Monday, December 31, 2007

De Facto

Looking at people's Christmas albums depresses me. Although it is kinda dumb to not use your own wisdom and freewill to NOT look at something that will juice out your anguishes, it's as if I don't have a choice anyway (given the fact that almost all of my contacts in Multiply posted albums having some old Christmas message. Not that I know what those freakin' messages are.). I just woke up a few minutes ago, and acting as if I'm on autopilot again, I shooed off my sister who's using the computer and instantly logged in Multiply.

How dreadful. Some took pictures of their presents, but a lot took family pictures with the Christmas tree with the whole family. Oh sure. I'm jealous alright.

Let me get this straight. I don't actually have a family during Christmas, and I did not unwrap a single present from my parents. There was none for me, for Christ's sake. I was in awe while I was observing my siblings unwrap and unbox their presents covered with that yellow gift wrapper from ToyTown. That feeling of deep wonder was not felt for my siblings, but it was in fact, felt for myself alone. Am I really that bad to not receive gifts of some sort? Oh sure. I had that CLUE board game. But duh. I bought that for myself. My sister just wrapped it off just so I have something to open when Christmas day comes.

I'm not really going to start a one-man rebellion against my parents. For starters, they're technically separated. Making some fantasy that they will give me a joint gift at the very least is kinda wrong, if not dumb. I have to understand then my parents that I don't really deserve much of something, because I have four siblings ahead of me. And yeah, I think that 100 grand laptop I received last year was for 10 Christmases.

Well, not really. I'm just looking for some dumb ol' reason to not envy my siblings, because after all, I should understand them. And shits like that.

How about my Christmas, you say?

Christmas is not a season for gifts. Nor for a family get-together. You can always do that anytime you like. Christmas for me has been a symbol of how I'm evolving as a mature lady, so to speak. Emotionally mature ladies don't give a fuck about receiving presents, nor dread because their family is not complete during the yuletides. What they give a damn about is how to make people (especially their siblings) happy. Because after all, that's what Christmas is just all about.


Ha. And you thought I'm going nuts by giving a litany about my crappy Christmas. I'm receiving my iPhone on Wednesday, dumbass.

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Now seriously, what is wrong with me?

Ever since Christmas started, the earliest time I was able to sleep was 3 AM. And as of this writing, my insomnia had hit an all-time record of hitting the sack at 8:30 AM. My body's immunity to lethargy is something that I should be thankful for, that is, if I have something to do. Like some thesis revising. Or investigatory project analyzing. Or something that requires physical work, like building a house or a highway. That'll be worth the time.

I read in Cosmo that in order to easily fall asleep, you can either relieve your mind, and let out stuffs that make you so stressed out, or you can count mob of sheep, jumping over the old wooden fence, and getting themselves killed by a lawnmower or something. I did both, but neither really worked. I ended up making a story that one sheep has a leukemia, and the only thing that can cure him is the man on top of the lawnmower's kiss instead. Then that tin man from Alice in Wonderland came and did this tribal dance that killed everyone. The end.

My insomnia has its benefits, as you probably cannot see. For one, my menstruation was put on vacation, and I haven't heard anything from that stinky red substance for about two months already. Another is my incogitable loss of appetite for food. That's a good thing if you have a body like mine, actually.

No, not really. The whole household have been coining me as 'the panda', because of my big build, and the dark circles around my eyes. Mom even insists that I wear pink bangles, with respect to Panda of Tekken 5. Oh yeah. Funny like hell.

Lethargy, come back. Please?

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Unfulfilled Resolutions

This is the last Saturday of the year 2007, and we are all two days away from the year of the rat. Funny, though. It had always been this way, hardly even having that new year spirit. What's with new year anyway? People don't get to receive anything, evidently. I mean, on the other hand, careless people get to lose innate stuffs (except for fat, that is. If it can actually reduce fat, then don't be surprised if our house will be burning like hell before you can even say "Wow, she's really fat").

Before I make a new and spanking resolution that I shall swear to God that I will really abide to, let's review that resolution I made for 2007.

LORAINNE'S NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION FOR 2007

1. Forget Coke. Forget Sprite. Forget Royal. Forget 7UP. FORGET SODAS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, DAMMIT. I've been making this as a new year's resolution for 5 stinkin' years!
-Yeah-freakin-right. The only days that this resolution was remembered was those days when we have to eat soup or bread because these foods tastes like shit when gulped down with a carbonated drink. That's probably some chemical reaction or something. My belly increased dramatically, so to speak. And you can very much thank that humongous amounts of carbonate, sugar, and alcohol for that. And my irresponsibility. Sure. Blame it all.

2. Study HARDER. Forget boys, gays, and homos, for that matter. YOU WON'T NEED THEM.
-And indeed, I studied a lot harder than last year. I guess it's too late anyway. Nice-y pants-y universities don't really consider much of the senior grades, which is a guh-reat tragedy, if you ask me. The school implemented transmutation as our primary grading system for this year, which practically did nothing but to indeed mutate stuffs. More deserving people was able to grab that academic award, and everyone's grades zoomed up. God, this sucks. It's like I'm pretending that all of those high grades I was able to garner were important for something, at least.

Forget boys? This one was badly violated, considering the stupid pseudo-romantic affairs I had with people from the opposite sex that have nothing but raging hormones. I never took one seriously, of course. If I did, then I would have been whining about all of it until now. Worse yet, I could've cried. Oh what a wimp. As I've experienced, meeting boys and consequently falling for them is pretty normal if you're around my age. Being offered to have sex after a date is quasi-normal. What is unusual is the fact that someone even bothered to love me, a gigantic pile of saturated fat, in an eros sense. It's funny and interesting at the same time how all of those shiznits ended because of my superb insecurity.

Everything seems too good to be true for a fatso like me anyway. My parents could've disowned their eldest daughter for being so damn fat long before I even started ranting here. But I guess they're probably still waiting for another juvenile reason (like making them wait for a few minutes, or purchasing an ugly shirt from an unknown shop.) before they throw me out of the house. I sure can't wait.

3. Try to meet other friends. (SUPER REDUNDANT.)
-This resolution is by far the only one I've consented seriously. I made friends by learning how to lower down my pride and disdainfulness, and thus be mature enough to understand people and their respective personalities.

God. I should be the next Gandhi or something.

4. Lose weight.
-Yeah. I did.

But it all came back after I stopped going to the gym, and stare at my personal trainer's delicious muscles. Jesus. I've never seen something else worth savoring except for that roasted chicken I saw at Roaster's. Until now, his smile is enough to give me chills for a whole week. Mom saw him a few weeks ago and he was still looking for me. I swear I'm feeling that we'll end up together and be so physically fit forever and ever.

5. Lose cellulites.
- I lost some in my thighs and ass, thank you very much to Treadmill # 3 in the gym.

It all came back of course. Apparently, going to a review center near a McDonald's branch was a bad idea.

6. Talk to the long-forgotten swimming coach about swimming again.
- Look, I don't need to talk about that guy I used to worship to go swimming again. I saw him once, and for sure I did not speak a word to him. He reminds me of my mediocrity in many sense.

7. Talk to those long-forgotten friends I've been checking out on Friendster and laughing out loud to their grammatically wrong sentences. Ex: Busog na me, gutom pa ba you? As if I don't make mistakes.
- I did. I even added a lot of them in Friendster. Now only if they would change their habit of abusing grammars and making people who have to read it suffer...

8. Be a GIRL for a change.
- I bought a hoodie with a plunging neck line yesterday. Does that count?

2008 Resolution will be out on Monday. Right on the New Year's Eve dot.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Christmas Weirdness

Something's wrong with me. Oh fucking no.

I'm having this overly-weird feeling of contentment. Like you know, not wanting an iTouch, nor an iPhone, nor a DSLR camera. Obviously, those are only the things that are in my mental wishlist, ranked by pseudo-trendiness of course. I can't believe I'm suddenly having this unusual euphoria, the one that I would always get when my soul's full or something.

Oh damn it. Blame my mom. She took us all out on Christmas Eve, and told us that we will just drive-through at that McDonald's branch near our village. Oh, and did I mention that she did tell us that we will drive-through only at McDonald's? I did? Yeah well apparently my mom forgot what she just said. Instead of just driving-through one fastfood restaurant, we ended up munching on tons of calories from two different fastfood restaurants, and one donut shop. Jesus. It would be really okay if there was a time interval between those fastfood escapades, but what the hell. From Eastwood, we went to Greenhills. From there, we went to Taco Bell. I swear to God I can still feel some churros crawling in my mega-thighs.

After that, we went to a mall in Taguig to shop our asses off. The last time we spent 10 grand on clothing was 2 years ago, and all of what we bought was just from one store. Sports Warehouse. Damn. I enjoyed the shopping, actually. It was the first time I felt so anxious in picking out new clothes to fit, then throw it over the counter, thinking that my mom probably has a vault in her bag anyway.

And it changed everything. And by that italicized word, I mean the whole gadget-freak thing. I'm denying the fact that I'm not losing it, because duh. Fantasizing about gadgets has been the source of my shemale wet dreams, and have made me distinct among the bazillions of people around me. Ever since that faithful day my dad and I went to Octagon, I've been worshiping motherboards and graphic cards like hell. It's not because I don't have a specific social life (Alright. Maybe I do. Like any of you would give a damn anyway.), but because gadgets are very much people I would like to meet. It's not a matter of being a geek at technology by collecting such advancements, but on the other hand learning what you should ergo be by these smart things.

But now, oh WOW. It's not that I can't decide between an Apple iPhone or a Motorola Razr2 V9m because of their outstanding features. It's if these things are useful, and can leave good impressions to people. It's if these advancements can exterminate my clothing shortage for college time. It's if these mobile phones are available on size 20, or have this incredible and miraculous ability to make my thighs 50 pounds thinner or lighter.

Oh, for the love of God.

I'm not turning into a damn fashion-wise bitch. No fucking way. I'll re-read all my T3 magazines, post some tech joke at PhilMUG, and do some more research on a potential replacement for that DSLR that should be my Christmas gift tomorrow. On the dot.

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Christmas was...okay. I received a Clue board game and this graffiti jacket from Mom, a Starbucks planner with hefty cash inside from that lady who works at a high-rolling hospital near Meralco (I think she's my aunt. I'm not sure. I mean, she keeps giving me these nifty stuffs every now and then. I'll go with the auntie idea, because she's my dad's sister.), food and cash from my other relatives. Dad was weird. When I told him that I've decided to just buy a cooler DSLR camera on my graduation next year, he told me to buy an iPhone instead. No, not just told. He more like requested me to buy one.

El weirdo.

Anyways, I'm thinking of shutting this blog down soon. I don't really know why, but I have the slightest feeling that I'll be abandoning it some time next year. I saw Patti's blog a while ago and I realized that I'm writing crap, compared to my classmate and friend's awesome articles. There's not even a tinge of shittiness in any of her articles, nor swear words. I'm no good.

Better make the last of everything good.

(Oh and by the way, I answered my own question and ate up a chunk of my pride last night. I sent a Christmas greeting to whatshisfuckingface, and he replied accordingly. And no, my hopes aren't rising up.)

(Alright, maybe they are actually rising up. As if I care anyway.)

(Okay. Maybe I do care. For myself, not for some goofball who knows nothing but to drink and entice girls to have sex. Jesus. What a college kid.)

Sunday, December 23, 2007

TV Talk.

It's funny how television shows can make me so...eccentric. Ever since people have stopped ordering pastries from us, I was slacking off more than I did last summer vacation. I finished the third season of House last April and May. But ugh. Look what we have here. I already finished the first season of Ugly Betty the fourth season of House, and the sixth season of Family Guy. The idiosyncratic part is that I'm still freakin' bored. Damn right. I know I'm better off at a mental institution.

I did not like Ugly Betty that much. There is seriously no way that Betty Suarez can be like, a true person living in our modern society. How can someone be so apathetic like that? I know, I know. It's television, evidently. But don't you people get it? Television shows have to somewhat portray a contemporary metaphor that will teach us some kind of morality thingy, unlike those freaks at Heroes. I mean, who the hell can even jump off a bridge that is 100+ feet above the ground then be able to just dislocate a bone, then afterwards correct it herself? It's like f-ing Transformers again.

The only reason I watched an episode of Heroes is because of Masi Oka who is the cutest thing next to Bobby Lee of MadTV. That's episode five, ingeniously entitled 'Hiros'. God, he's the coolest Japanese ever.

I like how Seth MacFarlane was able to put together funny clips that seem to be out of order in each episode of Family Guy. It gets so twisted when one character would reminisce about something all of a sudden, then this clip of what he did would show up. I like that. I wish we can do that in real life, you know?

Mom: Oh come on now. Let's go to the mall!
Me: I can't, mom. I have diarrhea. I don't want to end up being arrested again in the mall like that last time we went shopping and I had an overdose of burrito and milk.
*Insert clip here showing the full-force of FBI and LAPD and NYPD or whatever police department dragging me out of the mall with my crap flowing down like water from my asshole, smearing like hell.*

That would be sooo cool.

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Using Friendster as your gateway to your past world is the niftiest thing ever. I mean, here I am, about to graduate from an all-girls' high school, likewise for my ex-batchmates who will also graduate from that school where I used to study for my elementary education. The difference is just there you can see teenage boys' puberty, and you can be so f-ing touched because you will realize that you really had come a long way since you first held your first pencil or crayon or something that you use in school.

In an all-girls school, the only signs of metamorphosis you can witness are from that of your same female species, which in my opinion is not really much of exhilarating. Well, duh. I know it's not really obvious, but I'm actually a girl. Yeah, I so can't believe it too. Anyways, the only thing that can produce a humongous lump in your throat is the fact that you and your girlfriend s are so much mature now, compared to what used to be when you were still oh-so young and eating each other shits is still a fad.

Friendster is like a time machine, really. The only difference of this social networking crap from the conventional stereotype is that you're not literally being time warped, but hence just being transformed to this world you used to have.

Which makes me ask myself...

What if I did not transfer to my current school? What would happen? Will I have social skills?

Do you know what the hell would happen?

INTROVERSION would have never exist at all. I wouldn't probably have my own blog if so. I would be so socialized, I would never ever ever need a high-tech confidant other than those friggin chatbots.

Now that's scary.

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As it turns out, my father will not be able to come home this Christmas nor New Year nor whatever week that is close to the aforementioned holidays. I cried for a while, of course. He's my dad, for Christ's sake. He's the only person smart enough to understand my point that there is no line between my wants and needs, and thus spoil my guts to death.

He gave me 2 grand (dollars) as a redemption, I suppose. But then I have to share it with my other siblings. 4 other siblings. Damn. They better thank me for I'm no selfish bitch.

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I have a question.

Do you send Christmas greetings to a person you used to have a relationship with? Not that the relationship was anything fruitful, but uh, I don't really know. I don't know too why every Christmas, my pride would just hide somewhere between my mammary glands, then consequently I would be so fucking kind to people and give them gifts. It's like freakin' Satan on angel dust.

And oh, for the love of God. I don't have that damn Christmas spirit, please. Jesus. I'm like Grinch's yummy shemale version here.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Not Much

So this is what a day-off feels like. Freedom and boredom sucks.

I've been working my ass off for the past few days. I was scooping out molds of crinkle mixture, shape what I've scooped to a sphere, throw it to this basin filled with powdered sugar, then arrange it together with other crinkle spheres into this baking pan with powdered sugar, put the pan in the oven, wait for a couple of minutes, then pack them.

This is what I did for 15+ hours for each day that I worked.

At first, I was very much overjoyed. I mean, really. This is the first time that my vacation had been productive, at the very least. Nobody living under our roof cannot, for the love of crinkles, call me a fat-ass who slacks off 10 hours a day. Or the whole day, if you would like to be more generic. That's because I worked my way to a buttload of pastries my mom asked me to make.

But after 10 hours (I don't know why I keep using 10 as a number. Something to do with the horoscope shits probably), I felt absolutely bored with all of it already. When the maids are in the other side of our kitchen that is seperated by a wall, I would curse myself to death. It is a wonder too that one of our maids asked me what "stupid", "shit", "fucking hell, and "God this so suck please kill me now" means. I was surprised that they heard everything I said to the crinkle mixture. Maids have some kind of telepathy now? What the hell.

So there. Today's my day-off. And tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. Until we get some more orders, I guess I'll be spending my days watching the first season of Ugly Betty and Heroes. And please don't call me a slacker. It's not like I have anything else to do anyway.

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I am still touched.

Monica gave me her Christmas gift last Tuesday at the year-ender party Ira organized at her crib. She ordered me to not open it till I arrive at home, which did not happen till the clock striked at 10 pm. And GOD. I was so flabbergasted at the sight of her gift. Come check it out.


IT'S STEWIE FOR CHRIST'S SAKE. I just love that baby.

The following aren't gifts, but they were scribbled all over that gift wrap. I know posting them is not making any significance to any of this, but I don't know. It kinda hit me that my world revolved around these scribbles for quite some time. And I liked it, actually.


The Holy Grail. He used to be my swimming coach, by the way.


I can't believe I'm posting this.



I miss Geometry too.

No friend had ever given me a shirt for Christmas. Not until Monica did so.

THANK YOU BODIKA. You don't know how much I love your gift.

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Sunday, December 16, 2007

Things Can Suck Even More

when they change.

Things can surely suck even more when they change.

Apparently, this will probably be the first time I'm going to talk about fucking changes in a general view. I don't have an idea why, but change is definitely one topic everyone loves blabbing about. And besides, I have to make up for that pinkie promise to my own toe that I will join an essay-writing contest a few months ago, which I had evidently let go of last week because of countless academic pressures that are eating my minuscule brain cells. The deadline was two hours ago, actually.

Everytime change would get in my way, one quote I have read somewhere would always pop in my mind. "People change because you change". I don't quite get everything that it is stating, really. How come things that change(or even just things per se) would be always blamed upon persons who question them? Not all things are rhetorical. For my 16 years of existence, the two things that have been known to be so grandiloquent that questioning them will make you so dumb are God and physics word problems.

I hate change. I hate everything that changes. Moreover, I hate people who change more because ostensibly, they think that you will still support them amidst the transposition they are suddenly going through. What about changes that are for the better, you say? They still suck. Nobody changes for the better. If so, then why isn't it that the world is still not a better place, like that Michael Jackson song is blurting out? Don't just everyone get it? Changing for the better is the same as changing for the worse because um, duh? CHANGE. CHANGE. CHANGE.

Of all the things that God had chosen to become inevitable, why the hell does it have to be change?

Fuck change.

I need to smoke to relieve this stress changes are giving me. Or drink a beer or two.
----------------------

How peculiar.

When I woke up yesterday morning, the first thing that automatically popped in my mind was our thesis. A few seconds later, our investigatory project. A minute passed, all our requirements had flashed right into my eyes like an awful Powerpoint presentation. After two minutes, I went to pee. Not that I want everyone to know how my morning routine goes.

Now seriously, what the hell is wrong with me anyway?

The first theory that tickled my curiosity was the fact that the holiday vacation and ambiance hasn't kicked in. This is probably normal, really. A day barely passed by since I had spent my last school day in 2007 anyway. So to speak, I'm still experiencing some difficulties adjusting my life dial from "fucking hell kill me now please God why are you doing this to me I know I'm the worst daughter you ever had but all of this school shit has gone too inhuman" to "time for some vices and intimacies with your blanket and gaming consoles."

The second one was the atrocious truth that the last 3 months was so depleted by several projects and problems, that my insomnia is now in its worse stage. Other than that, cramming for requirements everyday that have become very incessant since I entered my current school had probably brainwashed me into thinking that I still have tons of things to accomplish before I can acquire total relaxation. If this will continue till Christmas, I'm afraid you people can already confirm to your friends and family that yours truly is finally joining the bandwagon for mentally retards. I hope my psychotic state can help you and your family to have some yuletide goodness.

The final one is..I dunno. A hoax, as I can put into mere words.

I didn't go out yesterday. Yeah, sure. Oh look at Lorainne here. She is so introverted she probably doesn't know what social life means.

It had become a fad for people in high school to go out after school during Friday's, or some school days that are pristine steps for vacations and whatever. Not going out on the aforementioned days makes you not more than a loser, as people are coining it. So yeah, I guess I am one. What's new, huh?

Well, not really.

Frankly enough, I did not go out yesterday because I was saving moohlas for upcoming celebrations of vices with some classmates and of course, I will be getting a tattoo on my butt crack with them.

You read that right, virtual world. The introvert will get herself a hardcore tattoo on her butt crack. Beat that. Mom and Dad already gave me the go signal because it is so obvious already that their daughter is nowhere near normal and civilized. I have no plans of donating my blood to anybody aside from my feminine napkins, if some of you will ask.

I can't believe it. I will be wearing a tattoo under my toga for graduation next year. That is so neat. I feel like a gay person wearing my first ever pink thong. Now all I need is to smoke and to have some piercings on my liver and to eat crack and there you have it! A complete dipshit more than ready for college.

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26th, DLSU-CET results.
5th of next year, ACET results.

I seriously cannot wait any longer. Everytime I would be reminded of this, my teeth would just impulsively start gnawing on my lower lip so fast, that I have earned my mouth two canker sores and some random scar that bleeds every single time I eat.

Well, whatever.

I'm still considering going to a Misa de Gallo later. For my UP dreams. NOT.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Hell in A Handbasket

I would appreciate this one as a Christmas gift, of course. If by hell you mean cigarettes, kiddie drugs, absinth, and a good picture of that summer-lovin' I had, that is.

Ah, the taste of my last afternoon delight as a pristine step of my Christmas vacation. It tastes funny, though. Like I'm not even supposed to be here, or something. Right. I should be in hell, actually. It is a but a wonder why I ended up at my room, typing stuffs. Not good for a senior student, but nice one for an introvert.

Anyways, I received delightful gifts today. All of them are edible, except for the thing Ayu and Eleen gave me. Thanks. I will surely need it for my upcoming wet dreams this holiday season.
Here are some of the presents I enjoyed eating and staring at:


The Greatest Gift Pack EVER - from Rica Guerrero, Ayu Martinez, and Bianca Marjalino.


The Most Scrumptous Banana Cake I had -from Reann Gali...


...my good Mandarin classmate. :) (WTF is with that smiley)



I wish this was edible too. Not in a sexual way but uh... (the thong is from Eleen Manlapig and Ayu Martinez, by the way.)

There were many other gifts too. Like that Taisan from Nina Meily, and the brownies from Alyssa Flores. Damn. It's times like these when you just thank God for giving you such naughty and rich friends. I'll surely miss this.

Oh hell. I'm gonna start blabbing about how sad it is that this will be my last Christmas vacation as a high school student again. I'll better stop now, really. And besides, I have five more friggin academic weeks to reminisce past high school experiences anyway. So screw it.

THANK YOU FRIENDS. REALLY NOW.

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Mom's friend who is a well-known chain-smoker in her suburbia offered me one of her cancer sticks a while ago right in front of my mom's face. My initial response was happiness, because duh. Finally, someone have detected my need for nicotine and 10,000 other deadly chemicals. I don't really know how the hell she knew everything.

But of course, being the goody-goody daughter that I should be in front of my mom's eyes, I sadly shook my head. If she weren't there, I could've grabbed that stick and lighted that shit with this nifty Zippo lighter I was supposed to give as a Christmas gift for a friend.

Damn. That was close. I'll resort to drinking kerosene tomorrow.

I don't know what's the big deal with smoking anyway. Well for me, that is. I'm already drug-driven, thanks to steroids, which I am still chugging down until now. Why do I still need to do precautionary shits with cigarettes, if my meds had already destroyed my body?

God. One more fucking offer to smoke, and I'm afraid that I'm going to give in already. Sorry, but that's just the way things are when you have a good knowledge that your mortality rate is hitting at an all-time low figure every single puff you make with your inhaler.

I can't take it anymore. Bad influence be damned. No one's influencing me but my obese self, really.

I dunno.



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Thursday, December 13, 2007

I Guess, You Guess, We All Guess

I invented a very intellectual joke just now.

What do you get when you cross asphalt roads, massive mediums of transportation (like..uh..200okg, probably?), and Physics?

A blank paper caused by blanked minds, of course.

I'm very much assuming that this is what most of my batchmates can describe for that sixth page of that Physics exam from hell. It was really that bad and hard, actually. While tinkering my brain for the right formula I can use to find that stupid acceleration, I was also thinking of the right thing to blame as the culprit that is very much inducing the sudden blackout of my mind. Blame it on the fact that I crammed our investigatory project. Blame it on my lack of sleep for the past few days. Blame it on my country's political and economical crisis. Blame it on my obesity. Blame it on my pubic hairs. Blame it on the fact that I did not study painstakingly for my favorite subject.

Akon's right. BLAME IT ON ME.

Right after the exam, people started whining, shouting, asking questions to this and that. Me? I just laughed heartily. You know, that laugh Santa Claus makes when he's high with this special drug he created, which is a combination of Tylenol, valium, coke, vicodin, and a bit of Rudolph's red nose. For some unknown reason, everything seemed to be so funny. It's as if I sniffed some of Santa's drug myself.

I was reading through different blog entries concerning the deadly Physics exam last night and most of them had the same reaction that I had. Funny. And weird. Some were asking how the hell do you get the frictional force when there's no applied force nor a frictional coefficient given. Some were even asking if we can sue our Physics teacher for making a word problem that none of us can even solve. How..absurd.

I'll fail Physics. For sure. And to think that I told my dad that I deserve a DSLR for Christmas because of my grades this year. I will day on Christmas Day.

I shall do my daily monologue here. So please. Skip this part.

The final velocity of the car should be 0, because it stopped after 5 seconds. To find the acceleration, you then have to subtract 15 from 0, then dividing the by-product by 5. Doing this will result to an acceleration/deceleration of -3m/s/s. Find the weight of the car by multiplying its mass by the gravitational constant 9.8. Find the normal force by multiplying mass by the acceleration we got earlier, then add it to the weight. Since the car slided after stopping, it is evident from there that there is no friction between the car's wheels and the stupid asphalt road. And with this, you automatically have no frictional force. Therefore, no frictional coefficient.

I suck harder than ever.

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I was surprised when I saw my name on that little box below the editorial article in the recent issue of Pauliworld. It was more of surreal, really. If you've been reading my life for the past couple of months, you'll then know why.

As far as I can remember, I never attended any meetings called by the school paper EVER, except for that first meeting that very much resembled the school's first day of classes; people greeting each other, congratulating, and garbling out questions. Luckily, the school paper is nowhere near the school jungle. You can quit if you think you can't handle the pressures being offered right in your face.

Apparently, that's what I exactly did. Since then, every freakin' time someone would mention Pauliworld, my heart would skip a beat. It's like I killed the editor-in-chief, or smashed those machines that are used to publish the school paper. Knowing myself well enough, that's the feeling that I would usually get for doing something inappropriate and uncanny. Like cheating for the Physics exam, or deflowering myself using a used candle.

So yeah. You can just imagine my ghastly reaction when I saw my typographically-errored last name encoded in that green box. Taragas, huh? That's probably kismet's way of letting my remorse out for deciding to quit this unparalleled chance of writing for the school paper. How mature. I typically get insults like that from 3rd graders, and even those kids think that playing with my last name is the least thing they'll do.

Well, all of it probably comes with the package anyway. With a very mundane and inexplicable name, I cannot think of any good reason why someone would pronounce or even spell it right. I'll just blame my dad for his futile attempt to give her first child the most princess-y name ever this time.

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Love(and that guy who broke my heart) is like my addiction to Coke. No matter how I try to avoid it, it will all just end up on it again. The more you think about it, the more your mind and body hungers for it. Maybe there's still cocaine left in Coke. But for love? I don't know. Maybe it's all in the infatuation dopamine and norepinerephine and fucking endorphin gives.

You don't really have to get the surrealism. Nor the idea.

Forgive me. I don't really know where the hell this mawkishness is coming from. My current lethargy is not much of a help for me to forget stuffs. Stuffs that are....stupid.

You get the abstract.

What you can do is pop my blackheads and invent a new dish out of the pasta-like substance that comes out and defeat the culinary master out of Wolfgang Puck.

Oh well.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

I Just Blogged 3

I don't know why I'm doing this, really. I have my periodical exam for Physics tomorrow and God knows why I was not able to study intensively for it. Well actually, I have an idea why. It's our investigatory project, dammit. I was only able to finish it off a while ago and uhh. I feel so reinvigorated for some reasons. Yeah, with only 3 hours of sleep.

And it looks like I'll be getting four later. What a way to prep my self for my second to the last examinations. Thanks a lot, George Ohm.

I just blogged to say that I'm missing that guy who broke my heart. Because I'm fat. And not sex-educated nor liberated in any way. I'm blaming the Christmas-y feeling. Why do we all have to be so absurdly sentimental during the holidays anyway? I mean, it's explainable for those people in the West, with their ever-so white f-ing snow.

What about us posers?

I'm having dreams about getting into UP-Diliman with a killer bod. Jesus. And it's all because of you. I know that miracles per se can't really fluctuate my massive thighs in two months time, but fuck divine interventions. I'll be sexy enough for college. YOU just wait. And when that time comes, you'll be praying to God just for my smile. Ha. Beat that.

AAARGGHH.

I can't take this monologue-ing shit anymore. I used to think that I can shove him off with my brains, but I know that my hypothalamus ain't enough for him to even notice me again. I have to get skinny. I have to shed some skin. I have to stop eating.

Yeah that's right. Stop eating. There's no point in eating anyway. What's with munching tasty food, right? Now I understand Nicole Richie.

Goodness. I suck at sourgraping.

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For the second time, the owner of is not a bitter pill/bitch/pig. She just misses that cathartic feeling of being.....hurt.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Dream on

People have been flooding my Multiply message board with their wish lists for the past few days. I was about to click that link to post a new blog entry for my own, but then I remembered my sense of non-conformity and sullenness. Yeah, how ironic.

I have issues regarding wish lists, really. It's not that I'm being bitter about the fact that when I make one, I'm sure as hell that my parents wouldn't really grant any of those things I really want. I mean, I doubt it. Having me as their daughter is a sneak preview of hell already, for Christ's sake. No one would treat Satan's prodigy in a good way.

In fact, I don't really know why I have this strong grudge against wish lists. Ha.

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Do you know what else is weird?

Christmas.

Christmas used to be so fun when I was still an innocent little girl, with a brain so clean its impulses are squeaking and medulla oblangata shining like hell. I would look for any material capable of making a beat, then I would go out and go caroling or wassailing on my own. A block of wood and a small metal tube boosted my self-confidence, and my croaking voice made people realize that I'm no Aretha Franklin. I did that for three freakin' years before I realized that there is no point in singing Christmas carols for people who don't fucking care whatever you sing. Old people are an exception. They are so kind, they will still surely bake you some cookies even if you perform a rendition of Britney's Gimme More with their crippled legs as your pole. No offense, but I wish all people would act like that and be so civilized around kids.

I've never received a girly girl gift ever since I was born. There was this one time when I saw a big gift with my name written on it under our Christmas tree. I rummaged through the piles of gifts, in search for my sister's gift. And ha. There it was. a rectangular box that is a 75% smaller than my big gift, all wrapped in an artsy-fartsy gift wrapper. My lips suddenly curved itself into a sharp grin, as if I'm impersonating Grinch. Even as a kid, I'm already full of arrogance. No wonder I grew up into a selfish pig.

Christmas day came, and as usual, my sister and I raced to the Christmas tree with our mom and dad beaming behind us. I grabbed my big gift and my sister acquired hers too. I quickly teared the wrapper and my eyes bored to my gift. Damn. An automatic magic slate again? I looked behind me and saw that my sister's gift is a Barbie doll. I rapidly grabbed the pink box and gave my big gift to my sister. I don't know what kind of evil possessed me at that time, but everytime I think about it, I cringe like hell. I can't believe there was this instance in my life where I wanted to be a female-something so badly, I exchanged an educational machine for a blond doll that is probably dumber than my dog.


But now, Christmas is just a word.

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I commuted yesterday in a very conventional way. You see, the conventional way is fighting that gravitational force exerted by the slope by climbing all the way up from my school to the DepEd building. Then from there, you have to ride an FX routed to the nearby mall. When you get to the nearby mall, you have to ride another FX coursed to the city wet market. Then you can drop off at any point in downtown where you can ride a tricycle that will take you directly to you house situated in a fancy-schmancy village that is probably 20-30 meters away.

I liked it, actually. I used to just ride a taxi and tell the driver my destination and off we go. There will be no adventure in this kind of trip except if the driver is coincidentally drunk and crashed the car into something massive, or if you're just tad too unfortunate because your driver is horny and decides to rape you, or whatever.

But of course, something awkward just have to happen.

The FX I have ridden is definitely a love shack in disguise. I mean, come on. The only person not coupled in the ride is me, the person beside me, and the driver. It was a very tormenting trip, probably because all of them are PDA-ing right in our faces. Of course I was anguished. Who wouldn't be? That time would probably the greatest epitome of when and where you have to shout 'Get a room!' before anybody starts licking somebody's throat in front of your eyes to let out the bitterness in you. Ah, how anguishing.

I'm no bitter pill, excuse me. Displays of affection just reminds me of how stupid love per se made me for quite some time. Dopamine and norepinephine be damned. I'll never be so dense again to let fucking butterflies fly in my large stomach again. My stomach is thus reserved for carbonate reserves only. Those butterflies has to find a sanctuary of their own.

Love did not teach me nor made me realize anything except for the followong facts:

- College boys are simply horny. They think that being in love with somebody can get their way in a chick's body.
- Infatuation is the worst thing that can happen to you. It makes you so paranoid and psychotic that even your dignity will be very ashamed of you, and thus will leave you dumbass alone. Being a druggie is way better. Trust me.
- Nobody will ever ever EVER love you for who you are. It's always either you have big mammary glands, or he is just damn introverted to look for any other girls he can trick into sleeping with him. No matter how smarty-pantsy you'll get, your parents are the only ones who will love you for that.

All I'm saying is, love is non-existent. If it does, then why do we have to get hurt? Problems and challenges are enough to develop us as intellectual persons. Why do we still need to be tormented by love?

I just lost my pride by bringing up a sappy topic again. WTF.

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This week is a shitload of catharsis. We were all jogging down in memory lane, and reminiscing high school moments we shall all cherish before we go to different colleges and universities in roughly 3 months' time.

No more strict school rules.
No more greasy canteen food.
No more homeroom.
No more nuns.
No more school buses.
No more intimidating classmates.
No more class presentations.
No more surprise inspections.
No more bisexuals.
No more jogging pants.
No more red tiles.
No more PCH.
No more CL.

No more high school.

Mark your calendars, people. On the 17th of March, we will all bid goodbye to our hellhole that suddenly became our second home; a home that is a better version of our own households, because no matter what we have to go through, there will always be people behind our backs and supporting us until the end. People I will surely not forget who went through all cramming thinga-majigs for my 4-year stay in SPCP (oops. I mentioned that shit.).

HIGH SCHOOL FRIENDS.

After 10 years, Monica will be Dra. Canta.
After 10 years, Nina will be Dra. Meily.
After 4 years, Rachell, Jacque, Juella, and Patti will all be nurses.
After 5 years, Alyssa will be Engr. Flores.
After 4 years, Charlene will be a businesswoman.
After n years, my batchmates will all be professionals in their own respective fields.

What about me? I'll be the crankiest engineer the world has yet to discover and truly love.

I'll miss high school.

Really.

I can't believe I'll be graduating from high school already.

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

My Vicissitude

...is completely strangling me to death. I want my lethargic personality back, God. I don't want to be this irregular anymore.

This day seemed to be just a drift among any other school days that have passed. I mean, if I had skipped Mandarin class and take a power nap for two hours in the clinic, then this will be the first time I enjoyed a sleepless Monday. You can thank the rumor that we were to have three freakin quizzes. A rumor, for the love of God. You don't start rumors regarding academics. Jesus. Don't they ever learn?

Oh, the bitter symphony of a student who studied for her Mandarin quizzes which turned out to be pretty much bogus in the end. Sad.

On a lighter note, I have finally experienced that IMAX 3-D shit everyone was blabbing about last year. I payed 350 pesos for it, oh wow. And of course, because of my pride-filled brain, I did not let out a single word of amazement when something seemed to be coming out from the screen. I was analyzing everything. Yeah sure, we studied this one during that Optics session with Ms. Mondigo. But that was different. The 3D glasses does not have dissimilar colors, au contraire to that polarizing filter....

Stop, Lorainne. Stop. Control that adrenalin rush. Control. Control.

It was great in a way that my friends are with me. We were supposed to break away from the first batch and take the second trip home in the afternoon. But due to my paranoia and superlative insanity thoughts that we will be caught by the MOA guards, just like what they do to kids who smoke pot in movies, we went back to the lobby.

Damn.