Rosie’s Diner

No, you have not accidentally stumbled upon an online version of Our Daily Bread.  This is my blog and for my two solitary readers (yeah you know who you are!) who actually bother to read my mental meanderings, please do bare with me.

Yeah, I know that when bad things are happening to us and someone tells us this, we want to smash their faces in.  Well, at least I do.  But in some instances I have seriously noted that its so true.  Take what happened to my beloved Baby Pillow.  Had it not been for that nightmare event in my sleeping life, then my Baby Pillow would still smell old and be lumpy and unpresentable to the human species.  It took the maid totally ruining it to make me desperate enough to bring it to the cleaners and voila, now BP looks good as new!  Fluffy, great smelling and actually huggable once again.  I kinda miss the old lumpy 19-years-of-germs Baby Pillow but I think that little stint it went through in the washing machine gave it another 19 years of life. Whew, I can die and Baby Pillow will be okay.  Whew!

Then there was the time I was rushing to meet Ivan at a highly important free oyster event (any event that offers oysters free of charge, to me, is earth shatteringly important) and the traffic along South Super Highway parallel to Don Bosco was gross.  I was darned late (as usual) and really irritated (like always) and a truck smashed off my side mirror completely.  Of course, I screamed bloody murder at the truck driver and hollered for the Police until I realized that my car wasn’t registered! Picture this, me standing in the middle of SSHW, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Tawagin niyo ang pulis, ngayon mismo!" (yeah, complete with my weird accent)  Then realizing after a 2-second beat that my car was not registered and turning to the hapless truck driver with a sheepish smile saying, "Manong, baka pwede nating pag usapan ito?"  Thank goodness the cops who actually came were cops, cops and not traffic cops and they helped me get the information from the truck driver and the name of his boss, etc. without noticing the absence of that 2004 sticker (the 2005 sticker goes on in October).  I was pretty shaken, wondering what in heaven’s name I had done to deserve such a bad break.  But you know what?  Some good, actually a lot of good, came out of that bad experience.  First of all, the owner of the truck turned out to be a really nice, lonely old dude who became my sugar daddy (hahahaha NOT!)…he didn’t become my sugar daddy but he actually entertained Ivan and I in his house, showed us photos of his kids and wife in the U.S., told us his secret to staying happy, gave me P3,000 for new side mirrors PLUS a dozen or so red salted eggs (yum!) from his business.  The next day, I bought not one but TWO brand new side mirrors (cost: P2,200 and before you think I took advantage of Mr. Sugar Daddy, they don’t sell side mirrors singularly in Banawe.  You either buy the pair or you go to a junk shop and look, no you forage, for one) and got a lot of other little things bothering me fixed up in my car with the change.  Now that just goes to show you (and me) that sometimes, bad things really do have to happen so good ones will follow.  My car still needs A LOT of body work but hey, I got two brand new side mirrors, baby!

I had to meet and fall in love with a shitface philanderer like Rene and go through 4 years of crap with him to get my darling Alie. 

I had to be jobless, penniless and sleeping on a folding bed in a nasty relative’s basement to realize that class doesn’t come from how much money you have in the bank or how expensive your clothes are, its inborn and even a zillion pesos can’t buy it. 

I had to meet (and lose to distance) someone very very special to me to get the resolve and strength to find a way to travel abroad.

I could actually stay in front of this computer and list a lot of good things that came out of bad…

Then again, there are some BAD, BAAAAAD things that happen where you cannot imagine any good  coming from it.  Then again, that’s another blog post entirely.

I think Paris Hilton and Nicole, too for that matter, are both walking, excuse the word, pussies.  That is basically all they are!  Now why I would want to watch a show that has two walking pussies doing things normal people do beats the hell out of me.  Why should I watch two pussies on television when I’ve got one of my own?!  Now why the heck don’t these Hollywood producers come up with a show with two walking Penises doing things normal people do?  The only walking Penises show they have on now is, how depressing, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy!