| You scored as Visual&PerformingArts, You should strongly consider majoring (or minoring) in the Visual or Performing Arts (e.g., Art, Art Education, Art History, Ceramics, Culinary Arts, Dance, Drawing, Fashion Design, Film, Graphic Design, Interior Design, Marketing (advertising), Music, Music Education, Music Theory, Painting, Photography, Theatre). It is possible that the best major for you is your 2nd, 3rd, or even 5th listed category, so be sure to consider ALL majors in your OTHER high scoring categories (below). You may score high in a category you didnt think you would--it is possible that a great major for you is something you once dismissed as not for you. The right major for you will be something 1) you love and enjoy and 2) are really great at it. Consider adding a minor or double majoring to make yourself standout and to combine your interests. Please post your results in your myspace/blog/journal.
WHAT MAJOR IS RIGHT FOR YOU? created with QuizFarm.com |
ten-ten-ten-ten-ten-ten-ten-ten-ten-ten.
Taken from the Japanese Variety show, "Downtown no Gaki no Tsukai ya Arahende!!"
and I will make you cry.
I make guys have to pee
and girls comb their hair.
I make celebrities look stupid
and normal people look like
celebrities.
I turn pancakes brown
and make your champaigne bubble.
If you sqeeze me, I'll pop.
If you look at me, you'll pop.
Can you guess the riddle?
2. Click on Maps
3. Click on "Get directions"
4. From New York
5. To Paris
6. Read direction # 23.
tangina... =))
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
minamalas ,Each player of this game starts off with 10 weird things/habits/little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 10 weird habits/things/little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you need to choose 10 people to be tagged and list their names. No tag backs.
1. I used to strum my nose when it's itchy.
2. I hate technicians. That's why I started in IT.
3. I like taking pictures, but I seriously hate being taken.
4. As a kid, I was curious why ladies wore heels, and even after trying it and getting the hang of wearing it, I thought women were stupid for wearing something impractical.
5. I hate waking up in the morning.
6. I don't like using floss when I take away food stuck between my teeth. I like using the foil from medicine tablets and capsules instead.
7. I have this notion that lotion makes your hands look even older than it should be.
8. I like playing survival horror games, but I hate the sight of blood.
9. I like it when people curse me for my coffee blend. Sobrang tapang kasi akong magtimpla ng kape. :D
10. I got to screw the pronunciation of an entire academic department, so much so that they nearly ended up speaking in that screwed-up manner in an international symposium in Japan. :D
I are tag
yumipitz the wrestler, ludyscarinderia , hapipinat , ina_luna , theworldwentby , fluff5, m_wildflower, heaven_spawn, ichihachi, tiang
From trophy wife to toxic wife
Decadent stay-at-home wives who take their rich husbands for a ride have finally been rumbled, says Tara Winter WilsonOnce upon a time, there was a truth, universally acknowledged, that a man with a powerful job and a beautiful house must be in want of a wife – preferably of the trophy variety. Domesticated, docile yet dazzling, she was the perfect finishing touch.
Not any more. According to research to be published in the journal Labour Economics, the earnings gap between married couples is narrowing. While in the 1980s it was the case that the higher a professional man's salary the fewer paid hours his wife would put in, men today are more likely to want a dynamic high-flier, an equal who wows him as much in the boardroom as in the bedroom.
 | |
A victory for feminism? Sadly not. The reason for this change, sisters, is nothing to be proud of.
Rich men, I believe, have finally cottoned on to the sinister side of the stay-at-home wife: unless you marry an equal who's going to pay her own way, you will end up with a lazy, indulgent, over-pampered slug. For the transition from trophy wife to toxic wife is as fast as the end result is furious.
I should know: many men of my age and acquaintance have become deeply bitter and disappointed about how their wives have changed since they hung up their working wardrobes. I am talking about university-educated women (often Oxbridge graduates) who do a couple of years work in the City before harnessing themselves to a milch cow and "having it all".
Apparently there's a new take on "having it all" – and it's not what the majority of us understood it to mean. Back in the 1970s, it meant effortlessly maintaining a beautiful home, entertaining in grand style, raising perfect children, keeping the husband sweet and having some sort of career in order to create financial independence.
"Superwoman" was the phrase coined for these energetic pioneers; "trophy wives" for the less energetic ones. Today it's a whole new ball game.
"It is like a perversion of the evolution theory: they have evolved into creatures whose function is simply to get the most for doing the least," whispered an exhausted husband to me recently. "I wouldn't mind providing her with so much if she just did something for me occasionally. She's never even once cooked me a meal."
"She doesn't know the definition of sacrifice," said another angry husband. "Relationships are meant to be about compromise, but she is more about selfishness. I bend and adapt to her needs, yet all she gives me are ultimatums."
"Can't you just divorce?" I asked.
"Are you kidding?" he replied. "I'd lose everything I've worked for, including my children, and I'd be paying her an indecent amount of money for life."
"There's another reason these husbands don't divorce," added a sympathetic onlooker. "They don't want to admit to failure – they don't want to be ungallant. There's an unspoken nobility or gentlemanly understanding that divorce is something they don't do."
Indeed, "something they don't do" is a mantra that extends to practically every area of toxic wifedom. Once an intelligent, educated woman who could hold her own in any dinner-party conversation, the toxic wife will do nothing of the sort.
"They not only become utterly vacant, they never throw dinner parties or entertain anyone outside of their small, closeted circle of other vacant wives," said irate husband number one.
"None of us can understand this: they become obsessed with perfection, grooming, with all aspects of their personal appearance… in a word, they become boring."
"Vain, boring, indulgent and lazy," adds yet another voice to the growing army of fed-up husbands. "I have to take the children out of the house every Sunday morning and wander around with them trying to find things to do because my wife must have a lie-in. I'm only allowed back in the house after 11am. Sunday is the nanny's day off, you see."
"My wife," chipped in husband number two, "gives over the whole of the weekend to pursuing what she calls 'me time'. She goes to retreats, yoga mini-breaks, a spa, a health farm, even art classes… all of which I pay for, of course. What do I get back in return? Nothing."
So today's concept of a wife "having it all", simply put, means never doing anything personally if she can pay someone else to do it for her. And if she can't find someone else, her husband must do it.
"To be frank," said another unfortunate husband, "I was conned. And I'm by no means the only one. There's a pattern of behaviour that these wives all adopt."
There are five tell-tale signs, apparently. First, she gives up work, ostensibly to care for the brood, only to have the children packed off to either boarding school or intensive (ie, lots of extra-curricular activities) private day schools.
Secondly, she suddenly wants to move somewhere more rural/suburban that suits her idea of family life, yet location-wise is horrendous for her exhausted, ever-commuting husband.
Thirdly, she demands wall-to-wall help, which nearly always includes an abused Filipina who works 12-14 hours a day, six days a week.
Fourthly, she refuses to fulfil in any way the traditional contract of the non-working spouse in terms of doing anything for her husband (such as cooking), while, fifthly, she expects her husband to fulfil the traditional but anachronistic male role in the household (such as paying all the bills).
Here is a typical day outlined by one husband of a toxic wife.
5.30am: Husband leaves for London.
7.45am: Filipina brings wife tea in bed.
8am: Nanny takes children to school.
8.30am: Breakfast, suduko and the papers.
9.30am-4pm: God knows; possibly gym, spa, shopping, boozy lunch with friends, nap or massage.
4pm: Nanny collects children from school.
5.30pm: Nanny gives children tea and goes home.
7pm: Filipina gives children bath.
7.30pm: Wife disappears off to book group.
9pm: Husband returns and roots around for an M&S ready-meal.
10.30pm: Wife returns. Bed.
10.35pm: Sex? In your dreams.
If the above timetable seems hideously parasitic, it is, and so is the woman behind it. The other day I nervously accepted an invitation for lunch with an old school friend. I felt daunted because, several years ago, she married a rich banker and I'd been dumped from her circle.
"Sorry I'm late," I said on arriving at her mansion. "Got stuck in traffic so bad it gave me road rage."
"Road rage?" replied Olivia, her eyes swivelling down to my shoes and up to my hair in a split, judgmental second. "Well, I'm suffering from maid rage. I mean, come and look…"
She led me into her kitchen, three times the size of my flat, and slid open a drawer. "How shoddy is that?" She was holding up a fork.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked, peering at it politely.
"Just look! It has a disgusting piece of encrusted mashed potato on it. I mean, it's so shoddy! She can't even unload a dishwasher. I'm really going to have to sack her. And guess what else I discovered this morning? When I opened the towel cupboard after my bath, I noticed that she'd stacked the pink towels amongst the white ones. Can you believe it?"
What made this conversation so scary was the fact that the terrified Filipina was in the room with us, hunched over a table slicing up bits of duck and foie gras for our lunch. "Juanita!" snapped Olivia. "This is your last chance. Do you understand me? You'll be back in Manila within the week… I couldn't possibly recommend you to anyone. Understand?"
"Yes Madam," she sniffed with a tremulous sob.
"And stop dripping your revolting bodily fluids over our lunch. Throw that away and start again. "
Horrified by her manner and the distressing scene, I asked her for a tour of her home. She had just moved into one of those massive houses in Chelsea Square. Rich folk tolerate people like me (ie, broke ones) only because we make them feel better about themselves.
"Would love to, darling," she drawled, "but first how about a drinkie-poo? Juanita! Open the champagne chilling in the wine fridge and bring it upstairs to the south drawing-room."
"Yes Madam," replied the poor slave.
"I won't have any, thanks," I said. "I'm driving and have to pick my children up from school."
"You mean you don't have a nanny to do it?" Olivia's eyes glared with horror. "I have the most delightful Norland one. Although the uniform is brown and ghastly, they are so well trained. She's downstairs in the basement doing my ironing at the moment…"
This was now utterly surreal. I had no idea that real people lived like this. Yet, minute by agonising minute, it got worse. I tried a bit of light humour.
"Well, let's hope she's not weeping tears on to your party dresses, eh?"
"What?" snapped Olivia.
"Well, then you'd ask her to redo the whole lot again, wouldn't you?"
"Possibly," she replied. "But a little moisture is no bad thing when ironing out the creases…"
Was she exhibiting a dry wit? I didn't know. In her pre-toxic wife days, she was amusing and droll. Now we were different beings living in parallel universes. She showed me lavish room after lavish room, and at one point I heard some strange shuffling coming from one of her closets. Maybe her life is not so perfect after all, I thought; maybe she has rats.
As we sat down to lunch in the "informal" dining-room adjacent to the kitchen in an open-plan L-shape, I noticed that Juanita was eating a rather more humble repast slightly around the corner; although I couldn't see all of her, I could detect an elbow jutting out from time to time.
"She won't be joining us then?"
"Are you mad?" cried Olivia. "Why would I want to even see my servants?"
As if on cue, a wizened little Filipino man appeared, bowing and scraping. "Madam, I have finished all the shoes. I will go now, thank you madam." He hurried out.
"See you on Thursday as normal, Pedro," she replied, barely glancing at him.
"Where did he spring from?" I asked. After all, I'd just endured an exhaustive survey of her house, and there had been no sign of Pedro.
"Oh, he's our shoe polisher. He comes twice a week. He works in a cupboard – probably why you didn't notice him." No rats after all.
Here was an educated woman who spent her days rotting her brain with alcohol, and bossing an army of staff.
"Olivia," I said, "don't you miss your old job, your financial independence? Isn't all this a bit decadent?"
"Forget the work ethic," she laughed. "Why on earth would I want to struggle, feel tired and look old before my time?"
I left, more agitated than when I arrived. Forget road rage; I was suffering from toxic-wife rage. Driving to collect my children, the outside world felt like a haven of normality and peace. How I pitied these rich and successful men who had naively hoped for a domestic goddess, only to end up with a diva.
Wake up, toxic wives, the game is over. Your milch cows have seen the light of day. You are toxic, you are trouble and you are about to become extinct.
***
Great. Katulong pa rin ang turing sa atin... haaay...It's been 24 years since I last got to see her, and Middlefinger Po was the best opportunity for me to show her
what I've become after all this time. This was the most priceless experience that I've had for the entire year by far. Astig!
To the teachers, I hope you get to experience moments na babalikan kayo ng mga estudyante
ninyo after they've all grown up para magpasalamat. That would be the best reward ANY teacher can ever have. :)
| You Should Be An Aquarius |
 What's good about you: philosophical and idealistic, you are a great thinker What's bad about you: you require a lot of space - it's hard to get close to you In love: you're quirky and playful, but you hate to be smothered In friendship, you're: likely to have many acquaintances and very few good friends Your ideal job: pilot, snow boarder, or science fiction writer Your sense of fashion: unconventional, unique outfits that turn heads You like to pig out on: anything with garlic or unique spices |
I would have believed this "Past Life" result thing, if it didn't spew out random animals (try it...)
| You Were a Lynx |
 You are a great knower and keeper of secrets. A bit psychic, you can bring out hidden truths. |
OK, next...
| You Are Lightning |
 Beautiful yet dangerous People will stop and watch you when you appear Even though you're capable of random violence You are best known for: your power Your dominant state: performing |
You are The Tower
Ambition, fighting, war, courage. Destruction, danger, fall, ruin.
The Tower represents war, destruction, but also spiritual renewal. Plans are disrupted. Your views and ideas will change as a result.
The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. The Tower stands for "false concepts and institutions that we take for real." You have been shaken up; blinded by a shocking revelation. It sometimes takes that to see a truth that one refuses to see. Or to bring down beliefs that are so well constructed. What's most important to remember is that the tearing down of this structure, however painful, makes room for something new to be built.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Raph kasi, e... Pinakita pa yung link. hehehe...
Here are some of them. You can listen to them by clicking on the titles.
Kaibigan
Originally "Kabigan Song"
Mula sa "Sa Kaharian ng Araw" Titik kina Joel Pagsanghan at Onofre Pagsanghan
Himig ni Mandy Agoncillo
Ika'y aking kaibigan.
Kay raming pinagsamahan.
Ngayon ako'y kailangan,
Paano kitang iiwan?
Anumang tarik ng bundok,
Sasama ako sa taluktok.
Kung rurok dagat ang siyang alok,
Kasama mo akong aarok.
Anumang lagim ng bangin,
Anumang bangis ng hangin,
Malaglag man mga bituin,
Makaaasa ka sa akin.
Ateneo High School Class 1A '80, O. Pagsanghan, M. Francisco
Hindi kita malilimutan, hindi kita pababayaan.
Nakaukit magpakailanman,
Sa 'king palad, ang 'yong pangngalan.
Malilimutan ba ng ina, ang anak na galing sa kanya?
Sanggol sa kanyang sinapupunan, paano niyang matatalikdan?
Ngunit kahit na malimutan ng ina ang anak n'yang tangan
Hindi kita malilimutan, kailan ma'y di pababayaan.
Hindi kita malilimutan, kailan ma'y di pababayaan.
The 40th Anniversary Mass of the Days gave me another chance to hear these songs again, and move me.
Those who know the songs know why it's moving.
Those who really know me know why I'm deeply moved by it...
- Mood:
touched
heaven_spawn for being there for the Yuppie Days to help me sponsor a dear friend. Sponsoring two people, albeit rewarding, can be quite taxing sometimes, especially if you do it alone. All the help was much needed. I'm glad you're there along with Cheers (I hope she had an LJ to read this). :)I agree with Omar and James. You'd make a great rector. :)
- Mood: grateful
You say one love, one life, when it's one need in the night.
One love, we get to share it
Leaves you baby if you don't care for it.
Did I disappoint you or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love and you want me to go without.
Well, it's too late tonight to drag the past out into the light.
We're one, but we're not the same.
We get to carry each other, carry each other... one
Have you come here for forgiveness,
Have you come to raise the dead
Have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head
Did I ask too much, more than a lot
You gave me nothing, now it's all I got.
We're one, but we're not the same.
Well, we hurt each other, then we do it again.
You say love is a temple, love a higher law
Love is a temple, love the higher law.
You ask me to enter, but then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on to what you got, when all you got is hurt.
One love, one blood, one life, you got to do what you should.
One life with each other: sisters, brothers.
One life, but we're not the same.
We get to carry each other, carry each other.
One, one.
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