Charm is not really a prerequisite to an oaf with a mission

“Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.”

— Wilde, Oscar. Excerpt from The Picture of Dorian Gray

New Addiction

On this month’s second week, I will be free of engagements and will be free to blog!

Mwahahahahahahahaha. <Insert accompanying flashes of lightning and roaring thunder effect here> 

In the meantime, leave me to battle excess giddy energy from guzzling 7 extra joss mix  (for an all-nighter plan drafting) by playing Pet Society in Facebook.

Yo!

I’m still here. Just not writing.

See, my creative juices have been squeezed to the last drop since last year. And although I had a rollickin’ time vacationing for 2 weeks over the Xmas break, I’m afraid my right brain is once more occupied to barf ideas in another direction.

Sometimes, you just can’t have two cakes and eat ‘em… especially if you’re on a low-carb diet.

P.S. 

I miss writing.

Alice in W. Part 3

Chapter 3: Building Up The Mystery

The Caterpillar wasn’t the only creature Alice came to know while wandering around Wonderland. In fact, she had not gone much father before she came across two more Wonderland characters who were currently having tea party on the lawn area of a house with a chimney shaped like ears and the roof thatched in fur: one was called the March Hare and the other, the Mad Hatter. They were accompanied by a Dormouse who was cradled in his sleep in a big teacup.

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: `No room! No room!’ they cried out when they saw Alice coming. `There’s plenty of room!’ said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large armchair at one end of the table and decided to join them for tea. However, she soon found out that there’s no way that a normal conversation would happen since the duo has long been inebriated (with tea) since the debut of Michael Jackson’s white gloves.

“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.

Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. “I don’t see any wine,” she remarked.

“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare.

“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice waspishly.

“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,” said the March Hare.

“Ok. Point taken,” she said grumbled, and then as if remembering something, “Did you happen to see a white rabbit passed by?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” sniffed the March Hare.

“You’re a hare,” pointed out Alice, then turned to slap the Mad Hatter’s gloved hand away from her hair.

“Your hair wants cutting,” Mad Hatter said.

“What? Well, you ought to learn how to keep your hands to yourself, mister,” Alice lectured, “It is very rude.”

The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, “Rapunzel’s hair wants cutting too.”

“Aye, Aye,” nodded the March Hare, “Just like the 3 little pigs wants to cut a piece of that Gingerbread house.”

“No, no, no,” the Hatter protested, “It was the Queen that wants cutting…” then before continuing he sipped delicately at the teacup where the Dormouse is, put it down, fixed his eyes on Alice and then motioned one gloved hand across his neck as if slicing it.

Alice’s body shivered. At this point, she was infinitely creeped out partly by the Hatter’s weirdness, but mostly of the latter’s sense of fashion.

 ”Didn’t he know that the raccoon eyes is already passe’?, Alice thought indignantly, as she was leaving, “And my goodness! He just killed that funky hat with that awful hair! Made him look like a cross between Jack White and Dr. Seuss. Oh the horror, the horror!” 

 Next Chapter - The Freaky Twins Appear 

***

Precious Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Why the Alice story has a terribly slow update…

PSID Market! Market! Christmas Furniture Exhibit 2008

Alice in W. Part 2

Chapter 2: Mr. Caterpillar

She didn’t know what she expected to find in a rabbit hole, but as soon as she entered it she found herself falling. What was strange though is that she seems to fall quite slowly, having the time to observe the things around her. There are shelves and pictures hung on the wall and even an open cabinet; at one point, she took a liking to a pair of rhinestone-studded galoshes, tried it out then put it back in the closet. She seems to fall for an interminable amount of time that she begins to wonder if the hole even has an end to it.

Finally, she reaches the bottom of the hole and finds herself in a dense forest. With eyes darting furtively around her, “Great. I forgot my insect repellant,” she muttered to herself as she slapped a mosquito on her left arm, “Just as long as I don’t encounter any creepy crawlies, then I suppose I should just suck everything in and move on, “ she said consoling herself.

Barely a few seconds had passed since she said that when she stumbled upon a huge green caterpillar with a hookah. The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: the former, curious; while the latter, horrified at the sight of the generous use of electric blue eye shadow.

“Ew. That make-up is soooo Cyndi Lauper,” she thought, as would anyone born from the era of sheer lipgloss.

At last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

“Who are YOU?” the Caterpillar said.

“I…I… I’m not sure…yet,” stammered Alice who, still can’t get over the blue make-up, did not completely comprehend the question.

“What DO YOU mean by that?” the Caterpillar queried sternly, “EXPLAIN yourself!”

Snapping back from the annoyed tone of the bug, she hurriedly explained, “I can’t just give my name to strangers, you know.”

 “No, I don’t know,” replied the caterpillar.

“Well, it might be a different case from you since you’re a caterpillar… with bad blue make-up, I might add,” she coughed the latter part quietly, then continued, “But a girl just have to protect herself in some way when she’s stranded in an unknown place.”

Even in near stupor, the caterpillar heard what she said about his blue face tint. At this, the Caterpillar was clearly insulted for he was told that blue suits him greatly, so in a clipped haughty voice he said, “At least my house passed the requirements of the Queen.” Then he left Alice alone.

Feeling all italized letters like a slash of wind down Alice’s spine,  she knew instantly  that she’s in big, big trouble.

To be continued (again)…

 Related Post:

Chapter 1 

Alice in Wonderland (NBC Version)

Chapter 1: The Predicament

It all started one day when Alice woke up and noticed that the cottage she had had constructed a month ago could not afford the additional 10 pounds she just gained overnight. 

“I knew that apple pie was a mistake,” she muttered with regret. 

She didn’t know what made her get the 7 dwarves as her contractors. But then, she was quite fascinated by the dwarves’ technique of measuring everything by their pinky. She was still thinking about her next action when a little white rabbit peeped from her window and saw her predicament:

“Oh, dear, Oh dear. The Queen will be displeased!” The white rabbit exclaimed and in distress, he caught one of his ears and chewed on it. Then the white rabbit flinched in surprise as the vibrate mode of his Motorola Black Razor V3 alarmed. Seeing a virtual envelope addressed from the Queen, he trembled then scurried away.

“The Queen?” pondered Alice, “Wait, Mr. Rabbit!” she called out at the speeding rabbit.

But the Mr. Rabbit was already too far to hear her call. She wanted to follow the rabbit, but first she must find a way to get out of the house.

It would take a great deal of concentration to contort her limbs to get out, but she figured that with her splendid ballet training of 2 days, she would be able to manage it. She vowed, as she was able to stretch out a toenail out the window, that after this episode she would forevermore discriminate against the sweet fillings and eat only the pie crust … that is, if the recipe exceeded a cupful of sugar more than the usual.

After 3 days, Alice finally managed to got out. Of course, it wasn’t her ballet contorting strategy that let her escaped, but the fact that she burped and farted down gradually to her original size. Although euphoric from her escape, she was also disoriented from having nothing to eat for days, thus forgetting all about the white rabbit…until:

“Oh dear, oh dear. Four beheadings and one more! “ muttered the white rabbit as it passed by her house again during its twice weekly garden border patrol.

Alice saw the white rabbit and remembered him from the last time, “Mr. Rabbit!” she called out to him.

“Ack! She’s out! Oh dear, Oh dear!” exclaimed the white rabbit, then ran away and disappeared into a rabbit hole she’d never seen before.

She figured, as she’s the only person there that the second-person pronoun meant her, so she decided to follow the rabbit to ask him what he meant, and also to ask which store he got his chic checkered black and white scarf.

Armed with resolve, she followed him down the rabbit hole.

To be continued

P.S. Inspired by BehindInfinity’s cosplay pictures and pushed by the necessity of coming up with a presentation for Ethics. It’ll be heavily laden with pictures thats why I’m going to divide it in series of chapters.

P.P.S. If you guys like Behind Infinity’s pictures, you can purchase their print over at deviantart.

It all started one day…

…when a little white rabbit passed me by murmuring worriedly while furiously poking at his PDA, “Oh dear, oh dear, batangyagit will win!”

It wasn’t the fact that a rabbit could talk and work on a PDA like a stockbroker on a verge of bankcruptcy that got me curious; it was actually when the rabbit stopped midway his rush and turned back to come hopping by me.

“Batangyagit will win!” he cried, tearing his bunny ears in despair.

“So?” My raised eyebrow asked in return.

“Mike Villar will lose this year’s Philippine Blog Awards!”  he wailed, now chomping down one of his ears.

*gasps*

“You mean, Mike “Fucking” Villar - Rising Internet Star?”

“Mmsmmmmftdftm…yes…mnmsdmmmffftt,” the rabbit replied as he started chomping his other ear.

*double gasps* 

“I…I…don’t understand,” I then attempted to chomp down my ears…and despaired when I couldn’t.  “I must see the other nominees’ blogs.”

After a shortwhile, “There must be a mistake! Mike Villar’s blog is a well-written witty prose of his douchebag-capades and intellectually farted opinions. And compared to the other nominees, his blog never bored me. So how come he’s only second?”

The rabbit stopped chewing what left of his ears to say clearly, “Because you haven’t voted for him yet.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. And so I sat down in front of my computer to write the most awesome pledge of love and support for the Rising Internet Star. 

 P.S. The day ended with the white bunny handing me bribe money for a job well done.

P.P.S.Vote for Mike Villar. Seriously, with his blog being one of the best in the blogosphere, he really deserves to win.

Don’t English, I’m Panic!

 “So, what shall I write about Bem?” I mused out aloud as my brain wracked out an idea on how best to describe Michelle’s boyfriend. See, Bru has this unique idea of making a newspaper decked out of articles that’s all about him. Talk about feeding the ego but hey, that’s exactly the perfect gift I imagine one would be very happy to received on his (/her) special day.

“Why don’t you just enumerate Bem’s good traits?” Cha suggested, extricating herself for a moment from her text-a-thon with her boyfriend, Nico.

“Then we need SHE who knows him well, don’t we?” I looked over at Bru, who, at the moment, was busy bullying (via emails and SMS) other people in helping her fill out her newspaper idea. “What?” she asked rather abstractedly.

“Describe Bem in one word.”

She paused…it was a very long pause.

“Ok, gimme five then.” Like any girl in love, I know she’s trying to find a way to contract a gazillion adjective into one word…that, or she’s finding it very hard to think of even a single positive trait.

She started with, “He’s goal-oriented, first of all.”

“Yeah, he’s so goal-oriented, he’d treat doctors to girly bars to help him get a sale,” Cha, who just finished her text-a-thon, chirped in.

Bru laughed then defended him, “But that’s just normal SOP with most med reps, you know. And let’s not forget his Most Helpful Award he got from his elementary years. He’s real proud of that award because that’s the first and only medal he’s ever received while he’s still in school.”

“Well, I did remember him saying he wants to help those poor dancing bar girls he met while he’s on his rounds,” I teased, on which Cha added, “Yeah. He said if he ever wins the lotto, he’ll gather all of them in one place and…that’s it.”

“Real helpful, huh?” We all laughed.

“Whatever he is, he sure is passionate about whatever he does,” Cha said, finishing up a giggle. “He’s so fired up about his work, he delivered his sales spiel at Debs’ Despedida!”

“And let’s not forget about his passion for driving. I believe we became very religious that day he drove us home,” I mentioned grinning, “Schroo even mentioned getting life insurance as soon as we got out.”

“Even his girlfriend prefers the bus,” Cha teased Bru.

“Come on, you guys,” still laughing, she said, “Driving skills aside, at least he’s sweet and thoughtful…or tries to be.”

“Thoughtful? Oh yeah, tell him the albatross bathroom deodorizer he gave me at my birthday is still preserved,” I winked, “Funny you’re calling him thoughtful and sweet now because that’s not what you thought of him before when he gave you those dried flowers.”

“What dried flowers?”

Cha reminded her, “Remember that one Valentine that you thought he doesn’t care because he didn’t even bothered to greet you, but then suddenly he showed up in your office with a bunch of weeds for a present?”

She smiled at the memory. How could she forget when she blushed fiercely (which is no mean feat) after seeing the real bunch of beautiful roses hidden by her seemingly thoughtless and most un-sweet boyfriend while he’s presenting his bogus bouquet?

As the banter went on, I silently reflected on that one instance when Bem was telling us something about himself before he met our friend Bru:

“Before I met her, I was a smart-ass punk who’s always in the center of brawls and drinking bouts. But when she came into my life, she gave me hope that I could be better someday. And I held unto that hope for as long as I can.  You know what? She changed me. And I’m glad she did.”

I’m not sure if Bem knows but he also affected Bru’s life so much he changed her to be a softer, more feminine and more caring version than before.

For one thing, the Michelle we know before wouldn’t dip her hands on doing something so personalized and mushy such as the newspaper idea she’s so hell-bent on finishing for Bem’s birthday tomorrow.  

“Whatever it is that you’re going to write about, just make it funny,” Michelle demanded, she said trying not to make her newspaper soggy with sap.

“With Bem as the subject? “I snorted, “As if I could avoid not writing so.”

 ****

What Bem would say:  “Don’t English! I’m panic.”

A House is a House is a House

Pre-Schroo time, I planned to live life to the fullest and then retire happy (and manless) in a big cottage atop a hill with seven cats for company. I don’t have a very descriptive idea in my head, but I think it would be fun playing Show White and the Seven Dwa–

…make that Evil Queen Stepmother with her seven black cats, in a house like this:

 Simon Dale’s Hobbit House

Thinking about it now, my geeky Schroo wouldn’t mind living in this one… especially IF I happen to be living with 7 noisy cats. 

“You know what’s cooler than the hobbit house?,”he asked grinning.

“What?”

“The star trek apartment!” he grinned even wider. Then he said, “And it went up on sale… I dunno if somebody bought that place though. It’s pretty expensive for something so crazy.”

(Designed by interior designer/ trekkie nut owner Tony Alleyne)

“At 200,000 pounds? Sure is.” I replied.

  “Supposing we live in a house like that?” 

 ”Seriously?”  doubtful, I asked.

 ”Why not?” he teased, knowing my uh… biased feelings towards too much geekery (i.e. Star Trek). And since he provoked me into it, I could not help but snap back with, “If that is so, then I will serve you food pills forever more and wear Mr. Spocks ears during our sexy time. “

I’m sure after that, he will never entertain anymore thoughts  (whether kidding or not) about getting an apartment that will send us to the poor house just by paying the Meralco bills. 

But then,, I suppose the Star trek apartment would be waaaay tolerable than this house  created by Daniel Czapiewski  :

For the love of Poetry…

In celebration of its fourth anniversary, Pinoypoets, in partnership with Filipinas Heritage Library, invites you to OUR LOVE FOR GLOVE DOVES: A Cognitive Poetic Approach to Why We Rhyme the Way We Do by Paolo Manalo, award-winning poet and best-selling author of Jolography. The lecture will be on August 16, Saturday, 4 PM, to be held at the Filipiniana Section of the Filipinas Heritage Library, Ayala Triangle, Makati City.

For details, please email pinoypoetsgroup@yahoo.com or contact Romel Samson through 09166390640 and 09297853276. 

Overheard at the Cinema

When in the movie house, sometimes entertainment isn’t limited on the screen in front of you. If you’re lucky enough to be seated near an irrepressibly opinionated movie viewer, you’ll have an extra something to talk (or blog) about besides the movie you just watched.

*     *     *     *     *     *

Movie:      300

Scene: Sparta was visited by Xerxes’ messenger who probably wasn’t used to having women around him because he got easily annoyed at the most obvious female characteristic (i.e. can’t shut up) Queen Gorgo displayed: 

Messenger:  What makes this woman think she can speak among men?               

Queen Gorgo:  Because only Spartan women give birth to real men. 

Irrepressibly Opinionated Movie Viewer (IOMV) Moment #1:

Non-Spartan Girlfriend (said with conviction): “Ay, korek ka dyan sister! Korek ka dyan!”

Non-Spartan Boyfriend beside her: *grunt*

*     *     *     *     *     *

Movie:      Sunshine

Scene: A close-up look at the sun revealed far too much for  our IOMV…

IOMV Moment #2:

Girl said (in a disdainful tone): “Sus! Fake naman yung sun!”

*     *     *     *     *     *

Movie:    Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer 

Scene: Human Torch was chasing Silver Surfer around the city … secretly wishing to ask the latter for an autograph. 

IOMV Moment #3:

Girl declared knowingly: Ah yeah. Hindi makakatagos ang apoy sa bus. Apoy yan e. Kaya kapag mercury.              

Guy corrected: Silver Surfer sya, hon. Hindi Mercury Sulfer.                                                                                              Girl replied: Ah ok. Parang mercury pala ang silver.    

Note:  Silver Surfer’s power

*     *     *     *     *     *

Movie:    Kung Fu Panda

Scene: After 45 minutes of me gurgling with delight over Poh’s misadventures.

IOMV Moment #4:

Schroo expressed his opinion by closing his eyes to sleep. I expressed mine by jabbing him under the ribs. 

*     *     *     *     *     *

Movie:     The Dark Night

Scene:  

First time Joker came on screen.

IOMV #5:

 Van was gripping Schroo’s shirt sleeve in fear when she was heard gritting her teeth bemoaning, “Bad make-up! Bad hair! Ugly purple suit! Oh the horror! The horror!”

Blonde Moment

I’ve always been a clever kid. So clever that I’ve realized early on that being so complicates life so much, you end up facing every day like you have a corn kernel stuck between your teeth. And since being irritated most of the times sucks the fun out of living - especially when you’ve garnered a collection of untimely wrinkles on your forehead - I opted to go blond.

You know how the saying goes.

By that, I didn’t mean peroxiding my black hair to make it yellow - although, I did have the greatest compulsion to do so to give a symbolism to my metamorphosis. However, as I do not have the right complexion, I chucked out the idea least I ended up looking like this:

 What I did was assume what a stereotypical blond is known for. And true enough,  after limiting myself to the Sunday comicstrip, chick lit, beauty magazines, and Chikatime.com, my transformation was complete. And at once,  I learned what makes Dee Dee so bouyant compared to her ornery brother Dexter.  There just isn’t anything “up” there to hold her down.

I didn’t mean blondness to be perfected but I may have unwittingly done so, that I scare myself sometimes:

“Um…Sweetie? Don’t be mad, ok?,” bitting my lips in worry, I called Schroo in his office,  “I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, but your computer’s acting up.”

Schroo asked, “Tell me what exactly happened.”

“Well, you know I’m playing WOW right?”

“Uh huh.”

“See, I was playing then suddenly the screen blacked out. Does that ever happened before?” I queried through chewed lips, hoping the incident wasn’t a unique one.

“Ah yeah. That’s the computer’s way of saying I need to buy newer graphics card,” he explained, “So what did you do next? Did you end the program through control-alt-delete?”

“I tried but the whole screen is frozen. Whole thing hanged!,” I said, “So, I pushed that…that… uh…button that shuts down the computer. You know, the one found on the computer chassis.”

“The Power button?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Yeah. So what happened next?”

Taking a deep breath, I answered glumly, “I turned it on again, and nothing’s showing on the monitor.”

“WHAT do you MEAN there’s nothing showing on the monitor?,” he asked in a somewhat controlled voice, “The computer’s turned on, right?”

“Yeah. I turned it on again but the monitor’s just black. But there’s this dialog box at the upper left corner saying ‘No Signal’. And that’s just it,” I explained glumly still, “I swear, I didn’t do anything with your computer. It just went dead. Now, it’s dead!”

Ignoring my whines, he asked me still calmly as he tried  troubleshooting the problem, “Sweetie, can you see a blue light from the monitor?”

“Huh?,” puzzled I, “What blue light? Is there suppose to be a blue light? Ah. The blue light coming from the monitor? Yeah, I see it.”

“Ok. That’s good. How about over at the pc chassis?”

Looking for it and finding no blue lights, I moaned, “Ohmigosh! No blue light! What’s the problem, Sweetie? What shall I do?”

“Here’s what you should do: Push the power button again because, sweetie, the computer’s still off.”

Mercifully, the conversation was done over the phone so I was spared of the sight of Schroo’s amused grin spreading across his cheeks.

Where is Jollibee’s butt? (PMS Part 3)

While Van’s attention is currently engaged elsewhere (i.e. her mountainous load of schoolwork) and her temper safely projected at a different direction (specifically, at the bathroom  weighing scale’s direction), Schroo decided to continue what he so boldly started.

5. It is possible to win at anything except when arguing with your girlfriend (or wife). But on a very rare occasion that winning is achieved, never EVER gloat. Otherwise, suffer the consequences.

“Uhm… Sweetie?,” Schroo started skeptically as he was watching Van jiggle her butt in tune with the Jollibee commercial song, “Why are you doing that?”

“What? Dancing?” she grinned, still moving with the commercial song. “If you can call that dancing,” he remarked wryly, then seeing Van’s threatening glower, “I mean, c’mon, sweetie! How could you shake your jigglies on a Jollibee song?”                                                                                                                      

Germaine (of Neurotically Yours) butt-to-butt with Jollibee 

“Why not?” she huffed, “It makes sense that I would, seeing that the commercial jingle is made in direct exploitation of Jollibee’s large tush.” 

“That’s not Jollibee’s butt?” Schroo declared.

“It’s not?”

“It’s not.”

“What is it then?” she asked with one eyebrow raised (in difficulty).

“That big sac is actually his balls,” he said quite matter-of-factly, “Yes, he only has one ball.”

“Ohkaaaaaay,” she replied with a tiny quirk from her lips.

“No, really. His stinger is his penis,” he declared, returning the quirky lips back.

She isn’t knowledgable with a male bee’s anatomy but she knows when Schroo is challenging her for a bullshit-fest. So rising up to the challenge, she went Socratic on him, “So, you’re saying that the stinger is the penis?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t see his penis anywhere.”

He thought quickly and replied, “That’s because he’s hiding it, you know. See, despite working for a large corporation as an exalted kiddie mascot, he still can’t afford to buy himself some pants.” 

“But his gigantic ball is exposed,” she retorted back.

“You don’t even know it’s his ball until I told you,” then seeing her opening her mouth for another comeback, he immediately added,” It’s enormous abnormality is itself a camouflage for its unwitting exposure.”  

“I see.” She paused a little from the rather obliquely confusing explanation, then seeing Schroo’s quirky lips broadening to a grin, she matched the grin with her own haughty smile,” So if the big sac is the ball, and the stinger is the penis, where the hell is Jollibee’s butt?”

With unflinching demeanor, he simply said,” He has no butt.”

With equal repose, she queried immediately, “If so, where does his waste go?”

This made him pause for a little while, but seeing Van’s eyes already dancing victoriously, he grasped at the first thought that came into his mind, “Oh crap,” he muttered.

“Giving up?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“Eherm… you didn’t hear me right. I said Jollibee doesn’t crap,” saved he.

“Really?” said an amused smile. By now she knows that she already have the upperhand of the arguement, so she pursued to trap him some more, “Then how does his waste go out then? And don’t tell me that his waste doesn’t go out either since that’s not how the food cycle goes.”

“Well, he really doesn’t crap,”said a sudden flash of sly smile who wouldn’t be trapped, “Instead of shitting, he just mutated into the monstrosity that he is now.”

“Then he should be  in gigantic proportion,” came a wry reply.

“Ahhh,” his sly smile slowly turning back into a grin, “but in a bee’s standard  size,” he put together his pointer finger and thumb with a distance of about an inch, “Jollibee, who is taller than my almost 6-foot height,” he raised his other hand over his head, ” is certainly huge.”

“But…but…” then she fell silent.

“What? Giving up?” said an ear-to-ear grin.”No comeback? No wise-ass retort? No nothing?”

No reply.

“This must be my lucky day!” He allowed himself then to laugh victoriously.

“Easy boy,” cutting him off, hands loftily placed on her lips, “Truth is, I let you win.”

“What’s this? Reverse sour-graping?” he teased, still puffed up from the win he seldom gets. “Why don’t you just admit that you lose and I win?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t let you win the next time since it reverts you back to first grade,” she snapped, then crossing her arm in front of her, “so if you know what’s good for you… don’t push it.”

Knowing life would be easier without having “hell hathed fury by a sore-loser scorned”, he clamped his mouth shut, stifled a giddy grin,  and contented himself to a silent victory jiggle the moment she turned her back at him.

He wins. She wins.

Related Posts:

Commercial Break from the PMS (PMS Part 2)

PMS (Putting up with My Shit) 

Journeying with Sister Sledge

 Although I have long been very inactive to the pursuit of the Muses, that does not stop me to celebrate the 4th Anniversary of Pinoy Poets, together with the oldies.

And because my creative juices is still impaired from the two-week long project cramming (where I literally sleep for only 2-3 hours everyday and subsist only on MRT kiosks’ delectables and paracetamol since it’s the only diet that time would allow me), I could only post pictures taken by dearest  Rhodge (careof his phone cam). 

Yep. We have larynx-busting convention at the Su Family KTV Bar along Meralco Avenue in Ortigas. To Gracia, Xam, Claire, Siquey, Tito Rolly, Kath, Emong, Claire, Ani, Nanoy, Ergoe, and of course, star-of-the-night Rhodgeness, I missed you all.

P.S. In Where’s Wally-esque tradition, find Van there. 

P.P.S. I was also with Schroo in the event, but he’s even more elusive than I am.

There are no sunny skies at the moment for 25 because of 22

I loved life at 22. I think I loved it too much that now at 25, ghostly recollection of stupidities came popping out of nowhere. The world used to be large, but nowadays, I feel claustrophobic; seeing corners and almost bumping at them.

At 22, the moon was a friend, wrapping its dim glow around my solitary soliloquies on nights that I can’t sleep. Today, it won’t even say hello behind hazy clouds. It’s the same thing with the rain. I used to love walking under it. Now, I shiver at its unkind downpour.

At the moment, I feel like running down the streets naked, flashing everyone’s subsconcious of what I would like to bare. That or fly across every corners of the world, trying to broaden the narrowing space I’m in. However, I can only content myself now with the calming presence of a lover that understands all and accepts everything.  

I’m sure Life , with its fantastic sense of humor, laughs at the joke I’m in. I only wish I could laugh too at the punchline it gave.

P.S. It was originally accompanied by a poem by Liz Lochhead. But I took it down because it was too revealing. I know it prolly doesn’t make sense , but I’m blogging for me now. And  I’m taking advantage now the real purpose of blogging: to write in a form of release. 

P.S.S. No thanks to Ah-de for the thigh two! :p

Commercial Break from the PMS (PMS Part 2)

 While I’m letting Schroo take some time to choose his next words more carefully (for the continuation of the PMS post), I’m giving the guys something to appreciate women more:

 Introducing the  C-String - the new evolution of underwear that’s twice the wedgie a G-string provides. It’s economical in the sense that the stiffness makes it possible to be less the string that’s suppose to hold it up, and versatile enough to serve as a headband when you decide to go commando instead.

As for the sexiness rate of this thing?

 Schroo commented with a funny look on his face, “Er… that looks painful.”  

 ”Does it?,” I asked nonchalantly and said, “But anyweyz, it’s all in the pursuit of beauty, dearest.”

 Schroo rolled his eyes and mutttered, “Geezus.

 Ignoring that, I, still on a campaign explaining a rationale to something really irrational, said, “It’s the new revolutionary step in eliminating unsightly VPLs sweetie. Having that is sooooo not right. 

 Schroo exclaimed upon hearing something so foreign to him, “VP-huwaatt?”

Sighing, I explained patiently, “Visible Panty Lines,” then seeing no comprehension on his face, “It’s when the outline of one’s underwear becomes visible through tight clothing,” I explained further.

 ”Aahhh”

 ”That’s how G-strings or thongs got invented in the first place; with the advent of the popularity of going-commando, girls suddenly felt the need to eliminate the evidences that they’re granny panties users.”

 ”So, you mean, for the sake of looking sexy, girls don’t mind that there’s something stuck between their buttcheeks?”

 ”Yup.” replied I, then looking meaningfully at him I added, ” So, you guys have to learn to appreciate us more just for the fact that we’d go lengths to look beautiful.” 

 Of course, Schroo got the message. So much so that he made a mental note adding to the PMS post he’s suppose to finish:

 Number 4: Women are crazy. No further explanation.

Picture credit: www.lovehoney.co.uk 

PMS (Putting up with My Shit)

Singlehood is great, but the challenge doesn’t always lies on the chase.Rather, it lies on keeping a relationship together. So with that being said, Schroo decided to share a few of his branded nuggets of wisdom(otherwise known as, realizations) while within a relationship with the most difficult female he has the unfortunate luck to get stuck with. In doing so, over-eager lonely guys might actually think twice before succumbing to any acts of desperation (i.e. getting a girlfriend).

1.  "Women have a high threshold for pain; they give birth to children and have dysmenorhea after all. They also believe in equal partnership when it comes in relationships. This is why they always make things difficult for you. It is to annoy you. It is to share the pain (and future pain) with you. Deal with it."

"Hmmm… Sweetie, I think your hair needs a little trim, " Van said while combing Schroo’s hair down his nape with her fingers. "It’s getting a little bushy at the end."

"Actually, I’ve been meaning to have my hair shaved off ," came his reply, "Never tried  the bald look before."

"You can’t do that," she announced, still playing with his hair.

"And why not?" he demanded. 

"Because I said so."

"That’s it?" he said incredulously.

"Well, I also wanted to have the GI Jane look, but you don’t even want me to cut my hair short." 

"Are you nuts?!? Bald girls are so unsexy!"

"Says who? Says you, of course," she pouted. 

 "Are you doing this just to spite me?" 

"No. I’m doing this for want of equality," she smiled triumphantly.

At this point, give up. It will never do to challenge other things done unequally (i.e. paying for dinner most of the time), lest when you marry her, she refuses to get pregrant unless you become pregnant first.

2. If you ever grew up never telling a lie, being with a woman will soon teach you how. 

"I think I’ll skip dessert this time," Van said valiantly refusing the urge to order the sinfully delightful specialty Mud Pie of the restaurant, "I feel like I’m getting fat. I wasn’t heavy, was I?"

Remembering the additional weight she put on as evident on the soreness of his lap when she was sitting on it just a few hours ago , he lied, "No."

"Oh, by the way, how did you like the breakfast I cooked for you?" she asked with a hopeful smile, "I hope I didn’t made the Cajun Rice too hot."

It was hellishly peppery, actually, he thought, but nevetherless he fibbed, "Naaah. I could take it. In fact, the spicyness is just perfection."

"That’s good. I’ll cook you more of it next time since you like it so much" she smiled blissfully.

He gulped then said hastily, "You don’t need to slave over the stove next week, sweetie. We’re going round Manila to take pictures of Architectural buildings early morning, right?

"Oh yeah, you’re right," she agreed happily, then, noticing a batch of tall, modelesque women entering the place, she went for the final compliment bait for the night, "Don’t you wish I was taller and skinny sometimes?"

Now, the experienced Schroo of today would’ve said, "Never. Because you already are perfect in my eyes." It’s cheesy but it works. But since the Schroo with only 4 months of Van exposure weren’t so adept in thinking up cheesy lines, he lets up a snort and let go of a remark coming from a deep prejudice against those in the modeling business, "I don’t really care as long as you have a brain."

Ding ding ding ding ding! The warning bell sounded off. "So," she started, with deadly quietness of tone, "Are you saying I’m short and dumpy?"

Feeling the chill in the air, he knew he did something wrong. So he tried to repair the damage by grasping logical flattery, "I didn’t said that honey. You are petite and sexy.  But were you otherwise, I wouldn’t mind it so much because your intelligence is by far sexier than any of your physical attributes combined. " Whew, he thought in relief.

She eyed him loftily, not really buying his word. Nevertheless, she just said nonchalantly,  "I see. I suppose I’ll be having that dessert then seeing as you’re ok being seen with a fat and dumpy girlfriend as long as her gray matter’s still functioning. What does it matter to you if I become round enough to roll like doughnuts, eh? So long as my calories intake  is in direct proportion with any cerebral pursuit, you wouldn’t mind, right?

3. On Pictures: "Women have an innate fascination with pictures… your pictures.  They contain memories… memories of your dorkiness among different forms of scenery.  Besides providing ample humor during PMS, such pictures remind them of those moments they were absent (and wonder if the picture-taker is a another woman/affair/karibal/home-wrecker).  Thus it isn’t a surprise if she furnishes you a photo collage/mosaic of your pictures, framed no less.  Yes, it is a gift saying "I love you baby", but also a sign spelling out "I own you baby".  You know how much they love making signs and signals.

"Why does most couple I know put pictures of themselves together in Friendster and we don’t?" Van asked Schroo one fine afternoon.

"Because we don’t need a cheesy thing like that to remind each other how much we love each other." he answered.

"Wrong. It’s because we haven’t thought of it until now. So, now that I’ve brought it up, we should join the bandwagon!" Van declared with much conviction.

"Do we have to?" Schroo whined.

"Well, I feel like I’m left out. I don’t want to feel left out, " she pouted then, as if strucked with a brilliant idea,"Aha! I’ll do something waaaaaay better!"

"Uh oh."

"Why don’t I make a collage of our pictures, scan it and then put it up as a wallpaper for your computer! Ha! How about that!" she grinned at having thought of so brilliant an idea. 

"Uhmm… No. No way am I going to get the same ribbing Jeff got when Jenny made one for him in his computer at the office."

"Oh, so it’s been done before, huh?" disappointed, she said.

"Yes, so please, don’t do it," he said firmly, even if  Van, deep in her thoughts wasn’t really listening.

"Aha!" she suddenly perked up, " Why don’t I make a bulletin board of picture collages of ourselves and then have Ate Mel put it up in your office? Ha! Beat that Jenny!" then she laughed maniacally at having thought of another brilliant idea.

"Oh God," Schroo muttered while banging his head against the wall in an attempt to wake himself up from the nightmare he’s currently in.

To be continued… 

Seeing Double

My brain probably got fried by the bright colors of the Speed Racer movie (in SM MOA IMAX, no less), that it resulted to my seeing resemblances for the characters of the the movie. For example, how many of you think that Emile Hirsch’s character Speed Racer looks so much like Ewan McGregor’s Christian (of Moulin Rouge)?

Emile Hirsch                              Ewan McGregor

Schroo: Hmmm… Speed  Racer does look like the younger Ewan McGregor. But, I don’t understand how you can connect Kick Gurry and Enrique Iglesias together. For one thing, Kick Gurry’s Aussie and Enrique’s Latino.

Me: Look at these pictures then:

Schroo: Nope. I don’t see the resemblance.

Me: Ok. Look at the next set of pictures then.

Schroo: Nicely done. Enrique now looks like a sore thumb.

Me (sticking out tongue at Schroo): So I don’t photoshopped well, sue me. 

Schroo: You know who looks like Susan Sarandon, though?

Me: Who?

Schroo: Susan Sarandon of the 80s.

Schroo: Exhibit A. That’s a picture of her from the set of King of Gypsies. Wikipedia reported that she was born in 1946 which, calculating the given specifics, makes her 32 during that movie.

Me: Gee. She looks the same as today. It seems like time stopped for her st 30. 

Schroo: I know. But hey, that’s beside the point. Reinforced by Exhibit B.

Schroo: ...even at age  41 in the Witches of Eastwick and 62 in Speed Racer, Susan Sarandon still manages to keep her sex appeal. Her Mrs. Robinson Appeal.

Me (gives hanky to Schroo): Easy boy, you’re drooling.

Schroo (drily, but pulled out surreptitiously a hanky of his own): Ruh-hyt.  

Shortest Review Ever

While Schroo’s eyes feasted the awesome-est that is Iron Man, Van drooled "Ooooh lala" upon seeing Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark.