Speaking of you never know, that is an important thing that I learned out of this disease. You really should not feel like an entitled prick and go about today without a care and make a mess of things, thinking that you can put them all right in the future. Do not put your hopes on tomorrow too much because you never know what happens then. It is hell important to be present.

I cannot tell you how many times I have looked at My Man on that sick bed, looking at him all blanched and peppered with rashes, and in my mind thinking this was the same guy who a few days ago sat on the dinner table with the entire family and ate plate after plate of what Mother Goose has cooked. This was the same guy who joked around with my sisters over some crazy pick up line on Twitter. This was the same guy whom I watched leave after dinner and drive home.

He was so lively, spirited, and happy and now he is ridden on a bed looking every bit like a peeled banana oxidizing against the air and bleeding through his gut. If you put one and one together, it is very hard to think he was the same guy from a few days ago… So you just never know, you know? Thank God it’s over.

All I am trying to say here is simple. Do not take anything for granted. Enjoy the simple things in life. Make the most of everyday and always pray – not for everything to be okay, but to have the strength to hold on and loved ones to hold onto, in case they don’t. I know you’ve heard of this before, but believe me, the last thing you want is for dengue to settle in before these things burn within you and leave a mark, so you just go for it and start doing what matters. So much can go wrong but WTF, ’tis just all the more reason to do things right.

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PS Anyone out there having troubles commenting on blogspot domains? I’ve been trying to comment on my blog friends on blogspot but the captcha seems broken. If you’re on blogspot, I’ve been visiting you but the word verification is a bitch. Has anyone reported this to your provider?

I’ve been in the hospital for a week.

This is the short answer to where the hell have I been all this time and the long answer is that My Man suffered from dengue hemorrhagic fever and was hospitalized last Thursday. It felt like moving to a totally rad condo only that My Man was tied to an IV stand, looking like an aged banana. He is still in the hospital actually but he is all better and set to be discharged tomorrow.

What I found from this experience is that there is not much literature that helps when it comes to dengue. If you look it up online all you would see is a stress on hydration. I even rummaged in my old college books but there was no detailed discussion of dengue. Bummer.

So I decided to share a few tips and tricks on how dengue is a bitch and some points on patient care, cure, and management. Not to prepare you for a dengue attack actually, because really I would not wish it on anyone, but it just pays to know, you know?

First of, dengue is a virus, meaning no amount of antibiotic can cure it, in fact, there is no exact cure for the dengue virus. To understand dengue, compare it with the common flu. If you are unlucky, it finds you, makes you sick, but it leaves on its own. The medications are not exactly to treat the virus but the symptoms, get it?

Now the uncool part is the huge stigma attached to dengue. It is very scary for the most part because it is as if everyone with dengue dies. Well, you can die with dengue but it is not really necessary. The trick is early detection. If you are experiencing two or three days of high grade fever without signs of infection, have a go at the  hospital and get tested for dengue. There is a rapid dengue test now that can tell whether you are positive.

You do not have to wait for the blanching and petechiae or rashes to appear on your skin before you decide to go to the hospital and get tested. That is the late stage of  dengue already and you have lost a mighty number of platelets by then for sure if you do not bother to do anything about it quickly.

Speaking of platelets, this is the blood component that is destroyed by dengue. The low number of platelets is the reason why some dengue patients bleed spontaneously. It is not fun, I tell you. The bleeding can be internal or external so careful watch for any signs of bleeding is important. However, what you must understand is that in dengue cases, the platelet will really fall no matter what you do because it is the natural course of the disease, but as you build your immunity, the platelet count should naturally go back up again.

Also, not all dengue patients need blood transfusion. If you do not have massive bleeding and your immune system is able to naturally fight the virus, there is no need for blood transfusion. But if you suffered from dengue, you cannot donate your blood anymore. I am saying this because it is true and not to encourage you to lie about suffering from dengue if ever you need to donate blood.

With dengue, there is really not much that you can do but to wait for your platelet to drop and go back up again (normal count is about 350-100), sleep and rest, and get well hydrated and receive good nutrition (you can eat anything except dark colored foods or those that can induce itchiness on the rashes). The idea is to build up immunity as fast as you can. There is no telling how quickly the dengue will resolve. Some finish in three days while others take a week or two.

The information shared here on dengue hemorrhagic fever, patient care, cure, and management are not intended to replace medical advice, but as they say, better to have something on your brain than be an idiot. Ever heard of that one before?

Special thanks to all the doctors and nurses who attended to My Man at the couple of hospitals we went to, to my cousin Dr. Saroca, to Mother Goose and Don Domeng, to my sisters, to Roke and Hobbe, to Madam, to Mommy, to Tita Kite, to Denoy‘s mom, and to everyone who wished and prayed for My Man well. It worked!

It was halfway on the soup when I suddenly realized all the noise around me coming from the afternoon crowd: a family taking the kids out for a snack, friends and classmates recharging after school, and couples holding hands while laughing at their own inside jokes.

I was alone.

As I dug into my single serving of mashed potato, I could almost feel the eyes of these strangers darting towards my table, in their minds questions that their imagination can only answer. I can picture them wondering: Why is she eating alone? Didn’t anyone wanted to join her? Where was her boyfriend? Does she have friends? Is she a bad ass?

There is something about being alone that bothers most people. It is as if it is a negative thing that comes next to buying condoms or panties that makes people uncomfortable. Thus, everything has to be done with a companion, even the mundane like walking, eating, even going to the loo. I looked at the lone chicken wing I was tearing apart like a caveman at the moment… I wonder if it is bothered by the absence of the left wing? Or was it the right?

It is as if being alone sends an invisible message to the world that leaves many iffy… like if they are left alone there is something inside them that would be reluctantly exposed,  and they will be left vulnerable, so they go through all sorts of things to cover it up… and get company. I swear, it is something worse than silence in their books. Curious, isn’t it?

I was pretty full at this point on my table for four, and as I unwrapped the brownie left for dessert, I imagined what I would say if anybody I knew spotted me there gorging on a brownie by myself and asked why I was alone. I smiled to myself and leaned back contentedly. The answer was pretty simple…

“Because I can.”

The book is a series of essays focused on the everyday life and family of an adult homo. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim is such a witty read that if wit could cut, my hands would be terribly bleeding right now. The beginning and end part had so many funny things in them I was chuckling by myself in a few corners around the house. The narration was very light and entertaining and the way Sedaris puts it, it is as if his life is in a parallel universe where even the most mundane has something curious to offer, you’d never run out of interesting stories to tell.

But somehow, following the book felt like a cross between being an actual paparazzi and staying at home in the couch watching a gossip or a reality show. I cannot say I enjoyed that aftertaste now that I think back on it but the wit and humor that Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim have watered down that sensation, fortunately. It was hilarious reading of the possibilities that can only happen inside a crazy man’s head but in the best possible sort. I mean, worrying of a zombie attack, obsessing over the apartment of Anne Frank, and drowning a crippled mouse? You’d have to be paralyzed not to laugh. It sure has its moments, though the middle part can be a drag, highlighted by short bursts of ups and downs (similar to my experience reading Me Talk Pretty One Day, same author).

Reading the odd group of family and friends within the book also gives you an impression similar to what we all do, blogging about our own life, family, and friends. We openly share the hilarity, embarrassment, and glory of it all. I say that is just great.

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On the photo: Drinking tea (on a cup with a protruding nose) and reading books, I’m such an old lady, aren’t I?  Fun fact: I don’t like cracking the spine of my books. If the book reached me new, it will look unread and unopened even when I have devoured its contents already. Crazy.

This book is pretty much a rock star’s memoir – fame, sex, drugs, insanity and all – minus the music. Professional Idiot chronicles the addiction that is the life of Steve-O in a brutally honest but totally charming, really hilarious way.

If you think about it, the story of Steve-O has all the makings of a cheesy and preachy conversion story: from riches to rags to riches again, suffocating in fame, turning to substance and celebrity addiction, and finally snapping out of it. But instead of being mushy, the memoir chronicled everything in a very cool, easy to read way, without implying or remotely rationalizing that what Steve-O did was acceptable. The way the controversy is handled is similar to The Perks of Being a Wallflower, only this is 100 times more entertaining, more grown up, and real.

It is amazing how the book dealt with some of the darkest things in life in a factual but funny manner. Maybe it has got to do with Steve-O being a canon ball, having a blast in the middle of all the lunacy he’s doing, but the tone of the book is always up there even when the facts of what is truly happening are hell.

For sure there are tons out there who think Steve-O is just a “truly messed up son of a bitch, drug-addled, attention seeking whore, harboring on bat shit insane“, and they are probably right, but amidst the story you would also find the other half of Steve-O which is a determined, committed, sweet, smart, and funny guy willing to submit himself to torture just to make other people laugh. He may not have bet his strengths on the right places all the time but they are there.

Professional Idiot is also an eye opener on substance abuse – addiction is a symptom, not the cause – and those quick to judge are not even aware of that. There is something deeper triggering it, and in the case of Steve-O, a family life doomed at the get go. This is also a strong reminder on the importance of sound parenting, and having great friends like Johnny Knoxville and Jeff Tremaine, who loved him enough to care to throw him to the loony bin just to keep him alive.

The end part of the Professional Idiot is awesome. The epiphany is simple, very honest, totally cool, and hopeful. How can you argue with a life goal “to channel my obsessive behavior toward things that won’t hurt me or anyone else: sobriety, veganism, my dogs, my family, being of service to others, and of course, Internet porn“?

Professional Idiot is a kick ass memoir that is a trip to hell and back up. For all it is worth, Steve-O totally makes sobriety rad and with his sex appeal, very hot too.

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On the photo: My copy of the kindle version of Professional Idiot printed out given to me by My Man on my messy desk.

Is that called cinematography? I guess it is and it’s the kind of cinematography that gives you a clue what moving photos are like. I swear, it’s the first time I’ve seen anything as good as this. Well, given I do not watch tons of movies, but the cinematography of Real Steel is kick ass. There are tons of frames that looked like perfect photographs… and it is not just because Hugh Jackman is on it.

At first I was not excited at all to watch Real Steel because the trailer gave me a feeling that it is most likely to be cheesy so I did not have high hopes, but I surprisingly enjoyed it. The CG work on the robots were cool, the story moved quickly, and it was believable. Sure, there were cliches here and there and the ending is predictable but it was really not that bad. I am assuming the Filipino public would enjoy a story like Real Steel, most especially because Atom, the hero robot, was called the People’s Champ in the end, sounds familiar?

All in all, Real Steel is entertaining, it makes you feel good but not in a mushy way, and it has cinematography that can blow you off the roof. It is very, very cool. If you have not watched it, get up and go. I know the trailer leaves much to be desired but Real Steel is rad, you’ll see.

See that cat? Normally he sleeps with his back turned but this time is special because my sister just pushed him over, the same way she does every time she catches him taking a nap after lunch.

The cat must have taken it personally this time because after he landed on his feet on the soil below, he gave my sister this WTF look, the one that all cats have that can only mean, “You’re so going down” [See appendix A]. My sister did not see it because after laughing out loud she turned to wash the dishes. But I saw it alright.

What the cat did next cannot be explained. He turned to the other side of the yard and emphatically popped his anger out, made brownies without a care, his peanut hole totally facing our direction… and he did not cover his thing! HOW DARE YOU!!!

You know one of the best things, I always said, in having cats at home is that they cover their mess, but this time the cat totally left it there, liquid and hot like a mousse in all its sucky glory, as if to say, “Do you think it’s stinky? Then FTW, you can clean it up! I’m a cat, who cares? Maybe I should push you over a cliff sometime!”

I swear it was totally like that. I’m not making it up.

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Appendix A: Sample of WTF (evil) look of cat (model: Chichiri)

Appendix B: The name of the cat who pooped shamelessly and did not cover it is Stroke. You can’t totally see his face on the photos for his protection. Also, we have five cats with the name of Stroke. We can’t figure who’s who so we just call everyone Stroke. Some belong to our neighbors but are ours come feeding time.

Appendix C: Totally unrelated but cute (model: Rocky)

Note to Appendix C: He is not sad and he totally does not need ironing. He is Mother Goose’s Chinese Shar pei, so.

The storytelling of Love The One You’re With is slow until halfway on the book. It is about Ellen, a city rat newlywed who tries to be a decent wife but fails miserably, as she is forced to choose between the old and the new… at a time when there should’ve been no options available.

Many would say the book’s about a woman standing on the crossroads of life, and after acting like a high school girl for so long, finally makes a choice. But really, the timing for that decision is way out there. It is not just about picking a love though. It is also about picking a life.

It spirals down when she gets uprooted from everything familiar and succumbs, and later suffocates, to a life entirely of her husband: the suburbs, his perfect socialite family, snotty, pretentious neighbors and all; and an unexpected meeting with the one who got away… especially because of the unexpected meeting with the one  who got away.

The tone of the book is mostly defensive and it is terribly marked by over analyzing – the kind you get when you are neurotic or lying, or both, about what matters most. It also touches self-fulfillment, passion, chemistry, commitment, disloyalty, family, security, letting go issues and settling.  This is probably one of the most curious things about the book – as you shut it close, the main character makes you feel like she’s settling.

The characters are scratch-off-the-surface built. It can be difficult to relate to them, even when the author goes through the trouble of literally telling you what the characters are like. Their picture is not solid, even for the other couple main characters: Andy, the perfect, golf playing, boy-next-door husband who could have been straight out of GQ, and Leo, the dangerous, deep, passionate, artist who could have designed the GQ cover. Either they are really bland or their personalities are simply watered down by the neurosis of Ellen.

For sure I do not have to tell you how it all ended, the title blew it all off. Love The One You’re With is very desperate housewives . If you are married, maybe you’d appreciate this. If you’re single, there are thousands of other books out there.

Do you see that photo? It’s a gnarly piece of ube (purple yam), looking every bit like a tumor that has multiplied, reeking of death and waiting to take someone’s life. Don Domeng dug it up from the backyard… of our neighbor.

I know our neighbor does not care about their ube, they might not even know they have ube on their backyard, but I can’t help but laugh, imagining their faces as they see this huge hole on their backyard, near our wall.

I picture the neighbor’s young wife, in front of our gate, asking “May nakita po kayong ube [Did you see any purple yam?]?” and we would make horrible poker faces denying it.

Actually, this happened to us before, when a chicken from the other neighbor crossed the wall, into our house, and our dogs chased the chicken out. Soon enough, the head of the son of the other neighbor pops above our wall and asks if we had seen a chicken and we said no, even when their were chicken feathers all across the living room.

Oh man, I swear, Don Domeng is totally rad.

Dear Saverde,

Please don’t make your buttermilk toast taste so heavenly. It’s like the condensed form of everything good in the world, and I can’t help but eat one after the other, and another, and another.

It makes me feel foolish because it seems your buttermilk toast wastes all my backbreaking effort at the gym. I try really hard to resist but at Php 20 per piece, I am but weak and hooked like crazy. Are you sure there is no LSD on your buttermilk toast to cause this madness?

Sometimes it can get difficult, when I want to eat your buttermilk toast but you are far from me, very far, and until My Man drives me to your place over the weekend, I am forced to dream about your buttermilk toast… and it does appear floating in my dreams, like a crusted and golden moon, or maybe a soft, chewy, and aromatic bed, which is edible, because it is in my dreams.

So I hope you understand. I also have to stop now because there is only so much I can do to think about your buttermilk toast and not drool on my laptop, so see ya!

You rock,

PM

P.S.

Please don’t think I am being unfaithful to your beef tapa. I love it equally well but in a different way.

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On the photo: (L-R) naked nachos, beef tapa, latte, cafe mocha, buttermilk toasts (center) all for around Php 250. I don’t know if you can see there is an assault being done to the beef tapa due to the bad BB photo, but in case you do, that is My Man forking his plate.