Auction (a.k.a Sold to the Wimpy Guy Wearing a Trucker Cap)

While in this lifetime, I'll never be anything other than a writer, I am convinced that I'll make a good auctioneer--who knows, maybe in the 25th century. Seriously, my experience in fleshing out a character ought to come in handy during those bids. Of course, with my personality I'm much more suited to the atmosphere of livestock auctions, rather than Sotheby's. Still, it makes for an interesting (not to mention rather unusual) career choice. And there's nothing more appealing to me than the "unusual." Heck, my whole life has been (and still is) a testament to the wonders of the "unusual."

And so, without further ado, please enjoy this clip.



AN: I disclaim. And yes, I can also sell things "to the man with the bigger breasts." Toodles!

Fuzzy Memories

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Me: I get it. Fan of self-flagellation, are you?
You: Get over yourself. I'm here because I see you're looking a bit dead behind the eyes.
Me: Sure, you are. I don't recall ever asking for a rescuer.
You: Suit yourself. I hate rabid fan girls anyway.
Me: Oh, I hope you're not talking about me, Mr. Pornographer.
You: You're calling me, Mr. Pornographer? That's rich.
Me: And true. Don't forget true.
You: Only if you admit that you're in denial.
Me: In denial about what?
You: Your everlasting love for my person.
Me: If by your person, you mean disgusting pig with the sensitivity of a dumb bell...
You: Just admit it.
Me: I'll admit to your stupidity. In fact, I'll vouch for it.
You: Fine. I'll give you this round. But only because I'm convinced you harbor such strong feelings for me.
Me: You are psychotic and you should get your head examined.
You: Wow. You really, REALLY like me.
Me: End of conversation.
You: Next time, there'll be tears.
Me: You wish, idiot.
You: Buh-bye now, fangirl. I'll look forward to our next battle.
Me: You're still an idiot.
You: We'll see.

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Worst Matches

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I think I will never be in a relationship with a mathematician. It's because I'm scared that I'll be exposed for the idiot that I really am. Here's the thing. Most of the time I really don't give a rat's ass about most of everything, but then again, I have enough pride for five people. So if I decide to argue my case, know that not only will I fight till I'm blue in the face, I'll fight until my opponent admits defeat.

Now, if I'm dating a mathematician, I don't want to ever be in the position where he'll be able to make his point using equations and formulas. God forbid that I'll be all "Oh no, you didn't!" (head movement a la Beyonce plus finger snap trademarked by proud sistahs)...and he'll be like, "Well, according to Riemann's hypothesis..." The outcome of that conversation will be absolute crap, at least from my point of view. He'll win hands down and I'll be left with an unstoppable nosebleed. Not the prettiest picture, I must say.

Magicians. Now, there's an interesting demographic. In the middle of a fight, I don't want a guy to be pulling rabbits out of my ass. And if he tries to pull any now-you-see-me-now-you-don't trick on me, I'll slap myself silly six ways till Sunday. Shame on me for picking such a weirdo. Note to self: One weirdo in a relationship is enough. Guess, I'll just have to look for magic someplace else.

Crushing on Myself

I don't want to use the term 'soulmate.' It's just too . . . what's the word? Oh yeah, icky icky poo (shoutout to the always fabulous perezhilton!!!) But then again, how can I describe Joel McHale in relation to my sarcastic yet weirdly lovable self?

Watch this video and worship the greatness that is Joel Mchale.

Manga Addiction

Thank goodness for scanlations. My manga habits are becoming worse by the second. Crunchyroll and onemanga--you both are more dear to me than personal hygiene and 0.55 percent of my soul. I love you more than growing dust bunnies in my hair. I love you more than my collection of toenail clippings. Seriously, if I can have crunchyroll and onemanga's baby, I'd sacrifice my vajayjayjayjay forty times over. I love you crunchyroll. I love you onemanga. Let's watch sunsets and sunrises from 18 different cliffs from now on. Kissy, kissy. Bang. Bang. Bang.

You kill me. And it feels so right...

Self-gratification

"Who do I write for?" is not a question. Because this blog is not about being read, it's about being written (to quote extensively from peoplespunisher.com). In that respect, writing is like masturbation. It's all about need and self-gratification. Sometimes, guilt does come into play. But when the process is done right, in terms of environment and mood, writing can be healthy for both body and soul.

Of course, for the most part (stretching the metaphor further), writing can be a frustrating, discouraging task. Do it often, and soon you'll see that you are slowly desensitizing yourself from the whole experience. I am a writer 'tis true. But to normalize writing is not something I am keen on doing. Writing must always hint or obviously convey an elitist, specialist vibe. It's an understanding that mere mortals must not attempt to inflict their prosaic selves on an audience. And on that note, I may have paradoxed myself into a corner. Nevertheless, I will continue to write for myself--even if a singular collective or plural individual takes the time to read this self-absorbed piece.

Perfect

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People say that the best version of me is when I am with you. And somehow, it makes sense, considering who we are and what we mean to each other.

But I have my way, my need to complicate things. And you, you have your way of hating me for it. You tell me that I am incapable of happiness . . . that wallowing in self-pity helps me validate my existence. You see this as unnecessary. I see it as self-preservation.

It turns out that I am not satisfied with the best version of myself, after all. Because maybe, just maybe, being me and being with you, is not what I am living my life for.

Tabula Rasa

Oh yeah, I swiped this picture from Jan's friendster. Global Gutz was a fitting sendoff. Of course, I wished all sem-art folks were in attendance. But really, I was just glad people came--the whole thing not bein' free and all.

Thing is, it hasn't really sunk in that I've left the sinkhole that was my workplace. A part of me is very much relieved, while another part wonders what would have happened to me, if I stayed. And then there's the part that's just all excited 'bout the new job. I am so looking forward to sightseeing in Greece, eating fusion Vietnamese/French cuisine, and just visiting friends in Australia and Canada (hopefully, the last two...basta I don't want to jinx it).

I'm missing a lot of things, I know. For now, I'm going to busy myself with wiping the slate clean.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!!!

Needing to Regroup

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Today, I am betting on your maybe. Because maybe is good enough, at least for now. And today, I am gladly sacrificing my pride. Because between us, there is no such luxury. Today, you are the prayer on my lips. Because more than anything, I want God to champion our cause. And today, I am as you are--unsure but willing. Because chances have come and gone. But for us, the perfect moment is still at large.

Can't Get Enough

My latest obsession...



Starting to develop a girl-crush on Hayley Williams. Right up there with ninjas.

Make Your Move

I am worried. Because the days are passing and I have not heard from you. And I know that I am in the process of missing you, except that you no longer appear in my dreams. And the questions that have no answers no longer keep me awake at night. There are moments when I realize how comfortable I am in both our silence. That my heart no longer stops at the mention of your name, nor does it race when you speak of mine. I even forget who you are and what your face looks like. And maybe that's not such a big tragedy.

Image credit: http://www.blike.net/files/frontimage/th07lovecontract001.jpg

Delusions of Grandeur

9 AM:

Oprah calls and begs me to come to her show. I tell her, "Have my people call your people. You know I can never refuse you." Meanwhile, one of my personal assistants mouths the words, "Johnny Depp on line 2." I nod and quickly end my conversation with Oprah.

"Johnny, stop sending me messages. I'm Mrs. Krasinski now, you have to respect that." Before I can send this text message, ten delivery guys show up, asking one of my people to receive the 100 pale pink peonies from Mr. Depp. I just sigh in exasperation and ask assistant number 7 to take care of this problem.

8 PM:

Because it has been confirmed that I am appearing on The Oprah Winfrey Show, designers promptly send outfits from their latest collections, and I literally have my pick of the litter. I owe Donatella, but Marc Jacobs is celebrating his birthday soon. I decide that I'll decide some other time when I'm more up to the task.

Day of the Show

10 AM:

So I still can't decide on what, or more to the point, who to wear. I then ask assistant number 3 to get me some banana leaves, coconut husks, and lots of double-sided tape. I work on the dress for a bit, taping bits here and there. I have my hair done, and I'm all ready to leave the house.

1 PM:

I get to the studio and people usher me to the green room. Oprah drops by and her jaw drops in amazement as she proclaims my dress to be "truly avant-garde and tres chic." I give her air kisses and promise to entertain the audience to the best of my abilities. Oprah tells me, I don't have to do that because quite frankly, she opines, "You are the best thing since life populated this planet." I humbly accept her praise and wait for the show to start taping.

(end of part 1)

Image Credit: http://images.usatoday.com/life/_photos/2006/05/11/oprah-main.jpg

Bad Wife

Two years ago, I posted this entry on my other blog (dated Dec. 23, 2006):

If there's one thing that's more precious to me than all the gold in the universe, it's probably sleep or sleeping or you know that thing that's the exact opposite of wakefulness? yeah, you get it now, i don't have to go to a lengthy explanation bout it. you know how they say "magbiro ka na sa lasing wag lang sa bagong gising?" well that should clue you in. there's a particular quirk to my body and my personality that's anchored on the sleep gene. i'm boorish by nature but it's nothing compared to what i become whenever my sleep is interrupted. some people get nasty when they're not fed, i get testy when i don't get my 8-hour sleep. of course that alone is an accomplishment for me, my circadian rhythm is synchronized to a 36-hour schedule. i'm a freak sure, but even if i'm only napping, people should never, and i mean NEVER wake me for some petty reason like the house is on fire or the president of the country has come to visit...NEVER. it's not just rude, it throws off my sleep-wake cycle out of the orbit, which makes me homicidal and makes me want to use the most colorful language in my arsenal, the kind that puts sailors to shame. it's not pretty, well it never is, but that's not the point. the point is, LET ME SLEEP. i promise you giving me and my body all the time it needs to rest, is your only hope of ever seeing the "nice" side of me. it's not a myth.

Two days ago:

I got into a fight. Actually, it wasn't really a fight, 'cause I was doing all the shouting and channeling the all-powerful Mrs. Grumpykins.

Bottomline: Nobody should ask me weird questions when I'm still sleeping.

Bad Wife Connection:

Woe to the man who asks me for nookie in the wee hours of the morning. Ditto for preparing breakfast and milking the cow (in case I marry a farmer...).

Image credit: http://hakins.deviantart.com/art/Bad-Thing-50569948

Audio Chocolate

Free Video Hosting

Still have to thank Joseph for introducing me to the awesomeness that is Up Dharma Down...

Last Laugh

Music Video: MISERY BUSINESS -Paramore

So evil, it makes me want to slit my wrists. Still, it's mighty fantastic.

2008 Mantra

If there's ever a reason to watch Why Why Love . . .

江小南："你知不知道　我們隨時都要做好下一秒談戀愛的準備
誰知道　緣份會不會己經悄悄展開了
誰知道　愛神的箭是不是己經射中我們
又誰知道　那個白馬王子不會駕著馬車來接我們呢？
當然　時代不同了
他也有可能是開著跑車
或者是騎帥斃了的重型機車
總之　我有預感
他快要來了”

Jiang Xiao Nan: "Do you know we all have to be prepared because we may fall in love in the next second. Who knows, fate could be quietly launching? Who knows, cupid's arrow could be shooting right at us? And who knows, that our prince charming won't be fetching us in his horse carriage? Of course, it's a different generation now. He may be driving a sports car, or a cool motorbike. Anyway, I have a premonition he is coming soon."

Quote from: http://asianfanatics.net/forum/-talk405184.html

Image Credit: http://bestuff.com/images/images_of_stuff/210x600/lee-donghae-66725.jpg

Mel Almighty

equals bad idea. For one thing, I don't have the patience thing down pat. If I am the supreme being, I'll probably flood earth every two weeks. I'll obliterate every being who questions my existence and I'll definitely not be able to control playing the favoritism game. (Trans. Tom Cruise will be cast immediately to the first, sixth, or seventh circle of hell--I'm still deciding this detail--whereas John Krasinski will own everything in the free world, achieving a demi-god status.)

I guess I'm extremely grateful God is God. And while I wish He'll shower me with extra doses of His particular brand of goodness, I have a feeling everything is perfect as it is. I pray then that God grant me the clarity, no, the humility to see...just see.

http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/uncyclopedia/images/7/75/Lightning-with-streamers.jpg

26

I do like that being 26 makes it somewhat illegal to still act juvenile. Of course, I am expected to act my age, be mature and commit to wearing long pants. It entails certain responsibilities like having a job, a life plan, a wonderful legacy to leave behind. I, being me, choose to eschew all that and go with an entirely different philosophy for living. Not only does this make me a highly unconventional individual, it makes me a cautionary example to dewy-eyed kids who still believe in the promise of white picket fences and the suburban lifestyle. Because here's the actual, uncomplicated version of the facts of life: dreams have a way of shattering, people have uncanny capabilities to disappoint, and fate . . . well it definitely has methods to make life interesting (if interesting is another way of saying challenging/unbearable/bloody hell).

Despite all that, I still think life is good as it is. That will be enough to get me through this day, if only people care enough to believe me.

Deciding On A Theme Song

At first I was thinking Boston by Augustana, then Undiscovered by James Morrisson. I almost went with Catalyst or Wreck of the Day by Anna Nalick. However, at the moment, this seems to be the perfect fit.

Enjoy!

Unnecessary Disquiet of the Soul

Because I feel like I have just given a kid a box of crayons. And he/she has chosen the gray one to color the clouds, the trees, flowers, and the sea.

People should stop telling me to relax, unless they are willing to stir the pot.

I agree . . . apathy does become me. And so does cynicism, but I'll deny it till I get blue in the face.

I am fascinated by things that appear ambiguous and very specific at the same time.

You may have read me wrong.

Pix Credit: http://kronicdreamer.deviantart.com/art/DISTURBED-28418399