Monday, March 31, 2008

Sans Souci

RRRRIIIINGG goes your alarm clock. You grab it, then squint your eyes to find out where its hands are pointing; yep, it's 20 minutes until it's officially morning, more or less 5:40 AM. You slouch back and lay down again over your bed as you grab your blanket over your body, and try to relieve your mind from the fact that you'll be spending yet another splendid day (made by no less than GOD) in a place where your only source of happiness can be chosen from only two things: your grades, or your friends. You highly support the latter because as a status quo, students like you have this privilege to slack off, since it's your last year and well, slacking off is exorbitantly fun. That place, of course, is no paradise. Some call it hellhole, and some even call it hell itself already. You find these things amusing, because no self-respecting student would call high school a mere heaven.

You hear the startling footsteps of your mother, and as the sound of it gets louder and louder each second, you pray to God that she won't shout hysterically at you. As your door creaks, you brace yourself for the boom of her voice, waking your ass up completely. A second-no-two, maybe, passed by and the gush of the air coming from the air conditioner is all you can hear. You can feel your mom walking towards your bed as the door slowly creaks itself close. She sits herself on the corner of your bed and at doing so, she shakes your thighs nonchalantly. You know, what mothers would always do when they would wake their children up.

[To be cont'd...]

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Today I discovered the true beauty of Manila. Not Manila, as the capital of this fucking country per se, but you know...Manila maynila. At first, my only mission was to go to Hidalgo st. located in Quiapo, Manila to check out the varying prizes of Nikon D60, the camera I'm now planning to purchase as my graduation gift. It was expensive, yeah yeah yeah, but I know that 40 grand is enough to give justice to the four gruesome years I spent in St. Paul. There! I said it! You can set up ye old guillotine now and chop my big head off! I won't really mind.

I was standing in front of Mercury Drug (the one near the church and has a big screen above it) and watching people move from one place to another. It's probably some observant bullshit, hell I don't know. My eyes darted to my right, where passenger jeepneys are driving mad along the big road. I squinted my eyes to get a better view of where those things are going to, and apparently, they're all traveling to Dapitan.

And that's when that stupid light bulb incredulously lighted (well, yeah. That's the only thing a light bulb can do anyway) yet again. God, I hate it when that happens. I am forced to accomplish my own ideas by my own mind. It's just sad that my light bulb of ideas works only at the weirdest times, and never at the right times when you need it the most. Like when I'm brushing my teeth and all of a sudden, I want to burn my fingers or something. And yeah, it gets that absurd for most of the times. Not my fault, nuh-uh.

That time, the idea that sprung inside my imbecile brain was to explore the whole city by myself. I mean, yeah, right? Why the hell not? I have a thousand bucks in my wallet, and God knows I don't have to do anything at home anyway except to laze around and make my ass bigger by sitting on it all day long, which is by anyone's standards, not good.

To cut it all short, I explored the whole city on my own and - get this - without even getting hold-up'd or something as bad as it is. I've never felt so free in my whole life. I wish people can appreciate the beauty hiding beneath its layers of dirt and crime.

(And since when did I appreciate places?)

Sunday, March 30, 2008

Parental Control

I was watching this fuckingly immature reality show called 'Parental Control' a while ago and believe me, watching one episode alone is enough to excruciate your whole system. To those who haven't caught it on ETC, you're lucky that my brain's working amidst the inhuman heat the sun's giving out outside and I can clearly remember how the stupid show goes. I mean, who the hell wouldn't? The producers of the show just threw in some parents who are completely deranged and incidentally hate the boyfriend of their one and only daughter whom I assume is nowhere near educated. If you're educated, then you would know that joining a juvenile show is already imbecile, let alone a reality show with your parents and two guys they want you to have a relationship with.

Ah, quit it. I don't want to talk about things like this anymore. I'm a grown-up (or so I think I am) and grown-ups don't talk about insane reality shows. They talk about college, and careers, and having kids and..

I don't want to be a grown-up. I don't even want to grow up. God, just take me to that Neverland place where nobody ever grows, even an inch. I don't care if the only Neverland place that exists here on earth is that of Michael Jackson's ranch, fuck it. You can never ever go wrong with a place so fucking gay. And very expensive, for that matter.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

I Just Blogged 6

I'll be entering college in less than three months and all I can say is..I'm still fat.

You know, I had this dream (more like a freakin' daydream) about getting all hyped and booted up for college; lose at least a ton, get a new haircut, get a new personality, get a new best friend. But it seems like all of these things are still not a part of reality, MY reality, so probably achieving at least one of them would be a miracle. I don't want my college life to start as bad as my high school was, so I made a damn list of things I should do to at least be able to acquire that total readiness I seriously need for this next big thing.

1. Boxing - I've been spreading the news to a lot of people that I'm planning to do this as my summer exercise this year. If you've read (and still reading) my life since I started this crap, you would know that I didn't do anything productive last summer to reduce 'em cellulites. Alright, maybe I did. But oh freakin' God I so don't want to tell the story again of howIwenttothegymandfellheadoverheelstomypersonaltrainer.

2. Swimming - You've read that right. Yours truly will go and have a taste of some real professionalism in swimming. Ever since last Tuesday when I got my card and got so surprised at that p (meaning plus) beside the letter A as my GIFT grade, excitement crawled up my spines as the thought of dancing in the pool arise yet again. I'm not only doing this to cut f-a-t, but I want to enhance my recurring hobby as well, so to speak.

3. Haircut - And by haircut, I mean real and mad haircut, just like Sharon Stone's mad hair, or or some bald guy's hair. I really want to shave all this curly shiznits on top of my head, because I want to start over with it. I've had it straightened four times, blow-dried five times, colored three times, and other fucking hair treatments incessantly. I would always feel sorry for my hair everytime I would go to the salon and have it hot oiled or whatnot, but then again it's just a damn hair.

Actually, those were the only three things that I urgently have to do for people to be aware that I am, indeed, a person. I don't want to end up as a replica of Jabba the Hutt or something so fuckingly big by the end of the summer, so yeah. I'm gonna do something to be a better person who bitches stuffs around for fun. You better watch out for that.

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It's too bad we have to cut the vacanza di divertimento alla spiaggia short just because our report cards were to be released the day after we went there. For the first time ever, I truly enjoyed the presence of the beach and the sand and the food and anything, really. It's probably because it's the first time I spent half of the day sleeping under the shade of a humongous coconut tree and over the sand, and enjoying the big natural waves that would come repetitively down there at the ocean. I got a good tan, and thank the Lord for sparing me because I was the only one so egotistical enough to put a gunk (and by gunk, I mean the whole bottle of sunblock lotion) of sunblock lotion to my whole body, thus avoiding damn ultraviolet rays that caused the sad, sad, sad misfortune of my family's other members for they were all burned by no less than Mr. Sun himself.

It was my ideal paradise, without of course things I really wanted. Like the Maserati, or a big mansion. They probably hid it down the ocean to surprise me or something when I drown, which is very very unlikely. Anyways, I'm expecting those things would show up at the right time. They'll know when.

The evening's good, because there's this big bar and restaurant near the beach. Being the introvert that I really am, I just stayed at our 'camp' and enjoyed the countless party remixes those humongous speakers are repetitively playing off. I was singing with some Snoop Dogg hit under my breath when something so incredibly stupendous caught my eye. And no, it wasn't a German boy with pretty muscles. That's when I pulled out my planner and wrote this:

24 Monday. 10:25PM Ocean View Resort, Lower Kalaklan, Olongapo City

[Sorry, homies and shawties. I had to wipe it out]

See, this is a perfect product of boredom and inspiration. If T-Pain and Flo-Rida didn't blare their fo' shizzles earlier, this would've been so long and long and long.

Don't ask.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Easter

Um, Happy Easter?

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Beatle (Uhm) Mania

Honestly, I never really liked The Beatles after hearing 'I am the Walrus' at a young age of 9. I loathed their songs that seemed to be eating marijuana leaves at every beat. I mean, yeah. Just listening to them during my 'tween' (ugh, I hate that term.) years made me absurdly skeptical about my illegal drug virginity. I remember claiming that I've sniffed angel dust through listening to Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds to my 5th grade classmates and conspicuously they believed every stupid word I said. Everybody hailed me as the cool queen, but some teacher snipped my druggie royalty off after sending me to the guidance counselor. Right on, right on.

But that was all before when I was still dumbfounded on what the hell love truly is, and what great and stupendous words John Lennon and Paul McCartney(Damn that cute face) shoved out of their brains to make such songs songwriters of today could only wish of. And now that I need to go through to one more year before I can be legal to everyone's eyes and minds, I fell in love with The Beatles. Just in the nick of..well..my generation, I guess.

This all started when Charlene asked me if she can use my ever-so-reliable-but-barely-used iPod for her Share-a-Book presentation in class. She then asked me to transfer the aforementioned song Lucy in The Sky With Diamonds to the device, because obviously, that's the song that she'll be using. I have this pesky habit of scrutinizing stuffs people give me to do something with it (Who the hell wouldn't, anyway? Granted of free access to criticize or to just simply read/listen/watch it, scrutinizing is simply the best thing you can do. Unless I promise people not to criticize it, I will do so.). That being said, I listened to the Beatle song until I can fully hum the whole song without, indeed, playing the song all over again. Let me just clear out that it wasn't my intention to do so, but it was..alright, fine. I intended to listen to it because I'm sort of tired of the same trashy songs blaring out of the radio.

And good Lord, did The Beatles nailed it, or what? Well actually, I think Paul McCartney alone nailed it with his face because, well, I'm such a biased bullcrap in terms of appearance, that's why nobody respects me and nobody should (Unless of course if I told you that you should because I'm good at fixing electric fans and whatnot. I'm egotistical in that way.). But the songs! The music! The lyrics! The harmony! Mama Mia! Jai Guru Deva Om!

It brought me great happiness after getting hold of the information (from no less than the website) that the contestants of the current season of the American Idol will be doing yet another rendition of the wonderful hits of The Beatles. I hope this time they would nail it, and David Archuleta would think twice before forgetting the lyrics of We Can Work It Out. But of course that's normal among young singers. I was just being, um, I don't know, really. Pseudoquasibitch, probably.

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Idol talk. Scram if you're no fan.

It's been a long time since I got a crush on someone who seems to very unreachable, no, impossible, probably. These days I would usually gush over somebody that's too feasible to reach, like our cute neighbor, or the personal trainer, or The Boy, with the latter still being too questionable for his own validity. If you've read my life during the summer of last year, you would actually know why. But then again, that's not important.

Because Jason Castro's the one who's important to me now.

God, I've never been such a huge fan-bitch before than I am now. Sure, his dreadlocks are kinda turning people off, but what the hell. Look up his version of If I Fell on YouTube and his weird yet very fanciful facial expressions will knock your panties off (that is, if you're wearing one. *insert a joke here that's as green as The Hulk*). And he sings like a damn angel! And guess what, I now believe in angels! Oh, you Colombian Hottie you.

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Post-graduation sucks.

Actually, the aftermath of anything big sucks. See, I can't really distinguish myself right now. Am I a former high school student? Am I a college student? Am I a lesbian? Sure, I've mentioned in my previous post that you call people who graduate from high school and about it to enter college immature, but I'm degrading myself too much. Yeah, so much for being so self-obsessed.

Anyways, did you know that the length of your index finger and ring finger do not only measure your testosterone level, nor the amount of male hormones you've absorbed when you're still so friggin innocent in your mom's womb, nor anything concerned with sperm nor whatever sexual thingamajig you might think off, but your personality as well?

See, if you have two X chromosomes and your ring finger is longer than your index finger, this implies that your testosterone level is high. Thus, this concludes that you more or less prefer to do the opposite sex's work. To cut the science shit short, you are manly in terms of your capability to do work and of course, personality. A woman's index and ring fingers are usually of same height.

This great discovery of course is hence a great proof of my inner machoness. After finding this out through Nat Geo Junior's Mad Labs, I heaved an 'I knew it' under my breath, because long before I even found out this crap, I was wondering why my ring finger's a lot longer than my index finger. I thought I was some sort of a special person, you know, like Claire Bennet and the rest of those freaks at Heroes. You'll never know, you'll never ever know.

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I so hate to say this, but I'm already missing high school.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Over

And then suddenly, everything seemed to be over. You know that weird feeling, when a relatively huge event already passed by and you're still as passive as..well..passive? Yeah, that's what I feel. I've had about one graduation luncheon and one graduation dinner already but God knows why graduation itself still doesn't make sense. It's like we just practiced with togas and parents around.

I'm officially gonna be a college student next month. But before that, you can describe me as a cross between a high school student and a college student, which is an immature.

At that faithful night before my graduation, I made a crap for the Youngblood section of the opinion page of Philippine Daily Inquirer, expressing my deep thoughts about this biggie event that's about to happen hours later. It's funny that I should even mention it, because until now, it remains very well unfinished with less than 500 words. And consequently, that alone gives justice as to why I did not submit it to the aforementioned newspaper. Yeah, I know. Here I go again with stupid chances that I ignore a lot, which makes me much more stupid.

Here's the..uhmm..shit.


So it still hasn’t occurred to me that I’ll be graduating from high school in a matter of hours. Flying off to college in a matter of months still seems to make no sense at all. And, as you’ve probably guessed by the aforementioned statements, I’m still hoping that the thought of leaving my female-dominated high school will… oh I don’t know…sink in just in time for later?

It’s kind of unusual for someone who has anticipated her graduation day the minute she entered this exclusive school for girls to not believe that she is, ergo, graduating. Ironic, I know. Oh how I loathed every exorbitantly austere rules they would use against us. Actually, every student hates, well, every rule. That’s probably a rule in itself or something. You won’t be considered a normal high school student if the thought of being minimal in terms of your clothing seems to not bother you at all. Judging by the four years I’ve struggled through, you have to be bothered by the overly-strict rules, or else people around you will think you’re a loser. In a high school setting, a loser is simply the equivalent of the lower class of our country’s society.

Ah, the wonders of the social hierarchy in high school.

Morning seems to be the hardest time of the day for all of us, since we are forced to stand for a couple of minutes just to sing, pray, reflect, and then pray some more. Now I’m not really complaining about praying, because if I do then that would simply defeat the purpose of entering a Catholic educational institution. And I love God, for Pete’s sake. What makes it so damn hard to do is that in the morning, we are still all trying to be (and really trying hard, for that matter) to be awake. It bothers us to know that after cramming for tons of projects they bombarded us the day before, thereafter having to sleep for only 2 hours, they just cannot get their hands off us for one bit.

I hate to exaggerate, but we do pray a lot more than the usual. We are to hear mass and pray the rosary every single school day. Bibles have been the ultimate necessity, but up to now I haven’t met anybody who has read the whole thing self-willingly.

I know it sucked. Hell, I know I suck.

But my high school friends? They don't suck even one bit.

I'll miss you guys. And thank you for making every excruciating day in school very worthwhile, amidst every inhuman thing we have to go through. Thank you for being with me every step of it all. We really are, indeed, signing off.




There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Peak Season

March is definitely the peak month for a lot of things, things I will not further mention because they get so incessantly irritating at times. But this is weird, because March is also becoming such a peak month for friendships that are..well..coming to an end. I don't really know if it's just applicable to graduating students and the like, but I'm seeing a lot (and by a lot, I mean A FREAKIN LOT) of people starting a feud with their friends, if not their besterestest friends.

I am such a cool trend-setter. I so knew it.

Anyways, I don't really know why the hell I'm hyped up now. It's surely not caused by the helluva tedious graduation practice we've been having for the past two weeks. On the contrary, it worsened not only my lethargy but my languidness as well. Hell yeah, doing nothing but exercising our vocal chords is much worse than doing nothing at all. I'd rather lie down on the floor and fart all day. At least that would be pleasurable to my ass's part, unlike sitting on it all day long. I think it lost 10 pounds with all that singing we've been doing.

It's technically my last day ever in high school tomorrow, and I'm throughly excited to finally exit the grounds 'n corners of the damn educational institution that religious advocacy built. I badly want to write an article about graduation, but let's save it for Friday or some day that's closer to the Faithful day, for more dramatic effect. Anyways, yeah. I'm finally graduating, huh? Woo-fucking-hoo, alright. I still can't believe four years went by so quick and, well, discreet. A while ago, as we were waiting for our turn to stand up and go to the stage, I was trying to reminisce those memories my current school took part in. And as cliched as it may sound (or maybe not), I really really can't, for the love of God, remember anything relatively good.

Alright, you got me. I was (and still) trying to make myself cry by forcing the thought of our graduation to sink itself into my hypothalamus, background music c/o Vitamin C's incessant graduation hit (and who the hell would've even guess what the title is), 'Graduation (Friends Forever). The reason behind this is that I'm still nailed to my graduation apathy that's been around since..oh I don't know...forever? Christ, we've been practicing for two traumatizing weeks already and everytime someone would remind me that graduation's on the fifteenth, my right eyebrow would passively raise and my mouth would utter a syllable that can pretty much give justice to my dreadfully stolid behavior.

So?

Well, I have less than a week to treasure that hellhole anyway. That's um..enough.

I think.

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I have five drafted posts, all of which are halted in 2007 alone. They comprise about 2.4% of all of my entries, which is somewhat a large figure for me, considering that I treat this blog like that of a common thesis. The percentage of my drafted posts is merely the margin of error of this blog, as far as the frequency of posting is concerned. If you want to know the margin of error of the content, well I guess you just have to read it from scratch. (Hint: It's somewhere beween a hundred percent, and a hundred percent. I guess that perfectly narrows down the other possibilities.)

So, as it is evident that I'm seriously up to nothing good with anything right now, I'm posting the short drafts of blog entries that were stored and ignored like the society of this country last year.

Title: Infelicitous?
Date: September 13, 2007

I've never seen two unfortunate events happen consecutively. And awkwardly, for that matter.

Yesterday didn't seem so unlucky, if you'll view it of how the day itself started. Mom gave me 5oo bucks for my allowance, which is arguably lucky. I was able to understand the Natural Logarithmic Functions lesson in Advanced Algebra with ease, which is awfully propitious. And finally, I nailed Physics for the second time in this month, which is absolutely auspicious, relevant to the fucking low grade I got for the previous quarter.

And then, there was this thing called GIFT.

As always, we swan restlessly. Although 600m worth of quasi-killing myself with different strokes may sound like chicken buck-ba-bucking to you, it was, indeed, a very tedious job for me. God, those swimming coaches would go to hell for sure. Good thing I was in the mood for everything yesterday because I happen to nail stuffs I wasn't even supposed to enjoy in the first place. If I weren't, I could've vomited blood right there and then.

And for our last 100m, we were given the chance to swim whatever stroke we want to.

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Title: Futile Attempt
Date: October 23, 2007

I can't believe I just wrote a 1000-word shiznit for..... her. It's either I'm too inspired, or too fat. I'll take the latter, thank you.

If you're one of my contacts in Multiply, you can check out what I wrote, and witness the real mediocre deal. It's here. And I'm sorry but I can't just let everybody read it, unlike pornography. And besides it's not much of a good shit anyway. You can actually sense the mild-religiousness while reading it. Whatever.

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Howkay, so what's up?

(And here I am, pretending that I am not in the process of writing a 1200-word essay for that Manila Times essay-writing contest. Well, screw me. Now.)

I skipped school today, primarily because my head is killing me, and there's not much to do in school anyway. Today's that day they would usually sacrifice for the practices and trainings and whatever preparations everybody has to do before the sportsfest (make that MY last), which is tomorrow.

I'm not really feeling all...jiggly-hobbley, like I used to feel last year. And UH, it's not because if the apathy issue again, but this doubt I have that we will not win as champions.

And I'm not going to expound this highly-arguable topic any further.

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Title: Skipped
Date: November 2, 2007

Oh yesiree I did. I did not post yesterday just so people would think that the bored0m stick is not burdening my asshole, or whatever. But to nobody's surprise, I practically did nothing yesterday. Sure, it was All Saint's day yesterday, and all of you have probably visited your dead love ones in some cemetery or wherever.

How about me, you may ask?

Well, I slacked off, as usual. We don't have any dead relative in any of the countless cemeteries here in the metro. All of them dead-asses are either in Dagupan City in Pangasinan, or in Bulacan. Of course, being the lazy slob tha I am, I did not join grandma and grandpa to their Halloween Escapade yesterday. Much as I would like to be scrutinized by my older cousins who have nothing to blab about aside from the fact they will be graduating next year with their magna cum laude-d diplomas, I cannot take the burden of commuting to a place that is 170 kilometers from my home.

Grandpa used to drive that blue Nissan pick-up when we have to go there for our yearly visit for our dead relatives I hardly even knew. I was so pissed off when grandpa told me that they'll be commuting this year. I asked my mom why the hell would he prefer to commute, when he can drive our car, or whatever car he wants (they have a couple of cars). Mom then told me that grandpa's getting old, and can't really drive that far anymore. I've never felt so flustered in my whole 16 years of existence.

God. Sometimes being awfully arrogant and selfish sucks. Even in a hermetical way, it would make you realize how bad you really are.

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Title: (no title)
Date: November 11, 2007

I've been very bored lately(and now). Not that anyone cares, of course. All I'm saying is that this is exceptionally wrong, in the sense that I shouldn't be feeling so. I have yet again two chapters of our thesis to revise, a long quiz for my elective tomorrow to study for, and (still) a life to end. With that long list of things to do, how the hell can I even be bored? I don't even have the right to relax my ass off, and here I am, slacking off in our computer table.

I'm actually thinking of skipping school again tomorrow. Ugh. People will ask what your average is, then if you're an academic awardee, then ask your grade in this subject, blah blah blah. I don't want people reminding me about my grades by asking me how high or how low they are. Although I am quasi-guilty of doing the same thing to my classmates, I don't want them asking questions about something I'm very disappointed of. Things can get really cranky if they would.

It's a good thing that my report card's still missing. No one would be able to scrutinize it. Good. Good. Good.

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Remember that 12-year old kid who committed suicide because of their family's superlative poverty?

I actually envy her, because she has a valid and dramatic reason to actually kill herself, compared to myself who wants to commit suicide so badly just to see what afterlife looks like. It's not my fault I'm not into stereotypical imageries about heaven or hell as our portals after we die. I mean, if you look at it, nobody had even confirmed their existence. Why bother to believe, right?

God, I hate my rational alter ego.

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Look, I know surveys are Friendster/Multiply material. But damn. A school week has already passed by and I'm still unbelievable bored out of my wits. Maybe answering this would help. Or not. Or whatever.


I got this from Cyberpunk.

GET TO KNOW ME BETTER meme (Part I)

Q1. What were you doing 10 years ago?
Pragmatically playing with my other kindergarten friends, and/or wondering why my classmate back then died just because of his frequent visits to the school clinic. Because of that, I've probably developed a stupid phobia for clinics.

Q2. What were you doing 1 year ago?
Enjoying the mathematical wonders of geometry and trigonometry, possibly loathing chemistry and my GIFT class back then.

Q3. What are 5 snacks you enjoy?
Kopi Bun, Cheese ice cream, alcoholic drinks, Coke, and anything sweet, actually

Q4. What are 5 songs you know the lyrics to?
Eyes Watering - TRJA, MakeDamnSure -TBS, Hero Heroine - Boys Like Girls, Bartender(Har-dee-har) - T-Pain ft. Akon, Crank Dat - Soulja Boy. Forgive me. I'm into hip hop and R&B these days.

Q5. 5 things you would do if you were a Millionaire?
I'll probably buy a country. And a Maserati.

Q6. 5 Bad habits?
1. Having this great desire to smoke.
2. Having this great desire to smoke weed.
3. Thinking that everything is a competition
4. Smelling something stinky all over and over again
5. Drinking Coke

_____________________________
_____________________________

Title: Proven
Date: November 17, 2007

Now I know I'm REALLY out of endorphin. God, I think I'm also out of dopamine and norepinephrine. Well, I'm not finding any of what I've mentioned above weird, but it just so happens that I have watched an excessively sappy movie yesterday that did not even infatuate me, even for a bit.

Sometimes I wonder if not being able to stimulate adrenalin(I hardly produce anyway) is the culprit behind the refusal of my systems to be infatuated. Awfully in more ways than one, I think. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm tad too tired and stressed to feel that lovin' feelin' again.

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Sunday, March 09, 2008

Magic Flakes

Go ahead.

You can ask.

...
...
...

Oh quit it. I know you're wondering why the hell I'm in the comfort of my own room on a Saturday night. It's not only a Saturday night, but the night of our graduation ball. Sure, Sure, Sure. I didn't come, and I'm not regretting any fucking moment of it. I hate to say this, but I'm very much having the complete schaudenfrieden, but its modified version(modified version my fat ass); much more happiness in the happiness of others.

Yeah, I don't get to drink and smoke and dance my squishy belly tonight. But I'm telling you, there will be a much more hardcore night. And that will be the night when a black dragon will appear finally on my back. (Hint: It's the damn tattoo)

(This was written last night, evidently.)

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Keep smilin', keep shinin'
Knowin' you can always count on me, for sure
That's what friends are for
For bad times..and bad times (as well)
I'll be on your side forever more
That's what friends are for

I have a question. Is a friend still a friend if you um, just go through the bad times and never the good times? You know, just through problems and um..problems, but never through the good stuffs?

Thank you Charlene Liwanag for enlightening me with, of course, the help of Stevie Wonder. And even though you never ever read my trash (read: this blog), I know deep inside that you still care like a true friend would. I've had enough of all of this shit I'm trying to be indifferent from. And with barely a week before graduation, all I can say is... you're the only one I will truly miss the most.

You deserve my graduation gift for you. :)

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The DOINGFINE.ORG button you see on your right is an advertisement, people. So if you are DOINGFINE with your life right now, please click it. PLEASE.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Soar Like A Cockroach

It's funny how people react towards the way I write. I mean, really. I think it's trash, you think it's good. I think it's being what I really am, and you think its sole hatred to the world. Well, no offense to the hardcore emo's out there, but seriously, this is no emo blog.

If you come to think of it, there's nothing good in life to blog about anyway. It's a common misconception that the fact you are living is a very very good thing on itself. Why? If you're life is bombarded with bazillion problems, that isn't very good. You might as well die than to suffer along the way. But then again, problems come and go in a weird way. Ugh. I'm not suicidal or anything.

I'm just being repulsive. Because..well.. I am repulsive.

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Do you know what else is disgusting aside from me? Cockroaches.

As a child, I never grew fond of cockroaches. Who the hell would? Cockroaches are far more disgusting than any other pests around the block. I mean, rats are perfectly fine for me if you just set the fact that their shits stink and their piss could kill people aside, they're actually nice. At least they don't fly, and they don't lay freakishly small eggs around our vicinity.

I probably inherited dad's mannerism of jumping when there's a cockroach around. The only difference is that he gets something (like a rolled newspaper or just something approximately 5 times the size of the pest) and use it to hit the damn insect, obviously to kill it to pieces. That being said, I don't like it too when my dad would smear the dead body of the cockroach to my shirt. I freak out and cuss in a weird and abhorring way, then throw my clothes out of me in an instant. I don't do that anymore, evidently. Aside from the fact that I'm already on the last phase of my puberty, my beer belly would scare people off. Instead, I would just shriek and run off to hide.

I remember this one time when my sister and I were the only products of my parents' young and sappy love, and we lived in my father's room that's smaller than my present bedroom in his parents' house. There are several holes in the bottom part of every wall, like that holes you see in Tom and Jerry. But those holes look like they've been punched by a serial killer, unlike Jerry's holes which he probably spent thousands on for perfect ledges. Of course we knew that those holes house mice and cockroaches and termites and Al Pacino and any other dirty pests, so it's no surprise when my dad would just suddenly stomp his feet on the floor while finishing some report on his laptop.

There was this double bed in the room; my mom and dad took the bottom part, and the upper part was ours. That was when the days where still good and we were the complete opposite of obesity. It was night time, and my mom finally turned the switch off to put us to sleep, because there's school the next day. As we were drifting off to sleep, something crawled up towards my forehead and stayed there for a moment. I lifted my hand and touched it and..

Oh hell no. It's a fucking cockroach. Surprise, Surprise.

I screamed loudly in my head. Fuck! It's a damn pest! It's gonna eat me!, I thought. I didn't want to wake my parents up, or to let them find out what a big and pesky irony their daughter is. For someone who lives in a cockroach-infested room, I was dead scared of cockroaches. That, ladies and gentlemen, is not a good thing.

I climbed down the bed quickly and opened the light. As I was doing this, I felt that the cockroach left my forehead off and flew somewhere. It also left this stupid burning sensation, like a mark. As I turned the lights off, I saw the cockroach resting on the wall. Well, that's the part when I screamed.

"MAY IPIIIIIIIISSSSSS! (There's a cockroaaaaach!)"

My father muttered some words to shut me up and threw me his big pillow, and then he went back to sleep. I was so helpless, I shook their sleeping bodies just to wake them up and kill the damn cockroach for me. They ignored me, of course. The cockroach started to fly around the room. I screamed again and again and again. God, I hate it when that happens. I grabbed a blanket to cover my whole body and rested on the floor.

I woke up with swollen eyes and lips.

The wrath of these flying things is still not over, evidently.

Thank God, my journal's cockroach-proof.