Really Happy New Year

Omigosh! The best new year's present ever!

I spoke to Panky! We had a YM conference with her yesterday. And yeah, she is sooooper nice. We talked about her music, her career plans, and yes, chad. Hee.

Hahah. Guess this means the obvious enivitable. I'm a fangirl for life. Hee. I've been denying it all my life. I must be really borderline stalkerish-- crazy healthy though. I mean I wont go stalking or anything. Haha.

Happy New Year Everyone! :)

Ice Cream Room

My mother finally ended the acid trip and painted the room Mango Ice Cream.

Everytime I look at the walls, I have a craving for it.

If I had a way however, I would've painted the room with different shades of blue. It would be Bora Vacay everyday.

Orange Issues

My sister went crazy yesterday and painted the tv room an ugly shade of orange.

I like eating the fruit; the soda is my favorite. However, swimming in orange, getting blinded by orange is another thing.

Now I'm avoiding the room like the plague.

Luvin The Smut

It's Christmas eve and I'm fishing the net for smut I can use. Great way to spend the holiday ey? I've almost stopped myself from doing this, but seeing the few hits I've gotten for Panky, I guess I just have dish this out. Hee.

And no, this entry will not be an attempt to turn this site into one of those gossip sites with all its smutiness.

So let's see... we begin with this..

Cute ey? That's a razzie shot of Panky and Chad at a carpark somewhere in Manila taken by Irish (oh you know her), which she sent in one of her ktexts. I stole this pic from somewhere but I dunno where to credit this to. So, thanks whoever you are. :)

Could this be an impending celeb hook-up? Whatever it is, I have to quote my friend for this, "bilog talaga ang mundo". Hee.

Here you have one of the most awkward girls to ever grace Pinoy tv (but not deficient of superlatives and hyphenates of course) being smothered with attention from a guy who, yes, is clearly not deficient in aesthetics. Hot by all means if Arifah has anything to say about it. Hee. This potential couple could possibly break that stereotypical mold Pinoys love to obsess about on the alternate universe that is tvlandia-- the diety levels. The equation being: Hot+Hot=Hot. This isn't to say that Panky isn't a diety herself. Talentwise and beyond the superficial, she reigns supreme. Yet with all the graphic images of waif-thin, glossy and "cleanskin" smiles, these two are a breath of fresh air. It makes whatever connection they might have as real. I will believe them when they say it.

Sigh. It almost makes me want to believe that anything is possible.

Happy Holidays

The grinch that stole christmas

Moti's alternate ego

Merry Christmas! :)

Universe: Earth To Tin!

I had a really weird phonecall from my aunt yesterday. Halfway through the conversation, she desperately insisted that it was high time I get a significant other. It sounded like a matter of life and death, carefully disarming me with thoughts of Ovarain Cancer, cystic tumors and whatnot. Apparently, single females have a high risk of developing life-threatening reproductive system diseases. And I'm on the short-list. It seems like everyone always has something to say about my (nonexistent) lovelife.

The Holiday season brings the most bizarre surprises.

My dear friend Arifah and I contemplated on our scarce prosects and our inability to get a decent find. Here's an excerpt of our conversation:

Me: Maybe he hasn't turned up yet because we aren't ready. That or he could already be married. We're stuck in the waiting room, waiting for fate to get his shit together and give us our own versions of (Johnny) Depp.

Arifah: Hahaha. Yeah, all the good men are either taken or gay... waiting room, waiting for fate to get his freaking shit together. Hahaha..

Everything fits so perfectly with my theory. That I could have been a nun in my past life or one of those Vestal Virgins of Ancient Rome. It explains why I am constantly surrounded with fellow spinsters and why I subliminally repel the opposite gender. Whoopee, mystery solved.

Honestly, its a tad too tiresome to be thinking about these things. Sometmes I do wish I had answers for every thing the universe throws at me on a daily basis. That would be great; so I dont always end up like a deer flashed with headlights at the other end of the conversation. Then again where's the fun in that? I'm greedy. I want my fair share of those bizarre surprises too. So whatever, right? Bring it on?

Final Thoughts on PDA

So Yeng Constantino won. No surprise there. ABSCBN had practically whored (for lack of a better word) her out to the public since Day 1. Although I kinda like her, her spunk, I'm afraid, has been capsized with Sarah Geronimo references. Oh Well. It will make the masa happy. Sad.

Panky didn't make it to the top 3. She came in fourth. All the rabidly fierce female/gay fans of one catatonic contestant voted in like crazy.

I didn't want her there anyway seeing the impending tie-up with the debauchery that is Star Records for her first Album.*Cringe* At least there is hope on being signed with EMI. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I don't want her talent wasted. Gah, I sound like a rabid fan. Haha.

I secretly wanted her to be in the top3 though. She's far better than the other two who were there. 'Guess that's the truth with Pinoy reality shows, where talent shows are mere popularity beauty contests.

I cant wait however for Panks' first album. It will be a blast, I'm sure. She sounds like a cross between Joss Stone and Fiona Apple. All heart. All soul. I hope the concept rocks.

Here's wishing you luck girl! Idol! Hee.

Panky and Chad ;)

'just so you know, i stole this. Credit to Tinna!

Source: http://supermoo.multiply.com/photos/photo/9/157

Supermassive Black Hole

This isn't a surprise. I'm developing withdrawal syptoms from stalker-ish obsessions yet again. This time around its Pinoy Dream Academy, more poignantly, Panky Trinidad and her amazing talent. She's loud at times-- comes with the size, imo-- but endearing above all. Often misunderstood, she is larger than life-- size, talent, personality and heart. I hope she does conquer the world. She's going beyond borders you know.

The show's drawing to a close tommorow and my mind is drifting. It's automatically speed-dialing SOS for a quick fix. It's never easy with these things. It's like watching your pet cat die from old age. It's chronically sad.

What do I fill in the void now?

Questions. Questions.

Holiday Cheering

It's a week till Christmas. And every bit of holiday-thought has been swirling in my head.
This would have been fine if I werent thinking about the boatload of reading I have to do before Christmas spirit finally seeps into the ticker.

Sigh. Yes, Virginia there will be Christmas.

Amidst all of this, I'm struggling to feel the tide of the sentimental and the drama the season brings.

Who am I kidding? Hee.

Fragment Monster Still

If there's a quick fix to all these alzheimer-ish quirks today, a minor lobotomy is on my shortlist.

Reading hasn't been helping either. Perhaps my brain has turned to mush? I cant seem to transmit any cohesive thought. Somehow, it deadens before any audible word is made. Oh well. Perhaps muteness suits my style?

Fragment Monster

Today is blender-shaker-word day. Or otherwise put, becoming-less-lucid.

What is it with these fits of nuttiness? It's a personality glitch which I spy to be genetic . Nut-- that is ME. No amount of psycho-babble can cure this. I cannot be talked out of this, er, bad habit, of loosely stumbling into every worst possible moment a klutz, like myself, can get into. I have no mold for finesse. That is the incurrable truth. Oh well.

I'm all fragment-monster today. I havent been talking(as in with audible words) too eloquently. It's all-- Uh-huh, Yeah-um, Ahhh, Errr. Whistles and Clicks. I have all my audiences baffled. Great way to create mystery, ey? I tell you there is nothing more sad than being an idiot these days. Everyone around me seem to be sparring off adages and tales of eloquence. They're all freaking achievers! Oh Well.

At least mediocrity hasnt fallen out of fashion, yet. Oh yeah, I still have that stamped on my forehead.

Breathing And Sulking Still

Hello universe!

I cant say I'm fully recovered. Post hibernation and treatment, I seem to be fine. With the way I openly became insanely vague-neurotic b*tch after that muppet broke my insecure little heart, I can now officially say that from here on, it is blatant that I shall be the world's oldest living (breathing and sulking) twenty five year old spinster. Oh well, what's new?

Anyways, I have come to a resolve. From now on, I shall, to fill in the void, so to speak, live vicariously through Brangelina and the chosen ones. Mild obsession(I hope, for my sake) is like the designer drug for that post-epic trauma. It gives you excessive highs--especially when you see TOUCHING in the latest candid/authorized/ staged/ unstaged razzie pics and lows-- wait, what lows? I love this couple, there never seems to be a let-down. It's always happy-happy-joy-joy. OmyGus, I love Hollywood and all its smut.

All this coming from a girl who has a passion for all things Karen-O-ish and has a special soft spot for Kim and Gerald. I amaze myself. It's all fluff from here on out. The gods help me. And just for the record, I've never admitted to class or lack thereof either. So that brings me to that proverbial question? What am I? Hmmm...What, indeed...

I hope I'll be able to at least make intelligent verbal nausea for the days to come. Hmmm... or I could just become like a fragment monster like Ms Jolie herself(although I find it endearing, it makes her soooo human.. Gus, I love her), but I dont think I could carry that too well. I might as well channel inner Carrie and stave off future plans of becoming diety-level. That always seem to be comforting at most.

Rabid Thoughts

There is nothing more terrible than having know that the idea --- that existential truth about yourself --- you have harbored your entire life is all but one big lie.

You are not the person you have always imaginged yourself to be.

Forget strong-willed and independent. You never came close to Haydee-Yorac proportions. Discerning and collected? You wish. You though you had it in you --- that heroine-potential, capable of turning an entire Greek Fleet into granite with one deathly stare. Yet you are not medusa, lest Carrie befor she torched the gym. You surmise, nothing but grand delusions of grandeur.

How could you have been this so gullible? Hook, line and sinker, you fell for it. 'Guess you were the punchline. Ha. Ha.Ha.

Birthday Bashing

I.am.now.twentyfive.

I am officially senile.

I am now a fledlging for the quarter-life crisis. Ready to be sworn in.

So here goes...counting down to that sweet sweet rockstar future.

Weekend with Shyamalan and his Lady Friend

After having my Sundays subjected to hollywood crap for movies for most of the year, N. Shyamalan's Lady in the Water is like my answered prayer from boredom and mediocrity.

Despite all the hogwash critics are throwing, Lady in the Water is a gem. How a movie appeals to the audience is relative anyway. You might hate it or like it. However, most of the people I know who have seen it, whose thoughts are the former, seemed they really "didn't get it".

However, I understand their "what-the-heck" impressions on the film. I blame that on the viewing public and Hollywood's sin of boxing movies into naught categories. What really is a scary movie really? Should it always be complete with gore and nudity and sans plot and sense?

Lady in the Water is far more original than what "mainstream" media throws in nowadays. The bedtime/fairy tale story was brilliantly executed. The humor thrown into the story with the quirky dialogues and odd-ball characters are dead giveaways that the film isnt meant to be seen as 'just a scary movie'. Shyamalan is absolutely brilliant at being cryptic, yet accessible at the same time.

The film isnt just a thinking-movie as some might disagree. What I love about Shyamalan's work is not how creepy and clever his stories are but how it makes you feel after going out through those theater doors. It throws fundamental questions at you--- about the human spirit, defeat and self-awakening, about purpose-- without sounding or appearing preachy, and without you noticing. It makes you feel.

This has to be the Shyamalan's most personal film yet, opting for a fullfledged main character rather than the usual cameo. The whole thing with Story "awakening" his character seemed to be too telling for truth. It seemed like an attestation "to matter." However personal that storyline could have been, I felt connection with the character. We all need to matter.

Tin Meets Potential Guy

It's official. I've totally gone nuts. Guess who came to town?

Chiz Escudero.

Future Mr. President.

Potetial Guy personified.


Needless to say, I squealed like a fangirl. It was ridiculous. And frightfully embarrasing. I couldn't make out a single cohesive thought when I saw him at first glance. My insides turned instantly to mush. Thankfully, I managed to pull myself together when we had an interview with him. It was hilarious. We seemed liked a couple of groupies, weird grins plastered over our faces and all giddy at the sight of him.

Man, can he stare. He has the most sympathetic eyes ever. He has the ability to make you feel at ease and make you seem like the only person in the room. Conversation with him is like a Before-Sunrise moment. It's fateful. Haha.

Meeting him was like that scene from the American President, when Annete Benning finally met Michael Douglas. She turned into jelo. Lucky for her, she still had her wits about her. I, on the other hand, failed miserably. The first words that came out from my mouth didnt seem intelligible or intelligent at all. I felt like a dork who just had her head lobotomized by space creatures. He must have thought I was stupid. Wait, no..he's too nice to ever think that. Hee. He's just too nice. And humble, and grounded, and down-to-earth, and giving, and incredibly smart, and terribly cute..Haha. That's it. Enuf said. I think I just qualified for the rehab center for the Chiz-adiks.

Super Sunday

That's it. I am marrying a superhero. Or at least Brandon Routh.

I just saw Superman Returns at a local theater. And since I got through those theater doors, I have been having short palpitations at seeing his pictures all across town.

What should I say that hasn't been said about Brandon Routh? Hmmm... He's hot? Hahaha.

Even when his dorky Clark Kent, he's still luscious. Hee.. This is mad. I can't even think about him without going all giddy like a schoolgirl.

Speaking of mad, just as my day couldnt get any death-inducing, the oddest thing happened. You'd think there's nothing as bizarre than having know Superman and Lois had unprotected sex until you hear this.

A huge black and orange pig stopped traffic at Hayes-Corrales.

I was walking along Hayes Street when the pig, out of nowhere, suddenly dashed through the intersection. It met those vehicles head on and two tricycles and a car almost hit it square in the face. It ran through Corrales heading for the university when it suddenly realized to go back home. Maybe it thought that getting hit by a tin-can won't go too well in the funny papers. Apparenly, a neighbor kept it as a pet. I have yet to know its name however. But it is Super-pig in my books.

Weekend-er

The trouble with going home for the weekend is the ear-full of drama you're bound to be getting the moment you step on the welcome mat.

I've quietly sworn off anything that potentially might upset my blood pressure. I've been gradually striking off beef and pork from my diet (going cold-turkey isn't a wise decision, unless you want to go through the withdrawal symptoms and battle with the cravings), and it's no Amazing Race/Survivor/death-inducing reality show for me either. The only thing that gives me the heebie-jeebies nowadays is my grade in special commercial law. Yet somehow, the universe always conspires to upset any little plan i might have to detoxify daily life. Oi!

I guess it's the inevitable. You just have to be used to with all the quirks your family harbors. I wont go into details but let's just say my family is an opera-house running on Lipovitan. Eveyone wants to be in a musical. If you're hearing impaired, you might just qualify as a housemate.

Show Me Your Bones

I had nothing else to do today and I desperately needed a break from staring contests with textbooks. So I decided to do a bit of soul-searching, junk-accumulating and headed to the local record store. To fill in the void, so to speak. Haha.

I went to hunt down the latest Yeah Yeah Yeah's frankenstien: Show Your Bones. However, after scouring the whole city, I was appalled to find that nobody had them. Then again, what chance does Karen O have with the likes of SameSame worming its way into the archipelago? Those kids are brandishly odd-- Bugglegum passing for Kool. Oh well.

Instead of launching a tantrum at the scarcity of the third world, I did the next best thing. I ripped it off over the net. Haha. Go ahead. Egg me. I cannot deny the unavoidable truth that yes, I am cheap. Even if I decide to buy it off the net, over ebay's ridiculous prices, what chance is it reaching middle of nowhere? It'll get lost in between somewhere off the equator.

I am cheap. No argument necessary.

But I digress. Show you bones is what it is. It's like dipping your wet finger into the socket-- chock-full of minutes of electrocution. I was half-expecting it to be hellishly sexy, but I was surprised how toned-down they suddenly became. But the grittiness in the sound is still there. 'Guess, the trio has had time to mull things over, fued and all.

Show Your Bones is my official anthem for the year. I've had to pick over Urbandub and the Arctic Monkeys, and that's saying something. I almost want to drop to my knees when Karen O announces over Cheated Hearts that yes, she is "bigger than the sound".

Right now, I cant pick a favorite. It's all too good.

Ana Rex Sia

So the summer's over. Here I am dazed and confused.

I feel guilty I didnt blog. I attempted to do so but I just became lazy in the end. So I opted for disclosures on mute. That has to be the most viable excuse I have.

But this drought over updates doesnt neccessarily mean my summer was bland. It however was well, uhmm... freighteningly psychotic. Whoever decided to resurrect my inner Gandhi wasnt really funny. And by that I dont mean my delusions for world peace. The antibiotics I took when I had the measles somehow was responsible for me developing anorexia. Yes, I was anorexic over the summer. For a good two weeks. My insides turned inside out. It refused food or anything substantially resembling food. I didnt even have junk food. Contrary to popular culture, bungee-jumping down the weighing scale is no fun at all. I've always had weight issues. While people around me are obsessed at defying the pound-meter and have crusades against fat, I however struggle at keeping up with my calorie intake. My weight drops and climbs from 95 to 100 lbs. On good days, I'm a 100, on bad days, I'm 95, on worst, I'm at 92. People always surmise I have an eating disorder. I wish I did so I could have a palpable defense when someone asks me that age-old question: Why are you thin? That's as bad as the other question: Why are you still single?

I'm slowly recovering however. Vital signs good.

Post-measles Adventures

I had measles last week. Fortunately for me it wasn't the killer type. I just had minor rashes. That and including a 40 degree fever that wouldnt come down for two days. Besides that, getting sick is fabulous. I slept in for the entire week.

Wish I could say the same way for the "recovered" phase.

My mother's idea of post-illness activities: shopping and a facial.

I've never taken to shopping, especially when it means buying for clothes. Honestly, I'd rather prefer the appointment at the dentist. So okay, it's not all that terrible. My heart actually does sommersaults just thinking about the cds and shoes I'll buy. Its all the walking around, trying this, trying that that makes it agonizing. It's a futile exercise. I always end up buying nothing.

So there I was, armed with no excuse not to go, unless you count wallowing in self pity as a feeble yet valid defense. Needless to say, I was out the door and heading for the local mall.

I actually did buy stuff. I had no volition not to do so. My parents hovered around the store expecting me to spend their moolah. I might some like a pretentious ungrateful brat right now, but c'mon, what self-respecting grown female shops with her parents? Whatever.

The highlight of my measles adventures was the facial. Anti-climactic noh? :-)

I've never had a facial before. Needless to say, the experience was entirely new to me. For all the hype the spa-culture brings, the facial isn't as glamorous, nor relaxing, as it sounds. Dammit, it is painful. The facial lady/therapist, whatever you call them, must have poked too many melons as target practice. Those pokers/needles are dangerous. I understand that facials are a necessary evil. But those sessions should come complete with a morphine drip.

Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde

No one likes an eff-ing ass.

I probably am one of the greatest people you’ll ever meet but you would never know that because half the time--okay, most-- I seem, no, strike that-- am one eff-ed up bastard.

Mr. Hyde has nothing on me.

I wish I were more unapologetic about my pseudo-pessimistic sucky attitude or my spit-fire french or my frequent outsbursts of rage and contempt.

I envy Karen O's eff-you feminism. People should celebrate that kind of freedom. Yet in this part of the world, while it may seem off the wall and individual as opposed to dancing with the recent local shampoo commercial, that sort of attitude is contemplative of social suicide.

Anything different is wierd.

Anything weird is scary.

If people were more accepting, the world, including mine, would be a happier place.

I’m a relic. Oi!

It was my sister’s graduation rites and I was ready to strangle everyone in the gymnasium. I felt like Carrie before she went completely mental and roasted the entire prom population. It was horrible. I had every inclination to morph into every Japanese manga monster the entire day. The day wore on with my body inhabited by a 200 year old hag.

So okay, the graduation wasn’t really that terrible. It was just 2 hours late--but I blame that on third world traffic. The key-note speaker was quick with his speech, nothing too fancy or elaborate, considering that he most likely had been a rock in his past life. And the college had the consideration of cooling the place with AC’s. Although I apparently wasn’t getting in processed air into my lungs enough to prevent me from inhaling every virus within a 50 meter radius. I now have clogged and very red nostrils, and enough snot to power a medium-sized locomotive. But that’s another story.

The highlight of the day wasn’t the graduation, however, it was the ride home. It was straight out from a shiny hollywood hallucination of the end-of-the-world (think: war of the worlds) --- the part when the entire human race has the exact idea of dashing for the nearest exit. In this case, it was the sea port in Ozamis.

The thing that bothers me most is that it could have turned out different, had I been more patient and poised and calm about it. But somehow the Godzilla that I harbor inside me always run amok at the sight of dirty villains dressed as port security. My Godzilla had singled out its rage into a puny 120 lbs lizard. He was prehistoric, to say the least. I imagined every nerve in my body pop right out of my head. I was Carrie. Period. I screamed incomprehensible mumbo-jumbo at him enough to fill the Ozbourn Family with an entire episode. It wasn’t exactly the best display of my social skills.

Here’s what happened. It was already 7 in the evening and we had to take a ferry to get across the channel to the next town. We had been queuing in line for over an hour and the traffic wouldn’t budge. It was raining hard and the car I was in had no air-conditioning. Hence, it was hot, wet and maddening. My bladder also happened to fill to burst and the nearest toilet was a 20 meter sprint-- that if you could manage to find it. The hold-up was almost bearable at first, but Toothless-lizard guy showed up and “manned” the traffic. He had a few slip ups. The first were bearable. He ushered in the 1st column of vehicles all at once without considering the first few earlier cars that were held up at the other columns, including us, who were stationed at the first row of cars. No one said anything at first. But he did it again. And again and again. He wouldn’t let the other columns pass through. So everyone screamed bloody murder and wanted to eat him for dinner. The thing that stumps me the most is that I sort of played a hand with the whole fiasco. I created the first shouting match. I was the catalyst and all hell broke loose. Several matches later, the guy shrunk back to his cave, and we we’re through. We were on the ferry by 8:30.

I am not proud by what I had turned into. Another year goes by and your daily resolution to being less an arse and to walk tall as the poised, elegant, refined, cautious, smart, sensible new you just disappears by every momentary, er, slip up. I’m not feeling really grade-A these days. My self-esteem is way below par value. By the way things are going, I’m going to retire as an endorphin-starved 60 year old prune. I’ll be a relic!

Then again, there’s always tomorrow.

I Complain.

Great piece of advice for the week: Put a lid on it. Rather, shut up.

I complain too much, says my mother.

I seriously was contemplating on a therapy session with a shrink at the beginning of the week, but then I've been mulling it over and have come to a conclusion that yes, complaints are good.

And no, this isn't another attempt on rationalizing my psychosis -- my fixation on everything over slightly better. Although I have come to terms with the truth that the third world can never be one well-oiled machine, still, I would love nothing more than to rid the streets with suicidal freaks for jeepney drivers and homicidal maniacs for tricycle drivers ---even for just a day. I almost got run over by a mutant tin can on steriods three days ago. I screamed bloody murder in the middle of crazy Corrales St. but the acne-clad jerk fled the scene with patent intentions of breaking the sound barrier. So like a good third world citizen, I spilled my guts out to my friends. Justice is slow in third world streets. The traffic-cops have double vision. Oi!

But don't get me wrong, the third world isn't as eff-ed up as it sounds to foreign ears. I love every pothole in this country. Every toilet seems to be out of order but dammit, I wouldn't exchange the pinoy experience for anything...well except probably for decent leaders, but that's another blog entry.

The world is infested with nit-pickers and nay-sayers; but rid of them and we might just succumb to lives as mindless drones of bad tv commercials, cheap retail, soggy fastfood , crooked politicians and an evil dictator. And yes, homicidal/suicidal jeepney and tricycle drivers.

Potential Guy Meets Rustom Padilla

I've been harboring thoughts of Rustom Padilla all day. It's not even funny. Somehow, strange as it is, his confession on national TV of his being gay, inside PBB quarters no less, is like me being hit under mortar fire. And no, it's nothing homophobic.

I used to have an insane crush on him in highschool, and for a brief period patterned every gnawing detail on Potential Guy with the roles he morphed into. Sorta like the Richard Gere in Pretty Woman meet Damien Lewis in Band of Brothers. Yeah I know, the anal types. Heehee. Now I go for the Diego Luna's. Oh Well. But I digress.

The point is, I am scared shitless. What if Potential Guy suddenly decides to make a Rustom Padilla one-take? The mere thought of that happening just stumps me.

Mid-week Madness

It's a vicious cycle. Every mid-week I go through the same rituals. By early Tuesday, I would have consumed an average of 48 ounces of coke floats; converged with friends with incessant conversations, no, dissertations on single-blessedness and poignant theories on that Chanel-clad, boyfriendless future; and taken in a week worth's stress over my lawskul performance.

It's mad. It's Bjork-Mad Hatter mad.

There ought to be some loop hole, a glitch, a system error.

My life is like Orange and Lemon's PBB theme on repeat. Oi!

What I would do for some drama...hmmm...

Happy Pills

Hello word, I'm a coke float junkie.

I've been living, no, thriving on it for the past three weeks. Sans scientific findings, ice cream and coca cola are a lethal mix. I swear, those drinks are burning a hole in my stomach.

It's my latest addiction; but in truth, it really is a substitute, isn't it? It is something to fill that void I've been vaguely territorial over for the past 24 years (vague much?). The fact that I cant mention it without getting cryptic reinforces the conclusion that I really need to get hold of these illusions I've been subconsciously pining over.

Ah, whatever...

I'm convinced, it's a substitute for the happy pill. Come to think of it, it is the happy fill, isn't it? I've never been partial to chocolates, nicotine or caffiene...so this is as close I have for a quick happy fix.

Yet like all substitutes, its effect doesnt last long. You really cant fool yourself for the real thing. So here I am at it again. Like a pompous moron overdue for a quarter-life crisis, here I am again, wallowing in self-pity. Put walking contradiction up in my resume, will you? It's high school all over again! Oi!

Speaking of High School, I saw Mr. Stipes again over my valentine week. I wanted to rant over the occasion, but my inner KJ gut told me otherwise. He huddles over that internet cafe like a nut. So I opted for disclosures on mute. Needless to say, my head spun for the entire week. Think how it would feel like to be actually within a meter radius around that guy. I shudder at the thought. I'm an old hag I tell you. My stalker-self hasn't kicked in yet and I'm already in freak mode. Whatever effect he has on me, it' s been, er, fabulous. Who needs coke floats when you have death-inducing infatuations?

Hmm.. I do?

Point B to Point A

I swear, I will find time to update this blog. There's nothing like shameless self-deprecation. I highly recommend it -- very theraputic. Puts you in zen mode.

Regressing... I had a fantastic weekend: deadening the mind with Hollywood crap for movies, and snacking on delish-gossip, theories on self-loathing and boys, spinsterhood ( or single-blessedness, as a dear friend puts it) and law-skul boys for options. Frankly, I've had a full week. I might stave off weekend plans for an entire month.

Seriously.

It's weird, but I easily get put-off by too much fun. It must be innate...in the genes, or something. But I get overwhelmed by too much activity. Whatever. Must be the Golden-Girl feeling its way out of me.


Nywayz, my dear friend Gae left this thought-provoking adage to explain the greatest mysteries of the universe: why we are still single.

It's very Cofucius. Funny, but wise.

She says, the reason why no guy has ever had the guts to talk to us is because: " He (potential guy) would not only worry what he'll feed us (on a date) but also whether the food we'll be eating will match the bag, the dress and the shoes we'll be wearing."

Though I've never taken myself to dress for a date, still, it get's you wondering.... maybe I am A, never B, but never knew it? Hmm... cryptic mode again.

Warm and Fuzzy Thoughts

It's been a week since I bought URBANDUB'S new album: EMBRACE. It's a killer. I've been listening to nothing but Urbandub all week and I've felt saner than ever. Wait, that's a weird way to put it. But yeah, it's gotten me through the drama for the past two weeks. I'm always ready to implode but it's managed to pull a few screws loose...and that's good.

But what am I saying? EMBRACE rocks!

First of Summer is like hot champorado on a warm Sunday afternoon. You're taken in with nothing but warm and fuzzy thoughts all over. I shriek like a fangirl everytime I hear it. Hehe... Dunno, but reminds me so much of those crazy 80's high-school flicks. No, Bagets is out of the question. hehe...

Frailty is for the tired soul. Alert the Armory is an Urbandub classic. A City of Sleeping Hearts is a revelation. Am liking the infusion of samples. Reveal the Remedy and When Heroes Die manage to throw those catchy punches in my head without me realizing it. I blurt out "Sell my soul, I'm a victim to the world tonight.." and "'Coz fate reveals the remedies" at about the same time I'm walking through the library door or waiting in line at the canteen or taking a piss in the middle of the night. It's addicting! The End Of Something is going to be the anthem for that post-break-up epic. The Arsonist and Endless, A Silent Whisper are nostalgic, reminds me of that void the world needs to fill. A safety in numbers is a strong contender, but not strong enough to cause palpitations. he.he... but I'll have a nth go, see how it feels.. All in all, I have a feeling this is going to be my anthem for the year.

Tin the Optimist

My head is harboring all these ideas for new years resolutions all week. I have cheeky Philippine daytime television to thank (or not) for that. The incessant list of new years resolutions day time talk shows have coughed up for the past seven days have finally been pounded into my brain. So okay, I've finally made up my mind to make one. Not just because its the new year, but because I seriously need it. For my sanity.

Here it goes.

So okay, I think... I need to be positive at all times. Shocking, ain't it? Ok, not at all times, just for most of the year. Not Barney the Blimey Dinosaur positive-positive. Just Forrest Gump-positive. And by that no, I won't be going oblivious for that feat. I think I need to mellow a bit with the complaining. No one seems to like it. The dark cloud above the head routine is getting too old these days. I've been growing frown lines! And it's not just because of the fact that I'm turning senile at any moment.

I'll have it a go, and try it for size. See how it works.

It's here. 2006. And my head is spinning.

I have boatloads of things to do and I'm virtually paralyzed by the thought.
Definitely not a good way to start the year.