The Lazy Girl's Guide to (Non)Fitness

So when I announced over dinner that not only would I revive my blog, but that I would start by writing about fitness, several things happened simultaneously:

1. There was a collective silence followed by a burst of laughter and serious disbelief from  majority of family, yayas included (despite the fact they are completely aware who pays their salary...); 
2. My sister choked on her from laughing so hard and
3. My ever supportive husband tried to encourage me but the effect was spoiled by his uncontrollable snickering.

Welcome to my life.

 

Just so you know, I blame this all on my office.  Well...the office's Annual Physical Examination that is.

At one APE, I was diagnosed as pre-diabetic, overweight and with a cholesterol level way south of normal.   Being thoroughly Accenturized, I respond better to --- well, anything really – if I can measure my metrics.  And apparently, this goes for exercise as well.  My boss then gave me one of those fitness bands that counts how many steps you take in one day and in true metric-driven form, my competitive side kicked in and jumpstarted my now, semi-active, life.

Every one knows that I am the laziest person in the world when it comes to exercise and I will find every excuse in the book not to do it – everything from “I stayed up late working so I deserve to sleep in…”  or  “The baby will wake up if I get up to exercise and she needs her sleep…” (despite the fact that the "baby" is actually 7 years old now and wakes up earlier than me) to the tried and tested “It looks like there is a chance of rain soon..”

I am  sooooo extremely lazy that on my ultra lazy days, a rock has better chances of getting up and exercising that I do.   Sometimes, the only thing that gets me up in the morning is the thought that if I walk often enough, I can buy new pretty running shoes…

However, there are certain little things I can share with you that helped me get out of my rut.

1. Don’t go all Arnold Schwarzenegger. In other words, have realistic goals and don’t overdo anything.  I have so many friends who went all gung ho on the exercise bit – running 5 km every morning, going to the gym everyday.  And this was great.  While it lasted. And that was for about a month until they burned out and stopped completely. As in everything else in life, moderation is the key.  Start small, do little things you can sustain for the long term.
2. Baby steps are good.  When I first started with the pedometer, it recommended that I walk 10,000 steps a day.  I took one look at that recommendation and laughed. And then I decided that if this plan had any hope of success, I would have to set my goals a bit more realistically – hence, I started with 5,000 steps. Eventually, I brought it up to the 10,000 steps (after several months) but the point is, if I had allowed myself to be daunted by the initial goals, I would never have started at all. Which brings me to my next point…
3. A little exercise is better than zero exercise.  Everyone used to tell me “You have to do at least 30 minutes”  or  “You don’t burn anything unless you do cardio…”  And what I’ll tell you is – ignore them. All these rules are fine if you are already someone who’s fit or who already exercises.  But for a newly unearthed couch potato – wouldn’t you agree that five minutes of exercise is better than zero exercise?  Do what you can to start with and grow from there.  
4. Every little bit counts.  When I was obsessively monitoring my pedometer, I realized that we overlook how much activity we can do in a normal day without having to break out the running shoes or the gym clothes.  So now, I park at the space farthest away from the exit (plus 200 steps! Yay!), I attend my meetings face to face and walk to the conference room instead of sitting in my office taking a call,  I set an alarm on my phone for every thirty minutes so that I can get up and walk around the 19^th floor., I walk short distances instead of taking the car and when my little daughter wants to play outside, I force myself to get up away from the computer and go with her.  An email can wait but a heart attack won’t.
5. Cheat on your food.  Diets never work with me as I have a love affair with food that will never ever die. So I just cheat.  Order what you want but have the waiter doggie bag for take-out half your food before he even serves you.  Order a kid sized meal instead of a full adult meal. Or like me, when having a meal out, pick the friend that eats the least in your group and stop eating when he or she does (Joyce Guirnalda is perfect for this).  Eat the main course you want but skip dessert.  Or skip the main course and have dessert! J For me, when I feel deprived I end up gorging myself.  So the goal is to trick my inner glutton into thinking that I can actually eat whatever I want. 
6. And lastly – be kind to yourself.   You’re not going to turn into Cara Delavigne after a week or even a month – heck, I’ve been exercising for a year and I still look round.  But it’s a start!  So after a year of walking, I still haven’t lost the thirty pounds, but my cholesterol is better.  I’ll never fit into a size 4 again but my sugar levels are under control. 

My favorite is the last learning -  I have to love myself and be kind to myself.  Flaws and all.  The cellulite is from all the wonderful meals I’ve shared with friends and family.  The stretchmarks and the poufy tummy were from delivering two wonderful babies. 

And the big arms? They’re there to hug (or punch, as the case may be) anyone who needs one. 

 

A few months back, someone commented to me “You mean you’ve been exercising for a year? But you don’t look like you’ve lost any weight!”   (It is a testament to my self-control, and also my knowledge that murder will land me in jail, that this person is still alive.) 

So I smiled sweetly and said, “My goal was not to be skinny, my goal was to not die young.”  And when you have two little kids, isn’t that a good plan?

"This is how we troll..."

"This is how we troll.."

Fair warning. I don't suffer fools gladly.
And also, I'm about to get on my high horse so you may want to stop here. I had actually decided to stop blogging as it is hazardous to my husband's blood pressure. But sometimes, I feel like I'll explode if I read one more ill-informed fanatical post. So I need an outlet. Hence the high horse.

Ok, you're still here. In that case...

Troll friends, please don't even go there.

For the state to require the licensure of journalists would be to allow the State to control media -- because it would give the State the power to take away the license they gave and thereby make it illegal to practice journalism as a profession without said state-controlled license.  In short, the government can potentially silence media. That's an infringement of the constitutional right to free speech.

What would be next? Those of you who are so eager to share your brilliant thoughts on Facebook, don't you realize that the same Constitutional right protects you? The same freedom you take for granted so much -- that you are actually lobbying for Jinggoy Estrada to take it away!

In the era of social media, everyone publishes his or her opinion in forums like this. Isn't that the exercise of the same freedom self expression -- just like journalists? Would we need a license to post on social media as well?  So if you repost an article you read and other people read it, aren't you in a sense reporting the news too? Would you need a license for that also?

Do you think I enjoy reading your opinions when they are patently illogical? Do you think I appreciate all the trolling, name calling, profanity (not to mention atrocious spelling and grammatical errors) that pepper your posts? Obviously, I'd rather be killing my brain cells on more worthy pursuits.  Like concentrating on cutting my toenails.

But I wouldn't require that you get a license to post about your Bora vacay, or your favorite politician or your #ootd or God help us, your pictures of your food and your comments on mediocre restaurants I would never bother to go anyway.  You have the right to post these things after all. And I have the right to not read them. Or to read them and laugh hysterically at your naïveté or gnash my teeth at your stupidity.

But I would never tell you that you can't say something, post something or have to get a license to do any of those things.

And, obviously you have the same right to cringe at my selfies, disagree with my political views or get annoyed at my shoe obsession. You can unfollow me or unfriend me or comment on my deplorable fashion sense or my noticeable lack of a discernible waistline.   As long as you don't libel me, we're good.

Thats democracy for you.

I'm not a big fan of certain people in media either -- like Tulfo or Ted Failon -- but I don't think they should be silenced -- este licensed -- it's your right to choose what to listen to or believe but it's not your right to silence others for expressing their views. I simply don't allow myself to be influenced by  certain people or journalists I feel are biased or wrong. But I don't go around telling people to not listen to them either. God gave us brains and free will -- use them. But don't tell me how to use mine. No one is forcing you read news articles that you feel are biased. Go find something else to read if you can't deal with that.

It's freedom of speech that makes democracy work. Politicians hold themselves out as public figures and therefore open themselves up to public scrutiny.  Again, no one forced them to run for office. You can't just have your Wang Wang and rule the streets and with impunity -- the perks come with consequences, just like everything else in life.

If you can't take the heat get out of the kitchen. Or go read your Archie comics and leave the adults alone.

Awesome-ness

So I decided that since I'm boring, the best way to spice up my blog is to write about food. After all, food and I have a very good relationship. I absolutely adore it and it seems to love me back -- considering how faithfully it has stuck around (my tummy, my ass and various other well padded areas). 

Today we found ourselves in Quezon City - a rare occurrence since (a.)we live in Alabang -- or as our pretentious neighbors like to say "the South" -- as if we were in Georgia and (b.) I avoid QC like the plague considering that it spawns the worst traffic jams and driving there brings out my inner-bitch-road-ragey-foul-mouthed side (or as you recall...the personality I used to reserve for litigation). 

"The Spouse" (who has advised I do not have lawful permission to use his name in print and therefore must not be named) and I have a rule when we venture to his neck of the woods -- yes, I married someone from QC but in the 10 odd years we've been married I've only been to their family home twice.  Whenever we're in QC we have to try a new restaurant and it can't be a branch of some restaurant we could find in Alabang but just have not tried before.

After several frantic minutes of googling, loo-looing and zomato-ing -- voila! I decided that we would try   

H Cuisine.  This little hole-in-the-wall in Scout Rallos St., off Tomas Morato is owned by Chef Hannah Herrera and calls itself the proud home of the "Awesome Angus Beef Belly".   I first heard of it whilst flitting in and out of my mom's room while getting ready for work. My mother is wonderful lady - smart, beautiful, smart, well dressed...( and did I mention smart?)  But her one fatal and nearly inexplicable flaw given that she is, as I may or may not have mentioned SMART  --- she LOVES Kris Aquino. 

Seriously. Even after the whole Joey-Marguez-STD thing. 

So anyway, she mentioned this place as it was featured in "Kris Magazine" --- and yes folks, there is a WHOLE magazine devoted to Kris Aquino. Because she is NOT at all narcissistic or anything...

But I digress.. 

Normally, an endorsement by Kris Aquino would instantly make me break out in hives and avoid something like the plague. I mean really...you can only hear her say "It's so sarap!"  and "I really like it talaga!" in her weird valley girl meets Fran Drescher nasal twang with combination facial calisthenics (...how does she get her mouth to do that square shape?!!) before wanting to hit something with a baseball bat.

Except today it was raining, and hence traffic was hell, I had two hungry and belligerent under 10-year-olds in the car and The Spouse was fast losing his patented temper...when what should mine desperate eyes spy?!!  H Cuisine!  (And even better, an open parking space right in front.)

But I must say --- the "Awesome Angus Beef Belly" was in fact AWESOME. And for those of who who have had a meal with me or interacted with me at any point for any appreciable long of time, you will know I take my food very very seriously.  So seriously that I would say 75% (the other 25% being attributed to The Spouse's saintly patience) of the reason why my marriage has listed so long is because of our mutual love of food. 

YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS.  IMMEDIATELY.

The beef is fork tender but not falling apart so that it has both body and texture. The vegetables on the side still have a crunch -- clearly not from the frozen foods section. The mashed potatoes are fluffy and the gravy is silky.  And when you put this stuff in your mouth --- magic happens.  The meat is seared and caramelized to perfection and the ratio of fat to meat is perfect. (Please note that the last few times I raved about a steak in this manner was in reference to a P 5,000 steak at Elbert's and the P3,500 ribeye at Anotnio's).  I think this is now my new favorite steak....now if only we could airlift the place to Alabang. 

The servings are generous and the prices are more than reasonable for the quality of the food - a platter for sharing is less than P 600.  The waitress told us it was good for two to three people and she was absolutely correct. 

(Although unchecked and on a bad day when I'm depressed, I'm pretty sure I could have eaten the whole thing)

To wash it all down - order the carafe of Dalandan Juice. 

Tart, not too sweet and very refreshing..ahem..quite like myself (I'd like to think).

And let's not forget dessert... The toffee pudding with caramelized pecans and vanilla ice cream was sooo good, I didn't have time to take a picture. Same thing happened to the blueberry cheesecake that my 8 year old ordered -- assuming she would have let me share, it vanished too quickly to take a photograph of. 

So if you ever find yourself in QC and Kris Aquino notwithstanding, try this place out.  

#hcuisine #awesomesteak #QCrestaurants

Je ne parle pas français!

It's raining and cold and I'm too lazy to go anywhere. The TV is on and all I really hear is "Bleh Bleh Bleh pour quoits Bleh Bleh Bleh".  The hotel has only 3 English channels and brain is too tired to listen to the state of the world.   Meanwhile, it's very sad that all I can say perfectly in French directly translates to "I don't speak French." 

Oh and "Bleh"  which in English translates to "Blah" (in my parallel universe).

While it is still light outside, I just realized it's almost 10 pm. For this reason (and because I'm procrastinating from opening my work email) I had a striking realization  -- wait! I'm in Paris! Isn't this a good time to start blogging again? 

So if any of you are still out there - consider this the revival of my feeble attempts at literary immortality. After all, they say once you put something on the net, it will be there forever. Immortality regardless of merit. Sweet.

I came to Paris for the first time in 1989. I had just turned 18 and my dad took me on this trip as a birthday present, and possibly, because I was brilliant enough not to ask for a big, expensive debutante ball. He thought that was brilliant and to reward his wonderful, thoughtful daughter, he took me to Europe. In the end, he probably spent more on me than a party would have cost, but now that he's gone, I think the memories I made that summer and which have stayed with me for 25 years are priceless.

At 18,  I had braces, big hair and an unhealthy fascination with Rick Astley. It just so happened that that summer, Rick Astley was HUGE! And it also just so happened he was in Paris promoting his new (possibly only) hit album.  So one of my big memories of Paris is dragging my dad around various record stores, trying to catch pareng Rick and get an autograph on cassette tape! I can't even remember where we eventually found him but I recall vividly the bewilderment on Papa's face as he found himself amidst a sea of semi-coherent, screaming teenaged girls.

In fact, I have photos somewhere of me in my fuschia pink jacket, tsunami bangs and pink leg warmers.  And since no one is probably reading this anyway, I think I shall find that photo when I get home and post it --- because public humiliation, even the self-inflicted kind, is good for keeping the lawyer-sized ego in check.

I fell in love with Paris at 18 and I am falling even harder as 40 something something....


I will try to be good about posting. Starting today. Well. Maybe tomorrow. 

(Hmmm. It's soooo not going to be chronological...not sure I can live with that...oh well. Virginia Woolf rocked stream of consciousness and so can I). 

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I know that I'm (possibly) too old to be writing you and asking for stuff. But just in case there's no age limit on wishful thinking, I thought, "What the heck, let's drop the big guy a line just in case he's wondering what I want..." So on that note, here are a few things I'd really like you to give me this Christmas.

In no particular order:

1. The total annihilation of all Sitti musical recordings on the face of the earth and for her supposed musical "talent" to mysteriously disappear to forestall any future "musical" forays. 

I had to visit my dentist last week -- it was horrible enough being in that dentist's chair, hearing the metallic whirring sound of the drill and anticipating the pain.  But for my dentist to compound the suffering ten fold by playing his Shitty...este..Sitti CD collection is just plain inhumane. And possibly, this is what the framers of the Constitution had inmind when they drafted the prohibition on "cruel and unusual punishment".

To make matters worse, as I recover from my horrendous dentist's visit this fine Saturday morning. My next door neighbor apparently purchased the same CD and is playing it at top volume -- causing untold pain to me and also, to the other neighbor's rottweiler who's either howling in pain or trying to sing along.

2.  For a pair of indestructible, waterproof, baby proof glasses which incidentally, will magically appear in my hands when I snap my fingers.

For some reason, my baby thinks that real toys are for sissies. Hence, no amount of bribery with toys will excite her interest.  We've tried everything from those atrociously expensive lamaze and fisher price toys to the cheap plastic Barbies from the bangketa in Divisoria (...or at least until I had a panic attack over the lead content...hmmm...) to no success.  As a matter of fact, the cheap plastic Barbie was that clear winner.  Tabitha played with her long enough to snap her head off  throw it at her sister who just looked on in disgust.

Instead, Tabitha likes to play with non-toys. Like her dad's car keys, the tv remote (of which she's broken four already), and oh, you know.. electrical outlets and forks.

Her ultimate favorite though, are my glasses. Which now sit on my nose at a weird angle, are held together by duct tape on one side and are corroding (possibly due to all the baby spit.)

3. For someone to explain to me why Coco Martin is on the same Bench billboard as Kris Aquino and Bimby.  Or even better, for someone to explain why anyone would name their child "Bimby" -- did she not realize that it is too close in sound to the adjective "Bimbo" ? )

I mean, really. Richard Gomez (and family) I get, Ruffa  and Richard Gutierrez, check; Vilma Santos, Lucky and Edu Manzano (in a weird, screwed up way -- and what was Ralph Recto thinking allowing this?) I also kinda get -- BUT Coco Martin, Bimby and Bimbo..este..Kris...really boggles the mind. And upsets me each time I drive past Guadalupe bridge.

(Or maybe I should start working again and start using my brain cells, which obviously, are turning into mush...)


4.  World peace.

...because that would be a good thing. And also because I've always secretly wanted to be a beauty pageant contestant just so I can say "World Peace" with a wide, shit-eating grin on my face wearing a swimsuit in heels and it would be perfectly normal...


5. For a huge ass shopping mall where everything is 70% off --- somewhere in Quezon province.

...this way, there would no traffic in and around Alabang Town Center and I could actually drive the 7 kilometer distance from house without (a) almost hitting another car, person, motorcycle carrying a family of three plus their dog;  (b) taking the Lord's name in vain with all my swearing and gesticulating at insane drivers and (c) be ale to buy the hypothetical panty (or some such essential) without having to line up for three hours and almost get into a fight with some crazy, rich, fat, fashion victim from BF Homes who suddenly decides she wants the exact same pair I was already holding when she tried to grab it out of my hands.


6.  An Ipad.

Or rather, another Ipad.
Because my 6 year old seems to think the current one belongs to her. 
And so I can't check work or my email.

(And damn it!!! I REALLLY need to defend my lawn from those pesky zombies!!!)


7.  For all my undone Christmas shopping to be magically done (and looking like Jazel Calvo wrapped them).

Marthe Stewart will now disown me. But I haven't done all my shopping and the ones I did get, I wimped out and put them into those pre-made gift bags from the Bazaar. Sorry, no ribbons this year. ..and you can forget about the berries, bells, etc.

Normally I like to shop...I just don't like to shop when I don't get to buy anything for myself. There I said it. I'm a selfish bitch.

Now shoot me.

(And THEN you'll really not get a present this year....for various reasons including (a) I'd be dead and can;t get you one and (b) You'll be in jail with RJ Revilla and the Ampatuans and it won't really feel Christmas-sy in there.


8. For you not to give Tempest any more toys.

Because I'm the one who has to put them away, who accidentally steps on them in the dark at night and who gets injured when the Littlest Petshop pet punctures the sole of my foot, I'm the one who has to calm her down when they "run away" (i.e. get lost) and then have to call the gift-giver to find out where "Santa" bought it so I can rush down there to buy a replacement.

Besides, cash is good Santa! It never hurts to be liquid in these times of financial turmoil and the unfortunate European market...


(I'm already teaching Bobbi to say "Special Deposit Account")


9.  Or better yet Santa, maybe some Christmas Spirt?

I think my cynicism is showing.

10. Bust most of all Santa the one thing I REALLY, REALLY do want. I know you can't give me.

I miss my dad.

And I wish he were here.

Christmas is awfully hard this year with no one else in the house who appreciates Fruitcake like I do. With papa gone, who will share the fruitcake with me over a cup of (non-decaf) coffee? 

We used to joke that there are only 10 actual fruitcakes circulating in the Philippines. They just get passed around because everyone just changes the card and gives them away again when they get them...except in our house. Because Papa and I have never met a fruitcake we didn't like.  So Dad, what am I going to do now? By my count, there are still 7 out of the 10 fruitcakes still running around out there and you're not here to help me eradicate them.


And there's no one to fix the lights outside so that the house looks like something from National Lampoon's Christmas vacation.

Besides, who's going to remind us TWO entire hours before the mass on the 24th that we need to get ready for mass? We probably will be late then.

Who's going to check that Santa didn't give Tempest a rock (no lumps of coal in Manila so a rock will do) in her stocking when she's been naughty... and who'll surreptitiously exchange it for candy when Tempest actually gets a rock because he can't stand to see her crying over the rock?

For the first time in my life, I don't feel like a little kid on Christmas.
But For papa, I'll try.

Because there ARE little kids here and he'd feel bad if Santa skipped our house this year.

So Merry Christmas Papa, and just so you know, I'm saving you some of that fruitcake.
And you know they say fruitcake keeps forever....

The Pie That Ate The Galaxy

The Pie That Ate The Galaxy

(Or “Quiche Malunggay ala Miscen”)

It seemed so simple.  “Easiest Pie Crust Recipe” it said. Only 10 minutes prep time! “Even my five year old can use this recipe!” the blurb assured me.

And fool I am. I believed it.

And this is why on what would have been a nice, balmy Monday afternoon, I found my myself peering anxiously into a hot oven, invoking the kitchen spirits to look favorably upon my latest experiment which is currently turning into a weird greenish –brownish color oddly reminiscent of combat fatigues – which are well and good if you’re fighting the Abu Sayaff but which is not so good when looking at food you are cooking. 

Earlier, the pressure mounted when no less than all three of the adult members of my family anxiously asking if they should start ordering take–out as dinner was fast approaching and the amorphous blob of dough on the kitchen counter in no way, shape or form even remotely resemble the fourth cousin twice removed of the picture on the pie crust recipe I had swiped off of the internet. (Note to self : try not to rely on google too much when feeding family.) 

Or rather, Ron and my sister suggested the take-out.  My mom just quietly went to the freezer and took out a packet of pork chops which she handed to the (relieved-that-she-would-have-normal-food) maid.   

(Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence Mom!  And you too Yaya, you traitor!)

And then there was my beloved daughter, who took one look at the baking dish and promptly announced she wanted bacon and rice for dinner.

(I feel sooooo loved and affirmed. Don’t you?)

First of all, there was nothing “EASY” about this pie crust.  Except maybe how easy it is to get wrong. 

Secondly, the 10 minutes prep time probably applied to people who (a) knew what they were doing in the first place, (b)  actually know how to measure “1/3 cup of shortening per 1 ¼ cup of flour” (c)  actually OWNED a “sifter” and (d) knew how to use aforementioned “Sifter”. Since none of the above applied to me, that was the longest ten minutes of my life. It actually took more like two hours. Or at least ten days.  Or it seemed like it at the time – especially when I was chanting “Please set…please set…please set…” at the oven.

And last but not least, the lady either cloned Julia Child five years ago or his outright lying.  If a doctor, two lawyers and teacher cannot get this recipe to work right – the only five year old I know who could have possibly gotten it right would have been Doogie Howser, MD (and he’s fictional).

Further to my previous blog – did I mention that I am still on the quest for a full repertoire of malunggay recipes?

Seeing as how the Meatballs From Mars (ahem) were a success – I decided to push my luck and try a more advanced dish.  Five hours later --- Something tells me that I should have tried for an omelette instead.

I’d like to share the Pie That Ate the Galaxy (or at least, my whole afternoon) recipe with you, but there’s a strange burning odor emanating from the kitchen and I have an awful feeling it’s my quiche….