I’m killing time. It�s a Sunday, 10:14 in the morning, and supposedly I�m with my brothers fulfilling some Sunday responsibilities, but I somehow got myself here in Dasma, waiting for other people from our Art Appreciation class whose idea of a call time is always 10 hours late. I got nothing better to do, although I was in the middle of reading this uber-sarcastic Singaporean-authored book but I got bored just sitting on some hard cement sidewalk with the others, so I decided to look for a decent enough net station and check my email, and now I decided to update beside a pervert with 20 windows open full of porn sites and using this dysfunctional keyboard that isn�t meant for soft-key typists like me, if there ever is such a term. I was supposed to update last night because I actually got free time, but since I used the �PLDT internet is down and I have to fix my project and I need to go online so I have to look for an open cyber caf� at 8:30 in the evening� excuse last night in order to kill some time screwing some boylet�s time and mood, I couldn�t go online an type yet another batch of senseless, unintelligible words, lest my father finds out and I run out of good enough excuses.
Anyway, I don�t know if it�s just me, or my website has taken life, probably an alien life form or something. Just a few months ago, even though I was typing my project on some net caf� I had this compulsion to check my website, and a surprise was waiting for me there: I was the 1000th user to drop by my site, or so my counter says. Now, I had nothing to do, and although net cafes are not usually open on Sundays, it�s like as if my site had sent these brain waves instructing me to go online and check her up. Now I�m proclaimed the 2000th user to enter. Not 1999, not 2001, but 2000. Talk about lucky.
The other night, it was 1982 or something. In two or so days, I got around 18 people coming in and checking my site. It�s not too impressive if compared to others, but I�m not a professional blogger, so it�s good enough for me. More than even.
So again, I�m going to leave words of thanks. Yes, the somewhat Mark-Herras-thanks-for-making-me-win-Star-Struck-and-confirm-to-the-society-I�m-not-such-a-loser-after-all kind of thank you. Much thanks from the bottom of my heart (which is probably just composed a few neurotic cells and veins). Maraming salamat sa pagtangkilik sa akin at nawa�y bumalik balik pa muli kayo. Susubukan ko po na mapasaya kayong muli sa aking munting paraan Naks.
Some people have been visiting my site lately (obviously), but then these people have some sort of importance to me, because of…uhm, never mind. Anyway, they said I did a parody of John Mayer with my pose on the left screen.
Oh, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t know that pose of John Mayer. All I know is that one day, while I was at JD’s room, I fiddled with his camera, hoping that I could get a pic of me plus my skirt. I couldn’t. All that’s left of the skirt on the pic somewhat resembled a tablecloth, being a schoolgirl skirt and all. And no, the windows behind me aren’t JD’s bedroom windows.
They are, in fact, the windows used in Star Wars Episode 1 (remember the part Queen Amidala was looking at the grounds being invaded at the start of the movie?). Yes, Natalie portman, or Padme Amidala, is covered behind me. Mwahaha.
Sorry. Got inspired by this seminar we had with Niccolo, something about digital photography, so I’m on a photoshop-manipulation mood. 
Sorry for the lame post, but someone made me put down the original post (yeah, talk about pakialameros. he he). It’s 4:05 in the morning, and I got home an hour ago, from Jurette’s house. We had to finish something about the thesis. And her mom’s uber sweet, by the way; she gave us ice creams a while ago, except I have colds, so now I’m suffering. Aw. god.
Finally got the digi pics from my classmate JD…so of course, I’m going to post it up. And no, we’re not camera frenzied people. I’m afraid we never were. Aherm.
Oh, and yeah, I’m back online. No thanks to PLDT and much thanks to Evolve. And Hyannah, I think ISP Bonanza works only in Manila. I don’t see any ISP cards here, although we have three unused cards here which we got for free (some Toy Kingdom freebies)…but we couldn’t get them to work, because in order to use it, we have to hook up long distance.
Meant to be posted last Sunday:
oh, fuck Valentines.
I still hate it. Eighteen years of my life, and nothing will ever change. Valentines still suck, and it will do so for the rest of my goddamn life. It will never change, no, not even if I get a pet of my own, not even if I get married, not even if every other guy I know says I love you. Valentines will forever remain a sign that the whole world was stupid enough to actually follow and believe someone when that deranged someone declared this preposterous suggestion. “Oh, let’s have a hearts day!” and everyone was just too giddy to follow. Assholes.
Okay, go ahead. You can ask me what went wrong.
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Mega isn’t as packed as I thought it would be yesterday; I got the wrong news that there would be a 3day sale over there from Feb 13 to 15. Apparently it wasn’t supposed to be there, it was at North Edsa, I think; correct me if I’m wrong. But I went there anyway to accompany the asswipe at the premier of their short film, Ambon Lang Siya…Ambulansya, some output they had to do after taking a course on Poetic Short Films, I believe. It was nice, really. Reminds me a lot of experimental shorts, but I can?t distinguish the difference between the two. Poetic shorts are a bit experimental; experimental shorts can be poetic. But then again the being poetic of the film is more of a theme, I think, and experimental is more of how a film?s done?or something like that.
But of course, a lot of preposterous lovers all throughout the freaking mall. I even heard this one lady tell her friend, that Valentines day ought to be made a holiday, and blames her work that day thus not being able to go on a sweety-cutesy date with her guy.
Excuse me?
As if it isn’t enough that Valentines Day existed, now it should be made a bloody holiday? Oh goody, glorify the day that always commemorates that idiotical little creature with a bow and heart shaped arrows (the irony of it, though–heart shaped arrows can kill more efficiently, come to think of it), and set those who are allergic to this day into self-combustion. Make Valentines Day a holiday. Isn’t that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?
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I have a generalization on why guys give roses to girls on Valentines day–not daisies, not carnations…but roses. I just realized this.
Come to think of it, Valentines Day is that absolute scapegoat for all the lovers in the world out there to do something preposterous. “Oh, it’s forgivable we kiss in the middle of the mall–people will think it’s sweet because it’s Valentines Day,” or something like this. And of course, for MOST (and I repeat, MOST, not all) lovers out there, what can be a more perfect communion other than sex? Oh, come on, let?s be blunt about it, I am sure no kids under thirteen view my page; even if it’s not Valentines you do it, so why not do it again on this special day?
Point is, like I said on my post (that was meant to be posted last Friday, except the dial-up had gone crazy. The post about this is somewhere at the end of this long post), roses can stimulate sexual feelings, being an aphrodisiac. This is true. Either the scent or the taste of it can arouse (which is funny, because I never get hot every time I sniff one) a person.
Therefore, 1+1=2; x+y=z. You get the point. Why do you suppose red roses are likened to passion and romance?
Makes sense, doesn?t it? 
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Meant to be posted last Friday:
Frey’s Lamentations
SHE’S ABSOLUTELY CLINICALLY INSANE!” Frey wailed at the receiver, moments after his piercing shriek received my call (”You bitches! Wouldn’t get off my back, wouldn’t you?!”) when I was about to ask for his book of Rizal Monday night.
“Clinically?” I asked. What’s the difference?
“Well�whatever. But she’s insane. I really like her, but she’s absolutely insane!”
I was hoping he wasn’t pertaining to Katrina, whom I heard he dumped a week after his rendezvous at her dorm (”I can�t stand them Assump—– anymore. They just whine all the time.”), because as of this moment she’s the only one I know connected to his life who’s absolutely insane aside from me (insane in a demented way, let me clear that up), and I wouldn’t want to hear that they got it on together again.
“Your cat?”
“No, my 4 feet python who attempts to bite off my head at any given opportunity.”
“You have a python?”
“Hell no! I am pertaining to the new apple of my eye, Emily. She’s nuts. ‘Cause, we’re like, supposed to meet up at Glorietta a while ago? But suddenly something from my thesis came up, and I couldn’t abandon it. Then she goes, “Does that mean we’re not going?” because we’re both coming from school and she claims we�re both tired. So I told her I couldn�t make it although god knows I really really wanted to, and then she sends me this text saying something like I shouldn�t have passed, if I only knew what was in store for the two of us that day I�d regret passing up the moment. And then she tells me she went to Southmall afterwards. I mean, can�t she fucking realize I really really wanted to come, but I just can’t? It�s like, this is something I really need to take care of, and I do want to meet her but if I don’t fix the fucking thesis I’d be doomed!” Again, he wails. God, what a real cry baby.
“Oh.” I remarked. I was torn between listening to his wails and watching those weird taga-baryos make a fool of themselves in front of a Spanish guy on TV.
“Oh? Oh?! Is that all you can say? ‘Oh?!’ ”
“Well what do you want to hear?”
“Words of consolation, I suppose. What else?”
“She�s not nuts. She�s not insane. She misses you.”
“What?”
“Well why else would she send that text? Why else would she go to Southmall, spur-of-the-moment? She’s somewhat angry, and she wanted a diversion. So she automatically tells you she’s going to some goddamn place in order to vent her irritation. That’s all, you idiot. That’s all.”
“Yeah, and did she have to be so fucking insensitive with it? It’s like, did I really have to suffer? I’m already suffering with the thesis, thank you very much, but did she have to put, ‘You�re going to regret passing up, blah blah.’ at that text? Did she really have to? Huh?”
“How the fucking hell should I know; I’m not her!”
“Right. But you�re of the same species, so I’m thinking maybe you know something I don’t.”
“Oh, and that makes you know what Brandon Boyd or Orlando Bloom�s thinking of at this moment because you�re ‘of the same species?’ ” my eyes were rolling up, I could feel it.
“Orlando Bloom�s a fag, so technically not.”
“Will you just fucking give me your fucking book, please? You fucking promised to lend that.”
“What fucking book? Do I have a ‘fucking’ book? Is the book about fucking or do I have a book that fucks?”
“Rizal, idiot.”
“Oh.” He stopped, quiet for a moment. He then became thoughtful. “Oh.”
“Oh? ‘Oh?!’ Is that it?!”
“Ooh�someone�s bitchy today. What�s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s brewing. Tell me, tell me!” He squealed.
“Nothing, I said!”
“Aaaah…” He teased in a sing-song voice. “You�ve been stood up, weren�t you? You�re not usually like this unless someone�s late, or someone�s making you wait for too long, or someone stood you up. Admit! Admit!”
“Fine! I wasn�t stood up, but he had to do something! Fucking hell, lay off me!”
–quiet�
“Frey, just fucking quit it. I need the book.”
“Ahahahahah! You were going to meet up with him too! And he had to do something too! Ahahahaha!”
“Bitch, unless you have forgotten, you were stood up first!”
“Oh. Right.”
“Well, where is it?” I exasperatedly asked.
“I don�t have it. Ask me again some other time.”
Asshole.
This was what happened between the two of us, more or less. Yeah, more or less. *laughs*
�wait�wait�
Must I always wait for an eternity for some person whose level in my life for some reason has been integrated to inform me of its possible whereabouts or even a hint at a status, with the inclination to do it as more of an initiative?
I mean, he hasn�t texted for hours now. I hate it.
It is mind boggling, as well as it really is myopia-inducing. You never find yourself wishing that everyone in your phonebook would inform you of their location, or how are they, or if they�re about to sleep, or whatever. For some reason too, as much as you find it charming, you also find it peculiar if those people in your phonebook DO inform you these things. They are the normal, day-to-day people; people who probably even know you more than your own mother, worse, more than that chismosa from the next door.
But people find it irritating�and I believe I am not alone with this�when their girl/boyfriends, or mark it, even someone whose status in their lives have been integrated to some level maybe (my words, thank you very much), that these people do not do even so much as press a few keypads and wait for the bleeping mobile phone to tell them the bleeping (so much for the swearwords) message was sent�or for easier, cheaper way (so one wouldn�t have to spend one peso for the text), a missed call�in order to just spare them the waiting. Even I do not get this. One minute, you kid around with this person, the next moment, this person�s someone you admit that is special, the next moment, you�re demanding they should at least text you after a few hours. Like it�s a duty on the contract or something. And even though you know they�re not exactly out hanging themselves on some tree or something.
Worse, he�s the guy. Sure, give me all those crap about being the liberal girl that I (hopefully) am, but somehow, something inside me holds me, although the thought that that someone might think it�s actually sweet that someone misses him, the thought that something drastic can happen hinders everything. Don�t ask, I�m being my pessimist self.
Ugh, honestly. If humans were made to suffer, this is probably the what they call midterms. And everybody seemed to have advanced this subject, and the dean caught me dropping the course at every opportunity after the prelims. Now I�m stuck with a grade of 0.0. Darn it, darn it!!
MAD Days special
I honestly forgot the significance of February 14 up until recently. No, not because it�s hearts day (where people are miraculously idiotically sweet), or because it�s Kris Aquino�s celebration of the day she was spawned (which should be damned, really), but rather, the days before or after February 14 always equate to Media Awareness Days or the what we call MAD Days (which is supposed to be just MADays come to think of it, but we just refer to it as MAD Days, although redundant), a usual three or four days celebration where in we get a few days of irregularity in our schedule. They did not assign much to the third years, but we did get loads of seminars we were made to attend.
I missed last year�s MAD Days, though. All second years are supposed to be taking up the Advertising course, and as a hands-on experiment, they are to sell their products for three days at the Kubos (huts) in front of our main building, through the help of proper advertising like commercials, posters, catch phrases and other stuff. There were awards such as the most innovative goods, or the best in designing up their booth, or best presentation, or Ad of the year. Last year our blockmates bagged the Ad of the year award, what with their concept of a pinoy-sushi plus marketing it with proper Japanese kimonos (which we believe it made them win the said award), and we had nothing against them, since my group were ripping off CDs. Yeah, we were piracy advocates for that year, burning CDs for 50 pesos a piece, and they can have the choice of a plain CD, or for an additional 50 pesos, the can have their faces plastered on its cover. Yeah, techie geeks we were trying to be, and that doesn�t require much of a costume, unless we also sport kimonos with CDs on them, but that�s stupid, of course. but we won the Commercial of the year award, and guess who�s the talent. Woohooh. Expected, really.
Marc�s group sold rose salads, which were actually just lame fruit salads spiced up by the rose petals on top. And yes, they were actually edible. You can try it even; just buy some salad done by Del Monte�s and buy one of those 15pesos roses (not now though, since roses� prices would most probably inflate overnight), wash them (of course), and put it on top of the salad. Eat it, of course. I read it�s actually a sex stimulant, and I�m not joking. It�s some sort of an aphrodisiac. Exactly the reason why Like Water for Chocolate was a hit. It�s true, it�s true.
Anyway, this year�s batch of 2nd year Advertising booths were kinda lame, we concluded. I don�t know, but they aren�t exactly as original as we think they are, what with clones of picka-picks and whatevers all over the place. Since last Wednesday though we have been supporting this booth that our irregular classmates Charisse and Arianne put up, something that marketed pizza sandwiches (enticingly priced at 8 pesos, and if you buy two you can purchase them for 15 pesos; add 5 more and you get a coke), but since it�s their booth, we�re just hanging around it. Had it been someone else�s, I don�t think we�d buy from that really.
But oh well, good thing sales doesn�t count. You can tell everybody you reaped a lot even though you lost a lot and it won�t count. Thank god too, because last year we didn�t earn much from the CDs business�we made the mistake of using original ink for printing covers which were tad too colorful, and it just drained the budget. Hehe.
Pics from last year’s MAD Days:
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