| LOL. |
[11 Jan 2008|05:53am] |
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I live.
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| Office Time Blues |
[23 Aug 2006|10:10pm] |
Alright.
There is a team bulletin board, which stands near the entrance of the floor pantry. Tacked on it are pictures of the team's members, each of them in various poses with a ballroom mask.
One of the pictures never fails to draw me in. Its of a topless guy leaning on the wall behind him, looking to the viewer over his shoulder. A black ballroom mask covers his eyes. his arms grasping (correct word to use?) the wall as if for balance.
If he were a girl, I would assume somebody is fucking him/her from behind.
His body isn't bad, too. Nice back.
...
Damn I love that picture.
I pointed it out to my officemate, who I shall address as Doppel. Naturally, he made a joke out of it. Which was fine by me because neither of us know him anyway, and I'm not hell-bent on knowing the person behind the picture. S'just eye candy, is all.
(But why am I explaining. Lol)
But no. Doppel had to randomly point out to some guy on the floor and made him out to be the guy in the picture. So everytime we pass the floor on our way to the pantry, he points to this bloke and make smoochie noises. I retaliate by patting Doppel's head (because it's almost bald with stubbly hair, and it feels odd running my hand over his stubbly-haired head), because he hates it. That's all I can do. Patty-pat pat pat.
Doppel: May pinagnanasaan ka na ha~
Me: Mali naman ang tinuturo mo. Leche. *patty-pat*
It's a pain. I love hanging out in the pantry to watch TV or stare outside the window, at the widdle cars crawling along several floors below. Then I have to pass by the bloke who thinks I fancy him. Crap.
At least I see the picture. Wee.
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| Am sick. |
[15 Jan 2006|08:39pm] |
Still can't write much because I have a flu and I feel so crappy. Can only write disjointed sentences.
Went out to Starbucks with Carlo. Was meaning to cheer him up and was supposed to play in the arcades with him but since I felt like crap because of flu, was cut short.
I STILL LOVE THE SMITHS / MORRISSEY.
Okay. That's all I can manage.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, LET ME GET WHAT I WANT
The Smiths
Good times for a change
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad
So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time
Haven't had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad
So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time
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| Wow. Blurty page update. |
[14 Jan 2006|11:21pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 loved |
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music |
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The Smiths - Half A Person |
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Thanks to Mike, one of my guildmates, I finally had the background of this blurty changed to black. Yes, the two-year-old white is now black.
Thank you, Mike XD
I have so many things to write about, but it's past my bedtime (I time my sleep since I wake up early in the morning), so well, I have to post a thank-you at least. I also made some posts in the friends-only security level so that only blurty friends can read the posts. Not that it's so...well, revealing, but hey. Its nice to be private.
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[28 Oct 2005|03:22pm] |
It's funny.
Why am I crying? I'm okay. Really. But why these tears.
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| Slow day. |
[27 Oct 2005|08:43pm] |
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mood |
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 accomplished |
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music |
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Ningyo Hime (Mermaid Pricess) by Rie Tanaka |
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My plan to roam around the city with a camera was foiled because of the heavy rains -_-x. Knowing that all my friends (even my brothers. Gawd) were working by then (It's a weekday. Curse odd call center schedules), I just called up my parents, who left for Leyte and left me all alone in the house and won't come back for about a month or so.
I asked for some advice on some things to do. Clean up the house, they told me. I answered that yeah, I already did that now can they please let me to some other things? It's not like my brother--who's so enamored of his ultra-souped up bike he's short of marrying it/her--even does the dishes. Give me a break, I whined.
Go bake a cake, Mum said offhandedly. I bet she didn't think I'd take it seriously.
Nice idea. I immediately changed and charged into the supermarket, holding up a print out of some recipe I downloaded from the 'net. After an hour of carting around in search of ingredients alien to me (because I don't really cook, much less bake), I trudged off the building, without an umbrella, in the rain as both of my hands are full of shopping bags. I settled for a hood drawn over my head.
Slow day.
I worked like an obsessed maniac over the cake. Two seconds I'd be by the sink, then I'd realize I needed a wire whisk and I have to pick it up from the dirty kitchen outside; then the next moment I'd be slaving over the mixing bowl, mixing the batter by hand; all the while having the icing liquify itself in the blender (which is no mean feat; I used refined sugar instead of confectioner's sugar because the supposedly Supercenter ran out of of the shabu-like thingy). And so on and on.
So here I am, letting my cake settle in the fridge while I type this post. I already tasted part of it before I put on the icing, it's good ^_^ Afterwards I'd return to my IRL project I'm planning to get published. Have I told you guys about it already? It's a novella-length piece, but I'm having my friend Yvie-kun illustrate it. It's a graphic novel. I can't disclose any info, of course. I haven't since I started it a month ago.
It's strange, I'm more and more productive ever since. Maybe it's my drive to work, work out that void inside me. But I don't feel any sadness. Just the innate drive to do something.
Sometimes though, I lapse. Maybe it's too unrealistic of me to expect myself to get over it that easily. But I feel fine. Really.
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| Quoting a quote. |
[24 Aug 2005|02:03am] |
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore... Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like 'maybe we should just be friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."
— Rose Walker (The Sandman, Neil Gaiman)
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| Last night I paused |
[19 Jun 2005|07:55pm] |
......and I stood still, watching the fireworks alone.
It hurt deeply.
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| Drawn Together ish ebul. |
[09 May 2005|02:53pm] |
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I read a small article on Drawn Together in one of the TV guides stashed around in my office, and told my boyfriend about it. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to view it in my cable--for some reason signal was kaput the night it was supposed to be aired--and he had to tell me what happened in the pilot episode. A few hours later he sent me a wallpaper from the site, and something was added in our more than a year-long relationship. Whoo-hoo. Everything picks up from there.
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[18 Apr 2005|03:52pm] |
Witch, do this for me:
Find me a moon
made of longing.
Then cut it sliver thin,
and having cut it,
hang it high
above my beloved's house,
so that she may look up
tonight
and see it,
and seeing it, sigh for me
as I sigh for her, moon or no moon
- Christopher Carrion
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| White(out) Christmas |
[18 Dec 2004|02:19am] |
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*sigh*
Our family's not going to have a Xmas tree. Again. It's a small thing that's being taken for granted by many, I know, but for me the loss of something which somehow represents valuable memories of the past leaves a deep hollow pit in my stomach. I should get used to it. Christmas is getting to be meaningless and meaningless every year. Nowadays it's becoming that season where I go to my parent's province to wallow in nothingness. Hah! Drama. Maybe my relatives should stop giving either the silent treatment or throw daggers for awhile.
Ever since my parents decided that we should celebrate Xmas in this hellhole of a place I've become displaced every single effing Xmas season and I hate it. I'm used to late-night talks with friends every Xmas Eve after the family has had the fill of Noche Buena. I'm used to getting the small tokens I and my friends gave out to each other whenever we have our reunion.
This is one of the times that I think I should have looked back a little more. Well, this is the path I took after that great disaster of years ago.
It's petty, but I miss getting little tokens from old friends. Or maybe even cards, at least. Those little things that assure you that SOMEONE remembers you in Xmas. Nowadays, I can count those who do with ONE hand. Hahaha.
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| Dusting. |
[01 Dec 2004|04:16pm] |
We're recently in the process of moving out from our home in Sangley...we've been taking stuff out piecemeal and we decided to start with going through our things to see which should be thrown out and what shouldn't.
I could still vividly recall the days when I would invite classmates over and they'll say the same thing about my house: that they floor is so shiny and clean they could practically see their reflections on it (the floor is actually made of some kind of linoleum shined to a sparkle with Pronto). I myself had a habit of sleeping on the bare floor because its cooler that way. XD
After seeing our house, most people would think that we're well-off. I don't believe it's so, actually. Well, at least, not then. I think we've got it easier these days than back then. As a kid my allowance was as much as any average kid's, and my older brothers studied in public schools until they finished elementary. Us three siblings also had our share of tear over not getting the toys that we wanted; my older brother even got his precious He-Man action figure many years later after he got his own paycheck. XD
Still, despite all of the belt-tightening, our house managed to stay beautiful while we lived in there; while my brother stayed up late in its living room playing SNES to PSone games, while I rolled around the cool floor in slumber, while our eldest brother hid himself in the living room having a long chat over the phone with his steady girlfriend (now his wife).
Now though...My once beautiful home is now in a sordid state...ever since I moved into an apartment in my college years--the rest of my family moved in with me after a year out of convenience--we have neglected our old house. It had reached its steady decline...and now, I couldn't even go into my own room, a room filled with so many memories and plastered with so many posters, without a face mask on. The sheer mount of dust tends to trigger my allergy these days.
Yesterday I managed to fish out a handful of letters from an almost forgotten desk, one which my parents gave me since I was six years old. Those letters were from friends long gone, and some from past loves, and some from my ex-bestfriend whose amorous intentions I had rejected--I could only smile as I opened them again. It has been years since I've last read them...those were indeed the days.
As I read through some of my former bestfriend's letters I've realized how funny our situation was...him courting me for almost...three or four years, and I, was pushing him away since all I wanted was our other bestfriend, one who became my own boyfriend for a time. It was classic. Heheh.
I could only sigh since I know it's all in the past. I haven't talked with either of them for a few years already. I don't even plan to; I'm already content with my life, and my love, and I don't have to rummage into the past again to make me complete. I just feel that I don't have to.
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[05 Nov 2004|04:12pm] |
Hmm.
No, I'm not moping. I'm not.
It's been a long while since I put up an intelligent post. Hurrah to me.
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| Chivas Regal Ad song |
[11 Oct 2004|01:10am] |
We could be together/ Everyday together/ The moon is fully risen/ And shines above the sea/ As you glide in my vision/the time is standing still
That's the song with the cool and haunting melody. Whenever I get to catch that ad in Discovery, my brain goes spastic and I KNOW I have to get that song or else.
I've tried googling, but nothing turns up. Shareaza, Kazaalite turns up moot too. So far, what I've learned is that it's titled "Mermaid", performed by a certain Sarah Khider.
Whoever emails me that song gets a cookie. If anyone has that song and is gracious enough not to hoard it from everybody else's, please email it to me a black_zinfandel@yahoo.com.
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| Oh well... |
[24 Sep 2004|03:13am] |
Date cancelled because of one little snag. I'm disappointed of course. He opted for a change of plans but I can't go considering that it'll conflict with a lot of things.
He offered to go with the original plan afterwards but I didn't want to push through with it anymore. I know how he turns primadonna when he has to adjust. No way I would shell out money just to ruin my day.
Oh well *shrug*
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[13 Aug 2004|03:31pm] |
Taken from andrea13's blog:
-Perfect- You're the perfect girlfriend. Which
means you're rare or that you cheated :P You're
the kind of chick that can hang out with your
boyfriend's friends and be silly. You don't
care about presents or about going to fancy
placed. Hell, just hang out. You're just happy
being around your boyfriend.
What Kind of Girlfriend Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
I wonder if he thinks of me as that.
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| Movement. |
[28 Jul 2004|06:00pm] |
I've thought a bit since writing my last entry. It's high time I've begun to admit that I really am in a rut. Rotting so much, it doesn't make any difference whether or not I'm in the province or back here, wasting away. It's still the same...wasting away.
At the back of my head, I know that if I show a bit too much of this instability (insecurity) inside myself, I'd become even less attractive. So there. Act as if nothing's wrong. Act as if you're totally in control of your life. You're so in control you're forgetting that the controls aren't plugged in, you little dipshit.
I don't know where to start. I've been so alone and so used to it that I don't know where I am going anymore. I should breathe in more fresh air, I guess. Go out more. Good thing we're moving soon. New surroundings. New people. New chances.
Exhibiting this little monster inside of me, I fear, would ruin so much of what I treasure right now. *shrug*. There I go again. Being ambiguous. It's a quirk that surfaces everytime I know I did something really bad and I'm unwilling/unable to correct it.
*sigh*
I want to hold onto someone. Him, probably. But Someone who lives in th eback of my head tells me this is something for me to fix myself. Only me. I don't know if she's right.
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| Stun Effect. Stars on my head. |
[28 Jul 2004|04:45pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 anxious |
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music |
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Breeze of the fan. |
] |
It has already been a few days since much activity was stirred again in this little house (around me, that is. There isn't any activity in my head right now). I get pulled along by my mumsie wherever she deemed it fit to go to. It's tiring, and my feet hurt. I'm quite happy I now have some alone time to write this entry.
I have to confess I don't have anything in mind to write right now. My mind just doesn't feel...right. Why?
I...don't know.
(I am now beginning to see how inane this entry is getting to be, like all my recent others)
Describing my present state:
- Heart plummeting down to my stomach. Couldn't find out why.
- I feel messed up. In such a way that I'm beginning to see why I'm so fucked.
- Ambiguous even to myself, which spells out that I am in deep trouble.
Going in circles. Bad. I remember, in passing, his remark about my tendency to be confusing to talk with at times. It seems as if this is a fitting moment to note that.
Where did I go? Where am I going? Where will I go?
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| Random Story (no plot) |
[21 Jul 2004|11:51pm] |
And there she was, standing numbly by the doorframe of her house, not knowing whether to believe that her father died. I watched on as they put her father's body onto the tranfer board and rolled him (or it) out of the house and into the ambulance.
But we all know that he was dead. A freak accident.
I did not want to break the haze of denial that fogged Mina, so I chose not to speak any word. None at all. All I could do was to stay beside her.
I did not even hold her hand.
It was only then when the paramedic closed the door of the ambulance and started to leave that she did cry. She wept uncontrollably (does weeping have to be controlled I absently thought as I witnessed her grief), a ball of utter sadness, grief, despair and anger on the ground as she doubled over, soiling her clothes and her face with dirt.
I started to reach out to her but I stopped myself. Unlike before when I stood up for her in school, I knew that this was one fight that she had to deal with. I had no personal business nor grudge against him, and he did not owe me anything.
And I cried. I cried because I could not do anything. I felt that whatever I would do would render me ineffective.
A week after Mina's father's death Razor himself visited the wake. People stopped and their words hung in the air, as if making way for him in fear just like our schoolmates did.
It was proven indeed that the prank Razor set up in her house was indeed just that--a prank. Supposedly a harmless one. What he did not anticipate was that it wasn't Mina who would open the door and trigger the simple trap of a bucket of icewater; he also did not anticipate that Mina's father would be carrying a knife with him as he crossed the threshold.
Mina had found her father sprawled by the doorway wet, a bucket over his head and a knife's hilt jutting out his side. Water and blood pooled around him; like the mystery of Christ's death gone wrong. No soldier was healed.
I was there. I was there when Mina whispered Razor's real name like it was the core mantra of a killing spell.
Razor lost all his former countenance which spawned his nickname; for the first time he had finally shown us how vulnerable and unsure of himself we have believed him to be.
He walked towards the pew where Mina and I sat, his head bowed. However, we eyed him and if ever he had raised his to meet ours he would read nothing but contempt. Except for pity, which was from my part.
With much humility that he could muster, he handed Mina an envelope which she never received. Instead, she took his hand and led him to her father's coffin.
They looked at the body for a while in silence, then Mina tip-toed and whispered something in Razor's ear.
It was as if they were lovers. It suddenly crossed my mind that he was just--well--annoying her as his way of wooing.
Stereotypes seem to not work nowadays.
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