mAmbO cOw

My hair smells like cigarettes, rock and roll, one-meter mosh pits and a drunken pick-up line. And this is after two heavy-duty washings, complete with that vigorous towel-to-hair rubbing one does in front of the electic fan.

Buhok ko pa lang yan.

Am in Paranaque, after braving the Christmas traffic ng Metro. Waaaaaaaah.

And so there I went, across the barren fields of what was once known as the Metro, with metal machines and pop-eyed zombies, carrying all that I owned with me: three bursting bags of clothing, my writing, and my robotic companion, an ancient Laptop.

Narrative, over.

Basta. Nearly collapsed upon arrival at my lola's house, but of course I couldn't do that, with two gigantic families, plus the odd women, on board. I love my family.

Haha, pasipsip.

Little cousin, Chloe, gave me one of those stares of hers and asked, pinched-voice-like, "What's she doing here?"

I had to remind myself that she was a child and that, no matter how gurlahbag (sound of ewwness) I feel about them, certain rights have been awarded to the species.

And so, my response: "It's Christmas, darling." And that's another reason why I've reined in my hyperactive homicidal tendencies.

That said, ilang tulog na lang, Pasko na!!! :p

In the words of my once and future husband, Daniel Radcliffe, "Happy Christmas!" sabay dimpled, dorky smile.