Saturday, July 31, 2004
the happy sad song
A few posts back, I wrote about this sad song that I have grown obsessed with. Since then, I tuned every day to online streaming audio as I worked. Intent, dazed, and almost rabid with anticipation. It induced a level of paranoia that it pained me to leave my cubicle for meetings, for the fear of missing the opportunity for this suicidally sad song to make me happy.
I don't know, sad and dark stuff just give me a nice tingly feeling inside. Like how self-induced crying makes you feel better (or maybe that's just me). Anyway, yammering aside, back to my happy sad song.
If I heard it, it would leave me with a gleaming smile on my face. And I'd look like a lunatic smiling to myself for the rest of the day. Kilig, like ice cubes running down your spine. And it was happiness ten times over when I saw the song being performed live this afternoon. Galing. Astig. My boyfriend said I was starstruck. Haha. Probably. Beautiful voice. I couldn't help it.
Now I have their EP. Obsessively being played over and over again. Ilang beses na umikot yung CD. Hilong-hilo na siguro sya.
Salamat Lala :)
Friday, July 30, 2004
my new keyboard
I complained to the IT department that my keyboard impairs my work. The shift key locks itself. So there are times, unbeknownst to me, that half of the sentence is in all-caps after I shift to capitalize the first letter. It gets quite annoying.
They promptly replaced it with a spanking new keyboard. The keys aren't as protruded as the old one. Hindi masyado naka-umbok, kung baga. They're flat... and soft. Makunat. They don't make that nice crackling sound. They don't make that crunchy clacking sound that I love to hear when I'm furiously typing away. That sound gives me a high. It enhances the typing experience. It assures me (and tells the people around me) that I am typing... working... on something.
I need to exert extra effort with this new keyboard. The keys are practically embedded into the base. I need to press harder. Because sometimes I miss letters... I can type without looking and when I do look, I find that some words are missing letters or that words are sticking together because I apparently didn't press the space bar hard enough. Leche. Now I miss my old keyboard. But then again, there's that annoying shift key.
Can nothing be perfect?
Saturday, July 24, 2004
love the job you're in
I think I’m feeling lucky. I don’t really mind now that I can’t ever tell the definite time on which I can stop working and go home. Nevermind the 12-hour telenovela-ish workday. Why? Well, this is where the pigs come in.
I’d first like to establish a disclaimer though: that I am in no way intentionally offending anyone in the pig industry. I am just so amazed by what has been told to me and I am compelled thus to write in the sincere, graphic and amazed fashion as was the state of my mind when I received the said information. Again, no offense. I love bacon.
Chips paid a visit to one of the bank’s clients last Friday. It was a piggery. In the course of the visit he learned that pig reproduction there is all done artificially. The stud and the sow don’t even see each other. Here’s the kicker. There is a person specially designated to jack off the stud. As in give the freakin’ pig a happy. Shit… diba? Are you feeling lucky now or what? I really don’t mind that I’m trapped in a cube, at least not a sty. You feel like shit, but at least you’re not wallowing in shit (while jacking off a pig).
And as there is a guy for the guy pig, there is a person (a guy too, I think) for the girl pig. They inseminate the sow using this really thin rod thing that towards the end, takes the shape of a screw (like a tiny spiral). So in essence, you really are screwing the pig. Sometimes, Chips was told, they have a second guy go on top of the pig (sumampa, kung baga). We speculate that it’s to preserve the authenticity of the experience.
So, another burning but hypothetical question: if these two were the only possible ways in the world to earn a living (and it's an extremely high living), which would you take on – the guy pig or the girl pig?
At this hypothetical point, I’d rather be a victim of suicide. Deadma na. I love my job. Don't you?
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
breaklights and pessimistic musings
Question: if we are behind a car without breaklights, annoyed to death because of the impending danger of getting into an accident, how do we tell the bozo that he doesn't have breaklights? And what if the car is extraordinarily slow, occasionally driving over the yellow line that is supposed to keep you on your side of the road? You cannot honk, he'll think you're an ass. You can't flash your lights, he'll think you're tripping over insanity (or probably epileptic). You can't drive up beside him and make huge hand guestures, you'll get into a car crash with the incoming traffic (aside from looking stupid to the person in the breaklight-less car).
I was behind such a car this morning. It was rainy, gloomy and I was running late - besides not being able to see clearly, he is naked of any warning device. I almost rammed the butt of the damn thing. It was additionally irking that he drove in the middle of the road and I could therefore not pass him. So I just let other cars turning into the street get between that car and mine. Sigh, relief. I sighed too soon. I encounter 3 other cars, making it a total of 4, who were slow, lane-less and without breaklights.
The thing is, they will almost not know that their cars are one-less (or two) of the most essential safety precautions on their automobile. The posterior is not something you always notice. Unless the car can back up and look into a mirror. My mind wandered about and thought of the following possible ways people could find out about their lack of consideration to the rest of the driving populace (feel free to add):
1. Parking in reverse. They should wonder if they don't see two firey red reflections against the wall they are backing into. If they also don't see two bright white reflections, they should also figure out that their reverse lights aren't working - in which case, their car should be taken off of the streets.
2. An accident. The obvious but more hurtful way. The car following it crashes into its breaklight-less be-hind. He will now be demoted from non-working breaklights to no breaklights at all. Especially if the car behind him has a strikingly chrome dead-ass bullbar (like mine... hehe).
3. A good samaritan. Insanely erratic huge hand guestures from an irked driver aside, some stranger kind enough to stalk him from the road until he reaches his destination and approach him with the advice to fix his breaklights could make him aware of the problem.
4. A convoy. A friend or whoever is convoying with him. The friend should be compelled to tell him about it, unless he is not a good friend or both parties already engaged in number 3 in the process of convoying (in which case, baka hindi na sila friends).
5. Astral Travel. End of.
If all else fails... ewan ko na.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
and the sky marches on
A work-related rant in the guise of a poem (or the other way around). Because here anonymity suffers and paranoia surfaces...
What a beautiful dream it was.
But no one can recall.
No one looked into the high skies,
for fear that nightmares fall.
And the air knew not what it was doing,
the raindrops held their breaths-
they didn't want to ruin the dream,
but the dream no one dreamt.
The past just hurried on,
because the future was about to wake.
The clouds were moving to the other side,
leaving everything at stake.
And the day would not remember
what the night had in store.
The slate was clean, there was no dream
and the sky just marches on.
The hardest part about leaving is the uncertainty that you're missed.
Friday, July 16, 2004
over re-heated food
Tired today. Chips came from the gym and before that, a long day at work (something apparently stressful happened at the bank today, and I couldn't understand it - bank things are complicated). I, with an evil case of the sniffles, came fresh from a hard day at work, preparing for a major event and finishing up a major production. We were going to have a hopefully stress-free 10pm dinner.
I think he's finally gotten to accepting the fact that in Advertising, we don't control the our time. I envy that he gets off at 5:30 sharp. At that time, Creatives are lost without any word, leaving you to make excuses to Clients following up via email, mobile phone and Yahoo Messenger. Our industries are worlds apart. We've been together for 3 years and a half. I think he's taking that in. And I'm so thankful for the patience (and the existence of the gym). Alright, digressing. Back to the dinner.
Okay. So three years and a half right? We've been together all this time, and thoughts of ending up together (as in permanently) just shoot up my head every now and then... I don't know, maybe it's a girl thing. On this occasion, since we were engaged in such a domestic activity - re-heating food for dinner - I just blurted out a question: Hunny, do you think of what it would be like to live with me? (getting mushy, I know)
He took it from a work-schedule standpoint (and maybe because we were eating dinner): We'd probably not be eating dinner at the same time that often. Hmmm. Okay, I was hoping for something more skewed towards the idea of living... like with stuff and a house... and stuff.
He went on to say that he'll probably be the one cleaning our place up (he cleaned up my desk one time, and he was happy after). He said that I'll probably help a little, but then go sit around, go online, or watch TV. Then he'd ask me to help some more, and I'd allegedly help a little... and after a while go back to sitting around watching TV. Net, he'd end up doing most of the work.
I stare, flabberghasted. I must admit that I'm no home-body. But hmmm... this makes me think. I wail inside as I realize the shortcomings of myself. I can't cook - I make one helluva cup of coffee, but well, he doesn't drink coffee. Laundry? Good think there are laundromats (or Ariel, isang babad ka lang! <-- shameless plug). Man, this is bad. Officially un-domesticated.
He follows-up his prediction with something with a semblance of redemption: Yah, but that's just at the start hunny. I smile (too early). He takes it back with a sly one: because later on you'd get a maid and you'd really do nothing! He laughs. Kainis.
Dinner's done. He stands up to clean up the dishes. I begin to help by reaching for the glasses. He stops me short and grabs them from me. "It's okay hun, I'll do it." Okay, now this makes for a confused me. What were we talking about just a few seconds earlier? Right. "See, you never let me do anything."
Heading towards the sink with all the dishes, he simply says, "You're sick."
What did I do to deserve this guy. A wide smile spread across me. And I'm proud to say that I didn't forget our month-sary, unlike the last time.
Monday, July 12, 2004
red alert for perfect timing
It's my first time to meet clients for this account. I'm going to be presenting creative materials for a promo, at their office, with my big boss and my little boss. Yeah, it's the perfect venue for first impressions. I dress up in my favorite Mango pants (denim-ish), my Nine West high heels, a basic tee and a winning mustard bag I found in ukay-ukay. Okay, let's go on and head to work feeling like a Trojan Army.
So, what couldn't have happened at a better time? The monthly friend. A big AAAAARRRRGGGHHH! Sorry to the guys, you may tune out at this point if you choose. But I'd just have to say... 'Naknampucha. Second day is always the worst. The girls probably know where I'm leading to. A run down please (again, guys, permission to tune out):
The cab ride. Feeling quite squeemish due to the maxi pad (although it already claimed to be super-slim). Feeling like the Niagara Falls. Am I hemorrhaging? Shit. Stained the seat. Is that me? Okay, that's me. Shit. My bosses and I scramble for a peice of paper that I could sit on. My first reaction was to sit on the long envelope containing the compres. They frantically stopped me.
Arriving at Client's office. I can't take this. I need to buy reinforcements. My bosses get off to meet and stall Client while I stay in the cab and look for a convenience store.
The convenience store. Buy a pack. Get tissue. No public comfort room. I desparately ask the store if I can use theirs. Quickly remedy what I can (will not go into details).
At Client's. Do I want to sit on their old rose seats? No choice. I present. Squeemishly. I did my best to hide the slight trembling. This is the oddest form of anxiety I've ever felt. My bosses were trying not to laugh. I was trying not to strangle myself.
I'll never believe the word maxi again. Even if it has wings.
Friday, July 09, 2004
do something. before you get old.
This was the advice given to me by my balik-bayan uncle this morning over breakfast. Having just retired from his long service in the US Navy, he's passing onto me words of wisdom on how to enjoy life: Don't wait to get old before you do something. Don't wait until you retire, until you are out of the fastlane. While you're young, do something. Do something before you get old.
I felt like Tuesdays with Morrie.
He asked me what I do to get out. Ummm. I don't really do anything. I shop. He's like, what do you do on weekends? I sleep late (trying to make up for the deprivation of rest), go on the Internet then go out shopping. His reaction: Oh my God, Iha. He said that I should get a hobby. Learn how to scuba dive (I can't swim). Play golf (Don't like golf). You need something or else you're going to burn out easy. My thought balloon: Ummm, I do gym now. And more importantly- Am I really getting all this, this early in the morning before I get to work?
Well, I took it all in, said goodbye and ran off to work. My boyfriend then turned to me and said, "Yeah hunny you should get a hobby." Hello, I do have hobbies. Well, hobbies that I don't really do anymore. These things that I jot down on application forms and teeny-bopper autograph notebooks (next to What is Love?)... painting, reading, writing poetry and short stories, shopping, watching TV... the artful things I used to not be able to live without. Now I'm down to shopping and TV. How procreative.
Okay. Now this got me into a whole realm of self-examination. So, does this mean that I'm not having fun? Am I really missing out on so much? Am I really not living this life to the fullest? And the burning question, what do I do?
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
unpeeled, black and under the rain
The sun is out. Out, as in no more. It's the rainy season and people are trading in their vibrant skimpy outfits for dull jackets and sometimes un-stylish boots.
Let's backtrack to summer a bit. There was Boracay, Puerto Galera and Batangas. Let's just say that I really looked like it was summer. A couple of weeks passed from the beach extravaganzas. I bumped into our President/CEO in the Pantry one morning:
RGI: Fozzy, you're still black
for perspective, Fozzy is my nickname
Dez: Yes sir, I don't seem to fade...
Note that the above conversation happened almost a month after the beaches.
Fastforward to yesterday, as I was meeting with our Below-the-Line people for an event we were planning. The designated coordinator strikes up a convy via:
Nathan: Fozzy, it looks like you got darker. Did you beach?
Dez: Ummm no. I really don't fade... I'm stuck with this.
Note again, that this happened weeks after a 2nd Batangas trip that was crashed by a sudden thunderstorm. Malala diba?
From the looks of it, I will stay unpeeled and tanned either until I get more tanned, or until I shower myself with my mother's whitening products. So as of now, I'm still black.
Friday, July 02, 2004
death by PC wire
With all of you knowing my current unblogged status at work, let's pretend that this post is still up-to-date, shall we?
It was Friday, June 25, when my dad finally decided to bring my home PC to the hospital (i.e. where it was assembled). The blasted thing has been kaput for so many months and I was beyond itching to get it past being a huge paperweight. The thing restarts itself. Although there was no paranormal activity involved, I lived in fear that a chance of almost 40GB worth of files-slash-memories would be unrecoverable.
The hospital called. It's just the powersource. The hard drives are safe. For perspective, I have two HD's and my Windows was on dual boot - one boots 98 and the other boots XP. Just so I don't alienate any non-XP-compatible programs. So, Haaaalleluuuuujah! Jump for joy, jump for joy! We could get it Sunday.
Sunday came. I happily skipped to the store, awaiting the return of my fixed baby. BUT - we found out that the PC wasn't fixed yet. Bummer. The owner of the place said that the tech guy went home for an emergency. We'd get it tomorrow.
Since I was at work, my dad would pick my baby up. Despite getting home late that night, I proceeded to reconnecting everything. I pressed the power button and waited anxiously like a child during Christmas. Hmmm. Not the same. My dad comes in the room, "he fixed your hard drives but backed up all the files". What?!? I find that both hard drives are now running on XP. Puta. Techie guy said that Windows was installed wrong - there was a 98 and an XP running at the same time. Boba! I had someone with a Master's Degree in IT install that dual boot thing for me. I don't think it would be wrong.
So what happened to my programs? Kaput. My settings? Nada. The scanner, the printer the digital camera? Need to re-install. The files? They were all dumped into this folder (as in literally dumped). Did I need this techie guy to play smarty-pants and fix something not broken? No. Driving the point better (in filipino): Bakit pa daw kailangang magmagandang loob itong puchang itong mag-ayos ng hindi naman sira? He obviously didn't watch Beauty and the Beast - Cogsworth said, "If it ain't baroque, don't fix it!"
Anak ng pucha naman oo. Sakalin ko kaya sya ng kable. He should thank me for not being a raging psychopath.
Sometimes bored. Most of the time oddly alive. Phobic of butterflies. Creatively suppressed. Hungry for coffee and shoes. This is my subconscious talking... at times interrupted by my reality.
a nomad in tofu town
chocolates & sapphires
uncontrollable writing urges
lost in the wilderness
chona in the city
what mama jojo says
a jayveebug's life
driver ng bayan
up dharma down
the patient mental
insane adventures of d
alamat ni kuya jeff
welcome to nio
ang juanang kapatid
anino ni abaniko
kapihan ni qroon naomi's leaf who is eyevan?
lessons of knoizki
marlon's twisted list
blog ni skittles
ideal pink rose thoughts & photographs soul^tude the gypsy cat south central jen yuri's flight manual arie's blog v for vina snippets of a wanderer lazarus' thoughts iskoo glances over the fencesitter billiedoux reviews the shoe blog
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea. Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price to pay, Destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside -- "Mr. Brightside" The Killers
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