She’s no lady, by the way
February 9, 2005 | 12:00am
It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, about a year ago.
My dear husband and I were out shopping, and the kids were at home taking a nap. One of the yayas woke up from a deep sleep because of hunger pangs and proceeded to the kitchen.
On her way down, she was surprised to see a barefoot woman going up the stairs with her shoes in her hands.
Both were startled.
"Nandiyan ba si Cecile?" The woman knew my name.
No, said the yaya, but added that I had texted that I was on my way back.
The woman became agitated and said she had dropped her mahjongg game because I had told her to come over.
The yaya said she could wait in the living room, but the woman refused, rushed out into the rain, and jumped into a white SUV.
When we got home, the kids were up and about. The yaya filled me in on their activities and by the way, a woman had come to see me.
Strange, I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the woman didn’t leave a name.
Asked to describe, the yaya said the woman had sort of dyed hair; a blondie she called her.
I thought nothing of it until the yaya said the M-word: mahjongg. Now, I never learned the game and don’t have friends who are into it.
And the shoes.
Many years ago, my tita who also lives in our village told us about a woman who had entered her bedroom one December afternoon while she was taking a nap.
My tita was surprised to see a strange woman at the foot of her bed with shoes in her hands. Questioned, the woman said she was a co-worker of my uncle’s and was sent to survey the homes they were supposed to go caroling in.
The woman then talked her way out of the house and my tita had no clue what happened until the woman was safely out of the house.
A few months ago, a neighbor’s house was also broken into. That neighbor, along with some cops, came over and gave me a picture of the woman known as Pajero Lady whom our yaya positively identified as the "blondie" who had been in our house.
She’s no lady by the way. She enters people’s homes, convinces maids she is a friend of the homeowner’s, and steals whatever.
Had our yaya not woken up, this woman could have entered our room and seen that all we have really are pirated DVDs and this iBook. No jewelry and nothing of value, to most people anyway.
I was in Hong Kong when I received the news that she’s finally behind bars. After terrorizing homeowners for more than 12 years, one hopes that Pajero woman finally stays there.
Veet waxing strips.
Hong Kong was fun! We were able to catch the tail end of the final reduction sales. Everything from 20-90 percent off!
I was not prepared for the weather though. It was 10 degrees cold and I had not brought proper attire. I had to buy an el cheapo jacket from a place that shall remain unnamed and which made me look like a freaking refugee.
When I got home, my Dutch husband stared at me in the light and said I had grown whiskers.
"Darling, I think it’s time you got rid of your manhood," he said.
I remembered a box of Veet I had purchased at Watsons in case I became too lazy to bleach.
I peeled off a wax strip and placed it on my upper lip. After a short prayer, I pulled.
It was amazing. I did have a blotchy red and a yellow rash after the application, but now it’s all gone.
LV, why do you do this to me?!? Ever since Marc Jacobs was appointed creative director of Louis Vuitton in 1997, life has been a constant agony of seeing and desiring sinful, unaffordable handbags.
For me, this includes the Stephen Sprouse and Takashi Murakami collections and the Vivienne Westwood bum bag that never even reached the third world.
When will they ever stop?
Just when you thought you had coveted the most perfect handbag in the world, they come up with another one.
I don’t know what this collection is called, but the new LV bags at the Men’s Fall 2005 collection are simply to die for.
Don’t call him a fashion designer.
"I’m just a fashion miron," says Melvin Mojica, my former assistant who now makes clothes, dabbles in embroidery, and directs fashion shows.
He also does made-to-order jeans in corduroy, cotton twill, and "old-stock denim, if I can find it."
So far, his client list includes local personalities like Gary Valenciano, TJ Manotoc, and Michael Salientes.
Melvin recently launched a line of wearable art at Store For All Seasons on 605 Shaw Boulevard. The collection is made entirely of hand-dyed and deconstructed T-shirts transformed into capelets, cardigans, aprons, and halter tops fastened by twill tape.
"They are intended for layering," said Melvin, whose pieces were appreciated and snapped up by stylist Jenni Epperson and designer Puey Quiñones.
My dear husband and I were out shopping, and the kids were at home taking a nap. One of the yayas woke up from a deep sleep because of hunger pangs and proceeded to the kitchen.
On her way down, she was surprised to see a barefoot woman going up the stairs with her shoes in her hands.
Both were startled.
"Nandiyan ba si Cecile?" The woman knew my name.
No, said the yaya, but added that I had texted that I was on my way back.
The woman became agitated and said she had dropped her mahjongg game because I had told her to come over.
The yaya said she could wait in the living room, but the woman refused, rushed out into the rain, and jumped into a white SUV.
When we got home, the kids were up and about. The yaya filled me in on their activities and by the way, a woman had come to see me.
Strange, I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the woman didn’t leave a name.
Asked to describe, the yaya said the woman had sort of dyed hair; a blondie she called her.
I thought nothing of it until the yaya said the M-word: mahjongg. Now, I never learned the game and don’t have friends who are into it.
And the shoes.
Many years ago, my tita who also lives in our village told us about a woman who had entered her bedroom one December afternoon while she was taking a nap.
My tita was surprised to see a strange woman at the foot of her bed with shoes in her hands. Questioned, the woman said she was a co-worker of my uncle’s and was sent to survey the homes they were supposed to go caroling in.
The woman then talked her way out of the house and my tita had no clue what happened until the woman was safely out of the house.
A few months ago, a neighbor’s house was also broken into. That neighbor, along with some cops, came over and gave me a picture of the woman known as Pajero Lady whom our yaya positively identified as the "blondie" who had been in our house.
She’s no lady by the way. She enters people’s homes, convinces maids she is a friend of the homeowner’s, and steals whatever.
Had our yaya not woken up, this woman could have entered our room and seen that all we have really are pirated DVDs and this iBook. No jewelry and nothing of value, to most people anyway.
I was in Hong Kong when I received the news that she’s finally behind bars. After terrorizing homeowners for more than 12 years, one hopes that Pajero woman finally stays there.
Hong Kong was fun! We were able to catch the tail end of the final reduction sales. Everything from 20-90 percent off!
I was not prepared for the weather though. It was 10 degrees cold and I had not brought proper attire. I had to buy an el cheapo jacket from a place that shall remain unnamed and which made me look like a freaking refugee.
When I got home, my Dutch husband stared at me in the light and said I had grown whiskers.
"Darling, I think it’s time you got rid of your manhood," he said.
I remembered a box of Veet I had purchased at Watsons in case I became too lazy to bleach.
I peeled off a wax strip and placed it on my upper lip. After a short prayer, I pulled.
It was amazing. I did have a blotchy red and a yellow rash after the application, but now it’s all gone.
For me, this includes the Stephen Sprouse and Takashi Murakami collections and the Vivienne Westwood bum bag that never even reached the third world.
When will they ever stop?
Just when you thought you had coveted the most perfect handbag in the world, they come up with another one.
I don’t know what this collection is called, but the new LV bags at the Men’s Fall 2005 collection are simply to die for.
"I’m just a fashion miron," says Melvin Mojica, my former assistant who now makes clothes, dabbles in embroidery, and directs fashion shows.
He also does made-to-order jeans in corduroy, cotton twill, and "old-stock denim, if I can find it."
So far, his client list includes local personalities like Gary Valenciano, TJ Manotoc, and Michael Salientes.
Melvin recently launched a line of wearable art at Store For All Seasons on 605 Shaw Boulevard. The collection is made entirely of hand-dyed and deconstructed T-shirts transformed into capelets, cardigans, aprons, and halter tops fastened by twill tape.
"They are intended for layering," said Melvin, whose pieces were appreciated and snapped up by stylist Jenni Epperson and designer Puey Quiñones.
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