Dough it yourself.

There was a time I was into food literature: non-fiction about the food we eat, why we enjoy some food, and the history of the food we consume. Learning about the hidden intricacies of mundane things is always delightful; and food, even the fancy kinds, are some of the most mundane things we partake everyday.

There was this book that I enjoyed reading, Gastronaut: Adventures in Food for the Romantic, the Foolhardy, and the Brave, where Stefan Gates narrates his various food adventures. In one essay, he decided to try incorporating various stuff from his body into his food: fingernail clippings, semen, urine. The only body stuff he didn’t use are hair (they can’t be digested and can cause problems with one’s intestines) and feces (it’s toxic). It was an interesting exercise in overcoming disgust due to body-related food taboos.

Read more: I was reminded of that essay while reading a viral story today about a woman who used her vaginal yeast to create bread.

#30DayWritingChallenge: An adventure in the kitchen.

Day Eleven: An adventure in the kitchen.

Draft One.

The door burst open while I was peeling the potatoes.

NINJAS!

I quickly ducked out of the way as the first masked man expertly drew his sword and sliced the space where I stood but moments ago.

With a flick of my hand, I threw the peeling knife. Another masked man screamed as my knife plunged its way into his thigh.

Draft Two.

The door burst open while I was peeling the potatoes.

ZOMBIE!

Without really thinking, I grabbed my iron skillet and bashed the rushing undead taho vendor. When I saw its knees bend, I used the side of the skillet to break its knees.

The corpse still struggled to crawl towards me despite its useless legs. However, its slower pace gave me time to draw my largest cleaver.

Draft Three.

The door burst open while I was peeling the potatoes.

UNICORN!

The animal asked if I had any beer in the fridge; it happened I just had two cans of Red Horse left.

We shared the beer but the unicorn declined my offer to serve sugar-coated dilis. He asked if it was okay if he can smoke. It turned out unicorns smoked dried moringa.

Draft Four.

The door did not burst open while I was peeling the potatoes. I finished preparing for pork menudo without any interruptions.

THE END.

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Harmony, Ords, and Vicky Belo.

I had at least an hour to kill while a technician repaired my phone. I figured I’ll get the massage I’ve promised myself for some time now. After the stress of wondering about my HIV status, I could use some pampering to relax.

There was only the middle-aged masseuse when I entered the massage parlor. I looked at their list of services and asked what the “Body Mind Harmony Massage” was. It sounded so esoteric. It turned out to be a combination of Thai, Shiatsu, and Swedish message.

massage

Okay, I’m game.

The masseuse played a recording of tropical bird sounds as ambient sound during the massage session. I didn’t know if that helped me relax, especially since the recording included occasional squawks and (this surprised me the first time it burst out) an elephant trumpet which interrupted the chirruping of various birds.

But lying on a massage bed by itself was already relaxing. I was too tall for it, my feet dangling a few inches from the end of the bed. I decided I want to have one made for me, with a customized face hole so I can sleep on it with my face down. I also realized that aside from lying there and thinking, I was also narrating that exact moment in my head. The habit of dictating to my inner blog never really goes away.

The masseuse was okay, if a little uneven in how she did the massage. She was rather chatty too, which I appreciated, describing which parts of my limbs were tense.

I asked how she learned to massage professionally. She said it was from a livelihood program by the Binays, then she took a proficiency exam as TESDA. She told me of another proficiency exam from the Department of Health which cost twenty thousand pesos and includes several months of review classes.

I already expected some pain as she eased some of my knotted muscles. While I didn’t have a high threshold for pain, I do have a relatively high tolerance for it. She was amused when she found out that I was also ticklish. Several times, I was squirming while she rubbed by thigh, and again while she was massaging my neck.

“Eh di malakas yung ‘ords’ mo,” she teased me.

Ords? What the fuck is ‘ords’? I honestly didn’t know so I asked what she meant.

“Sexual ords,” she clarified. Ah… sexual urge. That got me laughing, and not because of the charming mispronunciation. “Yun ang sabi nila. Syempre, kayo lang pwede magsabi nun.”

She also asked about my wife (“Wala po akong asawa.”) or girlfriend (“Hahaha, wala din po.”). Oh, wow. Was the masseuse flirting with me? That was fun. I couldn’t shatter the woman’s assumption by admitting that I play for the other team.

It was a pleasant session, all in all. I figured I will return again after a month or so. I asked for the masseuse’s name before I left.

“Vicky,” she answered. “Vicky Belo,” she added with a slight emphasis, her face deadpan.

Where there’s smoke…

White smoke started coming out from my office desktop’s CPU. I quickly scrambled to unplug the cord and shut down the UPS.

Ash gray dust were left on the front grills of the CPU; I suspect it was accumulated dust from inside that were blown by the fan. None of the paper I stuck next to the CPU seemed to have burnt and there was no smell of burnt electronic stuff.

Still, I decided to set up in another station until the office IT people take a look my desktop.

The office’s IT guy came, took a look at the CPU and casually said, “It’s just dust. It’s alright.”

“Shouldn’t I be worried about that?” I replied, not about to let go of the panic that sprung on me.

IT guy just laughed and walked away. I feel like moving one of the fire extinguishers next to me, just in case.

Madonna, Buffy, sea serpents, and suicidal underwear.

Two odd dreams from last weekend.

Dream #1

Madonna was riding a serpent-like sea monster following Buffy Summers who kidnapped Madonna’s son. Buffy turned around to show a blonde sea siren who suddenly attacked the sea monster.

Dream #2

Former co-worker Popin invited me to drink some cocktails she made on the pretext that she was studying to be a bartender. One of the better drinks included omelette as an ingredient. The drink was not called an “omelette”; it had an omelette. All the drinks were good, though.

It turned out to be a reality TV show where people are supposed to get drunk, do ridiculous drunken antics, and pass out in front of the camera. Two of the invited girlfriends started pole dancing in the bar. No, I didn’t get drunk enough to do anything stupid.

But this was not a dream:

I was getting the dried laundry from the clothes line when one of my briefs slipped from my hand and fell on the cement stub outside the balcony of the laundry area. I tried to fish it out, but I caused it to fall further down, on the outcropping roof placed outside the units at the building’s ground floor.

Bern and I had to take the step ladder (which normally functions as a book shelf) to fetch it. It was one of my newer underwear, bought just the week before, so I was pretty keen on getting it back. Good thing this happened at the back of the building, away from where most of the tenants pass on their way out.

We used to have suicidal plants and cooking pots. Now, even our underwear are jumping off our building.