It's my birthday and I plan on not doing anything today. Blogging is not even on today's agenda but I feel a dire need to share this because I have never looked this good.

This app is crazy.

But of course, you know what's really underneath the filter.

Back then, I thought duck faces were the worst thing that could ever happen on the internet, until the dog filters got out of hand. If I ever I saw you on the internet with a cat or puppy ears, you were automatically sorted into Class B Attention Whore category (Class A is for those who show boobies captioned with deep, irrelevant quotes).

There were no exceptions about it. Even my friends were not spared from my silent but brutal judgement (I told you, I can be a jerk sometimes). And sadly, most of the people I judged too quickly are actual attention whores.

But it wasn't until yesterday when I started doing the unimaginable. I hopped in to the bandwagon, downloaded Pitu and voila! Cat ears, boobies, duck face, 12 layers of filter that will deem you unrecognizable, and some random quote from the internet written in Comic Sans? You got yourself a Class S Attention Whore:

What you see...

Geez, I should stop judging people by what they put online because I eventually turn into one of them.

P.S. I'm a year older and no Fs will be given to whatever shit thrown at me today. Also, the internet is full of idiots, attention-whores, and lies. Stay away from it.

...is not what you always get.

"Miss, may bigger size kayo nito?"

"Ilang taon po ang susuot, maam?"

"10."

I lied.

The shirt was for me.


I can't believe that I'd still fit in kiddie sizes. I'm 5'3" with a 34 bust and 25-27 waistline (depends on how many dishes of baba ganoush I've eaten). I wish I have known about this years ago. Kids' clothes nowadays do not necessarily scream "for kids only"- you know, all that glitter and tacky stuff. In fact, some are way cooler than adults'. And the best thing about it? You get it half the price its adult counterpart.

Go ahead and poke fun. Kids' clothes are now welcome in my closet because my lame ass is broke. And the next time you see me browsing through the children's section, don't think it's for my son.

Me right now. (Image via tumblr)

I remember during my freshman year in high school, I saw a batch of seniors who were standing in neat rows under the heat of the sun. They looked cool in their combat boots and fatigue, except, they were more like puppies to me than soldiers. They're pretty good at obeying commands. Sit, roll over, drop and play dead, or whatever the commanding officer tells them to. I watched them every Friday and told myself I've already been potty-trained since 2, I don't need new tricks, and I'm never going to be a trained pup. And the only way to elude the comedy and horror of Preparatory Military Training (PMT) is to be part of a varsity team.

So I did. Football (a.k.a. Soccer) wasn't my first choice of sport. The Volleyball team had already closed their try-outs and Football was the only team that's still recruiting new members. I was not really into football. Heck, I didn't even know how to play. But I'm pretty sure I was good at running. The try-outs were never easy but I made it to the team only to find out a few months later that being a football varsity is far worse than being a cadet.

Ateneo Ladies Football Team, DACS '99.

- First, cadets will only have to endure an hour of formation on Fridays, while we have to practice at least 2 hours every day and have to be at the field 5 am on Saturdays (who would want to wake up early on a Saturday?!).
- Cadets do not have to worry about grades, varsities do. We have to maintain good grades or else we will be out of the team, and by default, all non-varsity seniors will fall under PMT.
- Cadets only have to endure an hour under the 3 o'clock sun. One football game lasts 90 minutes under midday sun.
- I never had a week without a scrape, a bruise, a sprain, or a dislocation.
- And lastly, we were made to follow commands that look more ridiculous than doing a parade rest - attention position fifty times in a row. (I was made to do a crab walk for 30 minutes for being 5 minutes late)

Hashtag that NganoNiEnter.

Here’s a throwback to my 2-toned skin brought about by years of playing football. Haha. Circa 2000.

Well, our football training sessions were hell and our coach back then was the devil. I guess, I was really made for hell because I enjoyed every part of it so much.

I love football. I will always do. It has been more than a decade since I last played in the field and I'm glad that every 4 years since 2002, that futbolista in me is awakened. Well, literally.

Starting tonight, it is going to be a string of sleepless albeit breathtaking nights. This is the time of the year I curse living in this side of the world where live games are televised from 12:00 am to 4:00 am. 2018 FIFA World Cup Russia is about to begin! I'll be rooting for the same teams I've been rooting for since forever (Argentina and Spain). And just like any other sports fan, I'm going to turn into that football expert, sports-analyst wannabe everybody gets so annoyed about.

Sarah, we care about you and the memories you share here. We thought you'd like to look back on this post from 8 years ago.

Damn! I hope Facebook will stop "caring" because On This Day memories usually remind me of the bad decisions I made, people I'm no longer interested dealing with, and the dumb things I hope I never posted.

On the flip side, some memories are indeed worth looking back. This photo for example:

Rhett Cedrych at 1

It brought a smile on my face and a tiny pinch in my heart. Time is fleeting. I could still remember those times when a 2-hour uninterrupted sleep was too much to ask, a 2-minute shower is a luxury, and a 30-second me time is out of the question that I wished to fast-forward time because I came to a point of exhaustion that I didn't even know existed.

Frankly and honestly, motherhood is not all that pretty. Those who say otherwise are not human. So stop sugarcoating motherhood because sleepless nights, breastfeeding, soiled diapers, and the frustrations of calming a crying baby can be completely overwhelming. I thought I'll never be able to pee alone again, but then, I sure miss those days. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

It's true when they say that when you become a parent, the days run long but the years are short. Whenever you hear a parent say, "enjoy while they are still babies",  believe it. Kids grow up too fast. One minute they're saying their first words, the next minute they'll be asking how babies are made. And no parent is ready for that (I have yet to come up with an answer in the most platonic way possible).

Yesterday, I took Red to the mall to buy some school supplies. I gave him the liberty to choose whatever he wants. And I was quite surprised by his choices. He steered away from the usual Marvel favorites and chose the simple ones instead, he prefers a backpack over a trolley, and he understands that not everything has to be new.

He also insists on being called Red. Red has always been his nickname. But back then when he started learning his colors, he did not want to be called Red because he says he's a person and not a color and it's not right to call a person a color (kids do say the darndest things). Now, he thinks being named after a color is cool.

Do you know what that means? Nagbibinata na sya! Gawd! And all the while I thought taking care of a tiny human while not getting any shower and enough sleep is the hardest part.

I. Am. Not. Ready. For this.

Pogi. Mana sa nanay. This little guy is turning 9 soon.

One thing I hate about driving is getting through traffic. So I rely on music to stretch my patience and keep my cool. Right now, if there's one thing I get excited about driving, it's going to be this:

 

90s boy bands on my playlist FTW!

I'm afraid the regulars that have been on my playlist since forever  - you know, Queen, Keane, Air Supply, Mr. Big, Better Than Ezra, Blind Melon, Gin Blossoms, Tonic, even Jack Johnson, and all other bands that are "cool" ('cause I'm pa-cool like that) - will have to take the backseat until I get over this recurring jologs phase. And I say that with no shame. But until then, Jan will have to survive the torment of being ear-raped every time my jams come on. Haha!

My 3rd year high school Math teacher forced me to join our school's Math Olympics for two reasons:

1. I detest Math and/because I'm bad at it.
2. And he knows it.

Right after the competition, when I went up the stage, the faculty head who pinned the gold medal on me uttered, "Congratulations, future Engineer!"

Found this little devil while cleaning earlier.

I gave a wide grin like I really am going to be a future Engineer and replied, "Thank you". Well, after the competition and all the pressure I had to go through, I concluded that Math is evil and I'm never going to be an engineer.

But I'm not going to talk to you about my glorious days in high school because actually and academically, I only had one - and this was it (I was better with the extra-curricular activities). But what I'm trying to say is (even though I'm also subtly bragging para ingnon brayt), I can put my heart and soul into something and pretend to be really good at it. For a moment there, everybody thought I was really into Math.

But I'll never be into Math. I'll never be good at Math. But I love counting my money.