I ran out of space in my head...the net seemed vast enough so I decided to lump it all here.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Life...or something like it...

I spent most of the afternoon talking to a friend of mine over the phone. We hadn't talked to each other for quite awhile, so we hada lot of catching up to do.

Even though i'd known about it for quite some time, I was still weirded out when the subject of his aborted suicide came up.

He's going ballistic right now because he's turning 30. I don't think he counted on going nuts but here it is, the mad rush to review your life and complete all things before you turn 30.

Anyway, the attempt happened when he was around 22 or 23, somewhere near my age. He took a bunch of sleeping pills and managed to knock himself out. Seriously.

It's very hard to achieve a graceful death through barbituarates, you have to get it quite right. Either you take too little, in which case not only will you not die, but you will be awake when you puke it all out and hope your brain comes with it because it fucking hurts. Take too much and you are going to cramp up and seize--all while still conscious.

Like most of the things he does, he got the number right and chased all down with a couple of rounds of vodka.

I don't know who found him, but he got retribution when his stomach was being pumped. Not a pretty sight.

Although I know he's not perfect, it's still hard to reconcile him with the idea of an unbalanced young man.

If there is one thing that I learned from him, it was to regret nothing.

You are young, you have your life ahead of you. You have nothing but oppurtunities, you just have to open your eyes and grab them.

Tons of things have happened to my life since then, but I've come to regret nothing. The good and the bad, they are all a part of who I am.

Talking to him today reminded me of my own trip to the edge.

I know two or three people who have gone to the same place. Still go to the same place. I am proud of them for still coming back, for being able to come back.

Having that kind of experience just binds you together. Whether that person is intimate to the details, or is only vaguely aware of them, they just know and completely understand.

Not a lot of people understand what it's like to recover from clinical depression, or even depression. It's a balance, like everything else.

The myth of "i'm finally happy!" dies on your first sad day during your recovery.

Nothing scares you more than a sad day. It's almost like having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, only this time, the trigger is loneliness. Isolation. Desolation. Sadness.

When you start feeling "sad" again, you wonder whether this is a relapse, or just your round of the mill, ordinary sad day.

What could be so bad that someone would think killing themselves is the only solution?

There's no definite answer. But no one understands more than a person who's been there.

Nowadays, when I someome suicidal talks to me (and I get at least one every half year) I tell them this: "When you feel sad, call a friend. Immediately. Tell them. If it's not someone you can trust, then just...talk."

I usually end up forking my number too. Some call, some don't. But no one has, so far, gone over.

That's a big achievement in my book.

Saturday, July 24, 2004

Body Language

My friend Luis always assumes that I am a great judge of character because I used to want to be a behavioral profiler.

I often wonder about that.

If you are an excellent judge of character, or are trained to be an excellent judge of character...what are your friends like?

It's like that cliche that psychologists/psych majors always get: can you tell me what i'm thinking?

No rats ass, I can't. But I can tell you right now what the fuck i'm thinking...

Anyway, it brough back the old memories of "the best friend". I haven't thought of her in a long while, enough that I can't remember her phone number and my mom now forgets her name ("that...whatchamaccalit, whatserface...ah, blah!")

Truth be told, it was going to happen sometime soon. As soon as we graduated college and she turned into this overborn catholic, something inside me knew that things were going to go down.

That was, I think, one of my biggest disappointments. And not just because I lost a friend, but because I thought i'd made an awful error in judgement.

I never really counted for change, and let's face it, I slipped.

The signs were there. Even my own mother pointed out that she would gladly cart out my soul to the highest bidder just to save her parents.

One point: we're not ingrates. We respect our parents, we love our parents, we just don't sell our friends reputations to our parents.

They're our friends. And at some point in your life, your life and your parents life take parallel roles, where you live them side by side but no longer in the same line. I think the pop magazines call it "the teenage years".

I never once said a bad word about my friend to my parents. And this isn't because I don't love my parents or I'm not as close to them as she is, but i'm just loyal to my friends.

In the same way that my other friends have complained about minor offenses i've done, but have never said anything bad about me to their parents. Or for that point, something bad about her.

Maybe it's some unwritten code that she just wouldn't sign...

I think, after that, we were left dumbfounded by what we just learned.

Why the hell would her parents think that about us when we hardly knew them, WTF was she saying to them...is this how she saw us?

Being close to someone distorts our perceptions, as being close to some things ruins our vision in real life.

Now it's not even sadness for the loss of a friendship, but more of...annoyance on how you can be so stupid. How could you have missed your mark. And damn, weren't you just dumb for that one decision in your life.


Friday, July 23, 2004

TXT TLK

JP and I are having some interesting talks thru text nowadays. I think it's because he has a new phone (very expensive Nokia 6600) but truth be told, we've been getting a lot of communiques these past few weeks.

I think it's because he's trying to drag me out of my grunge habits, taking over for Luis who is actually working for a change in his new office. Mark is silently cheering the two of them on, forming my triumvirate of brothers.

JP is doing a shift and a half for heaven knows how long, so we do most of our talking during his breaks--between 12 to one in the morning, 10 in the morning, before he goes to bed at 2 in the afternoon, and before he goes to work at around 9.

I'm a lazy texter, so it takes awfully long for me to reply. We always promise to meet up sometime for a longer conversation, but we're still figuring out where we can find a convenient place to meet where we can sit down, talk, and at the same time not spend a fortune due to our voracious appetites.

My mom actually told me today to search on the net and check if I was anorexic. I told her that I didn't have a fear of eating, that I didn't have a problem with eating, despite my anxiety on growing fat.

I've been making an effort to eat breakfast again, so today I actually fixed myself a sandwhich and even threw in an apple.

I told Mark once about my mom's worries of me having an eating disorder and he just laughed (I would too if it weren't my mother) He told me that the only thing wrong with my eating habits is that I eat through my pockets yet never gained a pound.

It is true. Last week I texted JP about Kenny Roggers double combo meals for 99 bucks (less than a dollar for you people) promo. He texted back by saying I was probably the only girl he knew who got excited about meals going at half-price.

Oh, well.

Like I said, this year has been an interesting year of changes.

Besides having my three brothers converging to usher me into the world of (gasp!) realism and adulthood, my dog and pal for 11 years died and was replaced by a new frisky rascal, my cousins husband getting really sick, my aunt coming out of and re-entering remission, my decision to take up writing full time...

I'm almost afraid to ask what's next.

But then again, i've had that same question every year (though it's more intense this year) and each time it gets harder, often better, but sometimes it's all just lessons you learn from.

I've never had any regrets. I may not be satisfied with the person i'm seeing in the mirror, but despite everything that's happened, i've never regretted a decision I've made. Ever.

So maybe the 80's rocker outfit is ok. Now if I can just drag myself out at 0700 tomorrow and jog so I can lose the gut and finally get a navel ring...

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Desperation

I'm semi-working my ass off in writing the book.

I've been getting up and sleeping earlier than my usual schedule ever since the dog came in. Even though he no longer stays in my room, i've picked up his cycle, albeit an hour later on both habits.

I've torqued up my storyline by doing a character analysis and--finally--giving myself a one minute pitch. I suppose this is me gearing up to send a peice of my work to the editors.

I'm running incredibly low on finances, but I still refuse to give things up.

I don't know why. Maybe because I've wanted this, that writing is the only concrete thing I have in my life right now. Everything else is a question, one that I am fond of asking but cannot wait to answer.

The book is helping me deal with things better. It's a work of fiction, but in a way it is a reflection of who I am. Which made things easier for me, since now I respect it even though I still make fun of it for being a "cosmo book".

For someone who is bumfuck lazy, I am a perfectionist. When it comes down to something that matters, I not only make sure that I get it right, but that I do the best I can.

I'm trying to evaluate how I work, since there's no one there to do it for me.

The interesting thing is that my mother always walks in on me when I am on a break and never when I'm actually working. When i'm working, she's usually outside yelling something for me to do.

Overall though, it's going much faster now than it did in the one month that I was in limbo. I think it's because I gave up a few things and decided to just stick to the one that I started.

After writing this one, then I'll consider working at Starbucks as a barrista or something. Or maybe pick up Charisse's offer to go to Davao and work at another frigging call center.

It's partly for research for my script, partly to experience living on my own, and for the most part keeping an eye on that girl before she jets away to CANADA. It may be a bit too late, but as her friend I am making sure that she is flying in that country with at least a part of her head screwed on straight.

It's a six month commitment for both jobs, so I should hopefully be done with it at the end of next year and move on with my life again.

That is, if I don't sell any of the things that I am working on. My due date is late September. If I don't make money at the end of September, i'm screwed.

Anyway, I just reconstructed a shirt of mine.

I made a size 6 kiddie shirt that I was forced to buy at the giftshop during the workshop because my roommate spiller her mineral water over my bag. It's this small yellow thing that has the words DAP emblazoned in large colorful ethnic patterns. The color was great so I cut it up and ended up with a nice rocker t-shirt.

I'd just ransacked my moms closet and found a pair of gold strappy heels, so with the shirt I pulled together a hot little outfit that I will never wear because a) my mother will never let me out of the house because the shirt really bares my navel, b) I still have that nice little gut, c) I have no occasion in which I can wear it and d) it's a retro 80's rocker look. Something that Gulliana Depandi would wear.

I guess this is one side effect of writing the book. I'm fashion forward enough to know that if ever I do ride the 80's comeback wave, it will be in this psuedo-bohemian rocker look that I will have no reason to wear.

Monday, July 19, 2004

The Dog

Blogger has this new interface on that can change fonts and do colors. Kind of like Yahoo when you're using Explorer. I have Mozilla.

Anyway, we have a new dog.

My parents took Bambi's loss really hard. Not that I wasn't sad...My mom felt so bad that she couldn't feel settled without Bambi puttering around. My dad came home one night last week and came looking for the dog before remembered that it was dead.

So last Sunday my dad finally caved in and got the dog that should have been Bambi's playmate: Barkley.

So now I have a three month old oversize German Shepard sleeping in my room, spreading fleas.

I haven't slept and probably will not sleep until it takes a shit. It really shouldn't be in the house, but since it's raining and it's a baby-he's 2 1/2 doggie years old, he is not a baby-he's staying in.

Which means I will get up sometime during dawn to let the dog out so that he can shit and take a leak.

Yes, the dog is being spoiled rotten. He's got the expensive dog food, the vitamins, the champion breeding and dental care. Everything that they never gave Bambi is going to this dog. But guess who's elected to brush his teeth?

I wanted to call him Luke (after the beloved LAL #4) but my dad didn't think it was proper for the dog to have a Biblican name, lest we provoke a saint or The Higher Powers. So it ended up being named after another basketball player, albeit indirectly.

His papers still say his name is "Barney", which my mother actually argued for. I told her that Barney was a big purple dinosaaur while my aunt rene said that it was Fred's dumb friend from The Flinstones.

I actually thought they were both equally dumb, though it made me wonder just how two schmos could've landed two hot chicks.

Anyway, as a compromise, we ended up with Barkley, who is now snoring softly by my chair and next to the bed, hopefully not infecting it with fleas.

We had a minor infestation with Bambi, so now the whole house smells like Ariel detergent and Baygon. My rooms floor is a mixture of Baygon waterbase and Frontline Tick and Flea repellant.

The dog is not allowed in my parents room, and even though they are the ones who insist on all this lovely making up, I am the dogs new master.

On all our previous dogs, my dad was the master. Bambi was close to all three of us, but I think she loved my dad the most and so did her dad, Prince.

Though now, for some reason, Barkley is literally attached to me. I can't seem to move without him tripping my legs. I can't wait until he grows--although at 26 inches, he'll probably end up knocking me over.

...

So now I can't really leave the house, because I have "a baby".

Tomorrow, if it doesn't rain, "the baby" will be kicked out of the house and will spend his first night out. He's not going to be a housedog (are you nuts!) so it's better if we break him out of the habit now.

Otherwise I will be tracking shitting time and napping time and peeing time and eating time for the next two months. As it is, i've lost sleep just because I had to push him when he tries to get on the bed several times during the morning.

I think this is God's way of breaking me into the world of "responsibilities".






Thursday, July 15, 2004

Bring Me A Code

can't work my way
my way can't work
can't way my work

Tuesday, July 13, 2004


It's a dog's life.


Here's mud in your eye.

All Dog's Go To Heaven

My dog died yesterday afternoon.

She got sick Sunday night and she died around 4pm the next day. She was around 75 years old. But like all of us in the family, she got the young genes and looks around 40.

She was a really beautiful animal. I've had her since I was 13 or 14, I can't really remember when. I know I tried calling her Scott, since I was obsessed with the name Scott, but since she was a "she" my parents insisted on naming her Bambi.

I kept calling her Scott and they started calling her Bambi. She got a doggie identity crisis after a week and I just...called her Bambi.

She was just...the best.

It seems silly, talking about a dog. But she was really important to us, we really loved her, and she loved us too.

Yesterday, I was in full crisis mode: my mom and I fought, the dog was sick, and I'd never felt so lost in my life.

She was still walking around, and I got up to constantly check on her. My mom went to visit my aunt, and when she came home she immediately went to see the dog before sacking out, drained from her visit.

Mark and JP dropped by to get the cable from my camera--which Mark borrowed--and to do some hand-holding during my crisis. We talked about my goals--or lack thereof--and about having a plan, what the hell was wrong with me, and just my general restlessness.

Bambi always sat next to me when they were around.

When the three of us had just started hanging out, they used to come by my house on the excuse of seeing Bambi. She was such a beautiful dog that their alibi seems wholly believable.

She didn't go to us yesterday, but she got up and lay down where she could keep an eye on us. JP and Mark called out to her and said "Hi", as was tradition, and went to discern my impending breakdown.

As soon as they left, my dad arrived and asked about the dog. It was time for her meds and I told him she was sleeping. My dad thought it was better if we waited but I went to check on her again.

Dead.

I went to see her and she was just...dead.

It wasn't really such a surprise anymore. We had this feeling that she was going to die, just like how I had a feeling that my grandfather was going to die when we raced to hospital.

When I told my mom, she immediately went to the living room and just sat down. My dad was getting some of his things from the car and I just went "she's gone."

I've never seen my dad more expressive. Usually he's so stoic. You can see it in all the Vengua's. When my uncle--their brother died--they were very much like British Armed Guards. They were upset, but they kept much of their reaction.

I just sat down on the sofa while my dad started pacing around, unclear of what to do or feel. My mom called my aunt's help to ask if they could call the handyman because our dog died and we needed help in burying him. It was rather amusing when her voice cracked when she said Bambi's name, but it was...

Well, she was dead.

My mom kept breaking down through the evening. Bambi usually sat next to her when she gardened or stayed outside, wanting her attention or just keeping her company. I don't think she saw a lot of my mom when she was working, so when she retired two years ago she made for lost time by just tagging around her every time she was home.

When the handyman came, my dad helped him dig a grave in my mom's garden. In the middle of her bermuda grass. We didn't want to just get rid of her, and my mom wanted her close by. So my dad and the handyman broke though the packed ground and started digging a grave, while the dog cooled on our backyard, looking like she was just sleeping in her usual hangout beneath the kitchen windows.

he could have just watched, but I think my dad needed to dig just get rid of his frustration. His sadness. She was his dog more than any of us. She was his favorite among all of us.

I think my mom even wanted to have her cremated, but we thought that was a bit overkill (pardon the pun) It really made us feel better that she was just there, quite near us.

Last night, I kept looking out my window and watching the mound of dirt outside.

Every night, Bambi would sit by my window and keep watch. When I transferred rooms, farther down from my parents, she moved with me. Sometimes, before I went to bed at two or three in the morning, i'd take a peek at her. I never called her, but she always woke up and walked to my window, wagging her tail. It's like the two of us saying goodnight.

It was so weird, waking up this morning and knowing she wasn't going to be there. That I didn't have anyone to give the leftover bones from lunch. To see her empty collar.

My mom told me she cried again when she woke up this morning. She said that she'd never cried as hard or felt as bad as when my grandfather died. That's how much she meant to us.

Tonight, as I was locking up, a cat walked past and my first thought of the movement was my dog. Second thought was "Oh dear, Bambi's going to kill that cat." Then I remembered that she was dead and that sort of set me off again.

My mom is the worse. She still breaks down. Today, i've caught her and my dad just walking past the grave and...staring. But it's nothing I can call them on because I've looked out my window several times today to just stare at it too.

So my life changes yet again.

On of my best friends is dead, while i'm trying to sort through this feeling of lost and apathy in my life.

And i'm just starting to miss her.


"Dogwish: Man's wish to sometimes be as carefree as a dog"


What are you looking at?


"And I sleep and I dream and I don't care..."

Monday, July 12, 2004

Freewheeling

Had a fight with the mum
She was nagging me

Dog is sick
She might be dying

Have no money in bank
Going on broke

Can't jumpstart my life
That's even worse

Sunday, July 11, 2004

Sick, Tired, and Hungry

It's done, officialy poor.

As of today, my bank account only holds a little over 500 bucks.

I still have money, but after paying bills and whatever other expenses, I will only have about a hundred dollars to my name.

I'm expecting some cash from my mom and my aunt, but the fact that they're handouts makes it harder for me to receive them. I need it, in order to stay afloat, but after working knowing the value of money earned, the difference between "your money" and "gift money" has never been so big.

Still, money is money and i'm thankful for it. No one really cares where it came from except for me, and stores and creditors don't exactly give a shit about how you feel so long as you pay them.

My friend Karen said that maybe doing freelance was the way to go. If I get that handout, it may just be a sign that I'm still okay not taking up a day job and living off that while I sort things out.

Things such as my career, my own personal goals, and in what general direction do I really want to be heading.

For the past few months, i've been so focused on writing that I really didn't think of much else. It's as if my job literally became my life, so when that slowed down my whole life slowed down too.

Lately i've been going through so many changes, but I've felt none of them because I was so focused on writing.

But now everything is catching up on me forcing me to deal with the ramifications: my aunts sickness, business after her death, my own deadlines from work which I can't seem to meet, getting to know myself again apart from this persona that I would like to achieve, my parents, my other friends, my relatives...

Like a few days ago I went out with my friend Xarra for the first time in months. Days before that, I talked to her on the phone after not having called her for a month and a half. We could barely go without talking to each other for more than a week.

It was all..."Life after the workshop".

After the workshop, I realized just how much work I still needed to do, how much I still needed to grow--as a writer and a person.

That threw me for a loop. I think i've been in limbo mainly because I didn't know how to deal with the changes that were happening, and how to initiate the ones that I should be making.

It doesn't help that my body seems to be joining in the fray. My metabolism is burning on the upside again, which means I am perpetually hungry. And since i'm burning food faster, i'm not really gaining any weight save for the lazy-fat that's collecting in my gut.

I'm more sensitive to the heat. I've started drinking more water. On some days, my body stores up so much energy after a meal that I run around in my room and just...stretch. I can't do much exercise since I am at my aunts most of the time, and being around her just...takes so much of my energy.

But she's in so much pain that if draining a bit of my emotional energy makes her feel better, then i'lll gladly do it and just deal with the exhaustion by literally slumping to bed.

I knew that I was going to adjust to a lot this year, so I'm more or less prepared to face everything. But the funny part is, I feel like there should be more changes, even when I feel like there will be more coming.

I don't know if i'm making much sense. Maybe this is just me settling into my pre-birthday mode. I'm turning 24 this year, and for me that's a big number.

Jeez, maybe I just need confusion in my life.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

SAW

Just saw the trailer to SAW.

I've known about it since last year, but didn't get a chance to see it until now. Rhem gave me the link and I just...watched it.

It was...FUCKED UP.

It's the kind of thing you would see in those first person slasher games, with a little psychological thriller on the side.

I don't know, it's just...I wonder sometimes on just how many ways a criminal can be creative in their ways of killing?

Serial killer pretty much have the same shelf life as a basketball player. They get burned out around their late 30's, slow down during their forties, and it's rare that you get someone over 50. There are only so many ways that you can kill a person.

SAW is just...I don't know why it disturbed me. Maybe because it makes me ask a question that I would have preferred not to ask. Ever. Even hypothetically.

Save yourself or your loved ones?

For some, it's not even a question. The answer has always been there...or is it?

If you were placed in a situation between yourself and your loved ones, just how would you react? A mother would, instinctively, protect her child. As a father would protect his own progeny, to further his bloodline...but how many of us would protect their mate? A virtual stranger in their lives until a neurochemical misfire told you that this person was, suddenly, important to you?

What about a friend?

It made me think about what my mom had asked me, about "my former friend".

What the hell made me think that she would choice friendship over her own mother? What made us think that she would defend us to her parents?

It occurs to me that she would rip my lungs out to save herself, not to save herself, but that it would upset her parents to have her die. That I would be a worthy sacrifice.

We used to play a modified version of Icebreaker.

One day, the question was: Would you sacrifice my life for the fate of a million people?

If an entity had appeared in front of me and said "Would you spare so-and-so, and have a million people die? Or would you save them?"

My first answer was "No. Why this specific person? If you had to chose him out of a million, then he must be important."

It's a warped view of "What if it had been Jesus?" Jesus may have chosen to die for us, but I don't know how He would have looked at it had the question of his sacrifice been posed to me. Not a good idea, offending JC.

But if it had been a tactical maneuver, had it been on a battlefield, my answer may have been different. Could easily be yes.

My former friend said no, she would never sacrifice me. Not for a million people.

I think, we should have asked, "What if the million included your parents?"

I don't need to her hear answer. Don't even need to ask it. And though it's screwed up, I think i'm glad in knowing that she would have pushed me off the boat.

It makes her easier to forget.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Blah, Blah, Blah

Since I have been in limbo, I have done the the following things with my time:

1. Revise cosmo book storyline. Has made resolution to treat book seriously. Will embody the feel of cheese for the next few days.

2. Maintained order in my room. Or some semblance of. Trying to keep clutter to a minimum. It's a 50-50 battle that I am trying to win.

3. Jumpstarting myself to write more. Financial problems not enough motivation. Now searching for other inspirations.

4. Searching for inspiration.

5. Trying to read three books at the same time.

6. Reading up on post-war modern furniture. Have offer to be buyer for antique dealer. Might help with financial problems.



Sunday, July 04, 2004

That thing called WORK

I haven't exactly been "going to work" for the past few weeks.

I have about a half dozen priority emails that I need to write, along with some little notes that say "yes, I am still alive, and how are you by the way?"

I don't know why I haven't the energy to write.

Or rather, the energy to start writing. I've found that once my fingers move and start producing things called letters and then words, something coherent and workable will come out of my drabble.

I wish in some ways that I were Neil Simon and I could just sit down and peck out Award Winning plays in my typewriter.

Of course, I hate typewriters. I tried using one when I was 12 and nearly shredded my hands because my hands kept slipping. The electric brought out the perfectionist in me, since I made a lot of changes and hated the sight of snow paste.

And ever since I worked at EcoGov i've found this compulsive need to never use paper. Or waste paper, thinking of all the trees that I've murdered because of my wont for scribble.

Not that wasting all the energy by using the PC made things better...

The truth is, I am just tired. My brain is tired from thinking five stories at the same time, but can't seem to figure out a way to prioritize. Heck, i'm SICK of thinking about that too.

The best advice that you can take when you're writing is to shroud yourself in the reality of the world you are creating. To learn how to cocoon yourself in your work and emerge a few hours later, ready to take on your real world.

But I guess it's hard to do that when you're thinking of making money, of the people you have to write, of the dozen stories you need to develop but don't know if anyone will buy, and underneath it all is this small question that all writers ask and fear: Am I any good?

Well, I sure hope so.

Friday, July 02, 2004

Flirt Buddies

There must be something in the air.

Flirt Buddies are abounding for me and my friends. Well, maybe for my friends. I'm pretty loyal to my flirt buddy, and hell holy cow, he's pretty loyal to me too.

Had a nice convo with him on what turns us on that got kind of serious, which had to stop because he was at work and we were regular friends besides being Flirt Buddies.

Makes me wonder what it would have been like had he not been one of my great friends.

The funny part is, the same kind of progression seems to be happening to two of my friends. Is it the Level 4 winds brought about by Igme? The month? The year?

For some strange reason, my two "brothers" are buckling down on their relationships.

Mark has finally accepted the inevitable and has resigned himself to marriage with his girlfriend. We still hear him complain but we all know that it's all bull. At this point, it's just three to five years later or when the stick turns pink.

Take a guess on which situation i'm betting will go first?

JP on the other hand has put a cease and desist order on his formerly active libido. He's worried, but the truth is, he is just...thinking a lot more now. Hoping to find a more serious relationship with a girl that he can eventually settle down with. And for the first time, I think he's working on straightening out his life.

Wow.

Maybe this is the year of changes. And not just for me, but for my friends too...Hell, next thing you know, i'll be getting their marriage invitations.

But knowing them, they will probably call me after the girl has said yes and coerce me into helping them pick a barong, shoes, set the menu, invite the guests, think of a souvenirs...etc. etc. etc.