Coolest Websites (revised)

I'm infront of an old computer typing this letters using an overused keypad. The sites that I've been dying to open was blocked by firewall and I'm so frustrated on how I can't open my yahoo mails and how difficult it was for me to open up an account with facebook and how it was so disappointing to know that my pinoy dat org mail was closed. This is how I am enjoying my vacation leave.

So, the sites that I can browse were limited and I'll be posting some good stuffs here to share it with you.

To Anonymous and Leslie who posted a comment on my blog (Ilocanos entry), thank you. My answers were updated on the same article.

To Mommy Zey ng Bears, thank you for reading my blogs. We haven't heard from you in a long time, kamusta na?

To Joanna, thank you. Pulpol na manunulat daw ako.

Germaine and Godeszcleo, thank you.

Naging mala-radyo ang post na ito.

Anyway highway,

Natantaraugan ako sa question ni Leslie. She asked me kung ano ang tagalog ng cake. Bago ko nasagot e tumambling muna ako. This is my answer base on my point of view. Ang eepal e mag-comment na lang po.

"Whether in tagalog or Ilocano we call it keyk (cake). Same pronunciation but different spelling because cake was not originated from the Phillipines. We have our own delicacy, own version of cake and we call it kakanin and that is rice cake in english."

You might be wondering kung anong nagpa-engganyo sa akin na mag-sign up sa facebook. It's because of this:

Paano kaya kung may FACEBOOK na noong panahon ng mga KATIPUNERO?






Hahaha nakakatawa at dahil likas na inggitera ako sa mga katipunerong may face book eh tinangka kong magsign-up kanina. Yun nga lang e unsuccessful.

I found this at Post Secret:



and I have no comment.

I am now crazy about Thumblr.

Some cool stuffs are these:










from here

Time's up! I need to go home. I need to fix my own Tumblr first. Will be posting soon.

Baguio Interview of my Girlfriend

Repost from Philippine Daily Inquirer

Gays trying harder to make it to Congress By Desiree Caluza Inquirer Northern Luzon First Posted 02:52:00 06/29/2009

BAGUIO CITY—The group Ang Ladlad said Sunday it was working to remove the obstacles to its party-list accreditation so that Filipino gays and lesbians could win representation in Congress in next year’s polls. Lawyer Germaine Leonin, Ang Ladlad treasurer, said the Commission on Elections disqualified the group in 2007 on the grounds that it failed to prove it had a nationwide membership. “This year, we are doing the groundwork [to satisfy the] regional representation requirement. So we have been going [around the] provinces to enlist support from gay and lesbian groups,” said Leonin, who attended the Gay Pride march here on Sunday. She said Ang Ladlad members visited Cebu City, Cagayan de Oro City, General Santos City, Aklan and Zambales recently to organize chapters and strengthen their campaign for party-list accreditation. She said the group would submit to the Comelec documents and other materials to prove they have members in provinces all over the country. “(The Comelec) said we are not representing a marginalized sector. But we are representing 10 percent of the population,” Leonin said. The Comelec had rejected the group’s application for accreditation, saying that “reports from our field offices reveal that it doesn’t exist in most regions of the country.” Leonin said Ang Ladlad will push the Anti-Discrimination Bill that gives lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgenders (LGBT) equal rights and opportunities in employment as well as in schools, restaurants, hotels, entertainment centers and government offices. On Sunday, about 100 gays and lesbians marched down Session Road in this mountain city wearing costumes and carrying placards denouncing discrimination and homophobia. The march was organized by the Baguio Pride Network as part of international gay pride celebrations that commemorated the 1969 Stonewall riots in New York City. The riots were triggered by a police raid on a New York bar frequented by gays and lesbians.


P.S.

So open for comment

Monday Storm

The storm is hitting Manila right this afternoon. It's freezing in and out of the building. Coffee and smoking are very essential this minute and I feel sorry for not wearing layers of clothes today. If only I have these items in violent pink and electric purple, (I might look like a giant snowman) but still, I am tempted to wear earmuffs, mittens, bonnet, snow boots and scarf. My teeth are chattering and my hands are turning white. I feel like my coffee is turning into ice.

Speaking of ice, I haven't seen Ice Age 3 yet and everybody in this office were talking about it. I feel that there's nothing spectacular and it's a waste of 200 pesos. The only thing that I like on that movie is the saber-toothed squirrel whose madly obsessed with an acorn and he was an extra. For years I thought that this character doesn't have a name. A friend (Penguin), gave me a a stuffed-saber-toothed squirrel from Ice Age for christmas and I decided to call him Heffner and since everybody likes him and that he is absolutely popular because I'm bringing him to every travel I went to, my brother stole him one night and named him Ricky. My brother just turned 25, how cute and immature of him at the same time. Anyway, that thing has a name as I googled my way through Wikipedia and the character's name is Scrat. I'm sorry Scrat but to me I will still call my stuffed-scrat Heffner aka Ricky.

Anyway, this movie is bland compared to the cartoons I've watched that really pinched a heart. My all time favorite is Monters Inc. and I swear that I have seen this for more than 20 times. This is a kind of movie to watch when you're sick in bed while eating noodles and the raindrops continously sliding down your window pane.

Remember this?

What is the sound of a heart breaking?

It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny ball crying softly in the night, the sound of the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin, it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring, the sound of regret pounding inside your brain with every heartbeat, it's the whispers of the toy animals s/he gave you.

It's the shuffling of feet walking away from you, the sound of your soul shattering into a million pieces at recognizing the word "goodbye," it’s the soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the sound of feeble hands trying to push back the obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of a cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting plaintive baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an ignoring door.

It's the sound of the rain that doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors shutting and closing in your face at the same time, of raging, howling storms in the night when there's no one there to hold you, the sound of your voice as it screams back at you, the echo of "I love yous" burning holes in you, the sound your heart makes as it tells you to lie still because nothing you will ever do will matter without love.

The sound of the waves of the polluted beach you went to as it moves from the shore and crashes inside your mind, of the sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-world," the cracking of the brittle black-red petals from the sidewalk vendor roses s/he gave, the sound of the music s/he used to make going to your gut.

The sound of things in your room being thrown around and landing on the floor, the caress of kitchen knives on skin, the sound your throat makes as you swallow your saltiest tear.

It's the sound of your own voice calling out to someone who isn't there, of dying birds getting splattered on a city pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor of a Zen monastery. No one else can really hear your heart breaking except you.

- Karen Kunawicz