Thursday, August 31, 2006

bOb oNg sAveD my liFe


I don't know why but I ordered bottomless iced tea in this internet cafe thingie I'm in (am Wi-Fi-ing and bored and procrastinating and averse to seeing my roommates any more than necessary.) Thing is, I need to drink at least three glasses para sulit and these are pretty tall glasses. And I might need to pee.

Too much information, I know.

<<-->>

I got the poem thingie that I wrote in Dr. Brion's class. Let's just say I've added another glob of fortifying cement to my belief that I am totally not a poet and must be hanged if I even think of a metaphor.

And my fiction -- the genre silly moi thought that I would have an easy time with -- is not doing so good. It's not just the atmosphere. Although, I rather have my usual habit of getting up and walking around every two paragraphs or so. Sure, I get things written in Dr. Brion's class but they're not really, er, creative. Ewan ko ba.

They say that writers are often their own worst critics. In that case, I make a very good one. After all, if I happen to like something I like, no one else likes it or even thinks it's literature. And if I have something I completely think is crappy, then the world thinks that way too! Walang lusot! Parang mandatory volunteer. Saya.

But I'm happy. And I'm struggling to make halfway decent literature. Because in Verne's (very early) birthday letter to me, he said, "Don't let other people convince you otherwise."

Parang walang sense yung last paragraph ko kaya tatagalugin ko na lang. Oh, ganito yun: May mga pagkakataon naman na magaling akong magsulat. Huwag kong hayaan ang mga tao na sirain... teka. Oh, shit, lost. All my Filipino powers have drained, since I siphoned it all to that heart-stopping Fil long test.

Hala. Nakakakot. Haha. Buti na lang masipag akong estudyante at nag-aral ako. :)

Pero during the exam, I was making singhot like mad (ohmygahdaa) and I had a weird buzzing headache and I wanted to barf all over my paper. But I was suddenly inspired by a vision of a crab and a turtle and a mermaid who's not really part of the story. O Bob Ong, let me be your pen.

Buti na lang. Kundi, hopeless.

(Nagbigay pa nga ng clue si Sir. Banda daw. Diyos mio. How the hell could we forget that crappy garbage truck float?! We could've done better. Agh. Tas, haha, sabi pa ni Sir, favorite niya yung E-heads. Tangina, compatible sila ni Saab... :D

At that point, Saab just glared a hole through me. Weee.)

--wait, a girl just walked in with gigantimeganormous boobs and i'm sorry but i can't help but look! they're all over the place, ay teka, pendongpiskotsengpagong!--

At least, there's less for me to do. Now that Fil's done, I only have to worry about the ton of work I need to do for SA, History, Theo and Katipunan. Fine. Fine. Fine.

Why doesn't anyone like Fergie's song? That LondonLondonLondon thingie? It's sooo... Wah. Sorry ha, LSS. Masayaaa.

Toodles, children! :)

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

mAkiNg pLaNs


Time sure flies pag walang Theo. Sana ganito na lang forever.

Okay. This is what I'll do: go to NSTP group meeting ten minutes from now, then dilly-dally while waiting for Swim class. Might go to the infirmary to get shoulder checked out. Will I go early for PE? Eh by the time, it's really time na, I'm so tired and out of breath. And, strangely, having the urge to pee every ten minutes or so. Hm. Anyway, after PE, I go back to the dorm to desopit wet clothes and gather CW book and laptop and Fil notes and run back to Ateneo to return book and study for ginormous Fil test tomorrow. And make the Katipunan article, kung kaya. Study, study, study. Gooo.

Teka, am late for something. Later.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

bLocKmAte kO yAn!


Oh, damn, how could I forget? Congratulations to Aila for winning the TimpalakTula thing. Yey! :)

Huwag mo kaming kakalimutan pag sikat ka na, ha? :D

cArAcoa gAudeAmus


Sleep, darling, come baaaaack.

I was walking from my Fil class kanina with Zoe when I suddenly thought, "Shit, Tuesday pa lang." As in there are three more days to go this school week. But I'm just soooo happy na walang Theo for the rest of the week. Yehessss!!!

And right now, I feel Fil snapping at my ankles. Long test, plus final project... Sus. Kaya mo 'to. Ikain mo na lang sama ng loob mo.

Nasaan ka na, darling ice cream ko?

Ay, nagugutom na naman ako. What's wrong with me, I wonder.

Oh, I know one thing. (Yet again, with these Me Mistakes.) : Ever since I could remember, whenever August comes around, I begin my Birthday Countdown. But this year, everything's just so messed up that I just didn't think of it. Naku, bilangin na natin. Seventeen na ako. Oh. My. God.

But at least my birthday falls on a weekend. That way, it's not tainted with the desk-lesson-sermon school stuff. And it doesn't fall on MWF -- Theo days, wherein I feel myself being given a 50-minute sneek peak of hell.

And I'm gonna be with my CW block and other SA classmates. Yey. Ahahaha. Alagaan niyo ko, ha? :D

Gonna study for Fil now. Toodles. :)

Monday, August 28, 2006

mIss fRog sPLaSh


Can you blame me if the world is at its hinges? Some mythical demon or the other has forgotten to hold his side of the puh-lanet. Hello, up there. Yoohoo. Wake up and tip it up!

I have long tests galore this week and next, complete with tanrum-throwing profs and waaaay genius poets. And then there's that poker thing and I have to think of unacceptable social practices wahwahwah, like, say, Snow White eating her daddy's genitalia. [Which reminds me -- does anyone have Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman? Can I borrow it? Please, please, please, please? ...Then ipapaxerox ko! Yehey to copyright infringement.]

My migraine's gone, though I don't think I'll be able to look at any more gigantic white pills. My shoulder hurts like hell -- this has been going on for two freaking weeks; my PE teacher nearly whacked me in the head for not telling him sooner, as it was his fault, indirectly. My throat's achey, like I'm gonna have tonsilitis and sore throat and mumps, all put together. Agh. And I am PMS-ing and this is sooooo not a good road towards my penultimate legality day (er, 17th birthday.)

Oh, hell, ang tanda ko na. Buwahahaha.

2nd yr BFA CW will all be zombies these coming weeks. The sem's almost done (dalawang buwan na lang!!! Rawr) and that means projects, finals, orals, portfolios! Woohoo!!!

Oh and btw, I am really sorry if any of you has been irrevocably traumatized by the combined powers of my wild-ass hair and these blasted legs (which hurt soooo much right now, since Coach Mac made us do mermaid-esque drills. Wah.) I was experiencing some sort of identity crisis and what better time to dress like a skanky ho? Yehesss.

Pffft. I have to get rid of this self-depecration.

OhgodIwantmoreicecream.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

sYmpatHiziNg wiTh pLuto


Pluto has been, er, demoted. It shall now be referred to as a former-planet. That is just soooo sad. This completely destroys the balance of our universe. Ugh, what about that song I used to sing (duh, siyempre) at Science class, circa elementary years? "There are nine planets in our solar system, together we will sing their naaaaames. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jup'ter, Saturn, Uranus (pause) Neptune and Pluto is the last."

Everything is going wrong. The world is at its end. Pramis.

Whatever. Pluto's a dwarf planet now and I can't get a fuck's tidbit of understanding with the explanation given. Wah.

<<-->>

Oh, btw, as I am apparently here, then this dispels the rumors that I am a) in a grimy hospital with tubes stuck all over my booty; b) dead with massive brain implosion (the implosion is massive, not brain, k?); or c) off to good ol' Monaco to break the bank and kidnap my Soulmate No.324, Andreadiddlykins.

Yes, I am alive. (Unfortunately for you.) But there are some things wrong with me, as you will see tomorrow. (Well, at least I hope I can go to school tomorrow.)

PS When random gay hairdresser says, "Hala, parang pinakulot," be afraid. Be very afraid. And run to the nearest exit, as is logical course of action to fear.

Friday, August 25, 2006

bArFed aLl oVeR pOrtfoLio


Hello, ladies and gentlemen, faithful (and bored) readers of this bloggie-blog-blog. I am sick. Once again. It's not as bad as Monday's but it's still purdy terrible. When I woke up, the left side of my face was just throbbing so bad. My eye felt like it was going to melt right in my socket and my head, ohfuglygodmyhead, is just too painful to describe.

But good news is, I finished my portfolio thingie andI do hope it came out right kasi the RTF format thingie is whacked and there's -- ohfuckmigraine -- this rushed thing and oh, teka, I think I'm leaking.

Wait. I know I have to do something responsible pa eh. This week has been so tiring. Grabeeeh.

Uy, tapos na yung My Girl -- fucker, I love you, Juliaaaaan!!! Rarrrr. :D

Thursday, August 24, 2006

tAke a LitTlE biT of tHis


Well then. Tinatamad ako mag-blog. But at least y'all know I'm alive and all that jazzeroooey. I promise to update. I need to write and purge about sturfe. I really had an interesting weekend, if you must know.

Now. Let's see if I can make tomorrow's deadline. Hm.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

oH, oRaNge


i am so sick.

Friday, August 18, 2006

saGaLa dAw


Sayang, we were televised, eh the floats were suck-ass. Last year's was waaay better.

Had fun though, seeing Fil profs in cute lilac shirts. Hmm.

And yes, ladies and gents. Sorry if I was pissed near the end, due to certain people of this third-world nation of ours. Grr.

fReSh mEat


Please don't romanticize the freshies. Yes, they are noisy, they are papansin, and fuck it, they are 2,500. Yes, there's social stratification, there're cono benches, there are throw-taho-at-the-first-years. It's human nature, the natural balance of things, the universal order! Don't mess with it!

Hm. Apparently, I have forgotten what it feels like to be a freshman --

Ah, sheeet, you see?! This is what I mean by romanticizing. Grr.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

eYe cAndy


I have been given a blessing to stalk anyone I wish to stalk. Oooh. And stare. Stare, stare, stare.

I realize that I look only when I think the Object does not know. And when people tell me to look, I don't, just because they made me look first. But when people stop looking, it's my turn to stare. I am stubborn that way. And, yes, a tad hypocritical. As in, "Uy, titingin na 'yaaan..."

Ina mo.

And when I finally stare, it's not those paltry glances and five-second, toe-to-head appraisals. I stare. Wide eyes, slightly open mouth, a finger toying with lower lip staring.

Favorite places to stare at:
(Bodies, in general)
>> Hands. Especially beautiful, slightly-calloused, long-fingered ones. And rectangular nails.
>> That rare bump at the nose.

(At girls)
>> A foot's arch.
>> The ridge at the top of a foot's arch, called the lateral and intermediate cuneiform bones.
>> Breasts. Am ultimate breast person, as have none to call my own. People have noticed this fixation of mine. I love boobs and looking at said body parts. But I'd rather they were on me.
>> The hollow part of the neck, that hole-valley, the dip in the clavicle.
>> Hipbones at a curved hip.

(At boys)
>> A hot ass. Uh-hmm. I know (and see) lots of men with cute, pinch-able asses. (Am I drunk or something?) Mr. Math Classmate, John Cena, random dude wearing green the other day at CTC stairs -- look, I was eye-level with his butt. How could I not look?!
>> Arms. Space where the wrist ends and the elbow begins. So much love if it's, er, veiny and, er, hard. Like a penis they're arms of someone who uses them. For piano or something like Arnis. Hehe. (So, what makes a particularly developed arm? Hm.)
>> The back. From shoulders to the where your boxer shorts begin. Especially if it is a formidable back.
>> Eyelashes. Hm. The long ones matronas pay for.
>> The jawline. You must have one.
>> That muscle that twitches at a guy's cheek when he's pissed and barely controlling it.
>> Ladies, you know that part by the hips, just before the crotch? That muscle extending from the abs of a ripped guy? Between the hipbones. That crevice, that shadow... Like, when you see it, you know that it's only a split-second before all hell breaks loose. Especially when pants have come undone or are scandalously low. (Like that Penshoppe billboard my mom and I drooled at during a particularly memorable traffic jam.)

Teka. Get Ken, Barbie's soulmate. Drop his pants. That V above his thighs, were the "joint" is attached? That muscle there, that, that part?

(A nerve just popped somewhere.)

Will Google sometime. Or maybe just post a picture somewhere.

But, really, it's really more calming to stare at girls than boys. Kasi naman, where I am, there is such a huge deficit of worth-looking-at-men. Sa Ateneo. Sa Pilipinas. Said guy exists only in X-Rated dreams and Fabio-esque covers of romance novels. Everyone's limp-****** and vaguely Chinese or pudgy or just skeletal. Men, where are you?

I will move to Brazil (or Italy) and stalk one of Nikay's soccer players (one of which is named, coincidentally, Fabio). Oh and has anyone seen that black and white photo of David Beckham, sideview, where he's balanced on something, I think, and he's naked? Maaaaan. Those thighs.

Must. Regain. Composure. Slip. Into. Virgin. Self.

So, yes, if I fall in love, it is only for your body. Buwahahahahaha. And your wallet. BUWAHAHAHAHAHA.

<<-->>

Ahem.

I will now spend the rest of the day in a dark corner somewhere, thinking about "sultry butterflies" and a "laundered face." I will surface, a Potato-Mouse Incarnate. Rawr.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

sPeAk, pOtAto, spEak!


Why are people so small? Everyone else seems so delicate and fragile, as if they'd topple over at the slightest breeze. I feel so awkward around all ye faint ones. I am too big, too gangly, too concrete.

I can see all the tops of your heads and it makes me sad sometimes. I feel so far away, so detached that even if I wanted to reach out these long, malformed arms to touch, I can't.

...

Taaaanginaaaaa, sa'n galing 'to?!

<<-->>

Hm. What was that saying about the ugly guy and the pretty girl? Was it about true love or his being well-hung? Hm.

I really advise against giving a public blowjob. Lalo na sa caf. Hello, I'm eating food and I wanna swallow it and keep it down. Puwede ba? And stop giggling and making mookie faces and touching the booby and knee-pressing action.

Pareho naman kayong mukhang ____ kaya umalis na kayo sa harapan ko.

Buwahahahahaha.

(That was a Singleton speaking. I am a single, virginal (snort) sixteen-year-old with an absolutely pure soul. My blockmates will castrate any man, boy, misogynist who less-than-wholesome thoughts about me. Saya. Oh, and it's already happened, dickhead.)

At this rate, I am never going to get a boyfriend. Not that I'm looking, mind you. It's just that lately, I'm having recurring visions of me being the spinster aunt, dressed in ukay-ukay clothes and smelling faintly of photocopy ink. All around me are Other People's Kids and at the background, looking on benevolently and with a tinge of pity, are all my friends with their CEO husbands.

And then, there's this other thing: me in front of a closet of bridesmaid gowns.

Hai.

Oh, well, am single, no man, no cry, blahgetty blahgetty blah blah. Bye, hotdog, hel-lo, Ferrero Rocher.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

tHe giAnt'S hOuse


I've got a three-day Sahara over there. Need not worry, will update. I realize none of you might really care 'bout those days but I do. I really want to have something for my grandchildren to snigger over.

Another thing to snigger over: my poetry. Ach, I need to make something concrete and narrative. I hate poetry. I hate poets.

[Oh. Ah, congratulations to Nikay and Fiddlypoopykins. :)]

Aaaaah.

It's just one of those days: me hating writing. Come on, dedicated writer people, I know you wanna yell at me. I'm sorry (no, I'm actually not) but my relationship with Writing is as hellish as any other. It's like Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, Ava Gardner and that other dude, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, Britney Spears and Kevin Federline. It's love-hate. Lovelovelove when everything falls into place, hatehatehate when nothing is happening.

Sure, give me some Zen shit on it's not always supposed to fall into place. Okay. Fine. And yes, I love even those moments, in a masochistic kind of way. But just the way your blood boils and you want to throw/burn/eat stuff gives you a liquid kind of hate, the kind that makes you want to end things then and there but you know at the farthest part of your heady-weady, that you love this thing, art, craft and you want to spend the rest of your pathetic life with it. But you're still angry. And honest to goodness bitter and so fucked up you feel you can do anything.

All you happy people: Do you understand what anger means?

Oh, fuck, I realize na I didn't make sense.

Basta.

I am poetess. I am fictionista. I am... Oh fuck... late for something.

Monday, August 14, 2006

muSicAl cHaiRs


Kung ayaw niyong magbasa tungkol sa bitter na tao, pumunta kayo sa blog ng Carebears. Go.

I could easily slide into another manic-depressive phase by listing everything that went wrong in the past three days but I won't do that. Sure, I could mention that one lone lightning that hit the middle of our subdivision yesterday cooked my modem, as had been connected during that time. There's also the part that certain people have been so kind as to make me feel like a slug since, to quote, "Oh, you're single? What's wrong with y-- er, Ateneo?"

Siyempre, how could I forget -- if I ever make this imaginary list, see -- that I spent four freaking hours in snail-ass-slow traffic? Oh and that I stumbled into PE class and found out, just then and there, that we were having our midterms? That I considerably flunked said midterms because my gigantimornous feet decided to perform dynamically simultaneous cramping?

And of course, my roommates. But I shall not elaborate, since am a little happy on account of not seeing them for more than a day. Wee!!!

See? Am super-ecstatic person with no desire of making depressing list.

But I really feel myself sinking, sinking, sinking. God, I need a little more happiness in my life. I want nothing more than to stuff Roommate #02 in air-tight bag filled with all sorts of bugs and glue and depillatories then toss bag into Valenzuela flooding then, consequently, leading to the darkest parts of Vietnam. Or, if I am lucky, Kenya.

(Oh, that made me feel better.)

Must read about Peter and Christ, fiction-writing, Gemino Abad, Chloe and Olivia. Must write Filipino poem, must print loooots of things.

Must stop thinking about Jonny Lee Miller, Gerard Butler, James Purefoy and James Marsters wearing open Renaissance-shirt-thingies, all lying in one gigantic feather bed.

(Oh, happiness. Day is looking up. :p)

Thursday, August 10, 2006

oH, yEah


It's the eyeliner. Works every freaking time.

Pigtails, silky semi-transparent black top, orange-laced Chucks and weird Marketing Amazon pants help too.

And the fact that I am undisputably a goddess.

suRreAl muCh


WARNING: Am feeling really petty and childish and high school - other - side - of - the - ostracism - game. Apologies to the people I malign.

Okay. Weird day. But strangely fuzzy.

As much as a lot of people think that Yapsalacious is a first-class dweeb (and I do too, po ^_^) I'd rather he stay alive during the course of his natural life than being found dead with nary a twitch at the Berchman's smocket.

God, this blah-thetic life.

Okay, survey, people: Do I seriously look like a vagina? Not just the apparent comparison of the lips and the labia but the whole enchilada, from top to bottome, inside out. (Come on, you've seen them [vaginas], legal people!)

Disclaimer: Said person called me a vagina a looong time ago during Aesthetics class cuz I did something. (I think I hid his cellphone kasi wala lang but can't really remember nor care to, for that matter.) He called me a vagina.

Mmmkaaaay.

Zoe told him off but he said that it was his new curse word. So it's like tantamount to telling me to fuck off or any other nasty shit involvng whores and mothers and all that.

*sigh* The world is full of crazy men. Just when you thought you've figured them out, they put on a new costume and stir your brains like milkshake (brings all the boys to the yard...)

I have a strange premonition. Tomorrow, he shall march up to me, wires from different gizmos flying off his body, yelling all sorts of anatomical thingies and giving me one sound WHACK to the face.

The only consolation I have is that at least everyone else is gonna jump on him with the nearest hard object.

Oh, oh, oh, I'm sorry for saying all these things but I'm also sorry that I have a conscience. Damn.

Oh well.

I *heart* the Poet Lauriat though. :)

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

wHat iS iT abOut yOunGer mEn?


Well. Technically, he's not younger. I'm quite sure that I, being 16 and two years short of legally buying alcohol, porn, ciggies, etc., am younger than org-boy freshie over there: *points to tall cute guy with impossible shirt and widdle neon-green nametag on said shirt and a killer laugh and butterflies-in-the-tummy smile.*

Awww.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my estrogen and other female hormones have reawakened. I am back to "normal" -- though not saying my previous state was abnormal, simply unusual for me. After months of pining over Miss Bad-Hair-Dye-Big-Brown-Eyes-Coke-Bottle-Hips, I have found a guy -- yes, a guy, a man, a boy, Y-chromosome bearing, penile, testicular, mumps, color-blindness, male-pattern balding, prostrate cancer person. A guy. I am crushing after a male member of this species.

Not as hapless as Miss BHDBBECBH where I periodically make a fool of myself, wanting to see a glimpse of her face. I'm back to the school girl, two-second eye contact, twirl hair, toy with shirt hem mode. Yey.

And he's an artist.

*Emperor's New Groove Dance*
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh!

I have a boy crush, I have a boy crush.

Oh, freshies are sooo yummy. O_o

Haha, COSA rocks!

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

tRoubLe, nOw


Since my roommates already a) don't talk to me and/or b) just don't like my guts, any slight mishap is enough to send them bonkers.

Exhibit A: I left my swimming cap on one of the sampayan thingies attached to the wall to dry it (cap). Next day, large note at the back of the door appears, saying, "To whom it may concern: Please don't leave your dirty clothing in the CR."

Ugh. First of all, b------, you hang your entire wardrobe on the shower curtain rods to dry them. And then you make tutok (their jargon, not mine) the electric fan so that the rest of the room (me!) is melting in this temperamental weather.

Exhibit B: Left chopsticks on sink, intending to wash them. Then, I get called downstairs for a phone call. Then, when I come back up, roommate is hogging CR. Fell asleep waiting for roommate to get out. Next day, another note tacked on wall of "kitchen" says, "To whom it may concern: Don't make tambak your food and food stuffs 'cuz we have many ipis already."

Christ in heaven.

Exhibit C: I'm a stickler for energy-saving and cutting costs. (Because I can't pay them!!!) Since our electricity had skyrocketed the past month, I made a habit of turning off lights when they're not necessary, turning off TV when no one's watching.

TV thing. Sometimes, I close the TV for Bandila or TV Patrol since they contain pretty much the same things. Besides, no one watches them. Sure, there might be a presence there but hey: NANONOOD KA BA O TUMUTULO NA LAWAY MO SA TULOG? And sometimes, they're (she's) fighting with her boyfriend and crying like mad. So I turn TV off. And lights. (Because I like the dimness.)

Next day -- you guessed it -- a note appeared on top of the TV, saying, "To whom it may concern: Don't turn off the TV cuz some people here are watching the news."

And so, I, being a proud writer and sabatera, wrote back: "What if said 'people' are sleeping or otherwise occupied and have not put eyes in direction of TV for more than ten minutes?"

Ha.

Shit, ang dami pa talaga. Pero malupit ang Exhibit D.

See, I broke the CR door. Indirectly.

Washed my hair kanina. Went out of CR and -- thinking about one of my b----- roommates and the new snit up her ass -- locked the door.

We had no keys.

Option A: Break down door, involving, but not limited to, breaking new credit card and Laking Nat'l card, cutting a finger, paying for doorknob out of own empty pocket.

Option B: Wait until 7:30 tomorrow so I can get keys from office and dear door will have no scratch at all.

Guess what roommates chose?

First class nila is in the afternoon pa, though one is at 10 or something. There are communal CRs downstairs. But one girl had a date with her boyfriend. I mentioned the CRs.

"May shampoo ba dun?"

Er...

So destroyed poor door.

Roughly an hour later, while I'm reading Theo crap and sulking and all that, girl comes out of CR. With dry hair.

Fuck. Fuckerooey on a long, thin stick.

Fine. I see where I made the mistake, this accident. Pero... pero... oh, man. Why'd they have to gang up on me? Why does that throat-clearing little git spoiled and rotten and enough of a moron not to know her boyfriend's abusing her?

Shit, shit, shit. Isang taon na lang.

Ugh.

Kiss my shiny puwet, bitcheese.

Monday, August 07, 2006

wEt hiNey


I don't even want to think about what microorganism and human by-product was swimming along with me in the pool. The pool from where I drank, say, almost two glasses of water.

Eww.

I feel saturated. Arms are so heavy. And I've already stumbled on my own feet twice. In public.

Get well soon, Nikay. :)

<<-->>

Ay, advisory:

Does anyone want a Bible? (thisissoweird) It's not St. Joseph's or New American but it's a Bible. And there are cute abstract drawings inside it. Good News Bible, I think.

USED SIX TIMES (and only to hid thousand-peso bills and straighten chocolate wrappers)!!! SMELLS BRAND-NEW!!! PAGES SNOW WHITE AND CRISP!!! YOU CAN HEAR THE SPINE CREAK WHEN YOU OPEN IT!!!

Oh please, someone take this book away from me. Nagi-guilty lang ako cuz I don't get to use it.

Dear good people of the Earth, calm down. I am not totally denouncing my religion, faith, blaaaaaah. Once I get rid of it, I'll buy a new one. A study Bible, para astig. Para ma-lessen naman yung tortures ko sa hell. Gusto ko rin yung may Septuagint kasi the seven extra books are much, much, much more useful than most of the other books crammed together.

(Ugh, too much Theo.)

Please? Bible, people!!! From Sasha Martinez, certified skanky bitch!!!

Uhm, I think I've got water swishing in my brain.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

iT's a piG woRld oUt tHere


HABERDAY, VERNE! ;p

<<-->>

I saw my maternal grandfather's youngest brother (follow?) yesterday. He's sort of the bigiwg brother, with lots of moolah. The type of Ninong who doesn't give you any aguinaldo if you couldn't show up for Christmas reunion. He owns Coca-Cola, I think. Haha, kidding. Onti lang naman.., :p

Conversation between us went like this:

Tito: Ilan taon ka na?
Me: Sixteen po.
Tito: Anong year mo na ba?
Me: Second year po.
Tito: Saan ka ba nag-aaral?
Me: Sa Ateneo po.
Tito: (nods regally) Anong course mo?
Me: (feeling an exasperated kind of resignation) Creative Writing po.
Tito: (raised eyebrow. and then, in a voice that discourages -- no, forbids -- any angal whatsoever, a voice that says, this is the ORDER OF THE UNIVERSE AND YE SHALL BOW DOWN TO IT:) Mag-law ka na lang.
Me: (sigh) okay po.

Hai. My grandfather naman, who's in California, asked me -- for the nth time -- kung ano yung course ko.

Patiently, I said, "Bachelor of Fine Arts, Creative Writing."

My tita (younger sister of my mom and baby Ashley's mommy) asked me to repeat it to her while she wrote it down. Ang hirap daw kasi alalahanin.

What? Creative. Writing. Writing. Creatively. Creative Writing.

Not Journ. Please, don't say Journ.

<<-->>

Bought so much books. God, how am I going to read them all?

I went to Booksale kasi, hoping to find the New American version of the Bible. I saw one, at 175. Then I saw four books I needed to have or else I died, totalling to 165.

No contest, puta.

But I'll have fun covering everything with plastic. Hahaha, geek!

Saturday, August 05, 2006

wiShfuL


Does anyone have A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess? I remember Manny or Etienne having it and telling me -- as in orders -- to read it. I've been reading really trashy and fluff novels lately with the exception of Jeffrey Eugenides and (haha, this is not trashy -- just fluff!) Bridget Jones's Diary.

I need literature. I've been hearing some buzz about some of these following books. Yung iba, nakita ko lang tas isip ko, I want that! Hehe, not a very good judge of literature. Sorreeh. So sa mga snooty literature people, etong sa inyo (*censored*)

Ahem. I want to read:
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion (I think)
The Devil Wears Prada by ?
The Stone Diaries by (forgot!)
Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Venus in Furs by Leopold Von Sacher-Masoch
Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote
A Million Little Pieces by (the infamous) James Frey
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
I am The Cheese by Robert Cormier
Yellow Jack by Josh Russell
Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola by Kinky Friedman
Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier
The Virgin Blue by Tracy Chevalier
Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan
The Devil and Miss Prim by Paulo Coelho
Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood
The Color Purple by Alice Walker

...and many, many more. I have the rest of my life to read them. But I have to get my hands on them first. (*pats empty pockets*) Oh, well.

I imagine I'll be updating this often. Wow.

Wala lang. Bored. And freezing. :p

iS anYoNe stiLl aLive?


On my way to Paranaque, from Katips, I got 3 boxes of Cello's donuts. (The smell just made me want to retch. I mean, everytime I pass by Burgundy and Cello's, the smell's just so dough-y!) And sa LRT station, they had to inspect my donuts! What?

I felt bad sa woman in front of me cuz she had this giftwrapped gift (wah?) and the lady guard asked her to open it cuz a two-inch thick package may carry a nuclear bomb, after all. And then the woman said, "Hindi ko pa nabubuksan yan eh."

Awww. Five minutes later, she's stuffing torn wrapper sa purse niya.

I wonder what they thought was inside my donuts.

<<-->>

My lola's sister lives verrry near Mt. Mayon. And she's telling us to go there cuz Mayon's booty-ful and the 24-hour fireworks special just takes one's breath away. Ang dami raw foreigners and she's having the time of her life insulting white men in Bicolana.

10 pesos++ lang ang price ng flight to Legaspi. Haha. And then it explodes. Wow.

<<-->>

Pics of me and my darrrling cousin/goddaughter Ashley! :p I love this little girl. I'm gonna take her with me to Paris and Milan and New York and, haha, Amsterdam. I'll be writing and fending off hot European men while darling little Ashley's carrying all my luggage!! Hehe, joke lang.. :)



Oh god, I love this little girl. (Nasabi ko na yun, right?) But I don't think she knows me. She's been giving me weird stares all night. And every time I try to make her laugh, she just looks at me as if I'm crazy, which, given the expressions on my face, isn't that improbable.



Hai. Hai. Hai. She's just sooo cute. :D

Friday, August 04, 2006

moRe moJos, anYoNe?


Uhm. Can't move very much. People have been giving me weird(er) looks since I waddle like penguin. There's a bulge in-on my torso (half of which, I admit, is imagined) that starts directly below the place where my boobs are supposed to be. Full of pizza and spahitty and mojos and chicken and Coke and ice cream. Oh gawd. Must exercise. Must go to gym. Must imagine myself going to gym.

Of course I'm not going to exercise. Ugh. Physical effort? Come on. Besides, I put too much calorie-burning energy on forcing myself to wake up each morning and preventing myself from jumping on Roommate No.2 and hacking her to bits with an earring.

And tomorrow, I have to wake up at 5:30 so I'll get up at 6 so I can be at Arneow seven. NSTP. Kids, kids, kids.

I am so terrible with kids. They hate me. I know it. As if they possess the same radar as homosexuals do. (But I''m going to be a good mother -- where the fuck did that come from?)

<<-->>

I saw Her today, on the way to MVP. Yes, am a stalker. But she is a beautiful girl, meant to be stalked, meant to have altars and temples to worship. She's perfect and imperfect. She's so drop-dead gorgeous, it just squeezes me inside and one gets the impression that she deliberately made mistakes on herself. Can't explain.

But when I think of her, when I close my eyes, I see her lying on a bed of fallen orange leaves. She makes me think of autumn. And apples.

I read somewhere that homosexuality -- lesbianism, to be more precise -- is narcissism in its highest form. (Yes, a man wrote that book.) One makes love with one's own image. A parallelism: lips to lips, neck to neck, breast to breast, waist to waist, hips to hips, legs to legs and everything else in between. Beauty and beauty, after all. And during lovemaking, while you do the nasty thing, you wonder if she uses your lotion or how many days it's been since she last waxed. You think of how the tops of her breasts peeked from the shirt she borrowed from you or how the mascara clumps on her eyelashes only serve to endear you more. You then look at her feet and that bony arch on top of it when she curls her toes. And you long to kiss it. You wonder how she manages to fill your palms so right with all her dips and curves. You thread your fingers in her hair and ask yourself if curls look better on her. It's like looking into a mirror but only better.

But I digress.

So, with Her, it's actually more of a booger complex slash masochism. She's so pretty, I could kill myself. I mean, what reason left to live if people like Her walk this mortal plane?

But yeah, it's a crush. Or, as it's called in foreign all-girls schools, a flush. Like you know she's pretty and every guy's wet dream but you don't think of her that way because that's just too sacrilegous. It's just worship and envy rolled into one volatile ball.

'Sides, I do not have wet dreams. (More's the pity.)

<<-->>

Badly need to pee. Toodles, children. See you when I see you.

Oh, and Happy Birthday to Verne this Sunday.. :p

Thursday, August 03, 2006

bEtTeR yOu tHan mE nOh


I am in an imagined crisis. Something about poverty and ripped notebooks and repeating clothing. Other things like homosexuals having a deep, almost innate feeling about me. Yes, yes, homos hate me. (Ohmy.) Is it because am too much girly-girl, with these hideous curls and lips that are forever jutting off into space? Or is it because, at certain light angles, I look distressingly like a boy? Note flat chest, please, and gigantic legs. And feet.

(No segues. Sorry.)

I told everyone (in a Lia-esque fashion -- so you know that it everyone had no choice at all but to hear me) that there was a superstorm named Inday coming our way Friday. Which is tomorrow. And since it's all sunny weather and birds on trees today, am now fervently praying for aforementioned superstorm to rip Quezon City off the face of the planet. Only then can I be redeemed.

(I realize I've written segway once or twice. So, to everyone who sniggered, eat this.)

Got grade for window thingie in CW class. I got feedback and it's nothing I haven't heard before from well-meaning and/or biatchy people. Wordy, wordy, wordy. And the Queen of Run-on Sentences. (I looove run-on sentences. Sure, I don't know what they are exactly, but I think I like them. Yes, yes, Sasha does.)

Ick. Ick. Got a C+. Patting my head, telling myself that Miss Lin was godsend, with all her ruthless purple and green comments about my organization. People who got Bs, please fall in line so I can give you a little childish shove, complete with sticking-out-tongue action. Fiends who got As, bend over so I can paddle you.

(Seghoowey.)

Reading Bridget Jones's Diary and having kick-ass time. (If you've noticed something diff with this post, it must be because I am in Bridget Jones mode.) I just love her. And then I hate the face that there *might* be a sequel(s) and how the fuck can I get my hands on that(them)? I already consider it one of God's widdle miracles that I got this book for 60 pesos. Man, my mother is talented.

I still wish am rich enough to waltz into Fully Booked and Powerbooks and get all the books I happen to like on sight. Man, oh man.

(Nuther segue.)

Creating line-up for non-existent future debut. One thing more depressing than knowing it'll never come true is the realization that you don't know enough boys (men) to dance 18 roses with. Gawd.

(One last segue.)

Had a bit of an enlightenment a coupla days ago: If you feel it still, then you didn't put it *in* properly.

Nothing like sex, contrary to what I first thought of it.

My _ _ _ _ _ _ hurts.