Kitty Litter

This is for my mother, who would like nothing better than for me to become a bride…and soon. :)

“When are you getting married?” I’ve heard this question so often that I have prepared responses for it. If I feel like joshing the person, I say, “Anytime, so long as you sponsor my wedding in Venice. I need a budget of $ 1 million at the very least.” If the question has been asked in a rude fashion or in a mean spirit, I say, “As soon as you get an IQ.” And if the person asking me that question is someone I don’t want to offend, I say, “We’re saving up for it.”

My boyfriend—let’s call him Wynn—and I have been together for eight years now—longer than over half the Hollywood marriages these days—and in fairness to those who have seen us dating for so long, the question does beg to be answered.

At thirty, if you’re a woman in the Philippines—where the median marrying age is 24—you’re supposed to be married. You should also have at least one child by now, and if you’re like approximately 60% of the female population, you will have a job or at the very least, a small business of your own.

One out of three isn’t bad; I have a job. But my lack of spouse and offspring haven’t escaped anyone’s notice, and there are times when I feel constrained to explain myself, even though I think I shouldn’t have to. In the 70s, women usually married between the ages of 19 and 24; any later and she would be branded an old maid.

I’m thirtysomething, and by those standards, I should be despondent over my chances. But I’m not, and I’m not alone. More women are choosing to stay single—whether by choice (“I hate men!”) or circumstance (“How can I hate men when I haven’t had a boyfriend and I’m thirty-five already?”)—and there are many good reasons for doing so.

Let’s start with the legal side of things. Ideally, marriages are made between equal partners in the eyes of God. Note the word “ideally.” That’s because Philippine law favors men when it comes to marital perfidy; just for starters, if a woman is caught in bed with another man, her husband can get away with murder—literally. On the other hand, if he has a mistress, you can’t do anything unless he “lives with her scandalously.” (Hmm, must check with Wynn about that. Correct me if I'm wrong, dear.)

Worse, you’re up against culture. Pinoy males are expected to cheat, while women are required to remain faithful. I know my boyfriend hasn’t cheated on me, and I trust him, but the reality is that ours is not a typical partnership, because he views infidelity as a deal breaker. For being faithful to me, he is considered “whipped”. But the number of our male friends and acquaintances who cheat on their wives is such that I can only think of three who don’t…as far as we know.

Then let’s talk career. The higher the educational level attained by a woman, the more likely she is to marry late in life, if at all. It’s as simple as this—why marry someone who cannot relate to you on an intellectual level? Marriages may be made in heaven but a partner who thinks it was OK for US vice president Dan Quayle to be publicly stupid cannot maintain your respect for very long.

Add jealousy to that, and you’ve got a lethal combination. A woman I know who was rapidly climbing the ladder of success at work married to a man who couldn’t hold a steady job, mainly because he was only a college dropout. He became jealous, and his jealousy turned violent; she only found the courage to leave him when he began molesting their ten-year-old daughter, claiming it was his right because he had “made” the little girl.

You know that anecdote because it’s too familiar. Want to guess who got support from friends, parents, and the local place of worship? You know he did. And should the same thing happen to you, you’re likely to get the same treatment. In some religions, you’re expected to tolerate everything your husband dishes out—even physical abuse, in many cases, depending on the advising priest, pastor, or holy man—because he’s your husband. Too many religious practitioners are misogynistic, and favor men over women.

Then there’s the economy. I’m no expert, but it doesn’t take one to see that we’re in trouble, what with E-VAT, rising prices, and fewer job opportunities. Once women get a job, they tend to hang on and work hard because they have parents or siblings to support…and that puts a crimp on marriage plans, especially when she establishes herself and begins tasting the sweetness of success. It takes a very brave woman to give up an established career and plunge into marriage, because too many macho Pinoy males dislike having working wives.

A hidden statistic in the Philippines is that of marriages ending in separation (whether formal or informal) and annulment. One social worker I spoke to estimated that at least half of all marriages these days fail, whether they result in separation or in emotional estrangement. Surely women my age have seen this happen so often that they are afraid of risking themselves.

Of course who can forget the financial aspect? Marrying is no joke, and if you’re like me, your wedding will become a place to repay old debts and acknowledge your elders. Not exactly a recipe for success, and likely to be very expensive. A modest wedding these days can run up a tab of at least P 50,000…money which you might think could be better spent paying bills, buying appliances for your new home with your husband, and so on. Working for Wedding Essentials is sweet torture for me, because I see all the beautiful options for weddings which I probably can’t afford because I’m worried about buying a home and furnishing it while leaving something for me and Wynn to live on.

Sure, I dream about walking down the nave (not the aisle, please) in a frothy gown I’ll never wear again, with flowers galore and all the trappings…but when I wake up, reality bites me, literally, because I have to work for a living.

Wynn and I both believe that marriage is the ultimate commitment, and that probably explains why we’ve delayed for so long. I’ve done my share of soul-searching, and while I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t get married in a heartbeat, experience and my job has taught me that marriage isn’t a two-person production…it involves friends, relatives, and, if they arrive, children. That’s a lot of people to be beholden to, and it’s a serious responsibility.

In addition, I know I still have many issues to work out, both with him and with myself…and then perhaps I can get started with my issues with other people. That’s because I’ve seen so many impulsive marriages go wrong, with horrifying results. And when the casualties include small children, with ex-husband and in-laws holding them hostage to force the woman to do what they want, nobody wins, least of all the poor woman, against whom the deck is stacked…and how. I don’t want to be in that situation, and those women I know who are in it deserve better than that kind of putrid behavior from people who are supposed to love them.

I’m both fascinated with and afraid of romance, because it gives women too many expectations, and puts a lot of unnecessary pressure on men. While stories of whirlwind marriages fascinate me, I choose to continue working on myself to be a better person. That way, I bring something into a lifetime partnership.

When I get married, I would like to bring someone into that marriage who is stable—emotionally, physically, and financially—and willing to make the many compromises marriage entails, and that someone will be me. I also want to be very sure that my husband accepts me completely and loves me because of and despite all my faults.

That’s a lot to ask of any person, and even though nothing in this world is an absolute certainty, I want to be sure that when I append my husband’s last name to mine, it’s because I’m proud of being his partner, and not because I’m afraid my biological clock is winding down, or because it’s expected of me, or because I’m afraid of growing old alone. Marriage is hard enough without bringing unrealistic expectations into it. The bottom line is, I want to get married when I know and feel that the time is right. Perhaps then Wynn and I will be able to make a true partnership that will not wind up as a pair of broken hearts in the wayside of life.

Labels: rants, relationships

By the way, we also have openings for editorial assistants. Fresh grads welcome.

I've always believed that a house is not a home unless there are some wonderful animals sharing the place with you.

Elwood, left, certainly agrees. He's usually found loafing somewhere in the house.

Then again, don't most cats just loaf too? I *heart* that.

The gray cat is Soxy, who looks just like the woman who used to take care of him. Really!



Marina waiting primly at the table for service. She's our "sosyal" cat because she was found near Ayala Alabang and acts like a diva...the real kind, mind you, bitchiness and all. But she's so pretty it doesn't matter.

Elwood is her "boyfriend", by the way :)





We're suckers for cats; current tally: 14 cats in Paranaque, 4 in Quezon City (unless you count Dexter and Bubbles, in which case it's six).

Labels: cat photos, cats

That I have many bookshelves in my bedroom, both in my lola’s and my mom’s houses, my UP office, and in what used to be my sister’s bedroom here where I live isn’t the proof that I love reading.

Nor is it the many rolls of plastic around the house, ready for when I have my periodic spasms of book-wrapping. I cannot stand a naked book, and friends have slyly lent me their new books knowing that it will come back to them with their covers wrapped in plastic. I even have a friend whom I do writing work for who’s included book wrapping in the services she asks me to provide; if I may say so, I wrap books quite well. I don’t mind wrapping books for others, because I’ve read the Sandman, Mage, Maus, and other brilliant comics novels and many other books this way.

When I’m out, I find myself reading flyers, food labels, posters, anything when I’m at loose ends. In fact, ask me about the notices and warnings at the places I frequent, and I might be able to tell you what they are. I just stop short of tearing open the plastic wrappers of magazines; I find that rude.

I get antsy when I have nothing to read, and have trouble going to sleep if I don’t read something I’ve already read before turning out the lights. (Never read thrilling novels before going to bed; I remember picking up “The Da Vinci Code” past midnight in an attempt to relax before bed; reviled by critics and Catholics worldwide, I thought it would be a fluffy little thriller. It was, but the next thing I knew, it was dawn.)

I’m not a literary snob; the only reason why I don’t read a lot of Tagalog books is because I have trouble following the idioms used…plus, I had a horrid Filipino teacher in high school who forever destroyed the Noli, Fili, and “Florante at Laura” for me because she insisted I play the male parts in class dramatizations, claiming I was big, dark, and masculine enough to do so. If you’ve ever spent half an hour on stage sweltering under a plastic tablecloth “cloak” (under which your lines were hidden) while tied to a potted plant waiting for your buddy Florante to release you, you’d start hating the novel/epic poem too.

Unlike people I consider poseurs, I take no pride in reading the hippest novels; for one, I’ve never read “Bridget Jones’ Diary”, and until I find one priced below P 100 at Booksale or receive one as a gift, I probably never will read it. I have several books by Muriel Spark, which I’ll have to reread now that she’s died and left many paeans behind.

I’m not a reverse snob; it’s only because I want to form a relationship with a book, to discover it myself and not have it forced on me. (This can be a disadvantage; I missed out on the brilliant “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” TV series because I refused to watch it in its first season when an overzealous friend insisted I watch it or be considered an ignorant lout. So sue me, I chose “ignorant lout” until I rediscovered it in its fourth season, after I’d read about it in Time magazine.)

And it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I realized that “Dune” and “The Lord of the Rings” were works that could change lives; I’d received a copy of “Dune” in the fourth or fifth grade from a grade school friend, Jenny Disini, who was adamant that I read and love it as well as she did. An aunt gave me a handsome hardbound set of the Lord of the Rings trilogy at twelve. Both books disappeared when we moved to my lola’s house when I was fifteen…and I never regretted it until I was in college in a writing program. Luckily I got a copy of Dune from Michael Co (whom I owe an eternal debt of gratitude to because of the many things he taught me), and he wound up having to give it to me because I couldn’t, wouldn’t return it.

John Gardner, though I despised his snide and ignorant comments about creative nonfiction in "The Art of Writing" (and a student who borrowed my copy was highly amused to find several passages about creative nonfiction encircled in red, with my rebuttals written along the margins), wrote about something I’ve never forgotten. He speaks of the “fictional dream” and argues essentially that reading well-written work brings the reader to another world.

I know what he means. Whenever I finish a wonderful work, I have to shake myself, because it’s like waking up from a dream. I float around for days on the wings of the words I remember, and when someone recognizes or uses the phrases I enjoyed most, I am ecstatic. Some time ago, I received e-mail from Tata, who quoted from Steven Pressfield’s “Gates of Fire.” Since my beloved Wynn is enamored of the book, I read it, and myself fell in love with it for its narrative. I told her I liked the book too, and we fell about ourselves oohing and ahhing over Pressfield’s narrative gifts.

That’s one of the gifts of reading; when you find someone else who enjoyed a work as much as, if not more than, you did, a connection is made. This person understands part of you completely, if just in the context of that book.

It’s not just fiction that does it for me. I like poetry too, and when colleague Wendell Capili gave me a copy of “Valentine” by Carol Ann Duffy, I was thunderstruck by how her simple words conveyed a wealth of images, none of them conventionally romantic (an onion loop as a wedding ring, and a lover’s scent clinging to a knife) but beautiful nonetheless because they felt true.

And creative nonfiction, otherwise known as essays, have me completely; that’s why I have this blog, to practice the genre I adore. I think I still owe pasigraver for a copy of Umberto Eco’s “How to Travel with a Fish” although he’ll have to defeat me in unarmed combat for that. It’s very memorable for me. When I was interviewed on Studio 23 about two years ago (I was promoting my book; there, you knew I’d drag it in somehow. Buy it!), I had just read that book, and when I was asked what books I’d recommend everyone to read, I pulled a blank and just kept mentioning Eco because his book had blown me away. Manoman did I look like a moron.

I’d like to buy books more often, and one of my fantasies that comes close to unseating that of me alone with Brad Pitt (in his Achilles incarnation) on a tropical island is that of me being locked up in a bookstore that’s magically replenished whenever I finish reading everything. That (the bookstore fantasy, mind you, not the Brad Pitt thing) is why I haunt banzai cat’s and Dean Alfar’s blogs; at least once a month, they write about what they’ve read and loved. Call it vicarious enjoyment, but I really do appreciate their capsule reviews and raves.

But I share a predicament with many other Pinoys who want to read: a tight budget. When it comes to a choice between food for me to take to work (because baon is infinitely cheaper and more palatable than work cafeteria food) and a P 369 book, well, let me tell you what P 369 can buy. One “tali” each of repolyo and other leafy vegetables, a bag of assorted organic salad greens, half a kilo of potatoes, one kilo of liempo, four pieces of boneless bangus, two cans of corned beef, and three apples…food enough for several days for me. I also shoulder household cleaning items, and pay for a few debts, so although the choice pains me, I go for the food and home necessities. I know I’m already lucky because I don’t have to pay for laundry service, water, electricity, and rent as Wynn does. And that makes it a little harder sometimes, so I avoid bookstores when I’m running short.

So it’s Booksale for me every now and then, and the choices there are limited to how patient you are with pawing through the swine to find the pearls, and how willing you are to put up with romance novel fanatics who shove you out of the way to get the latest Fern Michaels potboiler.

But occasionally I will give up the food to buy a good novel, because a truly good novel can be reread an infinite number of times and yet you’ll still find something new there. That’s because we age and accumulate new experiences and perspectives. Reading becomes a more fruitful experience when you have experiences to draw on. I would go so far as to argue that when we first read, we read to learn how to live, to expand our horizons. Armed with this knowledge, we go out and live. Then we come back and read again so that we can better appreciate how we lived and the choices we made and the experiences we’ve had…and so that we can go out, and live again.

Aaand now for a break from the usual whiniess.

1. (Totally self-indulgent) I am happy. I cleaned out my filthy bedroom (took me three days) and I will post photos in a bit :) No, the photos below are not of my bedroom. Just thought I'd make that clear ;p

2. Wynn and I met up at National Book Store on Quezon Avenue some time ago. I arrived there first and sat at the kiosks in front of the grocery. He was delayed, so I took out my phone and began to read my messages. (Aside: The New York Times recently carried an article in which it points out that work interruptions--text messages, calls, etc.--make you less productive, so I check most of my messages at the end of the day. End aside.)

I was amused by a joke message from Bud which said, "Txt na Txt K N B s Idol Mo?" It then went on to give his number and the guarantee, "Siya mismo sasagot sa 'yo kaya txt na!" Naturally I decided to edit it to put in my own name and number, then forward it to those in my phonebook with a sense of humor.

In the middle of it all, my phone rang. It was Wynn. I had just said "hello" when I heard him--mono and stero--say "Hello" right back. I screeched.

He was right behind me, and I'd never noticed.

When I recovered, the people at the food stall were giggling, and I grinned weakly back at them.

And that is why, when Wynn feels like being cute, he will send me this message: "Hello, Hello Chafer Pompom." And the story behind the other nicknames, well, maybe next time.

3. Got this via e-mail (no credits available) but I remember a student who once told me his fantasy was to eat while on a toilet bowl. I wonder if the restaurant below is his? Hmmm...

I was very angry and frustrated when I posted my previous entry, and I apologize for that outburst. It wasn't even interesting; it was just a long drawn-out whine with no supporting details. In short, it was self-indulgent.

And don't think it was easy to say that.

But I've had time to think things over, and I decided that this is not the place to air that kind of thing. (Rants against bad service, stupid people, yes, but business problems, maybe not.) Not because my anger was unfounded; it was, and I need to sort it out with the person concerned...but at my pace, and in my own time.

I remember that I keep making fun of blogs where it's pretty much a place to dump random musings, and here I am doing the same thing. What was in it for the reader? Nothing at all. I wanted consolation and sympathy because I felt overworked and unappreciated.

That's when I remembered someone who went through even worse hell with even worse people. I'll call her SpongeM. She can tell you tales that will raise your hackles and make you want to seize the nearest deadly weapon and go off in her defense.

Naturally I told her about my frustrations: how I was working two jobs and felt that the other person was tra-la-laing his way through our work, and so on. I was ready to confront the other person one time, but SpongeM stopped me from doing so.

She's been quietly been advising me to let things be, to keep my head down and to stop stressing over the thing. "Is it worth it? What is your priority anyway?" No, she didn't say that, but her advice ran along those lines. Her other advice was to just do what I do best. I just wish I'd listened well and remembered what she told me earlier, before I went off the deep end.

I have a tendency to brood over things like that. Since I suck at confronting people (even when I know I'm right), the annoyance festers into anger, until I'm lashing out at others. SpongeM reminded me of this, albeit indirectly.

She's a bigger person than I am, in many ways. One fault that I know I have is my tendency to let others walk all over me, then explode at the wrong moment. Fatal combination.

When I get angry, I let my anger take over me and diminish me, because I am controlled by it. I scream, do things that I'm sorry for, and feel lousy afterwards. It's an impulse problem...something which this Saturday's New York Times talks about on its front page. Reading it a while ago made me think, hard. And seeing the person I was angry at, and realizing that, for all my anger, it was partly my fault because I haven't really sat down and talked it over (I've been trying the "bits and pieces" approach to the issues I have with him)...well, it's sobering.

It brings to mind the Litany Against Fear by the Bene Gesserit in Frank Herbert's "Dune":

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

Only, anger brings the same obliteration where I'm concerned.

That I'm not alone in this, that others (possibly even you reading this now) is not an excuse. Though my anger is justified, I must let it "pass over me and through me" so that in the end, "only I will remain."

Perhaps then I can be a little bit more like SpongeM. And perhaps then, I can be calmer and wiser. It's not going to be easy, and given my passive-aggressive personality tendencies, it's gonna be excruciating. The long break is going to give me more time off from the office. Maybe then I can try to figure out why the other person so rubs me the wrong way, and what I can do. Or maybe not. But I think what will matter more to me is the attempt to master my anger. I just hope I can.

Was supposed to post something funny, but got sidetracked formatting it. This is primal whining. Skip it if you don't like whininess.

(EDITED: DELETED. Explanation above.)

***

I filed my resignation letter from UP yesterday, and the responses have been strange. Only students are telling me not to go. One colleague I adore, H.A., who was my teacher in freshman year, encouraged me and told me to go out where I was happy. (See why I love her?) Another one, though, made an odd comment about me looking better these days. "Nakatakas ka lang sa pagtuturo, gumanda ka na?" I smiled weakly because I had no idea how to respond to that.

NR told me to come back after three years, then mentioned her daughter's having written for the Bulletin before. Another one chose to ignore me, which was a good thing, because I know she slipped a poison letter in my pigeonhole about a year ago; I just don't have proof.

It's just sad that it's the students who are asking me not to go, not my colleagues.

It's a bit insulting that the Nigerian e-mail scam has only reached me now. I mean, hey, even the "ILOVEYOU" e-mail and the "Hello Mr. Charlene, want a bigger d1ck?" have visited me several times already.

The fascinating part is that it's been around since 1999; I've been warned about it so often that I've been scanning my junk mail for it. So what I'm posting is seven years old, at least.

Here are some hilarious excerpts (in other words, mocking time!). Yes, I am posting the real e-mail, because scammers do not deserve any courtesy whatsoever. My comments in maroon; excerpts in green

===
1. (Header of e-mail)

Thu, 30 Mar 2006 14:24:29 +0200 (CEST)
From:	"david duku" View Contact Details Add Mobile Alert Yahoo! DomainKeys has confirmed that this message was sent by yahoo.fr. Learn more
Subject:	private email: david_duku01@yahoo.co.uk
To:	me@yahoo.com

J'ai une nouvelle adresse mail

Vous pouvez maintenant m'écrire à : david_duku44@yahoo.fr

Comment: Ah, so I should reply to another e-mail address. Hmm. And the "duku" part; is it me or is the scammer trying to scare me with Count Duku? Oh, and pardonnez-moi, la Francais! The use of French brings to mind a Star Wars quote (Vader): Impressive!

2. (Top of e-mail)
FROM DR.DAVID DUKU.
DIRECTOR INCHARGE OF
AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING UNIT,
AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT BANK
COTONOU-BENIN REPUBLIC
VERY URGENT PLEASE ASSIST

Certainly, if he wants assistance with spelling. Wonder of wonders, there really is an African Development Bank. I wonder if they know about this? I hope they have a sense of humor.

"incharge": Oooh. I see many students make this mistake; I have to wonder who's doing this.

3. (Excerpt 1 from body of e-mail)

Dearest

Pleasure writing to you at this moment of the day, I am Mr David Duku, the director incharge of auditing and accounting Unit of African Development Bank in Cotonou-Benin Republic. I and my colleagues deem it fit to contact you regarding to a transaction that will favour both of us at the end, and i got your contact in my search for a reputable and reliable person to help me claim the fund in question.

"Dearest"? Wow, must find Mr. Duku and make sure he never slips away. Even Wynn has never called me "dearest". Mmm.

Apparently it's not just spelling they need help with. What is it about scammers that keeps them from getting grammar right anyway? On second thought, that might be a good thing; after all, it means all you gotta do is check the grammar to see whether it's a scam or not. (Now when scammers learn "EeEnglish", then we better be scared. Ooo.)

The thing goes on with the standard bullshit story (we're in a corrupt government, we have money, let's punish evil government by stealing that money...wait, wrong scam); in this case it's "someone died let's get our hands on the money before someone else does. Gimme your account number." Amazing how the scam is (d)evolving. It even cites this site: http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/africa/12/26/benin.crash/index.html to lend an air of authenticity to its appeal, "help me let's steal money from the dead".

Once you've coughed up your details (wow, not including credit card numbers, mind you) you are to do this:

4. Excerpt 2 from body of e-mail:
The foriegn account owner will impost himself as the next of kin to the deceased and respond positively like a true next of kin who wishes to speed up the release and transfer of his inherited fund.

Whatever "impost" means, I take it it means "pretend to be someone else to help scammer scam you. Wow. Everything's self-service these days; I mean, if you want to get swindled you gotta do the work these days. Whatever happened to those old-style swindlers who did all the work? Crooks these days; I ask you, would you rather be taken for a ride by George Clooney and his Ocean's (whatever) crew, or these idiots?

5. Excerpt 3 from body of e-mail: You have to respond to the second e-mail address (they make it VERY clear for you) with this information:
If you accept to carry out this project with us, we will offer you 40% of the total sum, while I and my colleagues involved will take 50% of the total sum while 10% will be for expencise. Upon your acceptance to do this deal with us, we will jointly effect the transfer within eight working days.

1) Your full name........................
2)Your full contact.....................
2) Phone, fax and mobile................
3) company name,position and address....
4) Profession, .........................
5)Your Age .............................
6)Marital status........................


Then there's this reassuring bit:
Be rest assured that, this transaction carries no risk and no extra responssibilities on your part, except the above mentioned roles and normally you will be required to maintain absolute information and absolute secrecy throughout the duration of this transaction, because discussing it with a third party might jeopardise the entire transaction

I am looking forward to receiving your interesting response on this project as this will greatly enrich the both of us at the end. please You may contact me throughmy private email: david_duku01@yahoo.co.uk

No kidding my response was interesting. It is funny, in a laughable, sad kind of way. You laugh and think to yourself, "Ha! Stupid scammer, what makes you think I'm gonna fall for that?"

But since this e-mail is still around, it means it's making someone, somewhere some money. Which means someone, somewhere, is still giving out personal information over the Net and believing this crap.

At this point you just have to ask yourself how many people still fall for this if it's still circulating. How many people lose their common sense over this? Why do we call it common sense if so few people have it? I have so many cliches running through my mind: caveat emptor; buyer beware; if it's too good to be true then it's probably a scam; never trust a stranger...etc.

I can't remember who once said that human virtue is a precious commodity because it is in such short supply, but human greed is universal. On one hand, it's funny because it's pathetic.

In Frank Herbert's "Dune", while Duke Leto Atreides is being tortured, the Baron tells him that "there is a level of pain that will buy you." In this instance, though, someone has allegedly died, and you're being invited to share the loot, so to speak. Had this been better written, better presented, and better thought out, how many of us would have succumbed?

And no, this is not a belated April Fool's Day post. It's true.

Just indulging myself. Couldn't find the right hair color, and the doll is skinnier than I am, but what the hell...

If you want your own, try http://www.elouai.com/doll-makers/candybar-doll-maker.php

Have fun!