The Paostian Deal

When your life is flooded with too much boredom that watching your officemate pick-n-flick right beside the reception area in broad daylight becomes a tiresome habit, you know there's something off in your life. Things could go worse if you're suddenly reduced to your merienda leftovers and switching on your officemates' computers in the morning. It's as if The Reaper is tugging on your right sleeve and Michael Jackson on the other...

Just when you thought it's over for you, the cosmos sends a message of hope. Except maybe when you're past 21 and none in your family exceeds 5-feet-6 despite playing in all basketball leagues in the Metro and Region 5 for 60 years. Still I appreciate the effort to make me feel better, despite half an insult, and even if it means I'll have to watch it happen to my juniors...

On the neon-brighter side, nature also looks after the... "special ones," if you'd like to call it. Forget about the debates. To hell with the rallies and parades. Some people could care about the unending petitions for rights and such... and while all these are happening, in some quiet place a seed begins to grow roots at last.

Rihanna. Pink guitar. The oomph projections. The voice... And, "Come into me"? Man. Elton John, sir, meet your successor.

Thanks to Bachlightyear for the very promising clip.

Spare (bowling): All pins down with two balls; To knock down with the second throw the pins left standing after the first throw; Knocking down all remaining pins in the second ball or delivery.


They always say there are two sides to a story. If I don't know any better, in your greatest story--your life--those two sides are called "good" and "bad." If you're Ricky Reyes, it's "taray" and "lost." If you're a dumb jock, "cool" and... "not cool." To stupid colegialas, that's "OMG!" and "Oh. My. God.," depending on what coffee shop or mall restroom you catch them say it. For the sake of sanity, let's just stick to the first one.

Good and bad. I've had my fair share of both. More often than not, it's other people who categorize it for me: Either they dump me for being "bad," or suck up to me for being "good." But when I'm lucky, I get to use a weighing scale and assess my life ratings myself... Never a fun job.

"Good" and "bad." You know you've had your shares yourselves, with one almost always overpowering the other. But that's okay. Getting over taxes is already exhausting; striving for the proverbial balance between yin and yang could be fatal. On the other hand, it was never wrong to try and make amends for mistakes no matter how far they date back in your history.

Some of us had lived every moment for personal glory, and in pursuit of more we began neglecting all the other opportunities to do... "good." I remember times when I wasted my capabilities and missed scoring those pluses. I screwed up big time, sometimes hurting others and even losing people... and I could only look back in regret. The only valid excuse I'll ever have, I guess, is that I was too young to be a hero, a Samaritan or both.

Everybody misses out on chances to be "good"-- at times unconsciously, at times deliberately. Like... bowling. Even if you rolled the ball once with inhuman strength and killer precision, there's always the chance that at least one pin will remain standing to laugh back at you. You get disappointed, pissed or frustrated, but hey, at least you get one more chance to spare and squiggle a few points to your box. And that's just a game.

I sin. We sin. We... miss. The best news is, while we only get two balls in bowling, we have more chances in life to try and spare. It may not entirely cancel the minuses of your past, but at least you can truly feel... happy... about something for once and, together with your conscience, be able look at your detractors straight in the eye--smiling or grinning, your choice. You can do it for yourself and for others. And really, the immediate rewards are the best ones....

Like the smiles of children currently fighting unfair battles...


The sudden but very welcome excitement in a room that's otherwise fearful and gloomy...


Sighs of relief from those who thought they'd been abandoned...


Feeling again the warmth from the people you missed and those you care about, after time played its part, plus very surprising calls from those whom you never expected would... Not to mention, the welcoming touch of new hands-to-hold on the sides...


And finally realizing that you are capable of something worthwhile... for you and for others. (Thanks to Celeste Ubana and the Friday Club for the photos.)

Funny how some people cling to the elusive hope that there'll be friends who'd say yes to you before laughing at your stupid request for company, only to be laughed at after getting stereotyped and judged. Because you're different. And those who are different scare the fuck out of moronic, shaved brains of pretentious creatures , sending them running for their "sparkly clean" selves...

And it's funny how a handful of people play jack of all trades and befriend every moving or tangible matter that comes their way--sometimes even Meralco posts that peacefully stand on sidewalks... Then people tend to love these insta-bestfriends. I admit, there are times I admire--envy?--the popularity. But at the end of the day, on some level I'm glad I'm not them: For when everyone is done with you and your jokes, who the hell are you?

Funny how more people procrastinate with their feelings... and usually end up in regret. Yet still, when is the best time to say, "I miss you"? Or when is "I'm sorry" miles away from "I'll get you, bastard, you just wait"? How do we translate "Yeah, I'm okay," to "I need help.", without appearing too weak and beaten? How do we say "Stop." without defining what we mean or imprisoning ourselves with tiresome compromises? Why can't we ever say, "You suck, Cupid! You're more blind than a nearsighted mamba! When's ever my turn??" with conviction instead of hopelessness? Or, "Burn, Sarah Geronimo, buuuuuuurnnn!!!!!!"

Funny how some people lose track of their dreams, and just settle for what's here and now, which, on the other hand, isn't exactly en route their world domination. Pacing can be good for one's patience, temperance and stress level. But when 28-year olds on skyrocketing careers begin sleeping themselves to death, and you're 24, it kinda raises you to a yellowish red alert. Suddenly, what's here and now looks tiring rather than promising.

Funny--and annoying--how lots of people give away second chances like it's heavy rain... only to be betrayed routinely by the leech beneficiaries who lavish in such idiocy and live like millionaires. Funny--and sickening--how more than half of the Not Thinking, Just Feeling Population believe in "forgive and forget"when in the end there's almost always room for just one.

Funny how some people desperately cling to the fact that they're over failure, when in reality they just suppressed the bitterness and, soon, come the shocking news that it's too late to cancel the lifetime lease in Angstville...

Funny how some of us keep ranting on, laughing at and theorizing on the state nation of these people over and over and over... But, the funniest? How we can still be some people.

Me.

I don't know what's wrong with my skin. At first I thought it was a bad combination of two body lotions and an I-hope-it's-not-expired-yet shower gel that apparently has dormed on my vanity altar for over two years now, but it's too Paris Hilton. It couldn't have been food, either: Unless daily servings of fried manufactured dimsum and Solera-ed Fundador was another bad idea.

The weird thing is, there aren't any marks on whatever is infesting me. From the nape, it's already reached my ankles, but not a single island on my epidermis.

Most definitely, it's NOT skin shedding, as my Reptalia ancestry would suggest. Mine's due in May. And it is my fervent belief that it's not a killer yeast infection. I know. That's overkill. Or a Jock Itch Gone Wild, Wild, Wild. That's... eww. I've already taken my routine bath for the quarter, too...

Last night I caught a dermatologist right before her bedtime. We recalled every detail down to the price ranges of my laundry detergents, but nothing conclusive. She squiggled on her record, and charged me 400 bucks for hypoallergenic stuff for the bod. Then, in subtle defeat, we spent the rest of the night talking about diode laser hair removal. I will have my first session in March. Nice doctor lady.

So this is what some of us have come down to. Itchiness. Questions. Wild guesses. Must be the moment's theme, as some friends and people associating with The Xio also have theirs:

I can't wait to see her again! But, when will I be out of debt with all these dinners, lunches and monthsaries? Maybe after our second anniversary...
I can't get enough of them! But will I ever be able to choose just one? Unless one of them finally chooses ME...
My boss is so freakingly weird. And I've done nothing but be beautiful and perfect for him! Do you think he'll ever smile at me, hopefully before he dies?
I've been requesting her that since forever! How about we write the letter in Nihonggo instead? Or German...
I need hair waxing! But will my ass be able to take it? Maybe I'll try it on my face first.

Life. Annoyingly fun. At the same time, freakishly engaging. At least I have my hypoallergenic shit with me to cool it down.

Thank Hades it's Friday!

There's a small competition among three of my friend's friends. I've only met one of them--Randy, although the medical photographer in him wants to be called Rxandy. His very nice entry is below. Visit this page for the other two entries. If you have Multiply accounts, feel free to vote. I think the winner gets the lifetime right to flash, "I Can Shoot Tyra Banks In Any Angle And She WILL Look One Bath Better" and not once feel guilty of anything but mad, mad potential.

Marc Nelson, time to up your game.

And would you just look at how Paula Abdul so desperately try to hide her panties getting soaked? And the best she could do was, "I like you too"? Humans need to learn to be more honest.

I know, Michael, I know. WE can make it happen.

The other night, I heard a friendliest friend of mine, um, laughing while commenting on ABS-CBN's latest attempt to dominate local TV ratings: LOBO. (I can't find the actual font-rose-Canidae logo, but I'm also not sure why it has to be in big letters. Maybe to growl promotion?)

It's the network's next soap offering which asks, "Can love exceed the rules of destiny?" in howls, boasting an L-Word-worthy lead pair.

Anyhoo, my ever-opinionated pal was having experiencing the hilarity of his life. "... As in 'wolf'? In (a) tropical country (like the Philippines)? WHAT A LAUGH! HAHAHA!"

Hate to burst his bubble, but we just might be wrong. True, it's hard to believe that wolves--said to be remotely related to common dogs, tricycle drivers and MMDA officials--can possibly survive in the country. One, Wiki says, here in Manila their double coats would kill them if they try to walk 13 feet away from airconditioning. Two, the closest thing we have to snow comes in blocks and almost only rarely--or after two bottles of Fundador. Three, well, there aren't really vacancies in the Philippine mountains and forests to date: They're fully-booked with Maria Makiling's immediate (ghosts, fairies), extended (tiyanak, mermaids, aswang) and modernized family (Lastikman, Kamandag, Marimar).

But, apparently according to local media, that does NOT kill the possible reality of wolves surviving in the "tropical country."

And now I know why.

It's because...

there...

are...

BEARS!

POLAR BEARS in the city!

Told 'ya Pinoys aren't that crazy. =)

(Thanks to Jacky for the photos. And the Ayala Malls management.)

(This is 2 of 2. Part one's here.)

Bro, shut up. You're too morbid, shot JM while listening to ballad songs. And he does have a good point: Why add to the immense violence ruining, um, every place on earth? As if reporting to your folks every payday wasn't enough. So the passenger, a late bloomer peacemaker of a flower child, decided she would use Manila's public transport as her stepping stone in changing the world...
But I wasn't really up for it. My mind's somewhere else... specifically:

I. Am. Craving. The last time I had pizza was a month ago--a lifetime. Three. And, apparently, some Chinese person out there is sharing my dilemma. It's been a long time since our last slices; the next one we see, we'll savor it like a... rat. Kung Hei Fat Choi!

Anyway, I also wondered how the perpetrator looks like. Or what its gender is, at least. Doesn't matter, the trio said. "What, you wanna find cures for cancer and tardiness now, too? Don't be too hard on yourself," RJ being smart. But of course, sweet as he is, he tried to cheer me up and...

How satisfying. Although I wasn't entirely convinced... You'll find out why in a few. But, since we're still celebrating our creative juices and, of course, the love for everything that's otherwise shitty, we decided to pay tribute to zoology. Yes, friends. Animals.

And what better way to pay respects to one of the most interesting subjects in the world than to couple it with biology? That's right: the much loved ecosystem. Maybe, the 40something-year old passenger has so much love for animals and life and survival on Earth. Maybe he simply wanted to remind us that "Love conquers all" isn't the only way: there's predation, parasitism and, well, Godzilla. Thanks, RJ.

...

RJ?
He was busy. My bad.

So we hope we helped his/her/its cause in some way. Better, we ask Hades, Cerberus, Medussa and the rest of the gang to watch over him/her/it, wherever he/she/it may be. Get a new marker, pal.

< - - - >

Hours later, when our foursome disbanded--perhaps, for good, but who knows?--there was still one secret waiting to be revealed. And I was the only one who knew... Should I, or shouldn't I? If I do, it would rattle everybody's world and maybe push them to question their beliefs. If I don't, well, then where's the fun in that?

One... two... three.

Have a fun, fun week!

Really. Rarely, I do. Remember the, uh, interesting piece of cr--, um, writing, the other day? Well, after some respectful thinking, insanely sincere consideration and fleeting time in the office, I've come to realize that there's much more than what we only choose to see.

Art.

Genius.

Expression.

Whoever failed to finish that vandal might had been thinking of something bigger, of creating something that would count as an invaluable contribution to public transportation and the rest of mankind.

Art.

And so, with my equally expressive buddies Marie, RJ and JM--fabulous heads, theirs--we took the noble road less traveled and tried to finish the job of that poor passenger who just didn't have enough time to accomplish his mission.

Whoever you are, sir, ma'am, this is for you.

Maybe he's bothered, RJ suggests. Maybe his self-absorbed boss hates his guts. Maybe he was getting tired of the unending fare hikes in the Philippines. Or, maybe she found out she was born a he, and her/his parents so much wanted a daughter for a first child... It's a sad world, out there.

Nah, he simply misses his hobby, JM cuts. With the looming national cigar ban in Manila, perhaps it's just right to think of nothing but nicotine until doomsday. And when you're in the center aisle in a bus soaring in the highway like the driver's large intestine couldn't hold it one microsecond longer, and you can't smoke, of course the don needs SOME form of release. In this case, a dying marker.

"Guys, it's a kid. A tomboy kid," says Marie. A 10-year old, tomboy, future-mathematician whizkid. Hell bored in the middle of a ridiculously heavy traffic before 9AM. But she could't snooze the wait away because she's too excited as well. Why? Because her favorite aunt is buying her the new Just Kickass It, I Love Pain rubber shoes today...

Ah, sweet! Exactly what she needs right now more than Seventeen, Meg and K-Zone, which her cheap mom keeps getting her. Hello! Duh, mom, duh. What junior needs is the coolest gear, the perfect shoes for the perfect game...

Rock on, dude... err... girl! Rock on! Marie and I were simply ecstatic... Then "Aren't You Supposed To Be Inhaling" RJ rudely interrupted us:

"Dudes, I'm tellin' 'ya, the guy wants to die. And he wants to take us all down with him. Look, he even invited Godzilla! He's crazy!"

That makes two of you, dude. More later.

Due to post-traumatic Dumped Again But I Won't Admit It Ever syndrome, my pal took me to surplus jacket, vaginal inhaler and sunglasses shopping. The first two breezed past us--it's the third one that struck my last nerve.

.99. There's an extra, dumbass--it seemed to yell at my face. .99. You blind? We were so ashamed of ourselves for missing it after more than 10 minutes of trying every eyewear on display. .99. Effing. Point. 99.

I feel so sorry for the one-peso coin. It's like it's too much to be used in trade. At the same time it seems unwanted because, apparently, 99 cents will do just fine. And when you do add it to your payment, it kinda takes the blame when you don't get your .01-cent change. (Since why would anyone BOTHER to scrape for a stupid 0.01 amount, anyway?) The piso gets stuck in between... and all it can do is just to hope broken-hearted spenders go blind and forget about the .99 altogether... until the saleslady with the overdone cheeks remind the supposedly smart consumer...

There's a blasted extra after the first dot. In a 3-point font size. What, they take extreme pleasure in playing with people's eyesights? Or is this a lame excuse to rebel against the biblical, "the customer is always right"? I'm confused... and so damn cute.

Okay. I have no idea what this vandalism is supposed to be. I stared at it for about 10 minutes along SLEX but nada: Either it was a boring morning or I was too boring to try and unravel the mystery of... squiggled-in-dying-marker-ink graffiti.

This is yet another reason why some creatures climb slow the evolution ladder. Nobody actually knows how things need to be done, let alone what to do in the first effing place. Now we have a bus seat stained with stupidity running around the highway and everyone who will see it will be annoyed because some lunatic forgot to ruin property the civilized way. Maybe it was a closeted Neanderthal? Then it should have walked from Monumento to Muntinlupa instead, saved bucks for some art class and a brand new marker. Idiot.

Ms Pinky: j0in d fun.. hehe..

I would have! But my granny beat me to it. By the time I reached the ground floor of the palace, she was already In Front Of The Action. That Spanish Bicolana is fabuloso eternamente. Lewrv her. She's already taken the up-close-but-very-royal spot in the fiasco... and so after I dragged her curly silver strands back inside, I retreated back to the tower.


Frustrated Suman: Ikain mo lang yan.. Wag mo pakialaman trip nila.

For the bestest World's Bestest Bestfriend, that was way... off. Shouldn't I--by her standards--make myself useful and play Bernardo Carpio when my fellows decide to smash their bones through each other's skins? No matter how tiny, frail and cute I am? And people say I'm insensitive... *eyes watering* Well, in some stupid cases, I AM! *dances like a crazed bulimic*


Porn Diva: call smbdy? lyk kgwd n stuff

This wouldn't really have worked. For one thing, it was past 9PM: The ever reliable "tanods" were already busy... drinking. At night, it's muchos and hoes for most of these guys and we all know that. Office hours do end at 5PM. Live and let live (and die), right?


Mad Don: Call 171 pao.

I think it's our local version of 911. Ah, the very-soon-married Don. Another fave. And obviously already got the fatherly vibe down. I would have thought of popcorn at the sight of firemen in action. Him, he thinks of 911. Or 143... err.. 171. My hand did reach for the phone. But when I couldn't decide among 8-6236, 8-7000 and 9111111--the only digits my heart loves--I just helped myself to some bread and powdered orange juice.


El Magnifico Señor Guapo: Magluto ka ng carne norte

Another father-figure. In some magnetic-to-skirts-and-ponytails kinda way. Having pals like him does have its perks: You get simple and direct answers right when you need them. The world needs more of him, I say, especially now that more and more people get lost in life, plunge into despair and end up either at knife-point or in a fatally expensive spa.


Paris: No ch0ice kylngn m0ng mgstay s haus. Halughugn m0 ung ref ny0. Bkt cla ngaaway?

Now here's a genuine kind soul: Looks after you, considerate of others and remembers your refrigerator in an equally violent way. Plus points for being decisive too. Nice, nice!


CMAAF: Um, temporary water diet? Ü

So... science. But I couldn't have done it--all drinks in the house were cold and, as science dictates, hungry creatures should not drink cold beverages. Kinda angers your small intestine... And so I indulged myself in some TENSED AIR diet with pollution on top before I munched on the bread.


HRH: hahaha!

Exactly.


Prinsesa ng Tondo: padeliver ka ng mcdo tas cla pagbayarin mo! inistorbo ka nla e Ü

This is what I like about some Richie Riches: They're into extortion and they are proud. Luv it!
It's almost always easy with them, yes? See, even the suggestion was proof: Have someone deliver your food and have somebody else pay for it. One sure way to make it to Forbes's gift lists...


Green Mind: Wala ka naman balak kainin sila para solb sbay sbay prob mo?hehe

Okay. First, eww. I'm a carnivore, yes, but... eww. EWW. Second, I have other means to end everything that needs to go kaput and it usually involves a black hole, the Bermuda Triangle and/or a chastity belt. But I give him the benefit of the doubt. Hey, it's nature: He's a he and He's are naturally easy-going and... gross, even if they mean well. Part of me should know. Hand me the barf bag, quick!!

So, last night, neighbors were fighting HEAVY: knives, fists, metal thingies and other stuff that bang, clash and crash and all. With yells of ill-meanings on the side. Kinda a moshpit rally for same-sex marriage in the wilderness, only less fabulous.

P*******a mo! Hayop ka!
Ikaw ang p*****666! Ano bang kasalanan ko sa'yo?!
Bitawan mo 'ko, leche ka'ng hayop ka! Ano ba nasasaktan ako!
P********moanobangkasalanankosayo! Wala ka'ng karapatang ipahiya ako sa ibang tao!
Wala ako'ng alam sa sinasabi mo anobpu**nginatumigilkana!!
Kaya ko'ng pumatay ngayon alammobayon t***inakapapatayinkita!!
[Sicko's name here] tama na ano ba!! Bitawan mo 'yang kutsilyo! T*****a tama naaaaaaa!!!

What a record maker! I think everyone was up for the kill. Or kills. One brother barged into the house of another neighbor and dragged his ex-Japayuki brother to the moonlight. Apparently, he/she did something that made him look like a yellow-painted donkey in hot-pink tutus in front of his/her/their friends and the rest of the world. Something to that effect. He was that embarrassed, hence his guts to kill every matter along his path, starting with big bro/sis. I did hear something like hitting a gate while being dragged on dirt, and it could NOT be their celibate dog...

So they began yelling at each other. He/she was sobbing too, so hard I could feel asthma building inside him/her, the bull and the spectators. And my left toe. When I heard our own garage gate shaking and something about a knife and blood on the alley in the morning, I knew they were almost serious. So was I: My tummy was craving for some action too. It had been at least 8 hours since my last meal.

More importantly, at the exact same time, I was watching my fave soap. And the fantabulous episode was all about--hallelujah--fights for survival among characters! With guns and surgeons and car hold-ups to boot! In-between enraged neighbors, Bembol Roco's gun firing at the fabulous Chin-Chin Gutierrez, and starvation, I began thinking I had missed a convention on violence or something...

With the TV volume level on 1, I grabbed my fone and group txted special persons. Special, since they know how to appreciate me and my crusade against... stuff. I told them of the rumble and the grumble, and asked, "Any advice?" Then came the much appreciated, heartfelt replies. And what I thought about them, of course. :-D

Yeah -- I am! After nearly a month of self-imposed standby mode, I have returned. And what do you know, it's a new year already... fuck ya, 2007.

Anyway, I feel something good about 2008 -- and that's saying the least, I think. Despite menopausal "psychics" wreaking negative "predictions" for '08 on live TV, I feel rather... good. Waitaminute, maybe that explains the optimism: bad karma for everyone! ;D

Man, it's good to be back. Oh please don't frown. You know as well as I that we've all been bad in the last 365 days, so it's only right that we reap the fabulous rewards in the next 366. Blame the Chinese for that extra day.

Sigh. Time ran fast and slow at the same for '07. You jump at midnight, sleep around, play pingpong with your boss, sleep around some more and when you wake up, it's January 1 again.

Last night's celebration was fun for me, something I haven't had in the past NY Eves. And it was one where I held, sparked and had F.U.N. with miniature explosives. I didn't even really care if I don't know what most of them were called. As long as it lights up, swirls, flies and destroys hearing, it's good for me. Too bad our videoke fanatic neighbors weren't around... those noisy, loud belts would have looked so good on them... Ain't I nice?

And I plan to be nicer this year. Like, hand 'em neigh-bores a pair of 5 Stars for earrings too and stuff. Time's effing short. It's only January 1, you might say, but that is the point: it's Day 1. You need to update your bounty hitlist and/or set the mood for Days 2 to 366. Yadda, yadda.

I missed this feeling. It's common knowledge that I'm not one to greet humans with a smile first thing in the morning. I'm the dark aura at times, some say, but this negative energy likes to watch yellow, pink and neon blue butterflies flutter, too, occasionally. Well, as long as it isn't wearing too much make-up and bawls "Oh my god" 50 times a minute, that is.

A fabulous 2008, peeps. ;D