thursdays are made of these

me: ans, what time is it?
ana: uh.. (checks her fone)
ana: err.. 2pm..
me: oh god. oh god... OHHHH GOD!

it was a thursday. it was a weekday. oh, and i remembered i had work. i had a meeting in an hour, supposedly two applicant interviews to complete for the day which i had to finish before i rush to the jobsite at 6 (that leaves me only a remaining 4 hours to complete it all). now at any normal day it would've been easy, i'm used to doing things under pressure. but on a day when you've just gotten home past 5am, wasted more than half the day dozing off, woken up to a serious hang-over and a bad stomach-- it was a triathlon for the handicapped.

here goes my fighting spirit. i jumped off the bed (like some major bed bug bit me in the ass), cursing myself as i put on my bright blue sequined zara t-shirt, washed out jeans and matching blue havaiannas (how can i forget to bring work clothes with me? i shouldve known this would happen). i called for a cab and headed to rockwell, and as i arrived in my oh so-fashionably-trashed ensemble, un-showered, unwashed-greasy-hair with no make-up (thank god for bug-eyed glasses!), my officemates didn't know wether to be upset with me for being late or pitty me for looking like something died-- i prefered the latter. saying i looked like shit would be an understatement.

Plan A: act like something terrible happened.

like an accident, or that i stayed up all night with a dying friend. so as i walked my way to starbuck's glassed doors, i headed to our lil 'judgement' coffee table.. and like the perennial liar and the good actor that i am, i started psyching myself on my big scene-- try to look as sad, helpless, and pitiful as possible. crying would be a good thing right now-- think sad thoughts. in my head it was all in slow motion (this might be due to my hangover)... i came over ever so slowly trying hard not to make eye contact, determined to look like the poor victim of sorts, rehearsing my first lines in my head.. and just as expected, as soon as i sat down somebody asked--

"what happened to you..."

i let out a dramatic sigh (for effect) as i slowly glanced accross the table... my boss motioned for me to take my huge sunglasses off (i hate it when he does that, he knows i can't look him straight in the eye when i'm lying!) so i did. but just before i could say a word...

"you went to embassy last night! "
i go-- "huh?" act innocent not deaf. act innocent dammit.

this nosy bitch beside me gave me a wry smile. she said it so loud you'd think she was a barrista handing out a latte to somebody named embassy.

Plan B: go hysterical and cry.

most people don't know how to react when this happens. and before they even get to prod they'll feel sorry for accussing me of clubbing on a week night and coming to a management meeting so late.. like im that irresponsible?? good plan. but before i could execute plan b (a.k.a desperate measures), she pointed at my right wrist...

F*&K!!! there it was, mocking me... i still had the club's logo stamped on my wrist!

great. not only was i clearly proven irresponsible and unprofessional infront of my boss and 4 other people i work with.. now they all know i haven't taken a bath!

and then, i was really about to cry.

filipino pride? give me some of that.

my first hate mail.

I cringe at the thought of this guy's ignorance. so for those folks who still think filipinos are up in the mountains, living in trees-- this one's for you.

we got all the culture you need.. and we get wild on ;)

"Who cares about what your country is named, its just known for little people with spanish names trying to be americans and prostitutes anyway. What is important is that your showing great dishonour to our cousins from the faroe islands. They have more culture than you wannabe polinesian spanish american muslim crossbreeds. Your trying so hard to be black americans. I bet you use slang and listen to 50cent. You have no fucking culture. You people are DWARFS. take yourself out of the Faroe Island myspace. You were eating people before the spaniards came and now you are mentaly colonised by america and you try so hard to be from "da" hood, your fucking pathetic. Do not answer me back, your discusting!"

First of all, it's disgusting. Second, it's polinesian-spanish-american-catholic crossbreeds. Third, screw you. What greater insult is there than to have a non-cultured, people-eating-dwarf speak better english than you? I can point five grammatical errors in your well-thought-composition faster than you can say "y'all", my fourth grade niece can fucking write better. I understand that your primary goal was to insult, but sadly your efforts (due to your lack of wit) fell short. It failed to strike a cord and did too little to push my 'racist' button.

All you did was amuse me, pink skin.

life's a pool of girl fun

this post goes out to two of my best friends: ana & carla :)
with whom i've spent wednesday nights with;
with whom i share good times & drunk thoughts with;
here's to us.. *cheers*







one for the books
(blonde edition)






anna: you have to watch that show prisonbreak. that guy is really hot!
carla: what's it about?
anna: you know.. a guy.. trying to break out of prison..
anna: like, that's why.. prison - break?

carla: im watching this show pinoy big brother..
me: i saw it the other night too..
me: hey, imagine if that was us!
carla: oh no..
me: our black roots gonna grow! (gasp)

me: carls let's head out, i wanna dance
carla: no, let's stay here in the vip.. all the E-G-I-L-I-B-L-E guys are here
me: what?!
carla: E-G-I.. L-I-L-I-B-L-E guys are here..
me: (laugh) ELIGIBLE! (laugh) what are you on?
carla: look, i took v's ok!

mikee: it took you guys 3 hours to get dressed?!
anton: we've been waiting!
ana: sorry..
me: it takes 3 hours to look like this!
carla: we wanted you guys to be proud of us!

me: i'm just not that into him.. i'm gonna use my "i was a battered child" excuse..
me: like, you know..
me: i was a battered child..?
ana: and?!?
me: so i can't commit!
me: see the 'psychological' connection?