convos from the third degree

Rica and I leaving Jollibee with my Chickenjoy in tow…

Guard: *Turning to Rica* Thank you ma’am. *Turning to me* Thank you sir.

Me to Rica: Did he just call me sir?

Rica: I believe so, yes.

Me to traffic, pedestrians and the universe: MAY BOOBS AKO FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!

—

Nanay and I watching TV show featuring Jiro Manio as a kid with a kid…

Me: Ano ba naman tong mga batang to, ambabata palang may anak na.

Nanay: Oo nga eh. Tsk.

Me: Okay lang naman ang sex, diba Nanay? *Nanay nods* Di man lang mag ingat. Condoms kids, condoms!

—

Me, fixing the neighbor’s computer…

Owner of the PC: Uy, gumana na, galing. San ka nagtatrabaho?

Me: Um, sa office po. *Quickly adding* Writer po ako, by the way.

[They let me steal their wifi in return, so it’s okay if they mistook me for the computer repairstress.]

Sisihan 101, when the whole world goes WTF

This morning before I left the house, I managed to catch some bits of the morning show debate. In that segment, they pitted two old dudes against each other and guess what? They played the game we all have played as children, the Did-Too-Did-Not or the sisihan game. On one hand, the KBP is saying that the media *cough* circus *cough* coverage was just journalists and newscasters doing what they are paid to do: report events (I can’t really say “news” because there is a thin line between news and sensationalist crap and I feel our journalists at some point started to not see this line.). The other side was for “responsible journalism,” urging that since there was no media blackout during Monday’s unfortunate series of events, the media should have used their own discretion as to what and what not to report.

Needless to say, the segment boiled down to pointing fingers. Everybody’s fingers are pointed at somebody else at the moment. I don’t have nearly enough fingers (and toes) to point at who I think is to blame, especially when I think everybody is to blame. Yep, that means you, you, you, me, and that other you at the back, we’re all to blame for this. I am to blame because I don’t nearly pay enough attention to the news, and because I and other normal Juan dela Cruzes like me have encouraged news outfits to give me half-baked news reports, or worse, sensationalist news. At some point, I realized that the big networks and broadsheets have ceased to give me interesting and compelling news, that at some point they started creating news straight from their asses. (Really, who gives a flying fuck if PNot doesn’t quit smoking? I’d cared more about why the DepEd secretary has a Brother in his name.) I am to blame because I know there are problems with budget and training, and a plethora of other things in this country but maybe I don’t speak about it often enough to be heard. I and everybody else is to blame because we cultivate the sense of morbid fascination, a culture of usiseros and usiseras that couldn’t be stopped from entering a danger zone just for the satisfaction of having been there. It’s everybody’s fault, and I’m afraid only a few people will realize that and own up to it.

In the end, it really isn’t a matter about whose fault it was; this is the two-days-after folks. We’re all reeling from the damage: the people of China are furious with us in general (the fact that they are in possession of bigger missiles and outnumber us 100 to one seem to have escaped some people); our president’s PNot; our media just televised our police force shitting in front of an international audience live; trust in the police force is at an all time low; our overseas workers won’t be so popular with their employers; and we as a nation are feeling the polar opposite of national pride at the moment.

Hopefully, all of us learns… Wait, no. I’m not even finishing that sentence.

Of Chucks, Alone, and Divorce

Of Chucks (Part 2)

Okay, I know I’ve written about this before but my wet Chucks of Doom have struck again. Earlier today I was standing on the bus (I feel I spend half of my commute hanging off of buses. I use “hanging off” as opposed to “hanging out” which suggests I enjoy having half of my body outside the bus, hanging on for dear life and watching the pavement rush past at 60 or so kilometers per hour. Anyway, I digress.) and my Chucks contrived to throw me off the bus after the driver performed a maneuver worthy of a Jeric Raval flick. My tractionless Chucks slid on the bus floor and almost threw me into the windshield.

Perhaps dismayed by my lack of deadness, my wet Chucks of Doom slid on the escalator as a parting shot.
——
Of Alone
This morning I was being thoroughly productive (I maintain that I was being productive until they decided to move the computers around) and I found this.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7X7sZzSXYs&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xd0d0d0&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1]

Recently, I’ve been having weekly coffee dates with James (my cigarette case). This can be attributed to a. my lack of friends, b. a lack of friends who are willing to go out on a Friday night, and c. a complete lack of non-imaginary friends. I’m calling it an exercise in being alone. Coffee shop, with me, my cigs, my pen and paper, plus a “Kopi with Milk” and I’m good. I need to learn how to be more alone, I guess, at lunch, at the library and everywhere else. I dunno about dancing though; I operate on the idea that I should only dance WHEN alone.
—-

Of Divorce

This morning, the morning show’s debate was about divorce. As a person who grew up with a marriage that regularly featured itaks and death threats, I’m all for it. I’m sure though that people will be against it for their own reasons; I’ve got more of mine and when I get my head on straight again maybe I’ll tell you about it.

good morning, monday

So you innocently wake up at 6:30 this morning and peel yourself off bed at 6:40 thinking confidently that you have more than enough time. Your cell phone time is specifically set 20 minutes advanced to counteract your lazy ass tendencies during most if not all mornings and you think 20 minutes is enough to counter that final written warning that’s going to mean your termination.

While having your morning coffee, you take a tentative glance at the morning TV show, with the time conveniently displayed at the lower right of the screen. You realize in horror that you had changed your phone’s battery two nights prior, and you had forgotten to reset it. Your 20-minute buffer dissipates before your eyes and another unfortunate realization dawns: you are now running 10 minutes late. You clamber up the stairs, grab your towel, and rush to the bathroom. In 5 minutes, you’re out again, clambering back up the stairs and attempting to teleport into your clothes.

As soon as you step out of the house, you’re right on the dot. The spring in your step is back and you are immensely pleased with yourself for salvaging your Monday morning. It is not completely ruined. Your phone vibrates and your read the message from your officemate: “Dude, don’t forget. It’s business casual today.” You unconsciously utter your first train of profanities for the week; you are wearing your Chucks, jeans, and a shirt. You’re as far from “business casual” as a llama wearing a tie in the Himalayas. Actually, the llama would have been more formal. Your officemate helpfully suggests that you change your clothes, but then you remember that your leather shoes are in your closet, at home, in Las Piñas. Your current location is Sucat.

In your murderous irritation, you briefly consider strangling the person nearest you or your officemate when you get to the office but you let your PO dissipate in the bus. You briefly entertain the notion of the bus crashing into the car immediately in front as it seems to be powered by 4 frantic hamsters running on wheels. Two seconds later, the bus almost plows into the hamster mobile and you swear to be more careful when considering notions since the Cosmos has a sense of humor, but sometimes it fails to recognize sarcasm.

You run to the office, you get there on time and by the way, you’ve been transferred to an office on the highest floor of the building. Your desk faces the glorious, smoggy Makati skyline. Good thing you’re not afraid of heights yes? …no, wait.

Happy Monday to you, too.

To all my Exes: Goddammit

I say it again. Goddammit - I was right, you messed me up and now I have scientific evidence to back me up. According to Cracked (arguably one of the best places to learn practical science in the history of forever), our breakup messed me up. Or in Agua Maldita logic, YOU messed me up.

I went into withdrawal, went more than a “tad bit” crazy, got poorer and lonelier for years after, and got sicker. Why bother dating new people when in the end, I’ll probably be batshit insane, penniless, depressed, dead from a broken heart or dying from cancer? (No, seriously, read the article.) Oh right, this. So yeah, I’m dead if I date and I’m dead if I don’t. Goddammit Universe.

PS. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. There are things called irony and exaggeration, you see, and I use them mainly for humor. Some people take everything I say and believe me to be thoroughly bitter and I can’t blame them because they were probably rendered numb by a humorless childhood. So there, I may or may not be bitter. Wait, what were we talking about again?

Bring your own background music

This morning my headphones croaked once then expired on me. After tearfully screaming “WAG MO MUNA AKONG IWAN!” and sheer force of will failed to bring them back to life, I heaved a heavy sigh and trudged into my morning, destitute and music-less.

Actually, I don’t listen to music during the commute because I’m an audiophile; I, in fact, am the polar opposite: an audiotard. Under certain standards, my taste in music can be classified under “epileptic,” which is as close to eclectic as I can manage. I listen to music at times simply because I don’t want to be subjected to other people’s tastes (in the morning commute’s case, the driver’s or kunduktor’s) in music.

Of course, this morning I was treated to the bus’ sound system – which just had to be equipped with no less than two amplifiers – and was immediately greeted by Justin Bieber’s melodious crooning in the terrific (as in terrify) song Baby. Thankfully, the nightmare was almost over when I got into the bus and the song changed into Moonstar 88’s Migraine (my internal soundtrack most days when the lights are too bright in the office). The driver apparently didn’t agree with it and switched from FM radio to the CD player (a curious setup of a computer CD ROM wired to the input jack of a mobile radio). The CD player immediately launched into the perfect song for a Friday the 13th. At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side~ I could have sworn the manly guy next to me was doing a little jig in his seat.

So yeah, Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive put me in a supernaturally good mood, especially since it was followed by Funky Town. To keep this good mood rolling, I’m playing Disney soundtracks (Something There, A Whole New World, I’ll Make a Man Out of You, So Close, Kiss the Girl, I Won’t Say I’m in Love, and Belle) the whole day today.

Dear Chuck Taylor,

Those who own Chucks (the shoes) know this for a fact: Chucks don’t offer much in the stick-to-the-wet-pavement department. On rainy days, my Chucks mutate into the tools of Satan and thus getting from Point A to Point B becomes a perilous slip and slide over sidewalks lined with small evil pebbles intent on getting my ass to painfully contact the ground. Slipping and sliding isn’t a very practical form of locomotion, as evidenced by this morning walk’s shenanigans:

 

I slid on the bus steps and thankfully did not recreate my falling off the bus (and into the path of a dumbass scooter) memory. I slid on one of the stripes of a pedestrian lane (the one smack in the middle), I almost careened off a curb and into traffic, and I saved myself from accidentally throwing myself off stairs.

I know I should be more careful, since the perils of slippery pavement can be exacerbated by slippery footwear, poor coordination, and a clumsy disposition but when it’s 8:46 and the office is 15 minutes away, one tends to walk very fast despite conditions when even walking is out of the question.

rainy days and wailsdays

dear universe,

derailed, again. seriously, if i were counting how many times this has happened to me over the last few weeks, i’d be more depressed than i already am. we can’t keep doing this. i start climbing out of the pit, you throw a curve and i go freefalling back down, landing with an unceremonious splat. i can’t keep doing this.

and i feel i can’t keep doing this to tumblr either. XD

say anything

|Last night at Mercury Drug|

Cashier after I hand her a bill: May piso kayo sir?

Me: Miss, wag po kayong ganyan. Nanay ko po naggupit sakin.

Cashier (visibly mortified): Ay naku, sorry po ma’am. Sorry po talaga.

*Now I just have to figure out if she was sorry for my haircut or for calling me sir.*

|Status messages|

The other day, I was trying to make up an excuse for using “Is this your Mangina speaking? Please tell me when your Balls are available for comment.” but found none.

|This morning while walking to work, this line was in my head|

“No, I don’t like tuyo,” he said, his epileptic intensity flinging drops of saliva that hit my face with as much violence as his words.

*I may have been sitting around my mom watching Magkaribal for far too long.*

|While watching a morning show|

I wonder why the daily horoscope person’s daily horoscopes always involve low or high points. (Always “You’ll fall into an open manhole today, be vigilant.” or “You’ll be lucky since the Moon has moved into Virgo and will gallivant into the former planet Pluto.” but not “Today will be blah.”)

|One of those days|

It’s one of those days when there are no reasons, no excuses, no nothing. Things aren’t bad, but they aren’t good either. Things are just there, sitting in front of you like 50 pounds of raw meat you don’t care about. You don’t know where it came from and how it came to rest on the seat in front of you either. In all that bewildered surrealism, you can’t even bring yourself to wonder if it’s a dimension crossing sack of meat that can magically manifest itself anywhere in the cosmos. In your head, it doesn’t matter if it’s imbued with the powers of the universe. It’s still just a sack of meat.

*Wait, what?*

|One day|

One day, I’ll look back at all of these things and kick myself in the face. I don’t know how I’ll manage that but I’m sure I’ll find a way.

|On the bus, on the way to work|

You know what, one day I’ll look back at all of this and laugh my head off because seriously, it’s been a retarded couple of years. Then I’ll burn that bridge when I get there, bitch.

letting it rip

i started writing this post yesterday:

some people think it’s easier to make up stories than compose an article. in some cases it is, though personally, my stories don’t necessarily take longer to write - the problem lies in letting it out. it’s like farting in a way; sometimes you just can’t let it rip for the sake of social etiquette or what not. it’s like constipation, shit builds up inside and you find that you can’t shit it out like you normally can.

then thought, why the fuck am i sharing this shit to the world? bah. i’m in one of those it’s-impossible-to-care-less moods once again, and whenever i’m in one of these phases it really is impossible to care less, or do anything for that matter. i hate this kind of feeling, especially when there are things i actually need to care about.

like the alternative alamat thing, for example. i’ve found a good story to write about, though everything’s so hazy i can’t find the right flow or rhythm to it. anyway, sigh. this is getting annoying. you know you’ve got to do something when you’re starting to annoy yourself.

note to self!

note to self!

WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

hmm. too many places. wait, on MY planet? wtf is that supposed to mean? i’ve been found out!

walking with a voiceover

in an effort to overtake my threatening middle bulge and near-pathetic stamina, I’ve been walking to work every morning. (it’s 900 meters, more or less. my best time so far is 13 minutes.) so far, my legs don’t threaten a sit down strike anymore and my lungs don’t start sitting up and begging for mercy every end of the walk so i guess that brings that pathetic exercise phase to an end.

the other day, i told mabie about it and she said, “malayo.” i don’t really notice the near-kilometer walk. every morning when i walk to work i get a voice over. yes. sometimes it’s a really snooty one lifestyles of the rich and famous-y when i walk past the ayala museum. sometimes it’s a fitness trainer from slimmers world. the rest of the time, it’s cory monteith singing i can’t fight this feeling and i can’t help but smile (yes, that i look stupid smiling to myself grin. i should follow up the song with “i just haven’t [fucking] met you yet”).

hmm. over the course of the rambling i’ve forgotten what my point was. oh right: you’re never really lonely when you’re crazy.