| check yourself at the door |
[10 Aug 2010|03:50pm] |
From now on, sosuemethen will be purely friends-only. If you're a friend, drop a line and I'll add you back!
EDIT: Comment only if you're not already on my friends list, unless you just really wanna say hi. :p
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| i need my deus ex machina |
[22 May 2009|02:29pm] |
I am writing today because I've run out of things to do, which is a rarity in my social calendar but is something I have grown accustomed to recently, still being unemployed and all. Who wants to hear about my incredibly dissatisying post-college life? Will get to that in a bit. But first, random snippets from the past month or two:
So, skipped my graduation. After that I was raring and daring to go on what was supposed to be a fruitful jobhunt, but my sorry excuse for a laptop finally gave way after a year of abuse and non-maintenance, so I chose instead to take an unexpected hiatus back home. That wasn't so bad, considering I was able to spend more than the usual time with some of my favorite people in Davao. After three weeks of tolerable house-life, the persistent threat of weight gain from home-cooked food got to me, so I booked the first flight outta there.
Sam finally came home after an entire year of migrant life. It was so great to see her. I was a bit apprehensive at first, afraid she might've adopted an annoying accent; but it turns out some people are just too good to change. I finally agreed to an out-of-town trip which, most of you know, is not my usual vacation of choice. Boracay and Pagudpud (right?) were vetoed for reasons now unknown to me, and Zambales, a city which I am still unable to pinpoint on a map, invariably became our final destination.
I have to admit, I was pretty excited to go, so I put on some good cheer and promised to be *nice*, if only as a favor to my awesome friends. I really was in my best behavior, and even arrived at the agreed meeting place an hour early. I eventually broke down when the awful truth was revealed to me - we were set to stay in rooms that had no airconditioning. The van we had rented *also* had faulty airconditioning, so our trip to Zambales made me feel like a number of things: bacon, Hansel and Gretel, hot buns -- practically anything that's baked/deep-fried. I yanked one window open and spent the entire trip with my left arm flailing out of the window. Ironically, I was the first to get a sunburn. Where? You guessed it - on my left arm!
Cutting the story short, despite the unbearable living conditions and some *major* thievery (note: an entire room stripped of all its precious electronics and cash), I had a really awesome time - got trashed with The Best People Ever, asserted my Twister skills yet again, and did some 'catching up' with Sam and my friends to last me another year.
What followed was a sorry attempt at an exercise routine - 6 a.m. daily runs around the campus and DIY yoga sessions at night. The first eventually fell out of the loop, but I'm determined to keep up the yoga. Or maybe not. I dunno, I really think I'm better off starving myself.
Another out-of-town trip to Tagaytay, now with a group of people with whom I could not pull off my usual despotic stunts. Slept outdoors with bugs but that was ok, I kicked some major Mah Jong ass anyway.
That's pretty much it. I have an AJSS Reunion like, tomorrow, and now I'm trying to figure out how I'll manage to look interesting in a sea of accomplished, sorted people. Don't worry, I always find a way.
Jobhunting's such a chore. But it's become top priority (wuushuu) now that my father forbids me to move to Makati until I get a job in Makati. Condohunting's an altogether different story. It's not much easier than finding a job, so I had to put up a Roomie Wanted ad on craigslist. After some careful deliberation, the only prospective roomie who got through the wire was simply the one who could pay rent - didn't complain about the 8k split and seemed harmless enough, until I met him for an ocular and got asked out to dinner and a movie. It was sufficiently difficult, to say the least, trying to maneuver my way out of some "if-we're-gonna-be-roomies-might-as-well-get-to-know-each-other-now" time. God, it felt like an awful first (blind) date. *Still* looking for a roommate.
So there. The lease at my current place expires in a week, I'm still unemployed, and I *think* I may have gained a bit of weight. What's your life like?
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| tales of the crypt |
[26 Oct 2008|09:49pm] |
The thing about posting cryptic messages is...well...they're pathetic. You know you're not making any sense when you write them, you confound your audience, and worst of all, it leads some people to think of them as sorry attempts at profundity.
The strange thing about them though, is that they're necessary sometimes. These little cryptic anecdotes are discrete packets of truth that only need to be dissected and re-assembled to make sense of your troubles. They're ok, as long as you sit down at the end of the day and make sure cryptic is no longer cryptic.
I also feel that these little cryptic shits are a reflection of my own failure/refusal to grab life by the balls. Of all the things I'd be unwilling to grab, balls pa. BALLS!
Kidding aside: no more, no more. The least I could do is spare you the theatrics and go straight to the meat.
Nervousness, to me, is really simple. It's not being able to say what you want to say, and do what you want do. And that's not cryptic!
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| just 'cause |
[25 Oct 2008|08:41pm] |
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I think it was a big mistake to leave Davao early.
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| question |
[23 Oct 2008|01:57pm] |
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What does nervousness mean to you?
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| funny funny |
[06 Oct 2008|12:14pm] |
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I was reorganizing my books today and it took me about an hour, because I leafed through some of the books I hadn't touched in years. An excerpt from Barrel Fever, by Sedaris:
***
The Last You'll Hear From Me
Dear Friends and Family,
By the time you receive this letter I will be dead. Those of you attending this service are sitting quietly, holding a beautiful paperweight, a gift from the collection, which, in life, had been my pride and joy. You turn the paperweight over in your hands, look deep inside, be it a rose or a scorpion, whatever, and through your tears you ask, "What is death like?" By this time I certainly know the answer to that question but am unable to give details. Know only that I will one day meet you upon the grassy plains of Heaven, where, with the exception of Randy Sykes and Annette Kelper, I will be tickled to embrace you and catch up on all the news. When the time comes I probably won't be too thrilled to see my mother either, but we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.
If my instructions were followed the way I wanted them to be (see attached instruction envelope #1), this letter is being read to you from the pulpit of The Simple Shepherd Church of Christ by my best friend, Eileen Mickey (Hi, Eileen), who is wearing the long-sleeved Lisa Montino designer dress I left behind that always looked so good on me. (Eileen, I hope you either lost some weight or took it out some on the sides or you're not going to be able to breathe. Also, remember it needs to be dry-cleaned. I know how you and your family love to skimp, but please, don't listen to what anyone says about Woolite. Dry-clean!)
Most of you ae probably wondering why I did it. You're asking yourselves over and over again, "What could have driven Trish Moody to do such a thing?"
You're whispering, "Why, Lord? Why take Trish Moody? Trish was a ray of bright sunshine, always doing things for other people, always so up and perky and full of love. Pretty too. Just as smart and sweet and pretty as they come."
You're probably shaking your heads and thinking there's plenty of people a lot worse than Trish Moody. There's her former excuse for a boyfriend, Randy Sykes, for example. The boyfriend who, after Trish accidentally backed her car over his dog, practically beat her senseless. He beat her with words but still, it might as well have been with his fists. He struck her again and again with words such as "manipulative", "jealous", “childish”, and others I wouldn’t justify in print. The dog’s death was a tragic accident but perhaps also a blessing in disguise as Randy tended to spend entirely too much time with it. The dog was in danger of becoming, like Randy himself, spoiled and disobedient. Besides that, being a registered breed it was headed for unavoidable future hip problems.
What did Trish’s mother say when her daughter, heartbroken over hear breakup with Randy, came to her in search of love and understanding? “If you’re looking for sympathy you can find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” Perhaps my mother can live with slogans such as this. I know I can’t. Neither can I live surrounded by “friends” such as Annette Kelper. Poor, chubby Annette Kelper, who desperately tries to pretend that nobody notices the fact that she’s balding on top of her head. That’s right. Look closely – balding just like a man. Perhaps Randy feels sorry for chrome-dome Annette. Maybe that’s why he was seen twice in her company in a single five-day period. Seen standing together in the parking lot of Burger Tabernacle (her home away from home) and seen huddled together, laughing on the escalator of Crabtree Valley Mall. Annette, my supposed best friend, who secretly wanted and coveted everything I owned. Annette, always in my corner, the balding, chubby girl who said to me, in the spirit of friendship, “You’ve got to loosen up a little, Trish. People aren’t things that you can own and control and arrange to stay a certain way.” I remember she said it to me in the bedroom of my own home, her hand on my shoulder, facing left so that I could clearly see how those two top teeth of hers are turning brown as a result of a cheap root canal. I remember feeling sorry for her. Is everyone on earth as two-faced as Annette Kelper? Is everyone as cruel as Randy Sykes? I think not. Most of you, the loved ones I left behind, are simple, devoted people. I urge you now to take a look around the room. Are Randy Sykes and Annette Kelper sitting in the audience? Are they shifting uncomfortably in the pew, shielding their faces with the 8 ½ by 11 photograph of me I had reproduced to serve as a memento of this occasion? (Eileen, read this part real fast before the have a chance to leave.) Randy Sykes’s dick is the size of my little finger, and that’s when it’s hard. And I’m not counting the nail, just the finger! He had sex two times with a boy at Camp Ticonderoga when he was in junior high school. Maybe that explains why he loves it when somebody sticks their finger up his butt. He used to beg me to do that but I refused. I said, “No way, Randy.” He used to do it to himself all the time. That’s why I never held hands with him. His hands stink! He secretly thinks he looks like Marlon Brando, but take a good look – a young Marlin Perkins is more like it! Maybe that’s what he sees in Annette Kelper – he’s an animal lover. She used to come to my house crying, her breath smelling a mile off like her uncle’s dick. She said he forced her but that’s a lie because you don’t force whores and that’s what she is - a whore. Annette and Randy deserve each other. Dick-Breath and Stinky-Finger riding up and down the escalator at Crabtree Valley, up and down, up and down. Fancy little shitheads! Look at them, take a good hard look at them. It’s their fault I’m dead. They are to blame. I urge you now to take those paperweights and stone them. Release your anger! The Bible says that it’s all right to cast the first stone if someone dead is telling you to do it and I’m telling you now, pretend the paperweights are stones and cast them upon the guilty! I’ve put aside my savings to pay for damages to the walls and windows. It’s money I was saving for my wedding and there’s plenty of it so throw! Hurt them the way they hurt me! Kill them! No one will hold you responsible. Kill them! (Eileen, I’m going to allow a few minutes here because it might take a while for certain people to get into the swing of it. Pop in the cassette marked “Stoning” and wait until both Randy and Annette are lifeless. Wait until everyone has finished with the paperweights and then I want you to hand the microphone over to my mother. Watch the way she trembles and stutters and remember every gesture as if you were me.)
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| linkages |
[29 Sep 2008|11:40pm] |
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music |
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this really awesome Madonna song |
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If you ask me what was truly bothering me, it'd take me a few minutes and a couple of sighs to come up with an honest response. I don't really think about these things very often. I'd have to look as far back as a week, and try to remember what things normally constitute small talk between me and my friends. Last weekend, I remember talking to my friend about moving out and having my own place.
So that's probably what's on my mind right now. :p
Today I looked around and made a mental checklist of which things I might want to keep, throw away or donate to my charities of choice (Katipunan kids and my loyal house cleaner, Ate Maris). I realize now, I have very few prized possessions - clothes, books, bags, electronics, martini glasses and wine goblets. HAHA. The furniture will stay behind. Even my trusty desk, with its collegiate charm, will have to find another home. Looking around also made me realize how many expensive things I've lost over the years.
This is somewhat of an irony, as I have suspected preferred charity # 2 of theft many, many times. I'm usually not one to point fingers, but you sort of have to suspect someone when you lose things which you normally don't take out of the house. She's been cleaning my place for 5 years now.
I've gone on the house cleaner market many times, even going as far as hiring someone from an agency; but I find myself returning to this shady woman who keeps calling me "Beh". She doesn't clean very well, she brings her kids and enslaves them, she rearranges my things in the most impractical ways, and she makes herself coffee from our own pantry.
But I look back and remember her bawling so hard when my sister died. It was one of the most genuine things I'd ever seen. So I kept her. She's kinda like the annoying aunt you have to put up with every so often. She's family that way.
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| interesting |
[29 Sep 2008|01:02am] |
From a book I've been reading.
Apparently, people with Alzheimer's can starve themselves to death (unless feeding tubes are installed). They [can] forget hunger. They still feel it, but no longer know what the feeling means, and what it requires.
It baffles me how something so primal could also be forgotten. Not quite like forgetting where you put your keys, huh?
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| indignation at c5 |
[27 May 2008|10:56pm] |
Manila cab drivers are so spoiled.
It's one thing to refuse passengers, but it's another to, I dunno, make ugly, displeased faces and disgusting complaining sounds when there's awful traffic. Stop nanny-goating! And if you really really want to, keep it to yourself. It's not anyone's fault. I mean, hello, inevitable occupational hazard! If you can't take it, then don't drive cabs for a living. Stay home and plant kamote!
Wala lang. Annoying.
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| oh no emo |
[29 Jan 2008|01:01am] |
I should've known better than to drink coffee. It just doesn't sit well with me. My head feels funny (and I wouldn't call this being lucid/awake). My heart also feels funny. I...just don't feel right.
It's 1:00 AM - pretty dangerous time to be up, not doing anything. No chatterboxes online to drive the distress away, no one around to brave the wee hours of the morning with me. Where are you when I need you?
Life's an incoherent mess when it shouldn't be. One small chink in my monthly routine and everything goes out of whack. My laundry cycle's gone bonkers, my internet connection's been erratic lately, I haven't had the energy to read, and I haven't cooked for myself in ages. Times like these, I feel like the end is near. And I'm ill-equipped for survival.
I feel so left behind. Everyone's sorting themselves out for what's up ahead, and I'm stuck in a screwy life-trajectory doing things that somehow, don't make sense to me.
I feel punished. I look back so hard, trying to see if I did something wrong. Did I do something wrong? Did I somehow end up choosing the wrong side of the forked road?
I hate it when I get like this. I feel like I have no one to turn to when I get sad. I've tried running to my friends countless times, but I almost always end up playing it down come confrontation time. My life has always been about soldiering on, not telling people what's really bothering me because having someone truly understand what's wrong with me seems like the biggest failure of all. I wonder where all this cynicism is from? I had such a wonderful childhood.
I'd cry and let it all out, but I equally hate the sickening self-awareness that creeps into a lone weeper's head. Do you ever get that feeling?
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