Goddess, I Am.

I’ve gone off the idea of living in huge cities after living in Bangkok for a while, but these days I’ve found myself wishing that I lived in Manila – all because many of my online buddies won’t stop talking about attending this or that Sex and the City 2 advanced screening at this or that cinema in the capital. Really, it sucks having to wait until the 2nd of June to see it here in Cebu when it’s been out since the 27th of May everywhere else.

I am, however, taking solace in the fact that this time around, I will be watching it with my ladies. When Sex and the City: The Movie came out two years ago, I was still in Bangkok where I had zero girlfriends, so I had no one else to watch it with but The Husband, who spent half the time bitching and moaning that his balls were shrinking and that Sarah Jessica Parker needed a horse tack – a sentiment shared by most men that I find really offensive, by the way, because I personally think SJP is GORGEOUS! And as much as I love The Husband, this is one movie I would rather watch with ladies who can appreciate everything that SATC represents.

Okay, I’m off to get those first-day tickets before they run out.

I discovered my appetite for writing right about the same time that the first season of Sex and the City started airing. Naturally, Carrie Bradshaw became my idol almost overnight. Even now, 12 years hence, I still have to consciously avoid Bradshaw-ish euphemisms when I’m (supposedly) free writing; the character’s influence on me is that great.

Now, Carrie has always had a Mac. From the PowerBook to the iBook G3 Clamshell to the Macbook Pro – you name it, she’s had it. Because of that, I’ve always associated Macs as a ‘writer thing’, and I have drooled and fantasized about owning one since, thinking that it’s going to make a better writer out of me, or at least, inspire me enough to write more. The moment I could afford it, I got my first Mac, with the second – and current – one hard on its heels. And true enough, the switch did inspire me to write more and write better, probably because I no longer had to suffer the constant headaches that my PCs and netbooks of old used to plague me with.

But I digress. I guess what I’m trying to say is Carrie’s Mac, whatever model it may be, is a freakin’ Sex and the City institution. It’s a character in its own right, and replacing it with an inferior HP – or any other brand, for that matter – is nothing short of sacrilege. Really, this isn’t just the Apple fan girl in me speaking; this is me being a Sex and the City fan girl. And I’m sure there are plenty of other Sex and the City fans out there – Mac users or otherwise – that feel the same way as I do about the switch (or downgrade, the way I see it).

I wonder how much HP paid to get their product placement in? Well, whatever ridiculous figure it might be, they are surely getting their money’s worth, even with the new advertisement alone, featuring not only Sarah Jessica Parker, but also the aptly named HP Envy, the so-called Macbook Pro clone. Capitalism has no shame, indeed. I must admit (albeit grudgingly), however, that it (the advert, not the laptop) does look really good, from its general concept, down to the lighting.

Still, this will not, in any way, stop me from being at the cinema bright and early on opening day to watch my favorite girls and their latest shenanigans. I can barely sit still from all the excitement! I’m loving the whole Middle Eastern angle and the return of Aidan and the idea of Samantha on a camel, to name just a few. With that sort of entertainment to look forward to, I guess I can forgive this, umm, desecration.

But then, I probably would forgive Sex and the City anything, truth be told.

It’s been nearly two years since The Husband and I moved out of Thailand, and truly, there is no love lost between myself and the Thais. I’ve never made it a secret that I like most of them as much as I like fitness equipment (which I don’t). In fact, I’ve even written a nasty thing – or two! – about them at some point. Still, no matter how much I dislike the majority of the Thai population, I never ever would’ve wished the horrible events of the past few weeks (or has it been months already?) on a place I called home for over a year and a half.

The fact that I actually care enough to keep myself informed of what’s going on is quite surprising, really. I never thought I would, but I guess there’s something very horribly disconcerting about seeing a myriad of streets and buildings and even freakin’ 7-11s that should have been familiar but are now barely recognizable from all the damage that’s been done.

And as shallow as this may sound, what shook me most was seeing Central World Plaza burning. I cannot count the many Sundays I’ve spent taking refuge in Central or in Siam Paragon next door because I was a new girl in a strange city and had absolutely no idea how to get around. Siam was the easiest place for me to get to back then, so week after lonely week I would journey to that crowded, bustling place, and sit and read or write beside the fountains, or meander from shop to shop, daydreaming as I did so. For me, it was the place of first dates and glorious IMAX movies and expensive wifi, and by the time I finally left the city, I could’ve probably walked through the area all the way to Pratunam, or Chulalongkorn University, or Soi Nana, or even Silom blindfolded. Why, I probably still could.

Oh, Bangkok. How I grieve for you! Once upon a time, you helped a girl finally find herself. I hope, after all that’s been said and done, your people will help you do the same.

So The Husband is turning another year older in a few days, and I’m in a crisis. What does one give to a man who practically has everything from good – and clean – underwear to a killer 52-inch HDTV? Another Blu-ray movie when he already has over 200 and he buys more on a regular basis anyway? Clothes when he’s got plenty? Books when he still hasn’t read the last book I gave him? It’s a crisis, I tell you!

Any suggestions out there?

I’ve always loved summer. I love its promise of beaches and cloudless skies and sun-kissed days. All the summers of my life have always been fun and full of promise, so it’s no wonder why I never want it to end. Usually.

Well, except for this summer, that is.

The few fabulous trips we’ve taken notwithstanding, I think the only thing I’ve managed to do the past couple of months or so is soak in my own sweat all day and all night. It’s the dripping kind, too. In fact, I’ve been sweating so much that I didn’t even know that I – or anyone, for that matter – could be capable of sweating as much as this. Frequent showers, baby powder, and even air-conditioning do not seem to be helping at all. So all I can do is soak, sweat, and soak some more in this wretched heat.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, there seems to be no end in sight for the oh-so vile power outages that seem to be occurring more and more often now. Every day, like clockwork, usually between 9 AM and 1 PM, I find myself cursing VECO to the heavens. Seriously, why do they always turn off the damned power when the sun is at its hottest? And why is the company so backwards that it can’t see the benefits of weatherization training for its employees?

Strangely enough, The Husband (he who has been used to snow and ice and the awful cold of London) is faring a lot better than I am – and I’ve lived in the tropics forever. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s actually enjoying it. But then, life’s not fair that way.

Really, it’s hellish, this summer. And for once, I would be very glad when it’s over. Here’s hoping it won’t decide to extend its stay this year. I’ve had enough. Really.