Goddess, I Am.

Here’s a story that I haven’t written about yet, which is weird because it’s actually kind of hilarious. Well, for me, that is.

Once upon a time in mid-November, The Fiance was woken up at around 4 in the morning by the incessant barking – no, make that yapping – of a dog. Now, there are loads of dogs in the neighborhood and they’re not exactly quiet, but this one was particularly annoying. It’s that kind of yapping that borders on a whine and a shrill bark, so imagine that.

Anyway, he ran out of the house to look for the dog, and found IT – a puppy – uncomfortably tied up to one of our neighbor’s window grills. He could see a light and movement in said neighbor’s house, so he tried to call out to whoever was in there so they can do something about the dog. The neighbor, however, turned off the lights and ignored him.

The Fiance then went back to bed, but the yapping continued on and on, royally pissing him off even more. So he goes back to the neighbor’s house – who carried on ignoring him, mind you – and started throwing pebbles at the dog to shut him up. That didn’t work, so he went home absolutely livid.

Later that day, my sister’s helper came to me, saying that said neighbor’s help was complaining about The Fiance pelting the dog with rocks. I, in turn, asked her to tell the neighbor’s help to take the dog out back where we can’t hear it because the noise is really too much to handle, especially when people are trying to get some sleep.

About an hour or so later, she came back telling me that the neighbor – the actual owner of the house – is outside on the street on a rampage. Sure enough, I could hear her screaming to all and sundry about how The Fiance abused her mangy mutt. Now, he isn’t exactly known for sitting back and taking shit from the other people, so he storms out before I can stop him and a screaming match ensued right on our street.

My mother suggested that we take it to the baranggay, so we did. Unfortunately, the office was closed, so we figured we’ll do it in the morning. That night, we couldn’t hear the dog, so we assumed that they’ve moved it elsewhere. We decided not to go to the baranggay the next day, after all. Unfortunately, the yapping started again the next night, so the morning after found us in the baranggay captain’s office.

As it turned out, we were already too late; they’ve already filed a case against The Fiance for harassment, of all things. The idiots that they are, though, they got his name wrong and filed their case against a Steve Eagle.

Now, we have absolutely no idea where they got the last name “Eagle” from. When we moved to Cebu a month back, though, our boxes were all labeled “Eagle Shipping Company’, so they probably used that. Ahhhhh! The stupidity of the human race.

Anyhow, the good people at the office told us that we can actually refuse the summons because he is obviously not Steve Eagle. They also told us that the hearing was set for December 9 and that we can expect a subpoena before then. When it finally showed up weeks later, we refused it, as advised, and sent the messenger on his merry way.

Now, there are two maids in the neighborhood who we call “The Yummies” because they’re both, well, big. Okay, that’s an understatement. They’re actually huge, fat cows in dire need of the best diet pill money can buy. One of them, who I believe is the ringleader of the neighborhood maid posse, is also the biggest gossip this side of the equator. She works for a Korean family, so she thinks she’s all that because she can speak better English than her little friends.

Anyway, my mum was out on her front yard one day when this particular “Yummy” started loitering outside her gate. My mum ignored her. She couldn’t help herself, though, so she started chatting with my mum (in English, no less). She eventually got right down to business and asked my mother who my “husband” is. So mum told her his name is Steve. She then asked, “Just Steve?” – to which mum firmly replied, “Just Steve.”

With their evil plan thwarted, we thought that was the end of it. To our surprise, the messenger came back in January with another subpoena. It was, however, still addressed to Steve Eagle, so that was again a no-go. To this day, I still don’t see the logic of pursuing their little “case” if they couldn’t even get his name right, but then, I have long since stopped trying to figure out what people with little brains are thinking.

The ugly dog is still alive and well, and is now yapping outside our house because the screaming neighbor has recently decided that she’s going to walk him to the store across the street from us at 6 in the morning. Steve Eagle currently has a plan that involves a hose and loads of water. The soon-to-be Mrs. Eagle will keep you posted on how this little drama unfolds.

Last week, The Fiance and I finally decided to have cable installed. After almost 20 months without honest-to-goodness prime time TV, I’m on way to having a viewing schedule that could possibly rival that of the Mona Lisa’s (except I’m the one gawking, not the one being gawked at, duh).

Truth be told, I’m not really much of a TV person. I’m not one who spends hours in front of the tube, channel surfing like there’s no tomorrow. But, for some strange reason, it was one of the things that I missed while I lived in Thailand (I couldn’t get a subscription for lack of a work permit), so when a pack of cable guys tried to get our entire neighborhood to sign up with Sky, we jumped on the opportunity.

So far, I’ve joined the throngs of people setting their Nooka watches (not that I have one) to watch the newest season of American Idol. I have also started catching up with Grey’s Anatomy. I’m avidly waiting for movies I missed on the cinema in HBO and Star Movies, and every so often I hope to catch a cheesy Tagalog movie or two (seriously), so I can nitpick until I’m hoarse.

Ahhhh… There’s nothing like the joy of mindless entertainment to look forward to after a long day at work.

Here’s something that I’ve noticed since I moved back to Cebu in October: there seems to be more foreigners traipsing through the city these days. From obvious tourists dragging their luggage around, to older folk who look like settlers, the number of non-locals around have probably increased at least ten times since I left in June of 2007.

The Fiance thinks these are people who’ve run screaming out of Thailand, and I’m inclined to believe him. Could it be that people are finally discovering everything that the Philippines has to offer? Or are people just sick of messy, dirty, overrated Thailand? I wonder.

It’s funny how things turn out. Just when you think you’re finally on the right path, you are once again confronted by a fork on the road, and you have to make the choice to go one way, or the other.

I was happy writing freelance. I was happy running my very own online business. I was happy working on my little Acer laptop seated in front of my equally little yellow desk in our little second bedroom. And yet, here I am right now in an unfamiliar office, blogging on the sly because it’s my first day at this new, oh-so “real” job and everyone’s left me alone to learn the rudiments of my rather ambiguous job description. For the nth time since I was unceremoniously hired by three different people from the company, fired by one, and hired once again in a span of a week (very long story), I am wondering – yet again – if I did the right thing by rejoining the pod and taking on another nine-to-sixer.

So why am I here, despite my plethora of doubts? That is another long story (and I seriously doubt if I could get away with discussing it at length here), but in a nutshell, the world is in recession. I used to get paid above average rates, but now I’m deemed too expensive, especially when desperate Americans are now willing to work for peanuts. I did try to price my services lower, but for stingy clients, it’s unfortunately not enough. So since November, projects became fewer and farther between, and if it wasn’t for my most loyal clients, I wouldn’t have been able to keep afloat.

Also, since we moved to the Philippines, The Fiance’s income has taken a rather considerable dip. It took him quite awhile to find a job, and when he did, it was only just a few hours per week for starters. So even if his hourly rate was pretty good, it still wasn’t enough. Because of that, we relied mostly on my income for a while, and when that started dipping as well, we ended up spending most of our savings. And so it was that we had our own personal recession.

Thankfully, business started picking up a little by mid-January, and The Fiance’s working hours have since tripled. But although we have quite enough to get by, we both decided that we can’t risk going through those harrowing months again. Not only that, we also needed to recoup our depleted savings.

Then this job came up (incidentally, it’s for the same company The Fiance works for), and we both decided that I should go for it. The pay is pretty good, considering that my tasks aren’t really that demanding, and I get benefits, which is important because I get sick every so often. Plus, it’s also a day job (I honestly would’ve died if I had to work nights again like I did for four years), and it gives me enough time to continue running my business if I can just learn to delegate, as well as write for my existing clients.

So after months of almost living hand to mouth (okay, that’s a bit harsh, but that’s what it felt like), we’re hoping to finally regain the lifestyle we gave up for a while, travel some more, replenish our savings, pursue our long-term plans, and maybe get a term life insurance quote, just in case. I still have my doubts about working, yes, but for this sort of security, I think I can live with that.

If there’s one thing I’ve always been proud of, it’s my perfect vision. Or, more accurately, what used to be my perfect vision.

I suppose that the years of sneakily reading books past my bedtime with just a flashlight (and sometimes nothing more than moonlight) illuminating the pages were bound to catch up with me. I suppose not even I could get away with all the hours I’ve spent staring – without rest – at all the computer screens of my life. I suppose it was only a matter of time that the headaches came more frequently, that signs I could easily read 50 feet away became no more than blurry shapes, that my tear ducts seemed perpetually dry (except when I’m crying).

In true Iris fashion, I’ve spent the past two years ignoring my increasingly declining eyesight because, most of the time, it’s really not that bad. But after walking head on to a display of chili con carne (the ‘no beans’ variety) in the Metro Ayala supermarket because I couldn’t see where I was going, I realized that it might be time to correct my sight.

Today, I’m going to attempt to wangle a pair of eyeglasses from my mum. Or better yet, a pair of contact lenses. In green. And then I’ll dye my hair red and try to pass my dark, 5-feet-1-inch self off as Irish.

Wish me luck!