Just for the sake of knowing my friends a bit more, I supplied you with a little list of what they think the future holds for me. Unfortunately, it was not about the career they think I would land into, but it was about the career I will likely shun. So,
Leidy took a small piece of paper and had it passed around the eight of us. We were told to fill it up with jobs that we will never end up with in the future. And we they came up with this:

So Leidy thinks I'm never going to be a janitor. (This proves that she knows me well after all)



Scrounging a lot of insult was Rock-hard knocker's. She really had the guts to write there "surfing dude". Fine.



The Retrogressive Prophetess foresees that I will not have a job that will require me to soil my hands, my shoes and my clothes. I am not going to be a farmer. Thank you Shine.



Wounded Sparrow thinks I'm not going to end up hauling troublesome boozehounds and party animals in seedy clubs or bars on the red-light district. In other words, I'm never going to be buffed, tall, menacing and feared by other people.



The Witch without a coven wrote: "Guard on a graveyard shift". Just so you know Witch, I can stay up until the wee hours of the morning for as long as I have the following:



1. Books

2. Computer with FAST (quadruple the emphasis) internet connection.

3. Food.

Pam, don't think I am idealistic again. I'm just being impossibly demanding here.



Lastly, Perky Veggie and Girlie Byte agreed on coming up with the career I would never even dare think of having. PRIEST.

Just so all of you know, I may be your naughty, swinish, grouchy and occasionally friendly, priggish, nonchalant friend, but who knows? I may end up joining a clergy, or founding a new religion (which poses as the most lucrative option), or even counseling the rest of you on marriage and commitment.



So beware.

Just peeked out of my window after a series of yelling and wailing caught my attention. I immediately turned the lights off, and then slowly, and cautiously, I opened the blinds. Apparently, the scrap was coming from the nearby apartment. From my vantage point, only one girl is furiously and shamelessly cursing all over the place. I didn't quite grasp her exact words, but what came clear to me were the words, "Kahit patayin nyo na ako... (even if you killed me...)" What followed next were inaudible since maybe the girl, who was screaming at the top of her lungs, seemed as if she was locked behind a door, and just kept jabbering cuss words.

Or perhaps, I was just too busy reading my book that I did not want any interruption of any form stall me from doing my usual thing.

July 24, 2002


If J has snot all over, I have yet encountered one of the most painful ordeal in personal hygiene history.

It was already running late. The store was closing in 30 minutes and I hadn't finished brushing my teeth. Let alone, I had not gone half-way through my entire ritual yet. Plus, I couldn't afford to be hindered by some guard at the store by refusing entry. Panic slowly coursed through my face. I had to grab at least one blank cassette tape for the interview tomorrow. I don't intend to re-use one of the tapes stacked at dusty shelves mounted on the wall. They all serve as my memories. Things that I shall treasure for the next couple of years.

While all of these things swirled inside my head, I hastily took my toothbrush and hoped that if I sped up my pace I would have enough time to rush to the mall, and buy that frigging blank tape before closing. ( I know that my mathematical acumen isn't that reliable, but when panic strikes, everything intensifies at the same time--- unfortunately, that include all regrettable factors as well. Fear, doubt, misery, to name a few.)

I brushed my teeth so fast, that it suddenly slipped out of my mouth, and got shoved straight into my nostrils (nares, to be precise). No, it didn't go all the way up to the thick rubber handle with all the bristles touching my olfactory innards (thank God). Life is not like cartoons after all. But it did hurt. It was as if I whacked myself with a regular ruler.

I cringed. It was so painful that I had to stop for a few seconds to check if I was bleeding. But the moment I saw myself in the bathroom mirror and found no trace of blood, I started laughing.

Yes, blog junkies, I can outgross the grossest.

I watch you sit alone
I watch you cry your eyes out
Now tell me what you've done

Is it so bad that I would shut you out
And leave you here alone

Yes, I saw what you did
I was right there with you
I won't let you sink
No, I forgive you

You can be healed
You can be free
You can know peace
Never be afraid again

Never be afraid again
Never be afraid again

- PLUMB, Phobic

Got surprised by an email sent by a friend all the way from London:

"Sorry if I got this all wrong, aren't blogs for girlie stuff?"

Ha. He certainly did miss a lot of reading lately. Weblogs (popularly known as blogs) are originally webpages where you can voice out your repressed sentiments and other thoughts especially meant for those living in a country where speech is dished out as privilege, not as right (thanks Ruthie). Most of the popular, widely-read and most-visited blogs are created by techies of the male species. That includes straight ones. Believe me.

Found this link that may be helpful to all those who dream of spending the rest of their lives writing away from the office, and away from most nagging editors.

Sunday, July 21,2002



Just got home after watching and exhausting all our energies out at the World's Women Volleyball Grand Prix held at the Araneta Coliseum. Russia (my personal favorite) bagged the championship title after effortlessly impaling most Brazilian players in three straight sets (whoopee! wahoo! <applauds>)



We practically had fun screaming our lungs out, cheering for our bets and excoriating the guy in front of bitter-pill who kept making annoying and inappropriate coaching suggestions as if either one of the coaches would hear and heed to him. By "practically" I mean ALMOST, since we were seated right in the middle of the standoffish, most boring crowd--- the oldies. The people who can only react on an exhilarating development of a certain game by gushing out a single "ayy!!" 



Sitting beside me was a Japanese couple who kept standing up to go to god-knows-where places. Yes, it may seems harmless, and very much none of our damned business, but what really rankled the two of us was the fact that every time they leave their places, we had to enduringly crunch our legs up against our seats just so there would be enough space for them to walk through. Plus, I could not even rest my tired arms in the armrest because there was a hot cup of Starbucks (mmm…) coffee carefully placed on the cup holder. Ugh.



So in the end, all of them made us look like full-time raving idiots who needed psychotherapy. Good thing Russia won.

****

Can't get this one out of my head. A thing the host should have watched out for.
"KOTEX Pantyliners is looking for those who are wearing pink....." (trails off for a few milleseconds) I thought he was gonna say "pantyliners" also for purposes of keeping up with the image of their sponsor (ha ha). "T-shirts".
Groan.

Ellen Miller has a say to the emotions and other things churning inside my system that probably make my head spin all the time. I just hope this comes comprehensible enough:

"I could have found out I had the virus sooner, but you didn't tell me what you knew. That's killing someone, and you're telling me--- you have the unbelievable nerve to tell me--- that I killed you?"

"We killed each other."

That's where you're wrong. Very wrong. Because this time, I was the only one killed. Then comes the clincher...

"How the hell did you come up with that?"

Tell me. I won't bite you. I know the purpose of ears.

***

Down to the earth I fell

With dripping wings - heavy things won't fly

And the sky might catch on fire

And burn the axis of the world, that's why

I prefer a sunless sky

To the glittering and stinging in my eyes

                                  
- Nina Gordon, "Tonight and the Rest of My Life