Monica and Me
For those of you who are not familiar with the TV sitcom "Friends", Monica Gellar is an obsessive neurotic ... pretty much like me, as some people know. Monica's obsessed with cleanliness and neatness; she's a perfectionist who can be hard on herself; she's very organized and pays close attention to details; and she is competitive (sometimes, even with her own boyfriend/husband, Chandler Bing -- see accompanying photo) ... again, pretty much like me!


Monica's Obsessed
I knew I was neat and organized as I was growing up. But I never gave my OC'ness much thought. When I made mistakes writing notes on my school notebooks, I had to cut a strip of paper, paste/glue it on the wrong word, then write over it. Otherwise ... otherwise, I'd tear off the whole page and re-write everything! Told you I am neurotic.

We didn't have computers yet in grade school and high school, so I tried my best to type essay titles on the center of the sheet by counting the spaces. If I was off by a few spaces, here and there, that was alright. Ha - see, I was not completely crazy! I wasn't as obsessed yet, in my younger days. How did I get to be so "bad" now? Danger signs!

A story on neatness that will freak you out -- in my mid-teens, I woke one morning to find a pen and paper on my drawer. I was so alarmed! Why does my dresser have a pen and paper on top of it? I don't put anything on top of my dresser that doesn't belong there! After a few minutes, it dawned on me -- ah, it was I who put those things there. I must have sleptwalked again! How did I know? Well, the pen was lying on the center of the paper, equidistant on the left and right.

It is standard for people to arrange their bills (paper money) according to denomination. But what if you have more than one bill, per denomination? You know what I do -- I arrange the "per denomination" according to ... serial number! Cough cough, makes you think I can be a serial killer! Let's not forget that they should all be facing front.

And speaking of facing front, all my cassette tapes are facing front (as you open the case) on Side A, with reels rewound all the way. Same goes for records and discs. Bawal ang tabingi!

For most people, it is but normal to arrange CD collections alphabetically, right? And books, too! But what about colored markers/pens? Black, blue, green, orange, pink, red, violet, yellow ...

About 12 years ago, in my previous job at Saatchi & Saatchi in Manila, an officemate of mine once asked if I count the paper clips in my container. Duh -- what did he think of me? I don't do that! Hahaha. *wink wink* No, but seriously, I do not!

In one episode of "Friends", Phoebe, one of the six main characters, pretends to seduce Chandler, Monica's then-secret boyfriend. When Chandler panics, he rushes to the bathroom to consult Monica. To his utter surprise (or not!), he realizes that Monica was at it again -- "Did you clean here?!". Well, if Monica can stay in someone else's bathroom and uncontrollably clean it ... I can just stand in front of piles of DVDs in Costco (or some other store), and start regrouping them according to title. My husband, Joey, who was watching me from afar, thought I was interested in a few of the discs because I kept removing them from the pile!

I have lists on Microsoft Excel -- books (with genres/categories in different worksheets), discs, gifts, birthdays, songs on my iPod, etc. And mind you, I also have the same info in my Palm. I just can't enough of lists! But no, I am not like Gretchen "nouveau riche" Barretto, who has her dinnerware/kitchenware catalogued in the computer for her maids to *cough cough* peruse. Bah, hambog (instead of "bah, humbug")!


Monica's a Perfectionist
Being OC, I think it quite follows that I am a perfectionist (I recently heard that OC people are intelligent. Ehem, ehem!). Oh, yes, I am harshest on myself. Naturally, I feel upset with people who fail me, but then, I am most unforgiving with myself whenever I fall. That is the hardest part -- being your worst and harshest critic.

Everything simply has to be perfect! I broke down on Christmas Eve 2002 because I still wasn't done wrapping our gifts and tying them nicely with ribbons. My eldest sister volunteered to help me, saying that the ribbons don't have to be perfect. "But they have to be!", I cried (literally). I just couldn't have things any other way, even if it killed me.

My being OC extends to my parking -- I must park my car equidistant on the left and the right. And how do you measure that? By opening the door of the driver, and the door of the front passenger. Seriously -- I did that when I was taking my driving lessons in 1990. I must have driven my instructor nuts! But I was a very skillful student, so I heard no complaints from him.


Monica's Competitive
Going back to "Friends", I never really liked Monica (and Chandler). I sometimes felt that she was a bully to her friends. She would also manipulate situations just to be at an advantage. Little by little, and more and more, though, I realized that I saw myself in her -- no, not with bullying or manipulating, but with being OC and competitive. With Monica, everything had to be perfect and ideal, no shortcuts. With Marife, everything has to be perfect and ideal, no shortcuts. Monica always aimed for the best, nothing less. Marife always aims for the best, nothing less. The best or first in everything -- getting ahead of other drivers on the road; being better than others at work or even at play; getting something or somewhere first. No one is spared; nothing is spared ... well, almost. The list goes on and on. Best or first in everything.


Gosh, what have I gotten myself into? This is such a demanding and stressful characteristic, OC'ness. I wasn't this bad, in my younger days. Ahhhh ... things can only get better, then! Actually, I like being OC, and I'm really proud of it -- it has proven, time and again, to be very much an asset, more than a liability.

Affirmations from "The Undomestic Goddess" (in reference to Sophie Kinsella's novel)
Last night, the unthinkable happened -- I cried over my career.

No, that's not to say that I have never cried about work/my career. I have ... about thrice in 12 years (twice out of frustration, and once out of anger). But let me give you some backgrounder/ history on why I think crying about my career, at this stage, should be unthinkable.

I lived and breathed advertising (Media) for 12 years, from 1993-2005. From 1993-1998, I handled the Procter & Gamble account, and one of my several P&G brands was the huge Tide Family. I worked like a slave, leaving the office when I am left with only the ghosts. Being the last (wo)man out was not a rarity. Whenever I declare "I'm leaving early today. Promise.", my groupmates would tease me, saying I wouldn't receive anything when I die, save for a corona of flowers and a mass card. I thrived under pressure, and secretly enjoyed stress. I felt good handling a demanding account and probably one of the bloodiest P&G brands. Yes, I was a sadist.

But after years had gone by, the thrill was gone, and I was past the "honor" stage. I felt empty. I asked myself once, "So, P&G is your Client, and you feel fulfilled and accomplished. But are you still happy?". That was the turning point. Fulfillment didn't matter as much to me anymore -- I wanted my life back.

Fast forward to seven years later -- When my husband, Joey, and I were granted our immigrant visas to the US, I said to him that I would not want to work again in the pressure-cooker world of advertising. My 12-year advertising stint was very fruitful and fulfilling, and I will always treasure the experience, thank you very much, but I wanted out already. I saw this migration as the perfect opportunity to start my career life anew.

Fast forward to a couple of months of living in the US -- Okay, Starbucks will not even entertain my application. My small dream of wanting to be a barista was not going to happen. "Overqualified". Bah, humbug -- ano ba pake nila if I want to do something laborious/clerical/
"blue collar", for a change?! A favorite former client of mine, Deeda Pama, chided me for wanting to be a barista -- "And please, it's everyone's escapist fantasy to be a barista at Starbucks ... And come on, when the novelty wears off, you'll be wishing you were back in Media.". She made sense, and that actually struck me. I still keep that little dream at the back of my mind, though.

I was never interviewed for a barista position. Not even once. Instead, I was getting interviews for Media Planner/Buyer.

Where am I now? I am back in advertising.

I lost all drive for a career, lost all motivation and interest. What mattered to me was the bottom line, my take-home pay.

So why did I cry over my career last night? I cried out of frustration.

Batong-bato ako sa trabaho. I have so many things to learn in this new market (the US), but the opportunities just aren't there. I am underutilized and, I feel, much underrated. This has been going on since my first day, and I didn't really care where my career was headed, or if there was room for growth -- kahit wala akong ginagawa sa opisina, basta ba sinusuwelduhan ako, de wagi. I took on that attitude because I felt blessed being paid for not working too hard at all. I didn't mind anymore being a member of the 501 Club (a term we used in Manila to refer to people who leave the office on the dot) because it meant I could still do other things before going home.

But having been used to the dog-eat-dog world of advertising in Manila -- where yesterday was the deadline; Clients are always requesting reports; you are in contact with Clients and AEs 24/7; raised tempers and high blood pressure are common; and eliminating competition was the name of the game -- I slowly longed for my old life. This longing would bother me every now and then, but I would just brush it off ...

Until I read Sophie Kinsella's "The Undomestic Goddess". The book made me realize things. It affirmed one thing -- I am absolutely crazy! I still want the dog-eat-dog world (see above)! I still want to feel fulfilled and accomplished in my career, and not merely look forward to my next paycheck. I still want to feel that I am worth a lot to my bosses, and not just someone whose loss they would take lightly. Right now, my feelings have sunk, and I feel worthless as a career person.

And that is why I cried. I did not expect to cry -- in fact, I, myself, was surprised with the tears. I went up to Joey, only wanting to discuss my thoughts. Instead, I felt an ache in my heart, then I burst into tears. As you can see, the ending is not quite the same as Samantha Sweeting's in Sophie Kinsella's novel.

So where do I go from here -- do I go back to Manila and slug it out again with the rest of my former colleagues? O hahayaan ko na lamang na maburo ako dito sa opisinang 'to? Definitely not the latter. Let's wait and see.

In the meantime, go for the big fish and kick some ass, once more! This career girl's heydays ain't over yet!

is for




"Madonna". Wish it were for "Marife", but no -- this blog entry is not about me. "M" is for Madonna!

There are two queer but talented artists who I truly admire, and their first names start with the letter "M" -- they are Michael Jackson and Madonna, the King and Queen of Pop (and queer), respectively.

My husband, Joey, and I had the good fortune of catching Madonna on her "Confessions" 2006 tour in Phoenix, AZ. I was thrilled to finally see her perform live, though not really up close! Our seats were not too shabby at all -- lower level facing the stage. Still, I wish we invested in binoculars! Dang.

The show was scheduled to start at 8PM. Joey and I got lost with all the rerouting (Glendale roadworks are ongoing), and found ourselves parking the car somewhere "talipapa" dusty, as Joey called it. The walk to the Glendale Arena was short, and we were amazed that, at 815PM, there were still long car queues all around the parking lot.

As expected (I had read that in other "Confessions" performances, she started the show late), the show didn't start on time. People were still filling up the place. People ... of all genders! Oh, but wait -- I didn't see any lesbians/tomboys. Hehehe. Okay, side story: a gay barkada sat one row ahead of us, and quickly, I thought the muscled guy in white sando (muscle man shirt) was very friendly and amusing -- he immediately chatted with this female stranger on his left. He was truly amusing and endearing! But wait till he starts dancing to Madonna's songs -- gyrating, shimmying, and waving his hands in the air! Homophobic Joey couldn't help but laugh and be thoroughly amused. I wanted to hug "Muscle Man" -- he was so endearing!

I have always admired Michael Jackson and Madonna for being total/complete performers (parang Gary Valenciano ba?) -- they sing AND dance very well. They blow my mind whenever I see them in their MTVs, dancing in great choreography with their back-up dancers. And in "Confessions", Madonna delivered the goods -- powerful singing and fabulous choreography! She sang and danced the night away. This lady was tireless! Her body was buff; her arms were ripped; and her energy was overflowing. A woman of 47 put to shame my body of ... 37 (uh-oh, I can't believe I admitted my age!).

Joey and I were impressed with the entire production -- they had fantastic videos of horses and African children, all in perfect timing with the songs. A giant disco mirror ball was lowered from the ceiling (out came Madonna for her opening number!); several mirror balls appeared onstage during the "disco" sequence; "electronic" lighting filled the stage walls; and yes -- that infamous cross sequence -- the mirrored cross on which Madonna hung was also startlingly magnificent.

Madonna sang 20 songs -- some taken from her latest album; and a few old old ones that we grew up to, like "Like a Virgin", "Live to Tell", "La Isla Bonita", and "Lucky Star". I'm sure that after this concert tour, her "Confessions" album will run out of copies!

Madonna has been in the music scene for at least 20 years, but she has never run out of style -- this artist always successfully reinvents herself. From pa-cute virginal girl in "Like a Virgin" to seemingly blasphemous evil witch in "Like a Prayer". Madonna rocks the house! What will she think of next?

But, please -- chop off that long wavy Farrah Fawcett hairdo. It's hideous!