VJ Hunts and SC

You know what's rare? My mom being supportive and all. The only thing I remember that justifies it was the ever-great swimming competition way waay back two years ago and she wasn't even as supportive as mothers should be. I mean, she just practically sat in some secluded area and watched my frustrated swimming career go down the drain. Yeah well I don't really want a supportive mom anyway. That'll be like going to school with some lampin (thin cloth) draped over my back and some cute little lunchbox tied on my backpack. So gross.

But mom's true motherly colors (which I am assuming are really really warm colors) came out last Thursday evening as we were crusing down C-5 road on the way to our home. I was staring out in the dark streets as I feel my eyes starting to slow down its blinking pace, and water starts to surround my vision. I wish I was drunk, because that would have been a good reason to pass out on mom's unrelenting stories about her gym mates and my dad's shenanigans abroad. But since I wasn't, I just scratched my eyes and sighed. Igi Guerrero's voice suddenly filled the seemingly boring ambiance of the car and for reasons unknown, mom instantly recognized the voice.

Mom: Di ba yan din yung VJ sa Myx? (Isn't he also a VJ in Myx?)
Me: Oo, ma. Siya nga. Macho Papa. (Yes, ma. He is. Macho Papa)
Mom: Haha!
Me: *Blank*
Mom: Alam mo anak, bagay ka dun sa VJ Search ba yun? (I don't really have that exquisite ability to translate this to English. My mom's just telling that she thinks I'm fit to join a local VJ hunt.)
Me: *Snorts*
Mom: Seryoso ako! (I'm serious!)
Me: I don't think fat slobs are even legit to appear on TV without funny stints or some high-noted song.
Mom: ANO?? Alam mo namang di ako magaling ako sa Ingles eh! (WHAT? You know very much that I'm not good in English!)
Me: Ma, bakit ba?

And I don't really have the stupidity to tell the whole story in a form of how we communicated or anything.

So yeah, my own mother is telling me to join the famous VJ hunt. Har-dee-har-har. I thought it was a simple joke, you know, just to fool the shit out of me and do her some favors. But yeah, it's hard when your mom's serious about something that you don't take seriously at all. Like school and love...bullcraps like that. Mom's claiming that my innate feeling American accent and unusual loquiaciousness should be maximized and clearly the best way to do this is by joining some contest for video jockeys - people who blab and blab and blab about music. I suppose I can give this a shot, I thought. All is well except for one thing:

I'm friggin fat.

I haven't even seen an overweight VJ talk like crazy on TV, what more for a morbidly obese wannabe? That's probably the reason why they require a full-body picture for one to join the contest. They don't accept slobs like me, for sure. For reasons unknown, people don't really listen to fatasses. It's as if they don't matter - AT ALL. Like they're not a part of the society because they're the ones being grilled by the society. What a sad, sad world.

I wanna try, but I can't.

Society is dictating that I can't.

Screw you, society.

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You know what's the best shopping center in the metro aside from Divisoria's 168?

UP Shopping Center.

God. It's like the ulitimate haven of necessities for college students. Cheap printing and binding services, cheap food, AHH! Cheap stuff rocks.

And hello? Where else can you find a grocery right smack in the middle of a university?

UP rules. I'm gonna pray to God for a spankin' new brain so I could have some UP goodness. HAH.

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