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Aki's Secret Cat Diary

DAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from shredding the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant and cough it up on the carpeting.

DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favourite chair...must try this on their bed (again).

DAY 762 - Slept all day so that I could annoy my captors with sleep depriving, incessant pleas for food at ungodly hours of the night.

DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan...

DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth and the tiny bit of flesh under my claws.

DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer." More importantly I  overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The Bird on the other hand has got to be an informant. He has mastered their frightful tongue (something akin to mole speak) and  speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time..


Moving in

Two weekends ago, The Boyfriend and I moved in together. Officially.

Our new place is a spacious two-bedroom one-bathroom apartment with a brand spankin' new kitchen and a balcony, a far cry from the stuffy three-bedroom house I was renting and sharing with a complete slob for a roomate. My father visited me last year and walked into the dining room to find a muddy tennis shoe resting unceremoniously on top of the dining table next to a plate of stale scrambled eggs. In The Boyfriend's words: "Yeah, man, Asian people don't like that shit." My dad stormed out, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Anyway. The Boyfriend managed to sucker one of his friends into helping him move the couch from his former one-bedroom on the tenth floor to our new place on the twelfth floor. This involved a painful amount of bumps, bruises, and yelps of alarm, punctuated by more than a few swearwords as they struggled and manouvred the four very narrow flights of stairs.  At the end of the day they flopped down on the carpet panting, their tongues hanging out, moaning about how out of shape they were. I felt sorry for them and kindly took it upon myself to purchase a six-pack of ice cold beer, which perked them up significantly. Men are so amusing.

The living room in semi-moved in condition.. Photobucket

The proud Boyfriend in the dining room by the balcony.. Photobucket  

Brand new kitchen with lots of storage space (meaning lots more food for The Boyfriend, aka Bottomless Pit).. Photobucket

Hallway from the living room to the master bedroom.. Photobucket

The living room, which, I strongly suspect, will pretty much remain in the same condition in a year if I weren't moving in with The Boyfriend.. Photobucket

The Master Bedroom.. Photobucket

I love the new place! Finally I have something I can call home..

Now my next project is to furnish. The damned place looks like a freakin' bachelor's pad! I'm about to change that..


This summer has been scorching hot and horribly humid, but nothing compared to the heat in the Philippines, which was where we spent the first week of May. The Boyfriend, who is super white, brushed off my warnings about the climate with a confident chuckle and a "Yes, honey, I'm sure it's not as bad as DC" received an unpleasant surprise as soon as he stepped out the airconditioned airport. The moment he did, beads of sweat the size of bullets started pouring down his forehead. And this was at 10 o'clock at night. I could barely resist a smug "I told you so", but I couldn't do my little victory dance, because my face was so oily you could fry an egg on it.

And of course, one would be crazy not to visit the beach on a trip to the tropics.. Photobucket
This, ladies and gentlemen, is Boracay Island, a paradise with pristine, powdery soft white sand and crystalline water. There is nowhere in the world like it, and a great bonus: it's a mere four-hour drive from my house to the pier, and a twenty-minute ferry ride from the mainland.

It gives me a great excuse to strut around in a bikini (aside from my living room).. Photobucket 


..hammock.. Photobucket 

..and do nothing..Photobucket  

White boy obviously needed work getting a tan.. Photobucket

..and ended up like this.. Photobucket 


  PhotobucketThe The temperature ranged from 91-98 degrees the whole time we were there, which wasn't surprising, considering it was summer. The two weeks flew by in a whirlwind of buffets, family meals, beaches, drunken parties, and meet-and-greet the family, and all in all I had a good time.

I think I'll come back next year. 


Dentist = Torture

      Today, I went to the dentist. The Boyfriend was kind enough to go to work an hour later so he could take me (more to make sure I actually went). Also, his office was conveniently in the same building as the dentist's. I walked in in a plaid short sleeve blazer with a white tube top underneath, low-rise denim jeans, and five-inch-heel Steve Madden platforms. Why, The Boyfriend asked as my ankle twisted precauriously on a steep incline, was I dressed to the nines going to the dentist? I mumbled something incoherent as I steadied myself crossly. The truth was, the only real answer to that is "Only through pain will you have beauty" or the classic shit "Beauty is painful" but I didn't know how a guy who went to work in a hoodie and camouflage shorts whose crotch went down to his knees would respond. Besides, I looked FABULOUS. 
     I knew this visit wasn't going to be fun as soon as I felt the chair recline and the hygienist leaned over my head weilding the choice instrument of torture: a small, stainless steel metal hook. Relentlessly, she bent over me as she poked, prodded and scraped away at my teeth and gums. I felt the sharp, metallic taste of blood fill my mouth as she mercilessly dug away at the deepest, darkest caverns of my mouth. Next she hosed down my gums with water, asked me to swish, then suctioned the bloody water from my oral cavity. For an ENTIRE HOUR she poked, prodded, hosed, rinsed, and suctioned. The whole time I was thinking "I'm gonna kill Karl if I ever get out of this", for he had helpfully remembered to check my work schedule online and book me this appointment. For a brief moment, I wondered if he secretly got a kick out of this or if I had ever done anything I wasn't aware of to hurt him for me to put me through all of this just to teach me a lesson. My jaw was starting to hurt and I was drooling buckets. I was miserable.
     After what seemed like eons, I finally sat up. I opened and closed my mouth, feeling as if a hole had been drilled right throught the back of my head. The dentist walks in, snaps on some gloves and cheerily requests me to open my mouth. Again?! I wanted to yell. Obediently, I opened my already throbbing mandibles as he stuck his fingers in insied and pressed the swollen gums in the back of my mouth.
     "You need to come back in four months for me to pull this out, ok?" he smiled at me, as if Christmas were coming early.
     "Ok." Dammit. 
     As I was checking out, the receptionist scrawled "Nov.17, 2pm" on a sticky and handed it to me with a flourish as a reminder of my appointment. "See you soon," she grinned.
     As I stumbled out the door, I vaguely planned on conveniently forgetting to tell Karl about the follow up appointment. After all, Nov. 17 is our first year anniversary and the day after my birthday. But then again, knowing Karl, he'll probably call them to follow up on me. I didn't care much for that now. I drove away, sore mouth and fabulous heels and all, just glad I survived another trip to the dentist.



Idle hands

 I haven't blogged much since I came back, on account of my switching jobs and trying to move my stuff from my house to Karl's.

The one other thing that I've been busy with, though, is scrapbooking. 

My making a scrapbook of our vacation has kept my hands so busy I haven't reached for a cigarette til noon.

Oh, well. I guess it's true what they say. "Idle hands are the
devil's playground."

My four-day vacation has flown by so quickly. Tomorrow, I'm back to work.

Man vs. Feline

   The feud between my boys (The Boyfriend and Aki, the cat) has escalated into an all out war. 
   After Aki's insistent banging on our door at 6am every morning, he finally succeeded into actually opening the closed door and letting himself in to happily jump into bed with us, chase our feet, and chew on our ears. How he managed this I have no clue; either it was the faulty doorknob that wouldn't close completely or he had miraculously learned thumb opposition overnight. My guess is the former. One morning, The Boyfriend finally threw up his hands in frustration, grabbed a game chair, and wedged it between the floor and the doorknob. Looking quite pleased with himself (at having outsmarted the cat), The Boyfriend earned himself a smug smile and a couple mornings of sleeping in.
    This, however, did not stop Aki from his unrelenting door scratching, having learned that doing this will eventually get The Boyfriend out of bed to let him in. So The Boyfriend resorted to piling heavy objects to completely block access to the door. He spent one morning dragging the huge wall mirror and stacking big plastic bins on top of the other to accomplish this, which worked great and left Aki perplexed. Only now we didn't have access to the door and had to use the walk in closet to enter and exit the room. I vaguely remember waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and clumsily stumbling on his sneakers and banging my shin on a shelf in the darkness. I was not happy.
    Then there were the usual cat things that cats do. Running around for no reason. Swatting the bell attached to his toy. Playing with his food. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched The Boyfriend pull out tufts of his beard whenever the cat scampered by. Or jump up to check the small thud he heard in the kitchen. Watching TV next to him was an agony. Snippets of conversations I overheard between them went like this: "Dammit, you douchebag!" or "I told you a hundred TIMES not to get up there!" From a small crash in the kitchen came "Oh, ASShole! STOP IT STOPITSTOPIT!!!" and from the closet came "OH. YOU. JERK!!!" He stormed into the living room shaking cat hair off his jacket, his hair dishevelled, glasses askew, and a mad glint in his eye.  The cat looked at him and promptly started licking himself.
     We also discovered that Aki has a penchant for beer and cigarettes. He would greedily lick the lid of The Boyfriend's beer can when he wasn't looking, and chomp away on cigarette butts in the ashtray. The first time this happened he grabbed the overturned ashtray, and shook it at the cat. "You.. you.." he sputtered. His ears were beet red and any minute now, he was going to pull his hair out. He started hyperventilating so I touched his arm and gently said, "Who's evolved?" He scowled at me, and I asked again, "Who's evolved?" until he sighed and dutifully answered, "Me."
     Then he decided to fight back. Armed with water guns and shaking coins in beer cans, he resorted to squirting Aki with water whenever he'd attempt to even get near the keyboard. Aki did not like this. He glared at me and The Boyfriend at first, then later narrowed his eyes craftily at us. After a couple days of getting squirted, he looked at us like we were stupid and proceeded to lick the water off his fur. The next few times I catch The Boyfriend squirting the cat for no reason, he looks up at me guiltily. "It just looks kinda funny," he says. I glared at him and smacked him on the head.
    Then he lined the kitchen sink with empty beer cans with coins in an attempt to scare Aki away from licking the used dishes. Everytime one of the cans toppled over, we'd be alerted by an obnoxiously loud crash and The Boyfriend running into the kitchen and gloating, "Ah, you don't like that, do ya? No, you don't dontcha? Hah! I gotcha! I gotcha now!" And he would walk away, cackling evilly.
     Then a miracle happened. One night I came home and my boys were watching TV. Together. On the couch. I was so happy, I was speechless (very rare for me). I just couldn't stop smiling. My boys were finally getting along (with a litte help from the two motion sensor spray cans The Boyfriend bought in desperation and stationed in front of our bedroom door; they actually worked and now he's stopped barricading the door).  I'd come home the following nights to find my boys playing on the floor or just hanging out in the kitchen. It was such a nice sight. Perhaps they just figured out how to finally live with each other.
     All's well that ends well.

VC Andrews

Love in a time machine

    In a bout of numbing boredom, I picked up a book I swore never to read: Petals in the Wind by V.C. Andrews. Andrews' dramatic, flowery prose surprisingly kept me glued to the pages, despite the fact that I personally cannot stand soap operas and their counterparts. And this series is exactly that: a literary soap opera that pulls you in like a planetoid is inexorably drawn to a black hole. I don't know what it is in women that keeps them permanently doomed to follow daytime soaps religously, abandoning showers, dirty dishes in the sink, and even the urge to pee. Men supposedly scratch their heads over this mystery and shrug it off as part of feminine angst. Nonetheless, if it's a hormone, I'm missing it.
    Then I am unpleasantly reminded of Whatsisface, who broke up with me over an email. Four and a half years down the drain. I wish I were at least angry, because anger would shield me from that all consuming emotion called hurt, but I can't even summon enough animosity to create that other shield: blame. I pushed him away, unnecessarily, to avoid feeling guilty about being happy without him around, and then I feel like a big, plastic/paper bag: empty inside. Will feigning drunkenness and unexplainable sorrow on the webcam bring him back? NO. Will calling him up in the middle of the night and howling in tears and misery? NO. Will going down on my hands and knees and begging (anything short of grovelling - waitaminit, that is grovelling)? NO. Will turning back time and doing it all over again? YES. But since H.G. Wells' Time Machine is purely fiction, travelling back into time is out of the question.

Elementary school legends

Elementary school was fun. My childhood was typical, and I had my share of urban legends that resulted from grownups trying to scare me into doing or not doing something. Now that I think about it, if these stories were made up by adults, then their imaginations were even sicker than most kids. Filipino people have twisted minds, what can I say.

1. Do not eat watermelons or guavas with their seeds. If you swallow them, the seeds will germinate in your stomach and after a few days, branches with leaves will come sprouting out of you nose and ears.

2. Be sure to spit out chewing gum. Never, ever, swallow it. If you do, the gum will stick to your intestines and stay there, where all the food you eat will pass it and eventually get stuck. The mass will grow bigger and bigger, until your stomach explodes.

3. The area behind the chapel at the back of the school is a graveyard. If you are there alone or after dark, a headless priest beheaded by the Japanese soldiers during World War II will appear. It might ask you for its missing head.

4. The utility area in the far side of the school is near the backyard/cemetery. The dark, locked rooms with dusty doors were either loony bins of demented nuns, or closets teeming with headless corpses and dismembered bodies.

5. If you see a person with no philtrum (that groove under your nose, above your lip), that person is an aswang (flesh eating witch/monster), who are known to have an appetite for newborn babies and children. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Text message breakup

I luuurve Kelly.

I haven't had someone text message breakup with me yet, thank God. Although I do remember getting pissed off at this one particular douchebag which resulted with my drink in his face and a $250 check for him to pay.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Ocean dreams

Last time I saw the beach, I was living in the Philippines.                                                             

Boracay is an island an hour away from my college and four hours away from my house. For some reason, I woke up this morning with images of its white sandy beaches, turquoise crystalline water, and lazy sunny days. 

And my sister sent me photos of her and her friends on vacation, much like I used to do in college.


I'm a beach girl. I need to be next to the ocean, or some sort of body of water (that excludes the Potomac). I don't care much for the mountains, but I feel the sea calling out to me. I miss the feel of the sand beneath my toes and the sun on my bare back.


Obviously, I need a vacation.

Unfortunately, the much anticipated vacation The Boyfriend and I were planning might have to take a backseat til Christmas due to scheduling work problems. I'm so bummed. 

But I'm still crossing my fingers. Maybe. Just maybe.