown...stronger, tougher, more independent. So Lord help me make it work in Houston.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-2687821603622057738?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/2687821603622057738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=2687821603622057738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2687821603622057738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/2687821603622057738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/05/random-thoughts.html' title='Random Thoughts'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-8417931635910063294</id><published>2008-05-14T05:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-14T05:09:09.855-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><title type='text'>Plan Z</title><content type='html'>Let's start over, shall we? I want to think it's possible, and it IS, to start anew, a clean slate, the past erased. Let's try it, once more. And if fear erupts, so be it, if rejection arrives, it is not my fault, nor someone else's, but perhaps a past fear, a personal hell. It all must boil down to truth and love, and ah yes forgiveness. To forgive myself and forgive others. I'm not bad, nor are you. It was my reaction, your reaction to a situation. Nor will I be bad in future, or if I think I am, to step back, and say it's ok. It's going to be ok. The future is the future; what is here now is the present: live it, love it, enjoy it. The future is just, if not more, impulsive than her sister Present. She can thus be dealt with later.&lt;br /&gt;What about love? Love is masked by the stronger Fear. The what ifs, the maybes and maybe NOTs, rejection, NO. But then so what? I must know and constantly tell myself it's not my fault, nor is it theirs. It's maybe the wrong person, the wrong time, or perhaps again personal hell. What if I want to say the L-word, LOVE, but then FEAR comes in to block it? Banish fear. If love is rejected, so be it; love must never come from someone or something else but from WITHIN. So yes SAY IT.&lt;br /&gt;What about truth? Truth must be the basis, along with love. Because when the truth hurts, love is there to take the sting away, and say it's going to be ok.&lt;br /&gt;So a clean slate is in order. And whatever happens, happens: it's going to be OK. Just don't give up. No saying uncle. The fat lady isn't even up yet. It ain't over 'til you (I) say it is. And then what? Always, always start fresh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-8417931635910063294?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/8417931635910063294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=8417931635910063294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/8417931635910063294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/8417931635910063294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/05/plan-z.html' title='Plan Z'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-6797321982745955685</id><published>2008-05-13T22:45:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T23:05:08.617-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='quotes'/><title type='text'>He is the Cheese to my Macaroni</title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; As far as boyfriends go, Paulie Bleeker is totally boss. He is the cheese to my macaroni. And, I know that people are supposed to fall in love before they reproduce, but... I guess normalcy isn't really our style. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rollo:&lt;/b&gt; So what's the prognosis, Fertile Myrtle? Minus or plus?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; I don't know. It's not seasoned yet. [...]There it is. The little pink plus sign is so unholy.&lt;br /&gt;[shakes pregnancy tester]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rollo:&lt;/b&gt; That ain't no Etch-A-Sketch. This is one doodle that can't be un-did, Homeskillet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Punk Receptionist:&lt;/b&gt; Would you like a free condom? They're boysenberry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; No, thanks. I'm off sex right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Punk Receptionist:&lt;/b&gt; My boyfriend wears them every time we have intercourse, it makes his junk smell like pie. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Leah:&lt;/b&gt; I wish my funbags would get bigger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; Trust me, you don't. I actually have to wear a bra now and I have to rub this nasty cocoa butter stuff all over myself or my skin could get stretched too far and explode.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Leah:&lt;/b&gt; Hot! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; [...]I just need to know if it's possible for two people to stay happy together forever, or at least for a few years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Mac MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; It's not easy, that's for sure. Now, I may not have the best track record in the world, but I have been with your stepmother for 10 years now and I'm proud to say that we're very happy. In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; And Bleeker is actually great... in chair. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Paulie Bleeker:&lt;/b&gt; Like I'd marry you! You'd be the meanest wife ever, okay? And I know that you weren't bored that day because there was a lot of stuff on TV, and then 'The Blair Witch Project' was coming on Starz and you were like 'I haven't seen this since it came out and if so we should watch it' and 'but oh, no, we should just make out instead la la la'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Juno MacGuff:&lt;/b&gt; Uhhh, I hate it when adults use the term "sexually active." What does it even mean? Am I gonna like deactivate some day or is it a permanent state of being?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-6797321982745955685?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='related' href='http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0467406/quotes' title='He is the Cheese to my Macaroni'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/6797321982745955685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=6797321982745955685' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/6797321982745955685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/6797321982745955685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/05/he-is-cheese-to-my-macaroni.html' title='He is the Cheese to my Macaroni'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4198574322805960330</id><published>2008-05-12T03:08:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-12T06:51:37.774-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><title type='text'>Spazzing Up A Storm</title><content type='html'>Been having weird, weird dreams lately. What more the ones I can't remember? And holy crap, they felt so real, too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) I dreamt I lost a pillow. &lt;i&gt;The&lt;/i&gt; pillow. I left it someplace and was careless. And I needed that pillow. And had no way of getting it back for some reason. Holy crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) I was in Shangri-La Mall with my parents, the top floor, and for some reason we were seated, when who do I see coming but Jem. In bermuda-like khaki shorts and a striped shirt. Bounding up to me, then hugging me, and my parents cool with it. Wow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) this guy in the studio who comes up with scissors and says what a great job the desk person (he meant Mauri, for some reason in my dream) was doing, and then how he wanted to personally thank her. But she wasn't there, then he had this crazy gleam in his eyes, and I went under the table to avoid him?! then him coming to me regardless with said scissors to cut something--maybe some hair--from me. Creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah. Not only that but Dad says I gained weight, like MASSIVE amounts. I checked the scale and it's the same. So wtf? It's depressing and discouraging to hear day in and day out, to say the least. So my bra size went up one notch. Maybe my shoulders got a bit bigger carrying groceries. Heck if I know! And yes, I went low-carb. But others have been telling me how much better I look. Well now my Dad has cast the shadow of doubt upon that. Crap now I feel huge. :( I know I should do more cardio, but...! Give me time. I'm trying. And he says I eat too much. Well, maybe compared to a 49-year old diabetic, and to someone whose food is always cooked for him, and prepared to his liking, whenever he wants it. Well maybe YEAH. And when I would hardly eat when I was in high school just because, he told me I was too thin, if I had a problem, that I was weird and needed to eat normal. Oh-KAY. I do want to lose weight, don't get me wrong, but dude, don't be so discouraging and rub it in my face at the same time. And I will eat when I want to, and what I want, especially 'coz I'm, I don't know, on VACATION???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to Donsol this weekend. I am so excited. I've always wanted to see the whale sharks,  but I never really thought I would go and &lt;i&gt;do&lt;/i&gt; it, yet here I am. I also never thought I'd learn how to surf, then I found myself asking my cousin to bring me along for a lesson. And I did. I *almost* stood up: I just need to center myself, is all. I want to do it again. Dang. These are things I seriously thought I'd never do. Next, who knows: maybe ask Jess about skiing, something I never thought I'd want to try again, but maybe never say never. It seems the curious and fearless part of my spirit is slowly awakening. For my lolo's 40th death-day, I was asked to sing--then speak about him after. And I did. The singing was a bit wobbly, but the speaking part went smoothly, even pretty well, if I may say so. And I never would have done it if I haven't been speaking in front of sometimes 70+ people for 90 minutes for what, 8 months now. So maybe because of the yoga? I guess Bikram yoga &lt;i&gt;is&lt;/i&gt; truly miraculous, and works on  what needs to be worked on. And so it is. Of course, it does help to have had some measure of independence, as well as fine people backing me up along the way. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally got Neverwinter Nights 2 to work--on my dad's computer, oh well. Heh. That's fine. It takes time and effort to play a game; I've forgotten how much. Wow. Best to catch up on reading, and hopefully this weekend, deepen my tan ;) Oh and haircut tomorrow: we'll see how that goes. Then to teach Wednesday: I should only hope for the best. Now to eat, nap or read? That is the question.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4198574322805960330?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4198574322805960330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4198574322805960330' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4198574322805960330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4198574322805960330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/05/spazzing-up-storm.html' title='Spazzing Up A Storm'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24240267.post-4284975121349022348</id><published>2008-04-28T00:28:00.016-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T02:32:34.595-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='choices'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='contemplations'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='teaching'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='consumerism'/><title type='text'>Dreams for Plans</title><content type='html'>A friend told me to think about stuff long term, including partner, job, etc. So far, I've smoothed things out with said partner, who is ever so awesome and understanding and downright sweet, even in the middle of me PMS'ing and bitching and being a mass of insecurity. As for my job, I love it, but have been beginning to lose steam from the long demanding hours and little pay. Like what a colleague/friend said, it's just a job and not a career; the same thing applies to mine. I am seriously thinking of, once learning how to drive and moving out, of applying for internships in Houston, either in PR or Publishing. 'Coz I like to write, and have a degree in Communications, and a minor in Literature. Plus a 9-5 job will have benefits (moreso) and will most definitely pay more. And being a yoga teacher just ain't cutting it at the end of the month. Man I hate scrimping from day to day now, especially when something had struck my fancy and I have to worry til the next paycheck, and sometimes even after that. And I want to live here and succeed, not move back "home." Besides, I have no intention of running a studio: I want to just continue teaching, so for now that will have to mean part time teaching, and another job in the meantime: a better paying one. The only challenge I see right now is I have a non-US degree; hopefully I can hurdle this with an internship. And maybe a crash course in Web Design? Plans, plans. Hopefully I can do this by the end of the year. My aunt said, though, that the hardest job is the first, and even if I don't know how to drive yet to look, NOW, no more procrastinating, even if I have to take a cab to work, and even if the first job is not what I *want*-want. Yikes, but I guess if that's what it takes...? Ok, now to get my suits and nice blouses and shoes from Manila...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing still going for me, I guess, is that I'm only 23 (almost 24) and am still relatively young. Won't be forever, though, so gotta get moving. I remember what my boss told me to think about back when I first got here and was freaking out and being all scared: Where do I see myself 3 years from now? I don't know: teaching yoga full-time was it, but now is not so, anymore. Living in the US, though, is still the desire. So gotta make it work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aside from Bikram yoga, I'm also starting to like climbing. And hiking. Crap I want to do them again. And I want to get gear. Double, triple crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And advanced yoga classes, now that I was taught full camel and pigeon. I need to do that at least once. And finally ease my mind about taking class before teaching; gotta learn if I want to have a regular practice. Then maybe I can also get out of this munchy funk and lose weight again. Dammit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/24240267-4284975121349022348?l=themedusachild.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/feeds/4284975121349022348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=24240267&amp;postID=4284975121349022348' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4284975121349022348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/24240267/posts/default/4284975121349022348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://themedusachild.blogspot.com/2008/04/dreams-for-plans.html' title='Dreams for Plans'/><author><name>Therese S.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05697576305779593275</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='08727742390064666100'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>