GTM FOR THE MOTHERFUCKING WIN!!

October 5, 2009 2 comments

I vote for Good Times Manila (http://goodtimesmanila.com/) for the Bloggers’ Choice Award – National category of the 2009 Philippine Blog Awards.

REASON: Because I slept with Deejay (the blog owner) once and it was fucking beautiful. His blog is nice too, so yeah, whatev.

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When I Googled “what do you do when you’re lonely?”, I knew I had it bad. Having scanned halfway through the generic ‘go out – meet people – indulge – solicitate prostitutes – volunteer in a soup kitchen – masturbate 35x a day’ responses, I heard the alarms of my own sanity, telling me how this is all an exercise in futility. Come on, if the internet had the answer to everything, we all wouldn’t be this deep in shit. We would be all deliriously happy, holding hands and skipping merrily and no amount of premium, grade-A crack will ever match the high. The interwebs will be our cyber-nirvana, and nobody will ever get off of it.

Loneliness. Its a fairly new thing for me. I’ve heard of it, sure, from other people. Some, even going crazy on its account. Personally, it is only now that I am experiencing it first-hand in all my 25 years. I’m basically a happy kid. So yeah.

I actually didn’t identify it as what it is. I tagged it ‘disconnection’ to everything and everyone else. It wasn’t until I was online and saw a photo of Macaulay Culkin (don’t ask what kind of kiddie porn site I was on — i forgot already) and saw how cute he was in ‘Home Alone’ that it dawned on me that my feeling of disconnection was actually just, yeah, loneliness. Its actually not that bad, I mean, some people I see on tv (mostly on Dr. Phil and Oprah and The Biggest Loser) have it as young as 8. So at 25, this is actually pretty normal. I should actually be happy, come to think of it.

But I’m not holding a banner saying so, or doing that stupid happy dance that I do. Because, to be really honest, this blows. Major suck, I’m telling ya. My internet browser history will attest to that. How did I come to this? I might not be the popular girl back then, but I have accumulated a group of friends whose detestable traits are compensated by their talent, bitchiness and love for alcohol and several illegal substances. But then, life happened. We grew up. And with that, came growing apart.

Oh. Bridget Jones’ Diary in on. The ‘The Hours’ of Lonely Women. The ‘Pretty in Pink’ of Girls Who Got Grounded on Prom Night. Holy.Fucking.God.

Well, not so long ago, I made a pact with myself to generally just weed out people who wear negativity as part of their wardrobe from our life. And look where it got me. Great going, Grace. But then again, as I told a friend (who’s a million miles away), I am not afraid to be lonely if the alternative is being with somebody who doesn’t really care.  I don’t want a friend who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. I am in a country where they say finding someone you can trust even to lend 100 bucks is a task so unbelievably daunting you will have better luck winning the lottery. Im sure that wouldn’t help.

If there is one thing that..

that…

that…

Bloody wanker. I forgot what I was gonna say. Damn movie and Beer. They Always Have This Effect of Nauseating Forgetfulness And Inappropriate Capitalisation of Initial Letters On Me.

So.

I’m lonely and shit like that. If you wanna grab coffee or something, send me a PM. If you make it worth my while, you might get yourself a nice acquiantance in me. It’s pathetic and I’m not even kidding. No perverts please. And, I can give you a ride, but you buy your own coffee.

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mcutesy

September 30, 2009 Leave a comment

One night, I was surfing porn blogs of hot guys, when someone so rudely interrupted my dirty literary fantasies. This ensues:

mcutesy is not in your Messenger List Use caution in corresponding with people you don’t know and never share confidential or private information with them. Report as Spam

mcutesy: ikaw ba yan? ha? bitch? akin sya!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sassy_sinner_saint: uhhh

sassy_sinner_saint: sino ka?

mcutesy: maang maangan ka pa… akin sya, tigilan mo sya!!!!!

sassy_sinner_saint: ahh ok

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

sassy_sinner_saint: pano kung ayaw na sya sayo?

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: kasalanan mo, bitch ka talaga putaka

sassy_sinner_saint: kasalanan ko?

sassy_sinner_saint: pano ko naging kasalanan?

sassy_sinner_saint: na ayaw na nya sayo?

mcutesy: humanda ka

sassy_sinner_saint: come to think of it, parang ikaw ang may problema, not me honey

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: honey ka diyan, humanda ka sa aken

sassy_sinner_saint: im mortified, petrified, stupefied by you.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

sassy_sinner_saint: sino ba sa kanila ang boyfriend mo? mejo nalilito ako e.

mcutesy: kita mo na, puta ka talaga, may iba ka pa kinakalantari mo pa yan

sassy_sinner_saint: can’t help it hun. sila ang lumalapit.

sassy_sinner_saint: hulaan ko.

sassy_sinner_saint: hmmm…

sassy_sinner_saint: si adrian? (blogger im stalking reading)

sassy_sinner_saint: or si dj? (blogger friend)

sassy_sinner_saint: or si richard? (Quest. I was watching CNN. What?)

sassy_sinner_saint: ?

mcutesy: haha kilala na kita.at alam ku wat you did… kaya pal a

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

sassy_sinner_saint: what did i do now?

sassy_sinner_saint: sino ba kasi yung boyfriend mo?

mcutesy: kinati puke mo kaya ka naghanap nang iba.. kawawang pobre haha at yung sa akin naman balak mo asuwangin? ha??

sassy_sinner_saint: woah woah

sassy_sinner_saint: harsh words

sassy_sinner_saint: its not me who’s kinakati

sassy_sinner_saint: if that is even a word.

sassy_sinner_saint: like i told you, they come to me.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: uu nga, yung come nila gusto mo haha

sassy_sinner_saint: clever. ha. ha.

sassy_sinner_saint: you know, i can really use some help here.

sassy_sinner_saint: if you tell me who he is, i can tell you all the delicious details.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: tigilan mo si XXX, akin sya! bayot!

sassy_sinner_saint: ahhhhh

sassy_sinner_saint: si XXX pala.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

sassy_sinner_saint: hmmm.. lemme think about it… ok. sige sayo na lang sya! 🙂

sassy_sinner_saint: we’ve had some fun. but we’re over now.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: siguromaliit titi ng boyfrend mo kaya mo dinispacha

mcutesy: haha

sassy_sinner_saint: on the contrary, i’ve had enough of big dicks. mas type ko na ngayon ang cocktail-size.

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

mcutesy: haha sige pa, makakarating sa kanya, alam ko na rin email ad nya haha

sassy_sinner_saint: go ahead, tell him. we didnt break up because im a good girl now, did we?

mcutesy: haha dyan ka na bayot! haha

sassy_sinner_saint: ok! toodles!

sassy_sinner_saint: 🙂

***end***

just when I was starting to see promise in the conversation. tsk. this could have been the highlight of my evening. now, that honour goes to my 5-minute bout with the gazillion-caloried maja blanca. I won.

oh. of course, i dont know this chick, and I have no fucking clue who the fuck is XXX.

so now, dont be surprised if a Facebook page of me with insensitive status messages and unflaterring photos surfaces. (Feelingera ako! Sino ba ako, si Jacque Bermejo??)

Nyahaha. People.

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September 10, 2009 Leave a comment

Lorenzo “Ren” Derevko —superstar and super bastard. The son of Italy’s most powerful Mafioso by a Russian actress who harbors the thought that no name is better than her actor father insisted that her sons use them as screen names (because somehow she knew she will have nothing but sons and that they will all be famous), he dreams of becoming a chef, a strip club owner, and to bed as much women as humanly possible. Of all these, he fulfilled the last one. At 29, he’s the most coveted print ad model of all of Venice (thanks to the stolen shots arranged by his mother), owner of two Ferrari’s, and bedded most of Italy’s beauty (for he prefers his toys brainless). He has never had successive dates with the same woman for he says that he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He’s smart, all right, but he’s too lazy to indulge himself with such tedious work.

His life has no direction, not even the vaguest plot.

One hot night, he was kidnapped, beaten to the pulp, and the next thing he knew, he’s in America, clothed with the ugliest hospital gown he ever saw, penniless. After being booted out of the hospital because apparently they needed his bed for other patients, he wandered in the streets of New York, disoriented, trying to figure out what happened to his fairy tale world, his fairy tale family, and his fairy tale sex life. He tried to con people into treating him to a Russian restaurant he saw (in a manner like when he tries to lure her women to bed), but who would give an Armani-clad, supermodel type free lunch?  No one in freaking New York.

Being his mother’s favorite son, he was the perfect opportunity that passed Donato Giambelli’s way to avenge his loss of a beautiful but cunning Irina, who saw more promise in marrying a powerful Italian Mafioso than a struggling actor. His father, on the other hand, is the known Giancarlo Medicci, lord of Italy’s feared Family, wondered who would be taking over their restaurant chain which is by the way, the front to their drug-dealing activities (they import their drugs with their veggies). Giambelli had Lorenzo thrown to America, made up a letter saying that he needed to find himself, things about personal space, make up his dreams, blah, blah, blah, because he knows that however Pilar would be hurt and want to be with his son, she would respect his decision and hope for his happiness and not go looking for him anymore.

Disoriented from hunger, with a killer headache, and with the skies threatening to pour, he entered the first door where most likely he would be able to get out breathing. The Russian restaurant that saved him and his Armani suit is owned, managed, and has its kitchen dominated by Theodosia Markov, a Russian immigrant who desperately needs a cook for Dyakuyu (Russian word for thank you). Ren, tried out and got immediate employment, thanks to his mother’s chicken kiev recipe, the only Russian dish he knows (all others are Italian). His chicken kiev was a success that Theodosia asked him to cook other Russian dishes, but all tasted Italian, for he was a trained Italian chef. From here, the plot revolves around Ren’s fulfillment of all the things that he never intended of doing. He learned life, love, sex techniques, recipes, divorce laws, writing a Chinese stop-short, how to negotiate with hostage takers and all other things he needs to know from Theodosia, the patrons of the diner, and his own experiences never to have taken place if he was in Italy.

After a year, Pilar finally gave in to Giancarlo’s plea of finding Ren (he convinced her because his other son, Vitorio, who was managing the restaurant for the family was very bad in math and was slowly bankrupting their business, was killed in a plane crash (he was squished by bananas he personally ordered from South Korea)).

But before they could start looking for Ren, he was back in Italy (he saved his earnings up from Dyakuyu for a business class ticket) with Theodosia.

At dinner with his family, he asked if they have an idea who would dare touch anyone of them but his family couldn’t think of anyone. But because of the outcome of that incident, he thought that there would be no point at knowing.

As they were chatting away, Ren asked Pilar if she had heard of the death of the famous actor Donato Giambelli. Pilar answered yes and added that Donato has been her second favorite boyfriend, next to their father. She also mentioned what a fine man he was for he left his fortune to a charity that rehabilitates alcoholics who were dumped by their girlfriends.

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September 7, 2009 Leave a comment

I feel an abstract sort of explosion
As I read a sequence of epic battle in your eyes
Mines of reds and blues and violets
Mash-up with the notions of the past eight years.

Money well remains flowing
Energies keep on consuming
Avalanche of fire in the distance
Why the hell aren’t we burning up?

In the blaze, I’m wondering what we lost
But instead I saw that I have found a new playground
And in the corner, a seesaw of odds.

Then I realised I am ready.
We are the ones who most often surprise ourselves.

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The 11th Husband

A young man married a beautiful woman who had previously divorced 10 husbands. On their wedding night, she told her new husband to “Please be gentle; I’m still a virgin”.

“What?” said the puzzled groom. “How can that be if you’ve been married ten times.?”

“Well, husband #1 was a Sales Representative; he kept telling me how great it was going to be.

“Husband # 2 was in Software Services; he was never really sure how it was supposed to function; but he said he ‘d look into it and get back with me.

“Husband # 3 was from Field Services; he said that everything checked out diagnostically but he just couldn’t get the system up.

“Husband # 4 was in Telemarketing; even though he knew he had the order, he didn’t know when he would be able to deliver.

“Husband # 5 was an Engineer, he understood the basic process but he wanted three years to research, implement, and design a new state of the-art method.

“Husband #6 was from Administration; he thought he knew how but he wasn’t sure whether it was his job or not.

“Husband # 7 was in Marketing; although he had a product, he was never sure how to position it.

“Husband # 8 was a Psychiatrist; all he did was talk about it.

“Husband # 9 was a Gynaecologist; all he did was look at it.

“Husband # 10 was a Stamp Collector; all he ever did was lick it. — God I miss him.

” But now that I’ve married you, I’m so excited”.

“Wonderful”, said the husband, “but why?

“You’re with the “GOVERNMENT”..

This time I KNOW I’M gonna get SCREWED!

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It was 4 in the afternoon on the first day of Ramadan. And she’s already drunk.

She’ll take her buzz wherever she can. Gossip websites are her favourite, but when she’s too lazy to read, she’ll just pop a beer (or five) and get on with whatever she’s on to, usually just staring into open space while imaging the downfall of the latest person to steal her thunder or the life she could never have. Nothing beats self-inflicted deprecation so early into the night.

She’s crazy and feeling, yet remaining lethargic for fear of overexposure. For the feeling she harbours is unacceptable by social norms, and more so, too grotesque that even she herself vomits in the inside so inexplicably at the very thought of it. She’s in love.

Never had she acquired the flair for the dramatics, but today, of all days, she is eroded by the very emotions that she tried to drown, with beer, with cheap gossip and with every bit of sense left existing in her sordid little mind.

Meryl Streep was crying on the tube when she too found herself in tears. She longed for something more expensive, sophisticated, and mature than beer.

But, alas, she found none.

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