Bottled Sky

What good is a shoe addict‘s blog without random bouts of shoe worship? I, therefore, present to you my favorite stilettos:

These were a joint gift from Chrissa, Tin and Albert. They asked me what I wanted for my birthday two years ago, and I immediately said shoes. It’s almost an automatic response for me They agreed, so we went to the mall to hunt for the perfect pair.

I love these shoes, because they’re such a unique color—silver-brown with a nice, soft sheen. I’m also quite fond of the ribbon detailing, the peep toe and the little cutouts. They’re sexy without being over the top. And even though they’re stilettos, the heels aren’t so high that I can’t walk in them. I’m not saying they’re uber comfy, but at least they’re tolerable.

I bet you won’t be able to guess the strangest place in which I’ve worn these shoes… I actually wore them in an operating room. I went to the American Eye Center, the same place where I had my laser eye surgery, to have a sty removed. My dad, who drove me to the clinic, questioned my choice of footwear before we left the house:

Dad: That’s what you’re wearing to surgery?!

Me: Why not? If I have to walk around a public place with a bloody bandage over my eye, at least my feet will look good!

I had to wear paper booties over my shoes during the operation. It was a good thing the heels didn’t tear through the paper After the surgery, my dad and I met up with my mom at the supermarket and had dinner at a restaurant. People kept giving me weird looks. (They obviously hadn’t yet realized that stilettos were the perfect accessory to liven up post-surgery bandages.) It was a lot of fun! I love it when I baffle strangers with my eccentricities.

I’ve lived in Metro Manila my whole life. I’ve battled the horrendous hi-way traffic five days a week since my grade school years (and I’ve lost many times, too, if the number of tardies I’ve acquired throughout my schooling is any indication). I’m used to the smog and the noise that can be found only in a busy, over-populated metropolis. I’ve grown accustomed to being 10 minutes away from the nearest shopping mall, and I can’t imagine life without cable TV and the Internet. If I had to be away from the city for longer than a few days, I’d miss it terribly. What more can I say? I’m an urbanite through and through.

It was, hence, only to be expected that alarm bells would go off in my head when one summer my parents happily announced that they were taking me on a road trip to Vigan. Eight hours in a car with nothing but rice fields to look at? Three days in a place that prided itself on being stuck in the previous century? More rice fields on the ride back?! They must have been kidding themselves if they actually thought I’d agree to come.

As it turned out, I was the one kidding myself when I thought they’d agree to go without me. So on an early summer day, trapped in an SUV with my parents and armed with only my loudest CDs, I was on my way to Vigan.

Continue reading A Visit to the 19th Century »

My LiveJournal has been “smoochified.” I normally don’t do mushy, but I came across this old drawing of mine and felt the urge to use it in a layout:

I added the style sheet to the LJ themes page in case anyone else wants it. I had a few drops of creative juice left over after finishing the layout, so I made a bunch of icons as well.

In other news, my mom is now a blogger. I guess everyone and his mother really does have a blog these days She chose Mrs. B for her screen name and refers to my dad as Mr. B and me as Miss B in her entries. I love it, haha!

To my knowledge, my dad has yet to join the blog-wagon. He does visit this site regularly, though. (Hi, Dad!) Sometimes we’d be eating dinner and he’d say, “By the way, in your links page you missed an ‘I’ in ‘visiting.’” Who needs Spell Check when you have a perfectionist father going over your website?

Taking a cue from my traveling book, one of my favorite pairs of pants has left me for Germany. My aunt, who lives there, stayed with us for a couple of weeks in November. She went back home just before the holidays, and my pants were accidentally mixed in with her luggage.

Although I’m a little bummed about losing those pants, I can’t help but be amused that another of my possessions has reached Europe before me. Plus, I can’t really complain, because although I lost a pair of pants, I gained three cocktail dresses that my aunt generously bequeathed to me before she left. Sure, they look like they belong more in the costume department of a bad 80′s movie than in my closet, but at least they’re, um, interesting.

• Dress # 1 is bright purple with a fully-sequined bustier top and a skirt made of shiny, metallic fur (I kid you not). It also comes with a matching shawl made of the same furry fabric.
• Dress # 2 has a black satin bodice and a ruffled, gold-and-peach skirt. I don’t know what that gold fabric is called. I asked my mom, but the only thing she could say was that it looked like crinkled candy wrapper There’s also a wide ruffle that runs around the bust area, which my aunt says is supposed to make the wearer look like a flower.
• Dress # 3 is made of black brocade and adorned with a big bow on the front. It’s actually pretty tame compared to the other two.

All three dresses fall just above the knee. In case you’re having trouble imagining what they look like, here’s a visual aid:

All I need now are 3-foot-high bangs and a costume party to attend. Does anyone want to join me? I’d probably wear the furry, sequined wonder; you can pick from the other two dresses.

All throughout my teenage years, I was the one with the “cool” parents. I never had to ask permission to go anywhere. My friends had to beg just to be allowed to go to the mall; I could simply inform my parents that I was going on a week-long vacation to some province a few hours before I’m scheduled to leave. While most of my classmates had to be driven everywhere, I was free to go as I pleased via public transportation. I’ve also had a credit card since I was thirteen.

Yet there was more to my folks’ parenting style than being able to do whatever I wanted. Somehow they still managed to instill a sense of accountability in me. Even without being told, I knew well enough not to abuse my plastic and to never leave without telling them where I was going. Their parenting style may have been unorthodox, but except for the chronic laziness, I’d say I turned out okay.

I was actually teasing them the other day that they should publish a book on parenting just for the amusement of seeing how people would react to their more interesting techniques:

• They encouraged my inner artist to draw on our walls–with washable markers.
• Mom taught me how to climb up my bookcase a la Spider-Man when I was a toddler, so I wouldn’t have to ask for help to get things from high shelves.
• They also taught me to drink at the age of five. They’d take me to office cocktail parties after school, where I’d drink Boone’s Farm in my Catholic school uniform. By age twelve I had moved on to vodka tonics. I’d drink about four glasses every time my family would bar-hop to hear local rock bands perform. I got my first hangover when I was eight, and since I know how to handle my alcohol, I haven’t had any hangovers since.
• Mom was afraid I wouldn’t obey her orders to stay away from the stove while she was cooking, so to teach me the concept of “hot” she dipped my finger in a mug of hot water. I’d say the lesson worked marvelously–up to now, I still can’t cook to save my life.
• In another “successful lesson,” they helped me understand electricity better by threatening to stick my finger in an electrical socket.

Here’s a more recent example of their unique brand of parenting. A couple of years ago I was heading out to UP to attend an evening class wearing a very low-cut top and low-hanging jeans. Cue concerned mother.

Mom: You shouldn’t wear sexy clothing on Fridays, because you get home so late. Maybe you should change.

Me: But there’s a cute guy in my Friday class.

Mom: Oh, why didn’t you say so earlier?! In that case, just walk really fast when you’re out on the streets. Have fun!

Yes, I can see it now. “Just Walk Really Fast: Parenting that Works in the Real World.” It’ll be right up there in all the bestseller lists along with “I’ll Think of a Title Later: The Procrastinator’s Guide to Never Getting Anything Done.”

On a totally unrelated topic, check out these photos of my ridiculously handsome dogs, Oreo and TJ. You can click for a larger view.