Psycho Series

i can't let psycho win even if the thought of psycho pushes me off-track. ruins my day. ruins my day.

once again, i look the way i feel...crappy! of course i blame psycho for this. but this has got to stop! because it's not good for me. i can't let psycho win.

there are somethings one just can't run away from--that includes "psycho." i'll just think of this as a test of character. psycho is the obstacle.

I'm calling her "psycho" and I swear I will never talk to her until she realizes how much of a psycho she's been. nasty, nasty, psycho. tsk tsk.

nasty. really nasty! I just wish I'd NEVER inherit that nasty gene! Tsk tsk.

So I guess, it's not my day. It hasn't been for many days now. Therefore, nasa akin ang bagua.

Hindi ako nakapasok; wala akong nagagawa masyado dahil mostly natutulog lang ako, as if may naitutulong ang pagtulog sa sana'y paggaling ko other than hindi ko maramdaman na may masakit; humihilab ang tyan ko--nakakapraning; pinapagalitan ako ng kapatid ko sa di umano'y pagpapabaya ko sa katawan at sa hindi ko pagpapadoktor; nung nagpa-doktor naman ako nasermonan ako ng slight ng doctor dahil bakit ngayon lang daw ako nagpagamot...paano daw kung food poisoning nga at kumalat sa system ko ang "poison"; tapos pumayag ako magpa-CBC winarningan ko ang med-tech na may isang shot lang sya, ayun at kaliwa't kanang braso ko ang tinira niya; I'm several hundred-peso poorer--maaring lumala pa depending on the result of my CBC & fecalysis, that is if I do produce the specimen na ilalagay sa cup...na argh good luck; no pay ako dahil absent at x2 pa yon--kung bakit, don't ask; at sa gitna ng mga waste na ni-let-go ko--involuntary pa nga na hindi ko na i-de-detail dahil it was such a mess, hindi man lang ako pumayat.

So ang masasabi ko lang, looking back, sana...sana lang talaga, nag-World Chicken na lang ako.

Nasa huli ang pagsisisi.

This is exactly the reason why I avoid doctors and hospitals and clinics when I know something's wrong with me.

So good luck na lang sa cup na ito.

Meme Ang Himig ng Adarna

Someone get me a knife. Quick!

Konti na lang talaga, maghihiwa na ako ng balat para lang hindi makatulog habang “inaawitan” ako ng tinatawag ko ngayong “Adarna.” Shet. Kaso I swore hindi na ako magpapaka-masochista pa mang muli. Kaya, ewan, bahala na. Baka mabalitaan ninyo na lang next time na naging bato na ako dahil naiputan ako ng Adarna.

Either that or ginilitan ko na lang ng leeg ang Adarna. Yikes! (Magpakamorbid ba?)

Hanga na ako ngayon sa mga hasler ng mga graveyards shifts. Ako, keri ko ang puyatan. At may three times ko nang nagawa ang walang tulugan ng 24 hours. However yung 2x doon, namatayan ako ng mga taong malapit sa akin. You can just imagine the adrenaline rush kaya daig ko pa ang nakatira sa pagka alive, alert, awake. Pero hindi ko kayang mag-stay awake kung humihiyaw na ang katawan ko ng, “Tyrene, meme na!”

Chances are may kaka-blag talaga dahil ang panuntunan ko sa buhay, “gutumin ninyo na ako, wag ninyo lang akong idedeprive ng sleep.” Mas matakaw ako sa tulog kesa sa pagkain. At mas hinahanap ko ang tulog kapag hindi ako pwedeng matulog. (Syempre masarap yung bawal!) Pasaway ako by nature.

Therefore, nanganganib akong mag “run, Forrest, run!” muli. I am trying to not spoil myself by conveniently resorting to that option pero kung ganitong nahihirapan naman ako, baka i-take ko na yung lifeline na pinauso ni Mr. Gump. Apo pa naman ako ni Narcissus. I love myself too much to expose myself to absurd forms of torture, minsan nga kahit reasonable, ayaw ko. So talagang tinalikuran ko na ang aking masochistang nakaraan. Charot!

Nga pala, naiisip ko na probably nung past life ko, lalaki akong may asawang über sa pagka-nagger. Kaya I repel anything that sounds like “a nagging wife.” I mean, pwede naman akong pagsabihan and I believe I take criticisms well. Kaso ayaw ko yung halos pukpukin ako sa paulit ulit na mga salitang gets ko naman na sa isang pasada. Kasi kung di ko naman na-gets, ako mismo ang magpapaulit. Kaya siguro kahit nice ang Adarna, I feel the urge to repel her.

Sa kakasalita niya, di ko mapigilang magdrift off at talagang nagshu-shutdown ang utak ko. Kahit gusto kong makinig, ang nagreregister na lang sa auditory nerve ko e dumadagundong na “blah, blah, blah” na talo pa ang Uggoy sa Duyan sa sedating effect nito. It helps na may Dr. Phil vibe siya kaya kahit I believe she means well, medyo irritating. Bad ko talaga!

Hindi ko maiwasang itanong, “ano na naman ba itong pinasok ko?”

Putek, walang panama ang kape sa antok ko, aggravated by the Adarna. Nagtataka lang ako kasi pwedeng magyosi break pero nap hindi. Therefore mas ethical and corporately sound ang lumabas ng building para humithit at bumuga ng nicotine at tar kesa sa mag-engage sa harmless power nap sa mismong seat at desk mo.

Asaan ang sound reasoning doon? At saka tama bang i-promote ang yosi? Mas mamatamisin ko na lang yatang maging bato kesa maging tambutso.

Hay naku, I am ranting kaya chances are di ninyo ako magegets.

Pagbigyan ninyo na. Kulang lang po sa tulog.

Noise-eee!

I live in what-could-be one of the nosiest neighborhoods in the Philippines. For the most part, the street in front of our house is to be blamed. Jeepneys and tricycles varoom and honk any time of the day, regardless if a resident in one of the houses they pass by is in badly need of peace and quiet. Then at night, heartless motorbike riders go speed-happy and rip the street with their machine’s thunder, a sound which I absolutely hate. Our wooden walls and jalousie windows do so little in insulating our home from unwanted noise. I can only thank God that I only have to deal with a one-way street; otherwise I’d be living in worse auditory hell.

A house or two away from us is a chapel with a sound system which produces excellently amplified sounds. So every time they hold a mass, we don’t have to step outside to hear the priest’s sermon. We just have to sit on the couch and listen. We can actually do away with Sunday TV mass if only there’s a Eucharistic celebration here every Sunday.

I have no problem with Church songs—I honestly like them. I sometimes catch myself unconsciously singing along with the churchgoers. The problem is when a musically challenged priest starts desecrating the notes. Suddenly the songs turn into noise.

I sometimes think that it is not all right for the chapel people to extend the sound they make way beyond the confines of their walls because, they will be risking bothering non-Catholics, let alone non-Christians, living nearby. I mean, hey, I’m just trying to think objectively. What we think of as holy will be rubbish to non-believers so we should spare them.

At the other direction, probably two to three houses away from us, is a videoke bar which stays open, I think, until 11pm, if not later. Their speakers are not as powerful as the chapel but the sound they make is more than felt. At one point I got sick of the most sang song in their playlist, Ella Mae Saison’s “Til My Heart Aches End.” I was tempted to get myself some earplugs. Now don’t get me started on the singing voice or lack thereof of their frustrated customers. I choose to ignore that.

Of course this piece would not be complete if I don’t mention the neighbors from hell who live in a flowery our-o-centric universe. They make noise day and night, night and day; and they don’t care if they bother the neighbors, as if the universe only revolved around them. You will cease to think that children make the sweetest noise when you hear “their” children wailing for hours. Sometimes, I can only mutter, “there goes the demon child again!” (After which I imagine the kid being exorcized.) When the children are not crying they make too much noise just by being excited and all which I can bear—to a certain extend, especially if nothing good is on TV.

The unforgivable part is the adults making the noise. A woman, who, I think, looks after the children, aggravates the kids’ noise by yelling at the kids which irritates me more than the “demon” children going nuts. (I don’t know who the woman is exactly because I rarely go outside and I, more often than not, don’t stare at our neighbors.) The younger members of their household sometimes play songs a little too loudly. I can let it pass but then, the songs border on being OK to being too juvenile, I can only wonder how old they are. Other times, I’d hear loud thumps, cars careening, gun shots, etc. because apparently they are watching a movie and they like to let the whole world know about it.

Brighter side: there are no real guns to worry about. The neighbor with real guns already moved years ago. No kidding.

Going back to the neighbors from hell, who are guilty of keeping us up and then waking us at around 2AM a few months ago, they must have thought, “oh, we’re not noisy enough, let’s push the thing we do best to the limit!” They are now keeping chicks that tweet beyond anyone’s control. I fear the day when those chicks grow up to be chickens or rooster who’d cock and crow as crazily as their masters . Until then, God help me!

In 1999, Matthew McConaughey was charged with a US$50 fine for violating Austin, Texas’ noise ordinance when he got carried away playing his bongos naked inside his home at a little past midnight. If we have that same ordinance in our place, the neighbors from hell will surely be bankrupt by now. That’ll teach them a lesson.

I would hate to sound like the grumpy neighbor because I’m not. I keep quite for as long as I can. But the thing is, I can only tolerate so much. Actually the chicks are the last straw. I honestly don’t know what to do when they start waking me up even before my alarm clock goes off.

As it is, I am having a hard time focusing on things because of the noise around me. I can literally barely hear my thoughts with all the sounds I have strain on a daily basis. And I can see it affects my family, too. We always have to up our TV’s volume to 20 if the show’s good or 25-30 if the show’s truly interesting. We can barely hear each other. We either have to ask the one talking to repeat what he just said or just nod and act like we heard something. And we cannot hear our callers, too. Imagine that! (Or then again, there's a probability that all of us are going deaf.)

One time, I called a friend on the phone. I had to ask her to repeat what she was saying several times before I’d get her message. The jeepneys and tricycles have their way of varooming at the most inopportune time, thereby blocking what could have been an intelligible sound at the other end of the line. Finally my friend asked me where I was. I knew she thought I was in a payphone in a sari-sari store at some street corner; whereas I was seated all by myself inside a room of the house which can be found at what-may-be one of the noisiest neighborhood in the Philippines.

Hay...

Can somebody do us all a favor and gag Valerie Concepcion?

For the good of people-kind, will someone please gag Valerie Concepcion?

I can't believe I did not include her in my list of annoying people on TV! I guess I didn't realize then how irritating this girl is until I got stuck into listening (I don't watch) to Wowowee, the TV show I abhor the most which my mom happens to watch religiously from the moment it starts to the next three to four hours or so.

If you have a migraine, better stay away from Valerie and the sounds she makes. If you're fine and you expose yourself to her, then you'll get a migraine. For your own sake, take my advise. Keep away from her!

It will take a mutated hearing system not to get annoyed with Valerie and the noise she makes.

The Bitchin’ Ensues

August 13 will mark the second month since I left my job. That means, it’ll be two months since I haven’t received my back pay. People in poverty such as myself, could afford not earning anything for a limited time only, and right now, when the payment for my eyeglasses are due, I could use that forsaken sum of money to settle my bill. For all I know it’ll be no greater than Php * * but heck, I have to wait forever, for a miracle that may take forever.

Now the bank through which my “salary/backpay” should be wired for some annoying reason, deactivated my phone banking privileges. I could manage my finances by myself if only the phone banking works. To hell if I have to use my phonecard which I am better off using to call my family! Without any warning the bank—the bank I hate the most which I may name as soon as I hear their explanation—joined the conspiracy in pissing me off.

Given no other choice, I was reduced to asking favors to which I received an awful bitching. Grrr! It’s frustrating!

But wait there’s more! One of my credit cards, the one I am keen on keeping, screwed up its online abilities. I enrolled it long before—you know for convenience, when I’m away I could just log in elsewhere to manage it. But what do I discover? The online banking ceased working! I had to email certain managers and later use my precious call card to contact their customer service who’d hopefully attend to my concern.

Then there’s this other credit card, which had to have a problem. The savings account which I am maintaining wouldn’t accept that other credit card. Meaning, I couldn’t well transfer payments from my savings account to that other credit card from here because the card and the savings account are not in good relations with each other. How about that?

And to begin with, I ran out of funds to transfer thanks to the impossible backpay.

I am caught in this web of financial misfortunes I could have used extra understanding. But I guess I have to kneel for asking favors and swallow the uncalled for bitching.

I hate bitches. Given a chance, I’d slap them. Just to wake them up and put them in their proper place.

It’s morning, I shouldn’t be this negative. But I have to let it out, especially after my false hope has just been popped after discovering that the phonecall from a headhunter I received a few minutes ago was for another Mary living in this house. Obviously the "Mary" the headhunter is looking for is not me.

The sadist who finds entertainment in this should die laughing right about now.

The Story of My Life

If I start telling the story of my life, my blog will face its death in a minute or less.

Yes, I write stories of me in here lots of times but that’s just the “me” I remember or the “me” I want to be remembered. The truth is, what you see in my blog is just a cross-section of me—the part of me that makes me “me” but it’s not really the whole “me.”

I am aware that I am, by this time, starting to lose sense.

Forgive me. I am just not in the best of moods. Twenty minutes ago, I lost the sunny disposition I’ve been trying my darn best to sport albeit my frustration in making a career here. It’s a struggle to stay positive. But my effort to keep that smile was wiped away after being slapped on the face by a cold email.

I am over reacting. The email wasn’t all that harsh but it will surely go down in history as one of the worst emails I have ever received in my entire web life.

God, I am the most naïve pessimistic in the world! What was I thinking in making myself believe that someone out there would do for me what I did for others? Now I need to scold myself for being so stupid.

If I have a set of the so-called “hang-ups” it’ll be comprised of my disappointments from finding out that the people whom I silently expect to go an extra mile to do not-necessarily-special things for me will just disappoint. In the most recent case, I asked for a favor. I am grateful that the favor had been granted but to hear negative comments which came free with it is sooo, frustrating I just want to cry!

The thing is, I am one who has a flair for making people feel special. I grant (possible) favors, and throw in my suggestions and a couple of initiative here and there to make the favor well-covered. I whine sometimes but I deliver, often times more than expected. My conscience wouldn’t let me sleep once I realize that I made someone feel awfully unimportant because I was too self-absorbed to do what was asked of me to the best of my abilities. I feel bad whenever I notice how I’ve made someone feel “unspecial."

But why the hell do some people afford to make me feel like a total pushover, a loser, a creature they could hurt just like that?

While I’m in this foul mood, I wish to say, if only to get it out of my system once and for all, that receiving an ostentatious-display-of-whatever through text messaging some month ago made me feel just as bad. I’ve become Kevin Federline. It’s not funny at all. I honestly felt insulted. I still get the urge to punch someone whenever I remember how I was brought down to that moron’s level.

I am generally a good person but crappy things happen to me.

I feel like being mocked in a cosmic conspiracy proportions.

I wonder why the cosmos goes through the trouble of making me feel bad when its ultimate message is “you are not our favorite.”

If this will make it stop, I’d say, “I get it. I get it! No need to rub it in any further.”

Neighbors from Hell

I would have gone for a more subtle title but my head is throbbing from lack of decent sleep plus I ended up swiping in late for work this morning so forgive me for bitching.

I’m not asking much really. Just peace and quiet every once in a while or at least at around midnight.

Is that too much to ask?

Apparently quiet is scarce when the neighbors from hell are on the loose.

Last night, unlike most days, we were spared from shrieks and wails from a kid gone wild, and screams and roars from a woman gone crazy. Which was good.

But then, they were in a festive mood, celebratory to be exact. They pumped up the volume of their sound system which filled the air with rock metal gibberish. Hardcore metal and rock is trash to my ears. But I waived my human right to decent music just because someone is celebrating his birthday. I wouldn’t want to be the one to poop the party. (Thinking about it now, I might as well have pooped on their party.)

Being the pacifist I hope to be, I zipped my mouth and found a way to sleep amidst the noise and the party voices which successfully penetrated our walls and shut windows. I had to sleep with a pillow on my head which I hate especially since I tend to panic when my airways are constricted.

I have barely completed a sleep cycle when a loud slam or boom instantly got me on my feet. It was too weak to be a gunshot but I feared bullets will start ricocheting through our walls instead of the trashy music which hardly sent me off to slumber.

And the more-than-a-thud went off again and again and again. If I were anymore afraid, I’d be peeing in my pants.

Good thing I didn’t.

The alleged gunshot sound came from someone slamming the car parked just outside our gate with, oh I don’t know, his hand?

I won’t go into details about what the brawl was all about. I didn’t have to gawk to figure it out. After all, it was too loud to miss. But here’s the gist: some people got drunk thereby causing an unfortunate end to the party.

I somehow wish they got drunk earlier. That way, they wouldn’t have to keep me up until past 12 only to wake me up at around 3AM.

What went wrong?

What went wrong?

My day that’s what.

I felt my brain cells die when a moronic motor biker carelessly varoomed his carbon monoxide-spewing muffler directly to the jeepney I was riding which was caught in paralyzed traffic. I am afraid I may no longer be able to remember my future grandnieces’ and grandnephews’ names. The cells that ought to permit me do so were casualties to the now proverbial air pollution.

To save myself from an impeding bad half-of-the-day, I gave up from my one and a half hour futile battle to impossible traffic. I cannot function well if I start my day cursing the land where I live. It’s one thing to be caught in traffic. It’s another thing to be trapped in one.

I checked in to obscurity if only to detach myself from this planet for a while.

Then I went off to the day’s next mission. As it turns out, I need not be where I bothered myself to go. My day has been totally wasted. It topped the day’s crappy events.

To rid myself of all things negative, I checked myself in a beauty and wellness center and had someone strip my face off of all possible bad elements sticking through my every pore. For a few hundred pesos, I was able to buy peace and good hygiene. Both of which prove to be a luxury in our time.

I set off to my final stop to grab a couple of items from St. Francis Square. But what do you know? An emergency of sort hindered me from entering its premises. As it turns out, something is burning inside target destination, thus explaining the fuss punctuated by fire trucks and an ambulance. All the customers and tenants crowded St. Francis Square’s portals.

Another of the day’s disappointments.

Sometimes, things that go wrong are not limited to once or twice a day. I’m just glad it did not go past four times.

Waking up on the Wrong Side of the Day

If there’s one thing I detest most in the list of things I detest most, it’s this: being awakened to open the door for someone who’s so insensitive to come home at the wrong hour of the day, especially when I know that I have to get up and be alive, alert, awake and enthusiastic for work the following day or a few hours after the wrong hour.

And, yes, I once again fell victim to this scheme like I always do.

No silent button in my cellphone will spare me some more precious time of sleep. Not when people still practice knocking coupled by the irritating calling of names, my name.

I love my name. I really do. If I love it some more, I’d have to marry it. But if I have to hear it again in the attempt to interrupt my sleep, I swear I’d find the next priest to baptize me with a new name.

I don’t think I’d abhor hearing my name more than when I hear someone calling me and in the process, messing up with my subconscious just to rouse me from bed for pure inconsiderate reasons.

And the knocking? Don’t get me started with the knocking.

The thing is, it is not OK to come home at the wrong hours of the day especially if you don’t have your own set of keys to allow yourself inside the house. It is not fine to wake the most convenient person you live with when that person is undeniably asleep.

It’s just plain unethical and rude.

Some people really cannot afford to waste their time getting up for you when they ought to be availing their privilege to sleep to recharge for the next day’s rat race.

Some people, despite their ability to pull themselves out of sleep by one knock, one call of their name, or one phone ring deserve respect especially in their sleep. (Those who don’t get this are the “some people” who don’t deserve the respect I speak of.)

I need my sleep and I certainly demand respect during my slumber hours.

Why does it seem that people around me don’t get that?

For Lack of a Better Sleep

You know how being awakened by pebbles being thrown at your bedroom window is portrayed as something romantic, if not cute, in movies or TV shows?

This I tell you: it ain’t the best way to be pulled out of an otherwise deep slumber.

Especially if it’s not Prince Charming (well in my case, Jude Law would certainly do) who’s doing the pebble throwing.

Much worse is if it’s your mom who gets home late and is back to her old I’m-here-when-I’m-here self again; it’s not the first time she does it yet she offers no apologies for bothering you; you are not the only one home but you happen to be the easiest one to regain consciousness among all the sleepy heads at midnight; you are not the type who, after getting up, can get back to sleep that easily as others do; you have to wake up early the next day to be able to show up and function well at work; you’ve been having a persistent headache prior to getting to bed; you made sure you turned off your cellphone in order to ensure getting a good night sleep…

I could rant until my mother does this again, still she would not admit that it was irresponsible on her part not to inform anyone in the family that, as usual, she won’t be home early yet she’s planning to go home just the same and she’d be waking ME up to open the door for her.

Excuse me for ranting.

And now I will state the obvious: I am most definitely less than amused!

Rambles of the Un

I’m blue and the weather speaks of how I feel. It is 3:40 in the afternoon and my supposedly well-lit room is devoid of sunlight.

I am not at work because my stomach has gone crazy from yesterday’s food tasting and a heavy dinner at Superbowl. I figure, I am gifted with an anorexic stomach—it can only handle one grand meal a day. Unfortunately, my brain has a flair for binging and since the mind rules over anything else, I end up taking in more than I can handle, leaving me in trouble—stomach trouble, that is.

A former high school classmate who once said she may name her future daughter after me (she liked my name, not necessarily me) sent her apologies for not being able to remember me. This is what I get from sending messages to people I add in my Friendster list which often contain the line, “I hope you still remember me.” Most people, they stop at adding friends and former acquaintances in their accounts. Not me. I send my hellos because I want to be polite and sincere. And now that someone has actually forgotten me, I feel…violated.

Then there’s last Friday when I felt that I was unusually hurting. And nobody, not even my shadow, knew it but me. I was so good at masking my pain that I was even able to post something about Friday the 13th, my lineage, and Chinese Dragon dance when in fact sometime during that day I had written this:

Say Cheese!

Bleep you, Eros!

You turned me into a pink loving freak! No, I wasn’t teasing you with my taunts last time. I wasn’t challenging you to do anything. I was just mocking you.

Now don’t you get me started with your mockery-is-the-best-form-of-challenge gibe! I bet my flat ass that you don’t even know rhyme even if it hits you on the face.

I haven’t completely fallen to your pit, Eros. I will bounce back. I know I will.

You shouldn’t do this to me. You shouldn’t.

Leave me in peace.

Because if I break, no one will pick up my pieces for me.

Perhaps I have bounced back, high enough that I have mustered the courage to post the cheesy bit that sprang from my alleged pain. Funny thing is, although Eros do not exist I have a history of carrying out a conversation with him, one that dates back to June 7 this year, the “last time” I was referring to in Say Cheese! It goes:

Hey, Eros!

Don’t think that I can’t see through you. I know that you’re up to something.

What’s with you today, huh? First you let me bump into your chosen subject. Classic! Frankly I am quite disappointed in you. I expected something original, you know, after all, you are Eros.

Then what? Music?! I listen to music all the time, pal. You have got to find other means to stir up my emotions in the standards of your specialty.

Oh yeah, the romantic camera angle you showed me. Clever, eh. You are using my fascination with movies to tease me. But surely I can come up with better scenes. And I am not Eros!

You know so well how much I would hate to get involved with your shenanigans. I am extra sensitive with issues that has to do with you. After all, you are a suspicious character I’d rather not trust.

So if you wish to pull me to your trap, I suggest you try harder.

I’m tougher than you think.

In my piece of paper, the previous stream of thoughts was suffixed with the following:

The monologue you just witnessed is a verbal presentation of a chemical reaction involving a series of “kilig” elements and Dalton’s tiny indestructible model of an atom.

Dalton’s tiny indestructible model of an atom is not so indestructible after all and yet it remains whole.


My blog seems unvisited as reflected by my comments portion where I, the author, was the one who posted the last thought seven days ago. Of course, poor readership results in the ebbing of the drive to write. That is why I have not written anything about my new cute godson, Perry, and my new kumares with whom I spent a Cubao Safari (as coined by Mareng Ging) last Sunday. Too bad, my mood will prevent you from hearing how we were time warped to a Marikina corner in Cubao. Or how I braved the streets of Quiapo in my skirt. Yes, skirt in public. Like haven’t done it for at least 13 years of my life. No big deal there.

Also, since my dad’s incessant texts and calls asking me where I am or when I will be home every time I leave the house have started to bug me, I have decided to confront him about it. I mean he is a cool dad but he does have a tendency to become “the jealous boyfriend.” I told him a while ago, “Dad, siguro mahirap kang maging boyfriend. Text ka ng text ng ‘san ka na?’ Tapos iba pa yung tawag” Of course he defended his side and of course I got his point. But I had to insist, “parati naman akong nagrereport sa iyo kung nasaan na ako unlike ni Ate and Soy.” Which I think he didn’t hear.

I chose to laugh it out, his nth text last Sunday about me getting home before it gets dark. I was waiting for him to add, “umuwi ka na, nakapalda ka pa naman.” That would have been funnier.

Yesterday, I was supposed to cram the day with my maid-of-honor duties. Still, I sneaked out as early as I could to claim the replacement of my ATM card from the bank branch during banking hours, as said by the phone bankers I talked to days before. Bank! (I mean it as a cuss word.) To my disappointment, my new card was not with them but on the express banking center where I opened my account which, by the way, doesn’t operate until the exact time I should be hitting the road with the future bride and groom to meet their caterer. I swear (not a curse), I clarified to several phone bankers where I should be claiming my card and where I had opened my account. They all told me to do the transaction on THE branch during THE friggin’ banking hours. Grrr…strike one! I guess they ought to know that with matters like this I don’t keep my mouth, or at least, pen shut. I really do make reports and demand action just as I did with Globe Telecom.

Oh what else? I got lost in Marikina with Ate and Warren, the future bride and groom, yesterday while we were searching for their caterer’s headquarters. Good thing, I wasn’t the one who paid the cab. Otherwise I would be blue and broke right now. Anyway, the long search was rewarded with a fantastic multiple-course meal—the main reason for my present upset stomach, not to mention indigestion.

No, I am not UNHAPPY despite the negative vibrations carried by my present blog entry. I am just UNINSPIRED and, mostly tired. Then again, I was able to come up with this two and a half page entry, didn’t I? Perhaps I am not all that uninspired. I am just un.

COMMENTS

oo nga, gabi na, nakapalda ka pa naman. susme. uwi ka na ng maaga. nyahaha. buti ka nga eh hinahanap. ako hindi. kebs forever!
ganda ng mga ninang ni Okay ka, Perry Ko!
sweeet.
Posted by: GinGmaGanda | October 17, 2006 08:43 AM

GAGa ME

Congratulations to me! I just single-handedly lost a battle which, according to them, never existed.

Apparently my battle cry was gibberish except to me.

I carry my battle wounds, a set of bloated eyes, with sheer embarrassment for it was all for nothing.

I did not emerge anywhere close to being a hero but as the laughing stock of generations to come.

And I dare record my defeat.

Consumer Alert

Babala: Ang pangalan ng mga establisyamentong tutukuyin ko ay hayagan ko na ring babanggitin tutal, blog ko naman ito at mga ka-close ko lang naman ang magbabasa nito. Sa gayong paraan, mailalayo ko sa mga k_pal na kumpanyang ang mga taong malapit sa akin. Sa gayon (ulit) di na sila mabibiktima pa.

Umuusok na ang ilong ko sa Globe Telecom na yan! Dalawang beses kong chinek sa 211 kung paano magpareactivate ng napasong roaming. Ayon sa dalawang nakausap ko sa magkaibang gabi (take note: 2x akong nag-consult sa 211 because I wanted to make sure that I get all the details right), kailangan lang ng minimum na P500.00 load ng roamer tapos tatawag lang ako sa hotline nila para magrequest ng manual activation ng nasabing service. Sabi pa nila, highly recommended nila ang Autoloadmax sa pagrereload. Di man lang nila ako winarningan na by loading through Autoloadmax, sinasubject ko ang precious P500.00 ko sa maagang expiration! Sa buong pakikipagusap ko sa mga operators na ‘to ang bukod tanging sinabi nila sa akin ay maximum of 30 days pwedeng i-on ang roaming na pwede pa ngang ipa-extend ng dalawa pang 30 days. Tapos, inexplain nga nila sa akin yung rule sa “grace period” (yun yung time na di pwedeng i-on ang roaming ng isang handyphone) pero di nila sinabi sa akin na bagaman bago ang mga rules nila ay mag-aaply na ito sa phone na inaaplyan ko ng roaming, therefore di pa pwedeng mag-roaming yung nunber na yon.. Tapos matapos kong magpa-autoload ng total of P500.00 sa roamer ko, doon ko lang nadiscover na di pa pwedeng ipa-on ang roaming ng number na pinaparoaming ko dahil sa “grace period” rule at 15 days ko lang pala mapapakinabangan ang P500.00 at hindi 90 days o at least 30 man lang.

Mga tuso sila! Making great things possible my ass! They misled me by “missing out” on important details sa instructions nila. Mas accurate yatang sabihing na-gancho nila ako. Apat na sunud-sunod na gabi na akong nagfofollow up wala pa rin silang aksyon. Sa bawat follow up ko, kailangan kong irelay, from the start, ang buong kwento ko. Hmp! Tapos limang “please wait for 24 hours” lang ang naririnig ko sa kanila. Mapapamura ka talaga ng Tagalog!

In fairness, never akong nakipag-away sa operators nila. Malumanay (na may kasamang supressed gigil) kong sinabi na di naman biro ang maglabas ng P500.00 tapos di ko sya mapapakinabangan. Lagi akong polite sa pakikipagusap ko sa kanila kahit na nagmumura na ang subconscious ko. May isang nag-attempt mag-console sa akin by saying, “magload na lang po kayo using a call card before ma-off ang roaming.” Ngek! Ano ako?! Tungaw? Nasayang na nga pera ko, magsasayang pa ako ulit? OK lang sila? May isa namang nagsabi sa akin, “Ma’am don’t worry po sure naman pong maaaprove ang special request n’yo for the activation of your roaming service at least bago maexpire yung niload nyo.” Pa’no kung the day before maexpire yung niload ko pa lang ma-approve ang raoming? Don’t worry pa rin? Isang araw ko lang ma-eenjoy yung P500.00 ko, don’t worry?

The thing is, O.C. ako pagdating sa rules and instructions kaya I make sure naiintindihan ko ang isang bagay bago ako magproceed sa anumang gagawin ko. Yun pala malinlinlang ako ng hidden truths from well-trained Globe call center agents. Di ko man lang na sense na may catch ang lahat ng sinabi nila sa akin. Na kaya Autoloadmax ang nirerecommend nila ay dahil mas madaling mag-expire yon at mas mapapabilis ang pagrereload ko. At kaya di nila sinabi sa akin na di pa pala ma-o-on ang roaming ng number na inaaplyan ko ng roaming ay dahil atat na ata na silang magka P500.00. Tama nga naman, magkakapera sila without being obliged to render their services in return. Easy money!

Kung sino man ang may direct line kay Mr. Palengke, I really need your help. Binggo na talaga sa akin ang Globe! Masyado silang manlinlang! Dati nabiktima na nila ako ng promo nila with Hershey’s. Yung you’ll get Hershey’s goodies once you make your first call using your new SIM. But you’ll have to wait for their text and guess what? Di nila ako tinext. Nung nagreklamo ako, sabi lang nila, they can’t give me the goodies because I didn’t receive the text from them. They dismissed immediately after saying that sentence--no apologies whatsoever. Tapos, they kept on sending me ringtones, I never requested which took away P15.00 from me--that is P15.00 for every unwanted ringtone they sent me. Di lang ako ang niloloko nila, lahat ng Globe subscribers din. Isipin mo na lang, di mo ma-cacall ang toll-free customer service (211) nila pag wala kang load. Tama ba naman ‘yon? Is that the way to treat loyal subscribers? Di mo sila mare-reach pag di mo sila pinapa-rich! I can rant forever pero eto na lang ang final words ko para sa Globe, “matakot naman kayo!”

* * *

Di ko akalaing matyetyempuhan ko ang expired food sa anumang kainan sa foodcourt ng Megamall. Natripan kong kumain ng Yakisoba sa Tokyo Teriyaki House. First time ko kumain dun although I am aware na kapatid lang nila ang Tokyo Tokyo. So yun na nga, binigay na nila sa akin yung order ko which was a bit disappointing dahil ang liit lang pala nya compared dun sa nasa picture. Wish ko lang talaga makatapat ng isang customer na mala Micheal Douglas sa movie na “Falling Down” ang lahat ng foodchains. Nag-amok (with baril and all) kasi si Michael Douglas nang i-serve sa kanya ang isang soggy burger gayong sa picture the burger was “plump, juicy and three inches thick.”

Anyway, pwede nang pagtyagan yung yakisoba. Pwede na kung di weird ang amoy nya. Pag tikim ko, maasim sya. I asked my two friends to taste it and they too found it funny. So bumalik ako sa counter medyo parang natatawang ewan yung girl na nagbigay sa akin nung spoiled yakisoba. Dumating naman yung manager to tell me na papalitan nila. After ten years, they gave me my Yakisoba. No sorry came with it pero meron yatang, “Thank you for waiting. Enjoy your meal.”

Great! Tapos nang kumain yung mga kasama ko!

* * *

Syempre another kamalasan na naman ito. Ang totoo nyan, nagmamadali ako kaso, naantala na ako dahil sa ten years-in-the-making na di panis na yakisoba. So medyo mas nagmamadali na ako nang magpunta ako sa National Bookstore (sa Megamall pa rin). May hinahanap akong libro, yung compilation ng “Kiko Machine.” Dumirecho muna ako sa section ng mga humorous comic books. Wala saya doon so I decided to seek help sa customer’s service. Ang tagal kong naghintay kasi nawala sa post nya yung girl na assigned sa computerized hanapan ng libro. Tapos nung dumating sya, parang sya pa ata ang telephone operator kaya mas bumagal pa ang work nya. Eventually may personal call pa sya kaya tumagal ulit. Noong turn ko na para i-serve nya, di na nya chineck sa computer yung book. Excited niyang sinabi sa akin, “Ma’am andun lang po iyon sa Humor section, kasama ng mga Pugad Baboy.” Sinabi ko na kakagaling ko lang doon at wala siya. Sabi nya pa-side ang pagka-stack nung libro and manipis lang ito kaya baka di ko nakita. Syempre pinuntahan ko ulit yung pinanggalingan kong section pero wala talaga yung book. So humingi ako ng tulong dun sa isa pang girl na nag-aayos ng book. Sabi nya andyan lang daw at saka hinayaan nya akong maghanap. Parang close kami! So hanap ako ulit pero wala. Medyo nakahalata na ako na dapat tinutulungan nya ako kaya nilapitan ko sya ulit. Tinanong ko sya, “kanino ba talaga ako pwedeng magpatulong?” Actually, elliptical question yon. Ang buong question is, “since ayaw mo akong tulungan, kanino ba talaga ako pwedeng magpatulong?”

She got a clue and helped me. At bilang pambawi, nagtawag pa siya ng dalawa pang berks to find the holy grail…ay “Kiko Machine” lang pala! Finally chineck na nung girl na assigned sa computerized hanapan ng libro kung available ba yung book. Barabing! Out of stock! Ang galing talaga.

* * *

Malas ba ako? Parang all I’m doing lately is “waiting.” Unfortunately Godot never came sa tatlong stories ko--walang magandang balita sa Globe, walang sorry from Tokyo Teriyaki House, at wala yung libro sa National Bookstore (pati sa Powerbooks--chineck ko na din doon). Being the Zafranatic that I am now, you won’t believe that I once hated her katarayan. Pero ngayon di lang ako naeentertain sa mga kasungitan nya. Naiintindihan ko na where all her rants are coming from. As long as there are people who are not doing their job well--in the case of Globe, (they’re doing their job so well, nagagawa nilang manloko ng tao) people who sacrifices genuine customer concern for fast money--may mga taong magrereklamo and eventually magtataray.

Hindi. Hindi ako galit. Napipikon lang ako at nadidisappoint dahil sa panahon nating ito, akala ko civlized na tayong lahat na nananahan sa mabangis na lungsod.

Yun pala hindi.

Yamot!

Palpak
2005-08-28

Nag-give in na naman ako sa bisyo ko kahapon! Bumili na naman ako ng kopya ng isang movie na napanood ko na. Medyo nahihiya akong aminin kung anong title niya kaya eto na lang, P199 lang sya, DVD na! Saan ka pa? Di ba jackpot na ‘to? So impulsive buying ang drama ko anyway may commentary naman e. Tapos legal ‘to. Original. Di pirated. Malinis ang konsensya kong binili ang nasabing DVD sa SM Department Store. Tapos ‘pag saksak ko sa player nung ORIGINAL DVD walang audio commentary from the actors and the writer. Ano ‘to, lokohan? Nakalagay sa label yung feature na yon. Kaya nga original binili ko so that I can get my money’s worth guilt-free tapos ganun na lang? Isososli ko pa tuloy. Syempre magrereklamo ako. Hmp!

* * *

Hallmouse Attacks
2005-08-27

Martes. Bandang alas 4 ng hapon.

Biktima: Di ba sabi masamang tawagin daga ang mga daga?
Opismate: Sabi ng lola ko dapat “Bait-bait.”
Biktima: Ang alam ko dapat “mabait.”

Pause.

Biktima: Ayoko. Ang plastic! Di naman sila mabait!

Kinabukasan inatake ng d_ga/bait-bait/mabait ang drawer ng biktima na naglalaman ng mga nakaimbak na pagkain. Naulit pa ang malagim na pangyayaring ito makalipas ang isa pang araw.
* * *

2 Neozep Lang Ang Katapat
2005-08-18

Sa panahon ngayon, bawal ang magkasakit. At dahil bawal magkasakit, may sakit ako ngayon. Sadya nga yatang masarap ang bawal! Noong nakaraang miyerkules lamang ay dumaan ako sa Mercury Drug upang bumili ng ointment. Mayroon kasing makati sa may tuhod ko. Para mapigilan ang pagkalat nito, minabuti ko nang bumili ng mabisang gamot. Aba, mahirap na yatang magkaroon ng sakit sa balat!

Nagulantang ako nang tanungin ko ang pharmacist kung magkano ang 5g na gamot. P250.00 daw. Sasabihin ko sana, “Miss, hindi ako magpapaderma. Ako na mismo ang gagamot sa kati ko.” Kaso, mukhang seryoso yung babae kaya di na ako humirit. Anak ng boogie! Napabili pa ako ng hindi oras! Pero ayos na rin. Makakampante na ako. Sana lang ay di masayang ang P250 ko dahil kapag di gumaling ‘tong kati ko, bibili ako sa Mercury Drug ng taga-kamot. Baka mas mura ‘yon.

‘Wag mo nang tanungin kung saan galing ‘tong kati ko. Di ko rin alam. Maaring sign ito ng STD. Kaya lang bago ka magkaSTD, di ba kailangan muna ng S? E hindi ko nga alam yung S—hindi ko alam yung sanhi. Bwehehe. Tapos ito pa, noong Martes pa lang nagpaparamdam na sa akin itong lalamunan ko. (Ops, walang madumi ang isip!) Alam mo‘yon, maalala mo lang ang mga bahagi ng katawan mo kapag sumasakit na sila. Ang masama pa naman nito, yung lalamunan ko ang aking Achilles’ heel. Basta nagka-sore throat na ako o tonsillitis, pihadong lalagnatin na ako. Pero nilabanan ko sya. Kaya nakaya ko pa ring tumayo.

Sumunod na nag-aklas ang aking ilong. Parang may natutunaw na yelo sa loob ng ilong ko mapasahanggang ngayon. Nakakainis pa nito, kapag sinubukan ko nang ibuga ang nagbabadyang sipon sa ilong ko, umaatras naman ito. Bad trip! Syempre kasabay ng sipon ang konting ubo. Magkabarkada yan e. Sana lang huwag makisama si lagnat at kung hindi, riot na.

Dahil gusto kong makisabay sa pang-aasar ng katawan ko, bumili ako ng Rocky Road na Dairy Queen kanina. Inuna ko ang ice cream kesa sa gamot. Sana nakakagaling ang ice cream. Pero talo ako sa laban. Maya maya lang e bumili rin ako ng gamot. Drugged ako ngayon kaya nagsisimula na akong maging groggy. Tumatalab na yata ang phenylpropanolamine. Sana wala na akong sipon bukas para di na kadiri ang susunod na kwento ko.

Allow me to Rant

**Prof. Randy David discusses the President's speech the other night in a show at ANC. After he wrapped up his piece and left, Ces Drilon delivers a disclaimer--that the network didn't have anything to do with what the professor has just said.

Prof. Randy David said it all too well—that is, the implications of GMA’s public apology.

Then the news anchor wimps out and raises a disclaimer, saying that ANC had nothing to do with what the professor had just said. Excuse me, Ms. Ces Drilon. What have you been doing all these years? And I thought time spent in media would have made an amazona out of you—well at least that aside from being a fashionista (which I highly disagree you deserve to be called). May I inform you that while you where putting on your eye shadow and shimmering lipstick, Prof. Randy David was talking about the Filipinos being smart. Even if politicians think they can fool the Filipino people, we can’t be fooled because we know how to think. That includes processing “who said what” which really requires minimum thinking.

Ms. Drilon, you need not make clear that the opinions we heard from Prof. Randy David were his. For one thing, being a pawn of media, you are not allowed to bare you personal biases especially given your type of show. Also, even with your make up and funky wardrobe on, I don’t think you would have come up with insights as precise and as properly worded as his. Besides if you do that to all your guests I doubt that anyone would like to appear on your show ever again.

You are a shame to your kind. Quit kissing the Lopez ass. You ought to buy yourself some balls or find a new career.

Glow in the Light

They arrived today. My uniforms: four glow-in-the-light green blouses with flower embroidery at the chest area, three pin-stripe pants with the so-called “baston” cut, and one collarless pin-stripe blazer. There you go, ladies and gentlemen. It’s either I overdid describing my new set of wardrobe for the coming months or I was too honest, too accurate in describing the human enrobing stuff I received today.

Then again I may just suck at writing fashion. I am not even sure if it’s “pin-stripe” or “pin-stripped” or “pin stripe.” (It has come to my attention that it is supposed to be “pinstripe.”)

Uniforms. Uniforms are remnants of the more powerful, not to mention idealistic, fraction of society’s attempt to implement communism. A utopic society wherein no groups exist. A perfect classless society as a genuine Marxist would put it. Wearing uniforms would promote equality. No rich; no poor. We all exist in on flat plane. Peace brother!

But do uniforms do this? Do they effectively strip us off of our places in the social ladder?

I haven’t worn uniforms since high school. That’s a long seven years ago. I didn’t complain before. I went to school and I wore my uniforms. And then UP happened.

I don’t think I’d be comfortable with uniforms. The ones I am bound to wear soon don’t have any lining and so their seams are bound to rub against my skin for I-don't-know-how-long. And me not being comfortable in any type of clothing is a BIG problem. I don't really care much if I'd end up looking like a teacher even if I'm not. I can let "looking ten years older" pass. The thing is, I couldn't stand itch for an hour, let alone a day.

But I am part of the lesser powerful fraction of society so I am required to conform. Stitch my lips so I won't be able to whine!

I'm ranting; I have to end this.

I am now supposed to say, wearing a uniform and being one of the crowd poses the challenge to standout. And if I may use my new uniform as a metaphor, I'd add, my new blouse can glow in a sea of brightness; and if it can do that, why can't I? Time to shine. Time to shine!

For the one out there listening to my pleas, I was longing to shine not to glow. There is a vast difference. Don't mock me.

COMMENT

err. hate na hate ko talaga yang blouse na an. the pants i can live with but the blouse is just hideous. yeaaargggh. maybe when i finally wear the self-incriminating uniform i will also wear a bathrobe over it to hide, you know, the, err, uhm , hideousness.
Posted by: GinGmaGanda | July 10, 2005 09:02 AM

Fashion Rant

What’s wrong with you people?

I’m a human being, for crying out loud!

I deserve a fashionable piece of cloth to envelop my body—
one which is intended
for a three-dimensional being
not
a
paper doll!