Polymers

So I've been thinking. If blogging is one way of expressing ourselves, then why do we tend to hide from life itself? The joys of blogging freely is delightful, unless your grand motive for blogging is causing trouble and hurt.

I write what I feel, I say what I wanna say. And, if it kills me, I'm fine with it. I stand by my words. I don't like hurting people's feelings without their consent, because that's my brand of humor and wit.

I don't hide, I stopped hiding. I've got tons to lose, but I don't care. I man up and face the consequences of whatever I put up on my blog.

People are so plastic nowadays; I call it being a "retard." No offense.

It's just that I don't like wearing poly-blends, I only wear 100% cotton.

P.S. Drama never suits me, I'll just get all ugly and that. I'd let karma work its magic.

How I want to spend my day with you (Honey and Clover style)

Wake up beside you with nothing but my t-shirt and undies on.



You’d always bother me when I’m making our breakfast.



Then we’d end up screwing up breakfast… and maybe more? Hihi.



We’d settle for some bread instead. But you don’t know how mad I am at you.



And we’ll sing some random songs about summers and springs.



We’d go for short trips, and you’d be scared shitless because of my leet driving skills.



And oh, you’d always get so antsy inside the grocery.



But I haven’t told you that you always look dashing with glasses on. Oh my...



Grabbed some tea for me and coffee for you. I’m such a tea person… Bitter.



Because of your constant bickering, we head to the beach.



And then you’d tell me your plans, secrets, apprehensions. Everything.



…and Splash!



I hate you so much for being such an idiot sometimes… but you’re my idiot.



And I just wish we could just do it this day over and over again.

Happy 10th motherfucker.

Oh the places you put it in.

Last Friday, my classmates from high school asked me out on a random dinner date. I obliged since I had no plans for that day actually.

I took the MRT to Trinoma. The trip was excruciatingly smelly. It smelled like a sweaty, oniony, musky dilapidated zoo inside the car of the train. I think a few of my neurons died in that 5 minute ride from Kamuning station to North Ave.

So there, we had dinner and got coffee. We're catching up on very important life changing topics(ie: sex, lovelife, work, more sex, and more lovelife.) when one of us popped the idea of getting drunk that night. I seconded the motion and voila they all ganged up on me. With grins on their faces, they coerced me to say yes. They wanted to go to O-bar Ortigas.

Oh dear god...

Well, after a litany of persuasive attempts, they caught me unguarded. I've never been to that bar, they all said it was prolly time to be "exposed" to such places. They are actually frequent flyers of the bar. I trust them.

I just wanted to get really drunk... like roaring, puking, rolling drunk. SHITFACED DRUNK FTW! I didn't need to pick up or get picked up; no need for social interaction with the crowd there. I have my own agenda it doesn't involve sex or making out. I went there to dance and drink myself crazy.

We got there around 12mn. I remember seeing a lot of smoke. I guess it was to cover up the uglies inside. IDK...

As soon as we stepped in, there were naked guys already, dancing on the darkest corners of the room. Guys(?) ogled and drooled. Quite expected.

We settled in the most spacious corner. We looked like yuppies, I looked like shit... well not really. It's just that I came from work and I felt sticky and sweaty already.  I looked like a dignified school kid.

So we got our first round of drinks and we already feel a couple of eyes going our group's way. We flicked our hair and wrists and shoo'd them away. Bitch mode was definitely on that night.

People started pouring in groups. There were the Thundercats, the gym-goers, the jejemons, the foreigners, the nerdies, the rich guys, the athletes and the good-looking ones. It was sad because the latter only had a few members... and they were already paired up with each other.

What the hell was I thinking?

Then girls came in! My eyes rolled to the back of their sockets, all the way to my occipital lobe. Oh, hell no.

So yeah, we danced in a very tight knit circle to prevent others from penetrating (no pun intended) our very posh(?) group.

It was getting cramped and then the music stopped and the lights went off. EVA PAPAYA CAME ON STAGE! OH MY FUCKING GOD! Can you imagine?! *insert sarcasm here*

DAFUQ?! SERIOUSLY?

My jaws unhinged and dropped on the floor. My brain did a triple backflip and a half twist in midair and fell on pile of rusty nails.

We went out to get smokes(and gum for me since I die with smoke) around 2am. We discussed things and they all laughed at me because I was freaking out inside. Then I thought, I must salvage this night. I need to enjoy.

We headed back with hands held together. As we were getting close to the bar to get our drinks, one my friends just shouted. "FUCK! WHERE'S MY WALLET!!!"

It seems that his wallet was pick-pocketed from his leather satchel bag. We went berserk.

We headed straight to the bouncers and reported the incident. Apparently, there were 4 similar incidents that happened that night. It was nothing new for them. It's like they just mocked us and I felt rage building inside my tummy.

I made a few calls and my friend had his ATM blocked right away. I swear, that bar will burn in a fiery mass of sulphuric destruction (no biblical implications intended.)

So there, officially the night was ruined. We cried and laughed at the same time. It was something very new to me and it was traumatizing. I don't think I will be going to that place ever again. Maybe, when security is as tight as a girl's vagina then okay, I might go back.

On the way out, I decided to go the restroom to freshen up. I saw 3 men making out. I averted my eyes and poof, 2 more guys making out. OH HELL NO! I did not sign up for this! I thought to myself.

No offense to those who go there frequently, but my first time just sucked balls... literally. Well, I think all my first times sucked balls.

I went inside my cab and thought this might just be a weird and stupid dream. It was like I was re-watching a very sad movie.

Shocked to the bones.

Blue

Lamictal, Lexapro.

Doc says okay.

Raspy voice.

Terrified.

Eat more brocolli,
No chocolates.
Fuck you,
Grin.

Speak softly idiot!
Run two miles,
Breathe in.
Clay.

Lithium, Valium
More Yoga.
Diarized,
Write.

Period

Okay, so yeah, I'm yet again on the brink of being broke. After this very brief stint with HSBC, I am not certain if they would still retain me for my exemplary service. I very much am ready if ever that circumstance would happen. A pang of sorrow does still hit me right in the middle of my chest whenever I hear the words:

"It's done! We're done. 64 fucking thousand names and we've cleaned them all. Great job team!"

Great job team, great job me.

The higher management hasn't really put a mandate yet on whether they'd give me the next project. I was championing myself because I know it will be stressful but I know I can handle. I am very flexible(insert sexual innuendo), adaptive and nonchalant. I thrive in stress. Period.

Apart from that, I haven't really thought about what job should I get into next. I just thought I need one because I was prepping myself for school... My plans are foiled again.

I would have gone drinking last night and went to work all shitfaced and wasted, but instead me and my friends just bashed it all out in a good round of DoTA. Kinky?

Honestly, right now, I am in work... Twiddling thumbs. All work-related activities seem so moot to me right now.

Mr. Danforth Thackeray has yet to find himself another niche to live in.

Oh boy, boobs!

Second Chance

"You can't count on a second chance. The second chance will never be found."


I am tired.

"You stick to what you knew before, don't know what you like? Just make up your mind."


And now, I am.

Insensitivity

While I was eating dinner earlier, I got a text telling me that one of my super favorite teachers from high school had passed away. My heart sank and I couldn’t finish dinner.

I got so anxious I went on facebook to check on my classmates. Apparently, the said teacher was still alive but fighting for dear life. My grief still wasn’t relieved; to hear that you’re favorite teacher is already very ill is a little better than hearing her die. But, the point is, she is still on the brink of meeting her creator.

She was one of the few faculty members who supported our budding chorale group when I was still in high school. I wasn’t sure if it was just because she was a religion teacher or if she really did love our choir; I don’t care, she was there when we needed support and we are eternally grateful for that.

Ironically, when I was at work today, I was singing my favorite chorale piece: The Prayer of St. Francis. I remember that she also loved our group’s rendition of that song.

Was it a sign that she might be going through it all already?

I don’t know, but I do care. There’s this feeling of worry and sadness just digging in my innards. I really loved her gentleness and exuberance. I miss her and if ever the rumors were true, I would’ve cried tonight.

Then I realized, is it always necessary for someone to get terminally ill or dying to get my attention? Have I gone so insensitive, that I never cared catching up with my high school friends or teachers? Something must be wrong and I cannot blame anyone or myself.

Il signore, mirende uno strumento de la vostra pace…
Lord, make me. Make me an instrument of your peace…
- Prayer of St. Francis.

Pussycat, Pussycat, Where Have You Been?

Last night, a dear friend just celebrated his birthday.

And here I am, audacious enough to make a blog post about it.

The original plan was to have a tea and biscuit party... Apparently, that idea was immediately thrown out the window. I was asked to buy vodka for the whole soiree. So there, I still bought vodka and some biscuits and yogurt.

I got to the venue and the loud booming of the music reverberated inside the house. Okay. Not what I hoped for.

Rihanna would have been so proud of us when we raped her song over and over again. It was like the theme song of the night. Along with J.Lo's Dance Again, Kylie Minogue's Timebomb, David Guetta's Titanium. Yas's house became a branch of O-bar(well... sort of?) for a night. The difference was, it wasn't a night of debauchery and hooking up, it was more of dance-till-you-die-from-the-heat kind of night

I was thinking that maybe after all the excitement dies down, we can have our tea party. BUT NO! It was drink after drink after drink after the lovely dinner of Java rice and roast chicken, courtesy of Nimmy, Leo and Ryan. And then there was frantic dancing involved, couture shots, ANTM debates and everything under the sun... and  Travis(no pun intended.)

Ryan wasn't amused by Yas's terrible hosting and organizing skills.

I was drinking "Skinny Bitch" all night long; it was made out of just diet coke and vodka really. It was one of the quickest drinks I can manage to mix. Poor Babit got drunk from spiking his own drink. LOL. A little inebriation never hurt. Haha.

YJ was prolly the most vocal person that I met last night, and I was laughing every fucking time he opens his mouth. No wonder people love him.

Then Kane came along with Gino and their boy toys when we we're just about to go home and the night literally became like a gay parade(no offense).

 So yes there it was, in all its glory. Almost half of the PLU blogging community was there and if a meteor was to fall on Yas's house that, we'd be dead right now.

I had to go home around midnight because I came straight from work to the party. My bag was bulky from all the tech stuff I had. I felt sticky and stinky because Yas' house was poorly ventilated. 

Kane, dear, I'm sorry if I smelled terrible when you hugged me. 

I took a taxi and rain started to pour. The streaks of water splashing across the windshield reminds me of how things have quickly progressed since I came out in my blog; very docile yet very abrupt.

Oh buckets...

Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?
I've been somewhere to visit some Queens.