Gloria Arroyo's Letter to God
President Arroyo of the Philippines won a second six-year term in June 2004. Her aim is to tackle corruption and improve Philippines ' economic conditions. According to Mrs. Arroyo's profile, she is keen to emphasize her Christian faith. When we asked her for the letter she wrote to God earlier this week, she was more than happy to share it with us. Margarito Teves, who is the finance minister of the Philippines , faxed this to us earlier today:
Dear God,
I woke up with this sharp pain stabbing right at the back of my brain, the same kind of pain you feel while talking to President Bush about foreign policy. I thought a nice hot bubble bath would do the trick, so I attempted to fall asleep in the bath tub until my husband came home and started discussing the traffic situation in Malate with me through the bathroom door.
He wouldn't shut up, so I grabbed my iPod and started listening to the Twelve Girls Band. Did you ever listen to them? It's this Asian traditional instrumental music band of, yes, twelve girls. It's like sushi menudo. They're grand.
While listening to them, I started thinking about today's world. Truly, these are dark days for humanity. The threats to our existence are numerous. The American government keeps warning us that more attacks from Al Qaida are imminent or at least, they'll probably happen “this summer.” And they said that last summer as well. And once a week since 9/11. Apparently they might hijack a plane using a camera “converted into a weapon.” Whatever. I'm losing interest in American paranoia.
In more important news, I got hair dye today in Robinsons Department Store (I so chic) and the box said “medium blonde.” I figured, well, light blonde and even bleaching doesn't work to get the current funky color out of my hair, so why not try a darker blonde. I come home about an hour later, excited as all hell, and dye my hair. IT'S BLACK. No medium blonde, not even dark blonde. BLACK.
Show me what you're goddamned selling me, L'Oreal!
I got so mad after I saw the results. I walked around in circles snapping my fingers and doing a little bop thing for about 25 minutes while Tears for Fears was on a loop.
Anyways, I did the mistake of reading the Daily Mail today. At least two articles were about the ‘menace of the illegal migrant drivers.' According to some silly Brits, scheming foreigners are going to Britain and driving quite, quite badly, as well as taking all their jobs, breaking into their homes, and spending their tax revenue on horse tranquilizers that they will use in people's kebabs.
My hubby wants us to get drunk tonight. Just because he wants to get drunk as quickly as possible, does not excuse excess amounts of Kahlua in chocolate milk. It's not healthy. After I told him that, he started downing 6 shots of Tequila. Looks like we'll be having a party in 10 minutes. I've noticed that we've been drunk almost every night the past two weeks, and that suits me just fine.
My oh my. It's getting late. My homework tonight was to read a book about the predicament of humanity in the 21st-century capitalist milieu, but I'm off to finish watching the 8th season of the X-Files with the DVD commentary on. I'll have to wait until my husband drinks himself into unconsciousness. Should I join him? Maybe I should join him. Or maybe I should.. you know .. go nap… at the bottom of a swimming pool. Anything to avoid tomorrow's meeting with Kim Jong-il of North Korea .
My husband is tap dancing his way in and out of the bathroom, I'm thinking of doing the same thing because I've been living life like I mean it. The thing is, if I do drink, I wouldn't be able to sleep. And broken sleep is my curse. Every night I get drunk, I continually wake up every 20-30 minutes.
If I ever am woken up, I wouldn't mind it so much as being kept awake by prolonged noise. Otherwise I get scared, and I start worrying about people's stupid attempts to impeach me or military mutineers trying to steal my status. Joseph Estrada has been pushing my buttons lately, so I try not to think about him before bedtime, otherwise I will be an insomniac. I sleep so lightly that even a mouse fart three streets away has me bolt upright, like someone has thrown a lorry at my window, and it gets me all neurotic and starts squeezing my stomach into a knot the size of a sultana.
Condoleezza Rice won't stop calling me. I hate that rat face a little more every day. Her and her stupid buck teeth. If I had her teeth I'd never expose them to anyone, but for some reason, she thinks it's okay to disgust us by showing them off. When I met her last week at a dinner conference, she talked for 3 and a half hours straight and I kept being distracted by her rabbit teeth. I almost said, “What the hell do I have to do to stop you from talking? Throw a carrot in the air?”
Alright, I've decided that I'm not going to drink. I'm too pissed off to do anything. (Thanks again, Condi. Don't forget to make another appointment with your dental hygienist. With teeth like that hardly anyone can take you seriously.)
Goodnight, God.
Gloria
PS - I just realized that when I write, my pinky nail stabs me in the palm. Imagine that.