WTW!? 4: Meet Lola Basyang

I know, I tweet it a lot.

Feeling Lola right now.

Lola mode...

Holey Moley Loley! 

Well, I guess for the non-Filipino speakers who follow me on Twitter or stumble upon my blog, I'm going to define what Lola actually means... and who Lola Basyang is.

"Lola" in the Philippines is not an exotic name—at all. Like the name Kiki, the word Lola in Filipino means something completely different. Kiki is the word we use for a little girl's private parts. Lola is our word for grandmother.

Lola comin' 'atcha!

Lola - not "low-lah" like the name, it's pronounced "law-lah'", emphasis on the "la"—Lolaah. Other variants may include: Lo-Lay/Low-Lay/Tanders—don't ask.

Recently, the word Lola has been used to describe the condition of feeling lethargic, unwillingness to participate or the state of being KJ (kill joy; i.e. not fun). Example: You've planned a night out with the girls, and when the night of said night out arrives you suddenly send a text saying: "Hey grrls. Not feeling it tonight—super lola mode..."

It is also important not to confuse Lola mode with something I'd like to call Katie Katwiran. Katwiran translates roughly to "justify". Example: "Hey grrls. The traffic's really bad, and it's raining so hard, and I need to spend time with my family and I have work tomorrow morning..."—translation—"What I said might be true, but really I'm just feeling lazy and will probably spend the night downloading True Blood and watching it in bed with a mug of hot tea."

Meet Lola Basyang.

Lola Basyang is a fictitious character who is the Filipina counterpart of Mother Goose. Like Mama Goose, Lola Basyang is a treasure trove of legends, lore, fairy tales and fables.

Now see, some people have their "fun" alter egos. Bookish Barbaras become Fun Felicias at night. Married Myrtles become Single Shanequas when their husbands are away.

Geo is the fun one. My alter ego is Lola Basyang.


—And now
Stories from the vault of Lola Basyang.


Once upon a time I could drink frat bros, lax bros and football jocks under the table. These days I have to go home after exactly four drinks—not because I'm shmamboozled, simply because I'm tired...

Once upon a time I would stay out til the sun went up, when the bar would close or when my friends and I would be ushered out of an event that had just ended. Last night I French Exited a party. I used to believe that the only appropriate times to French are A) when you've double-booked, and B) when you're leaving in the arms of a hott mistake. Neither were the case last night. I left simply because I was tired...


Now, I'm not sure if it's the rainy weather, or the crazy hectic schedule I've had these past few weeks, or the fact that my partner in crime, my Twin is on a different continent, or maybe it's the fact that my body simply is not what it used to be (hmph!), but my Lola Mode is getting completely out of hand—it's becoming a Lola Lifestyle. Asleep by nine, up at five and unconcerned about the goings-on outside my garden walls.

I try to remind myself of something Twin once told me: "Get up. Dress up. and Show up." Funny thing is, I did that last night and Lola Basyang still had the last laugh.

I have two social gatherings penciled in for this coming week: a dinner on Thursday and a party on Saturday. I hate to say it because my liver's really happy and I've gotten caught up on sleep, but I think it's time to check Lola Basyang into the Golden Acres Home for the Aged.

Image of Lilia Cuntapay from: http://iamdarky.wordpress.com/2011/05/15/the-unknown-files-aswang/

WTW?! : Ventosa—the Massage Aftermath

I love getting massages.

In the past few years, the home-service salon/spa industry really boomed here in Manila. You no longer have to leave your home to avail of  a massage, mani-pedi, haircut, body scrub or a wax (but I'm not sure if they wax you down there...). My parents and I, as well as friends and relatives have all become suki (regulars) to our own home-service providers. We each have our favorite therapists, a list of back-ups and a list of never-again's (I'm talking about you MJ...).

Last week, Saturday afternoon, I was hired to write a pretty extensive literature review on a subject I knew absolutely nothing about. Oh, and it was due in four days. I had about six months to work on my college lit review. The lit review for this proposal was intended for an actual real-world, real-results study. Needless to say, I spent the next four days either hunched over, staring at Darla (my laptop) or poring over text books, practical guides and manuals on Internal Auditing (soooo random, right?!).

Wednesday morning came, the paper was passed, a meeting with the client was attended and I finally got a full night's sleep.

Thursday morning. My neck, shoulders and upper back reminded me of the strain and heartless torture I put them through by stiffening up and making me almost unable to move. I thought to myself:

I.need.a.massage.

STAT.

I called the service, set an appointment with Ellen (Love her! I sometimes call her Big Bertha in my head cos she's large and in charge, and supah strong!) and went about my day (and by went about my day, I really mean sat in a chair and moped because I couldn't move!).

At 8:30, Ellen came and started to set up. What I didn't mention is that every time Ellen would come over, she'd recommend trying a Ventosa massage. Ventosa is a type of cupping therapy procedure. Basically, the therapist puts little jars with heated air on your back. As the air cools, it contracts and forms a suction effect. It is said to increase blood flow and induce relaxation.

So yeah, Ellen came and started to set up her jars and oils as I lay face-down on my mattress. Ellen started to explain that the massage would come first, then the Ventosa therapy. I absent-mindedly replied "Sure.Great. Yay.Pleasestart." Soon enough, Ellen started her pressing and kneading.

I was asleep in minutes.

I did wake up right when she was about to start the actual cupping. She heated up and placed about a dozen jars on my back let them do their thing, and repeated the process.

It felt just as I expected, like a dozen vacuum cleaners had attached themselves to my skin—strangely pleasant, but no more "relaxing" than a regular massage. 

When the two-hour session was done, Ellen started to pack up. As she did so she said, "Oh, you have a bunch of marks on your back". I thought to myself, Well, Ellen is a therapist so physical conditions are an everyday topic for her. But that was a bit tactless, I don't have backne.

A bit nonplussed, I thanked her, paid for the service and walked her to the door. I then walked into the bathroom to get ready for bed. In the bathroom, I found this:

Well, at least now I know what to do if ever I wanna dress up like a pepperoni pizza for Halloween...

Oh.

Marks.

Now I get it.

To be completely honest, I can't really tell if the Ventosa massage was any better than the usual massages I get from Ellen, what I do know is that it costs twice as much, and it leaves marks. To be fair, the stiffness in my neck, shoulders and upper back is significantly reduced.

So. Now that I've tried the much-anticipated Ventosa massage, would I try it again in the future?

Doubtful.

=s

WTW!? : Magallanes Starbucks' Skewed Sense of Service

Now, I am probably one of the most laid back and easy-going people you will ever meet. I smile at strangers, I hum showtunes and pop songs in public and I like kids. Generally, my fuse is remarkably long, but tonight something made me snap. UGH.

Starbucks: Don't give me reasons to not like you!

So I had just had a lovely dinner out with my entire family. On the way home, we decided to stop at Rustan's Supermarket at the Paseo de Magallanes. While my mom was grabbing some chips and dip (we were planning to watch Pete's Dragon when we got home) my sister Geanne and I decided to go to the Starbucks a few doors down.

My sister headed for the couch as I made my way to the counter. There was just one other customer in line before me and she had already given her order. However, she was still asking some questions about Starbucks' tea selection, which wasn't a problem at all. After her two minute inquiry (which concluded without a tea purchase from the woman), she finally took her receipt and we exchanged smiles before she headed over to the claiming area.

It was my turn to order.

After greeting each other good evening (which generally indicates to the customer that it is in fact their turn to order) and handing her my credit card, she asked me what I would want to have tonight.

To my left (behind me in line) was a man who was already taking money from his wallet which at the time didn't mean much—even if he had placed the money on the counter while it was my turn to order.

As I was telling the barista (whose name I believe is Sen) that I wanted a White Chocolate Mocha and a Dark Mocha Frap, the man behind me started to speak.

Normally, pushy—albeit harmless—customers don't really bother me. What really infuriated me was the next series of infuriating events:

Sen put down my credit card and, without a word to me, turned to fix Mr. Important-in-a-hurry's drink. I was in shock. I mean she was in the middle of taking my order! This in-your-face display of disrespect and disregard of protocol caught me completely unawares. As I looked from barista to customer, my shock slowly turned into something more than mere irritation.

There's more.

The barista then handed the man his steaming cup, completely bypassing me, and takes his money off of the counter as the man leaves to go and add sugar and whatnot into his cup. She had the nerve to hand this guy his order while he was standing right next to me! Sen then continued to punch punch punch into the register completely oblivious of me glaring at her AND she then proceeds to go give the man his change and receipt at the fix-in's counter abandoning me to ping pong emotionally between anger and confusion.

As Sen handed the man his change, she had the gall to stay and have a little chat with him and another barista (whose name I believe was Jessica. Yes I have the visual and aural memory of Hermione Granger. PS. The man was in a shirt with maroon stripes and green cargo shorts, round head with rat-like features, but I may be biased). After bidding each other cheery goodbyes, Sen returned behind the counter and re-took my order. Betch.

Perhaps the man was a friend of Sen's, or a loyal customer, but this behavior by both individuals is inexcusable and completely unacceptable. Besides, Sen, how do you expect to gain any more "loyal" customers if this is how you treat "new" customers.

Luckily for the staff of Starbucks tonight, making a scene is not my thing. I had to help myself from telling her off—from telling her that not only was what she did exceedingly disrespectful but it displayed a painfully insufficient grasp of customer relations. Instead of berating "Sen", if that is her real name, I left Starbucks huffily with my sister in tow.

As I got home, I hastily went on the Starbucks website and discovered that there was no link to contact them by email (lucky them), but I did find the branch telephone number (lucky me). They should be expecting a call from me sometime Monday morning.

Poor form Starbucks barista.
Poor form.




Image From:
http://www.thesavvyboomer.com/the_savvy_boomer/off_topic/

WTW?! 1: Earrings For Today's Tweens

Normally, my posts are dripping with optimism and have a cheese factor on overdrive, but as I was doing the groceries today, I was shocked by a product and had to do a double take. Which in turn has inspired me to come up with a new post label: What the WHAT?! The posts in this series are inspired by sights, sounds, events or ideas that just boggle my mind or irritate me (hopefully these posts will be few and far between, I'm not much of a complainer). And so, as the first item in this brand new series, I present to you:

Swastika Earrings for the Aspiring Hitlerette

Sooo fetch!(?)

Need a closer look? Here:

They really are swastikas! aakjdfhaksjdfhak

Granted, I've heard tell that the swastika has roots in numerous South Asian religions and is a symbol of well-being. Unfortunately, it is also a symbol that brings images of the SS Guard, Auschwitz and all the other ghastly horrors of the Nazi Party—an altogether more prevalent association. With this in mind, I was completely caught off-guard when I saw these earrings hanging on a rack at a popular grocery chain.

Hindu rune for well-being? Or Nazi banner? I guess it could go either way; but if I wanted an accessory that read as 'well-being', I think I'll pass on the swastika apparel.