Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Much Ado About Something

Do you ever feel as if you're this helpless rope being tugged by gargantuan kids in a classic game of tug-of-war?

Well, I do.

I remember complaining about familial problems more or less a month or two ago, but I didn't really anticipate that my repetitive blabbing moments with dad about how mom's smoking extravaganza will turn out to be the reason why both my parents are now struggling for my attention to either of them. And it sucks because I'm just this college kid who've matured because of my own parents who are acting like total teenagers. I told them that shit about them making me look and feel older everytime they introduce a new friggin problem to me, and guess what? They found it absolutely cute. Now how about that.

I can't blame my evil self for forsaking my own parents sometimes, you know? The thought of them makes me want to throw up because of their habitual hogwashing to yours truly, and it seems I can't stop doing it. I just cannot. I know God is now feeding his revolver poisonous bullets, ready to pull the trigger and shoot me any minute now for saying all of this, but God, please, just for once, put Yourself in my shoes? My parents put the SUCK in my life's suckiness, and I cannot put the blame on everybody except them.

I know I sound outrageously imbecile and all with all of this, but trust me, it could get waaay waay more moronic.

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One week's probably the longest time distance between my posts, as I see it. Well, I have almost half an hour to blab about everything that happened that you obviously don't know of.

The last post I made about some blockmate acknowledging my monstrousness (literally) right smack in front of so many people in a theatre far, far away from home, is one hell of an entry. It's been awhile since I wrote my anger out here in my blog, and it felt so good, really. This just proves that no matter how crappy my blog is, it will always be my center of emotions, because obviously, I pour out every last drop of my anger here. Poor keyboard.

Anyways, school is good. I don't really give a damn about flunking algebra right now, compared to my ball of disappointment my mind mentally formed back when I realized that I am, therefore failing algebra. I already assured my mom that I'll possibly be an irregular student of the University next term, and would be able to slash out three math subjects off my flowchart right away. And since my mom didn't attend any orientations the school organized, she didn't really give a big ass all about it. She just handed crisp bills and ordered me to get lost. My mom's like, the best.

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Bursting Bubbles

I just bursted my peace bubble yesterday right before the play because I've had enough of the fat jokes this blockmate kept throwing me like I'm this wooden pole who doesn't give a shit about all of it. Well, surprises will surely let him know that I do.

It was a fine, fine day yesterday as I almost tumbled down the turnstile at the EDSA station for I was already twenty minutes late for our SOCTEC1 symposium. I waited impatiently for the friggin train to pass by and just drop me off at Vito Cruz already. I made it to the auditorium in the LS Building, and the speaker didn't gave an ass to the latecomers. This blockmate apparently came in much more late than I was, and saw a vacant seat right beside me for I was in front. He seated, and asked a bunch of stuffs. I answered, and kept quiet for I remember telling Krissy about how this blockmate and I just don't click together. He motioned me to transfer with him to that area where Krissy was. And so we did.

Yesterday would have been the nicest day had he just prevented his stupid mouth from blurting out fucking words I'm tired of hearing. You see, he was with us during our trip to some play we need to watch. During that time, I just absorbed every liitle bit of his hurting words and not show any obvious signs that my blase is about to set itself on fire any minute now. God, Giecel and I even walked our way to E.Rodriguez with him. I thought he was okay, and I was beginnning to cross him out of my 'people to kill' list.

But then he just have to acknowledge my fatness right smack in the faces of my blockmates and some other people whom I don't know of. I threw my bag down because I just simply had enough of his imaturity stints. I told him loud and clear that I'm already delirious, if not lavishly furious, to him and his bullshitness. It was the first time in four years that I just challenged a boy to shut his fucking mouth up. And it felt so freaking good.

It's a sad fact that I don't have body issues amidst the fact that I'm morbidly obese and all. I mean, I just don't care with how my body looks like, because my body's not my asset. I don't need to improve it just for the sake of those people who kept teasing me about it. I mean, who are they to even persecute me? They're all just people who also have flawed qualities. It's not my fault that my disfigurement is so obvious that everyone just have to hit me because of it.

They just don't know. They really, really don't know.

But he knows he's an ass. He's exercising his assness by abusing my nonchalantness. I don't even know if that's a good thing.

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I'm starting to think that the previous week is simply my karma week. Let me break it down to you.

For Monday, I flunked my seatwork in Algebra. I don't really know if this is still karma for this keeps on occuring everytime.

For Tuesday, MRT crushed our tired bodies by having some technical problem which made us wait an hour for the holy guards to let us in.

For Wednesday, Helen made us all feel like we're in some circle in hell by pouring her gloriness to all of the poor commuters.

For Thursday, Puregold did even better than Helen. He brought hell to us by burning himself, consequently closing down the Libertad and Edsa station of the LRT system, and ergo made us all hitch jeepneys like there's no tomorrow. In behalf of all of the commuters who were left stranded early in the morning and were forced to tour the whole city by riding all of the train systems in the afternoon, Puregold, fuck you.

For Friday, my blockmate just abused me.

I don't usually believe in karmas or whatever, but my series of unfortunate events led me to change my perspective.

God, have some mercy on your hell kid.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Ditching Efforts

Sometimes, you just get tired of doing things you thought will make you happy. Like in my case, doing math stuffs. I kinda pondered on this issue last Thursday as I was waiting for the train to reach Shaw Boulevard, and trust me, it really killed my whole system.

You see, I opine more than you think I do. I don't really know what the hell is up with that, since opining never really was my thing back in high school. And I don't think it's because of the critical thinking and reading topics we had for ENGLCOM, since I don't usually apply what I learn. But for reasons unknown, opining is bugging the shit out of me to quit engineering and start writing. Again. Opining made me realize that I'm wasting every single word I'm mentally annotating every time I pass by Pasay-Rotonda. And I'm complaining everytime I get a huge block in my head when I'm taking all of this opining shit for granted. Man, I should be executed by Michael Crichton.

But the fact of the matter is, as much as I would want to shift to Literature or anywhere else where writing is highly-advocated compared to engineering, I can't. Mom would kill me, for sure.
Any self-respecting human being would, actually. Dad did not just pay sixty thousand pesos for me to quit doing math and start over my college life with essays and stuffs. It all wouldn't just be wasting money, but it's very much proving to people how much of a wuss I am. Nobody would really believe that I shifted to Liberal Arts course just because of my 'calling' to be a writer. They would otherwise think that I failed algebra, and found out later on that I'm numerophobic and nobody can't do anything to cure it. What a sad, sad story.

Well in the end, I guess I just have to cope with this pressure I'm having. I mean, screw writing. I can join the University paper anytime anyway. That'll be like having Literature and engineering at the same time.

I'm SO not sourgraping, fool.

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I just had my first taste of a UAAP game yesterday, and it's all just plain good.

For the first game, UP and UST blasted ULTRA with their fast moves and throws. I was on the UP side, since Monica bribed me to do so. She treated me with a precious lower box ticket, after all. So there I was, cheering with a bunch of people from UP. I'm probably the worst omen, since UP lost by 20+ points to UST. It's alright, I guess. I met new people and saw Nina flirting with her boyfriend at the back of UST's ring. I don't know if that's a good thing, so don't ask me.

It was a DLSU vs. FEU battle for the second game. I told Monica that we can just watch the first quarter, then ditch the whole thing since the game will be really predictable. And so, I cheered for my school and had that adrenalin rush thing going on in my veins. As the sirens blew, signalling the end of the first quarter, we stood up and rushed outside of the arena.

And yeah, we just won. By 11 points. I told you it was so predictable.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Drewed Coffee

I can't believe I'm making an entry that is so random and fan-girlish, I'm betting that everybody will automatically throw up. And I'm not exaggerating, really.

I hate seeing actors and/or actresses in public because they act as if they're the kings and queens of some country. You guys may call the aforementioned an example of some shitty and hasty generalization, but oh what the hell, just fucking admit it. I once saw a local actor who owns a restaurant in Shangri-La Plaza and I swear to God he just glares so fiery like there's no tomorrow. A security guard asked for his attention, and he firmly turned his head back to the guard and that's how much of an asswipe he truly is. I mean, come on. They're just movie stars. They aren't really allowed to give us some cold treatment that we don't even deserve in the first place because duh, we pay them to entertain us, just like we pay the government to give us back the life God has given us.

And then there's Drew Arrellano.

You're probably a downright nomad if you have no clue who the shit Drew Arrellano is. He graduated from the same university I'm now attending, and I really think that that's the only thing we have in common aside from biological facts like we're both humans, and we're of the same height. He has this big, round eyes barely visible underneath his black-framed eyeglasses. His nose and mouth are as perfect, and I really can atest to the fact that he is really perfect. Well, in a nerdy sense, that is.

But I don't really know why I keep seeing him.

I can remember the first time my eyes feasted on his smarty-pants machoness. It was my birthday, and we were having lunch at The Peninsula Manila in Makati City. When we arrived there, he was nowhere in sight. I was just surprised when Monica nudged my shoulders and asked me if that guy who's seated opposite our table, wearing this blue surfer-type shirt and jeans and looks ridiculously like Drew Arrellano is, ergo, Drew Arrellano. My eyes peered forward in search of some clues, and I quickly replied No, because I don't remember Drew being all tanned and whatever. But then my eyes averted back to him again because he's the only cute guy in the house and it's either I look to him, or at my steak. Both are scrumptous, I know, but Drew is certainly more pleasurable to look at.

And my eyes did that peering thing again and yeah, that cute guy is indeed, the cute Drew Arrellano.

Now barely three months after my birthday, I saw him again. In Libis, Quezon City. Alone.

And if that isn't a sign of something, then this world is just so damned.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

A Neck D'oht

My dad used to spank me and my sister with his ultra-leather belt when we were still dumb kids and dad didn't have to go abroad to work. He usually did this because we slacked off and acted like normal 1st-grade and kindergarten kids which he doesn't find amusing at all. So we studied our asses off because we don't want them to be whacked, if not beaten to death. I can't even imagine my ass being dead or something. How the hell would I sit down? I'll be like that lady in the Tyra show who's suffering from OCD and claims that she can't sit on a friggin chair and she had to bawl it all in front of the whole world.

I remember that day when my first grade teacher handed me this pink card that says 'Third Honor', and I thought I'm in for a big trouble (read: spank mania) because I thought that honor means horror, for I probably mixed up the stupid meanings because of my addiction to Ted Failon's public service television show back then that I sure can't remember. That show had horror and honor lists of whatever things people encounter everyday, and I really don't know why the hell it's still stuck in me up to this day.

So yeah, after receiving the card, I tucked it inside my most useless notebook ever (CL, by the way), because I don't want my grandfather nor my father to actually see it. I thought that I might lose my precious ass to my father's belt if I would let them see the pink card.

As luck would have it, my grandfather found the friggin card while I was playing Dance Dance Revolution in my father's room. He shouted my name for me to go down and probably explain what did I do bad again. And unsurprisingly, he asked me why I was only able to get a Third Honor. I thought to myself, 'Wait, there's much worse than this?'. I mean, come on now. That's the stupidest thing I've ever thought of. I really can't remember what I retorted back to grandpa. Be it a mumble of a kiddie curse, or a groan or whatever, it's all warped by past per se and I can't do anything to bring it back(except of course to let my big body be warped).

Come night time of the very same day, I slept waay way early because I don't want my dad to bring about his magical belt of death. The day was already about to end and I still didn't know what the heck that pink card is for and why did my teacher gave it to me, among her 49 students. My plan worked out nicely, and I didn't even get to see dad when I woke up the next morning. Mom said he already left for work and he left me something which he placed on top of the television. And shining atop the television set was a crisp 100-peso bill.

My dad just gave me a reward for being a Third Horror.

I can't believe the freaking logic.