Saturday the 29th of August 2009, 4:27 PM, PST
Here I go again, waiting for the files I'm gonna be editing for the day. Based on the work assignment Maureen sent me, I've got one practice file and a live one, which means it's gonna be a light load for today. Which is great really, considering there'll be food tonight. I mean, the babbletypes, my coworkers, have planned to have food delivered to the office tonight. Less work, more time for eating.
On my cubicle, or the one I've decide to occupy today, sits several objects: my Marlboro tens, cellphone, sunglasses, a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and cup noodles. Just my basic office survival kit. I wonder what's the food selection for tonight. I'm not really a pizza fan, and sadly, so many in the office are. Drat and double drat. I hope there'll be the usual home-cooked goodies. They're much cheaper and hopefully spice-laden. Must be famished to talk about food this early. Hmm...Ah yes, lemme just assassinate my cup noodles for a moment. Be back later. (",)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Rantsicle 3, Requiem
Friday, the 28th of August 2009, 7:53 PM, PST
And it ended just like that, my three-day-old relationship with MV. I guess, the bottomline is you can pin all the blame on me.
For starters, I must admit that I was trying hard, I gave too much too soon, and she wasn't really that into me in the first place. There. The classic, sure-fire recipe for breakups. All the signs were there, but I ignored it.
Ingredient #1: Trying Hard
I, almost to near-obsession, did everything to impress her. At least, everything i thought would make the relationship work at the onset. Funny thing is, all my actions were made honestly and in good faith. I didn't try pretending to be something I'm not. And that's not really saying that much 'cause all those said actions were I think somehow tainted by something, which I don't like to discuss. Let's just say, the results failed to justify the means.
Ingredient #2: Giving Too Much Too Soon
Self-explanatory. And I'm not talking about financial stuff. It could have worked were MV a student seeking tuition funds in exchange for sexual favors, but I'm not into that...for the time being, that is. *wink* Joke! (",)
I did too much too soon. Period. I'll spare you the cheesy details.
Ingredient #3: She Wasn't Really Into Me Initially
This is I think the saddest. most damnedest part. The question then is, why did she say yes to me? Good question, Ken. Keep it up. As I see it, she liked what I represented, but not who I really was which, given the short time that we had together, is obviously impossible on her part to determine. (I think this is fast evolving into a boo-hoo story. Great.)
All things considered, I don't really hate her, and I won't explain all the things that made me use the term hate in the immediate preceding sentence. I just can't blame her. As I've said, blah, blah, blah, Amen. Funny thing is, I truly did love her. At least, I decided to the moment I saw her coming towards me when we first met. I even wanted to introduce her to my family. Weird, huh?
Yes, I was that into her. Call it weird, call it desperate, but WTH, "all thing's are possible in the PGA tour." In the realm of love, anything goes.
Ask me if breaking up with her hurt...NO! By the time, I've written this, I'm so numb, Hannibal would be so proud of me. Yes, it did, darn it. It did. Doc, more morphine please.
I realized that Nietzche was right. I've become a little stronger, denser. :) No use crying over spilt milk. I should seek the source, the "two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies." That wasn't Nietzche, by the way, silly. Solomon, (that's Your Late Majesty to you, please) said or should I say sang that.
Status: MV-free Area. Curiously happy. Open Season. Again.
Thanks, Mai. Truly grateful for your honesty. Carpe Diem.
And it ended just like that, my three-day-old relationship with MV. I guess, the bottomline is you can pin all the blame on me.
For starters, I must admit that I was trying hard, I gave too much too soon, and she wasn't really that into me in the first place. There. The classic, sure-fire recipe for breakups. All the signs were there, but I ignored it.
Ingredient #1: Trying Hard
I, almost to near-obsession, did everything to impress her. At least, everything i thought would make the relationship work at the onset. Funny thing is, all my actions were made honestly and in good faith. I didn't try pretending to be something I'm not. And that's not really saying that much 'cause all those said actions were I think somehow tainted by something, which I don't like to discuss. Let's just say, the results failed to justify the means.
Ingredient #2: Giving Too Much Too Soon
Self-explanatory. And I'm not talking about financial stuff. It could have worked were MV a student seeking tuition funds in exchange for sexual favors, but I'm not into that...for the time being, that is. *wink* Joke! (",)
I did too much too soon. Period. I'll spare you the cheesy details.
Ingredient #3: She Wasn't Really Into Me Initially
This is I think the saddest. most damnedest part. The question then is, why did she say yes to me? Good question, Ken. Keep it up. As I see it, she liked what I represented, but not who I really was which, given the short time that we had together, is obviously impossible on her part to determine. (I think this is fast evolving into a boo-hoo story. Great.)
All things considered, I don't really hate her, and I won't explain all the things that made me use the term hate in the immediate preceding sentence. I just can't blame her. As I've said, blah, blah, blah, Amen. Funny thing is, I truly did love her. At least, I decided to the moment I saw her coming towards me when we first met. I even wanted to introduce her to my family. Weird, huh?
Yes, I was that into her. Call it weird, call it desperate, but WTH, "all thing's are possible in the PGA tour." In the realm of love, anything goes.
Ask me if breaking up with her hurt...NO! By the time, I've written this, I'm so numb, Hannibal would be so proud of me. Yes, it did, darn it. It did. Doc, more morphine please.
I realized that Nietzche was right. I've become a little stronger, denser. :) No use crying over spilt milk. I should seek the source, the "two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies." That wasn't Nietzche, by the way, silly. Solomon, (that's Your Late Majesty to you, please) said or should I say sang that.
Status: MV-free Area. Curiously happy. Open Season. Again.
Thanks, Mai. Truly grateful for your honesty. Carpe Diem.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Rantsicle 2, Irony
Thursday, the 27th of August 2009, 8:07 PM, PST
My life has always been defined by irony. Irony after irony after irony after irony, etc. One stupid irony after another. Kinda makes me realize that after all, despite trying to exist as sanely or intelligently as possible, I may just be stupid after all. Lemme explain...
There could be a very high probability that I may have fallen in love with the wrong person or at the wrong time. Doesn't really matter what the underlying factor(s) is/are. The fact can't be changed. You see, I've decided or I should say committed to love this person (let's just call her MV, shall we?) unconditionally from the time that I first met her, a commitment based on a third-party account of the intended's personality and other traits, which after hearing of those made me decided that she was worth it. Now, the question is, was she worth it? The answer? I don't know. There you go. Another great monument to my life as an NBI, a natural born idiot.
If I were defending my affections for MV in a court of law, my chances of proving the validity and veracity of my affection is nil, zilch, nada. Then why have I deigned to risk such commitment? Another stupid answer is, it's totally beyond me. Was I getting desperate? Maybe. Have I seen something in her nobody else did? Maybe. Aaaah!!!
I don't even know why I'm ranting like this. Maybe it's because it's my friggin blog so I'll rant whatever it is that I want ranted to high heaven. Call this my very own proverbial smashing room. Sick of reading s--- like this? Then scurry the f--- off my blog. Someone says, you sound like your really pissed. You're friggin right I am. *An inhuman scream suddenly escapes the Babbling Glass CR* (No, I'm not typing this in the CR. I went to the CR after my being-pissed admission.)
Ah yes, the irony, where is it? It's...there somewhere, and I'm too embarassed to even admit it. I suddenly hate the Aztecs for some reason.
My life has always been defined by irony. Irony after irony after irony after irony, etc. One stupid irony after another. Kinda makes me realize that after all, despite trying to exist as sanely or intelligently as possible, I may just be stupid after all. Lemme explain...
There could be a very high probability that I may have fallen in love with the wrong person or at the wrong time. Doesn't really matter what the underlying factor(s) is/are. The fact can't be changed. You see, I've decided or I should say committed to love this person (let's just call her MV, shall we?) unconditionally from the time that I first met her, a commitment based on a third-party account of the intended's personality and other traits, which after hearing of those made me decided that she was worth it. Now, the question is, was she worth it? The answer? I don't know. There you go. Another great monument to my life as an NBI, a natural born idiot.
If I were defending my affections for MV in a court of law, my chances of proving the validity and veracity of my affection is nil, zilch, nada. Then why have I deigned to risk such commitment? Another stupid answer is, it's totally beyond me. Was I getting desperate? Maybe. Have I seen something in her nobody else did? Maybe. Aaaah!!!
I don't even know why I'm ranting like this. Maybe it's because it's my friggin blog so I'll rant whatever it is that I want ranted to high heaven. Call this my very own proverbial smashing room. Sick of reading s--- like this? Then scurry the f--- off my blog. Someone says, you sound like your really pissed. You're friggin right I am. *An inhuman scream suddenly escapes the Babbling Glass CR* (No, I'm not typing this in the CR. I went to the CR after my being-pissed admission.)
Ah yes, the irony, where is it? It's...there somewhere, and I'm too embarassed to even admit it. I suddenly hate the Aztecs for some reason.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Rantsicle 1, MV
Wednesday, the 26th of August 2009, 3:40 PM, PST
I'm not really into blogging. This is sort of a sorry attempt to start one. I've decided to make this kinda like May Sinclair's stream-of-consciousness writing, which frankly is just another dead metaphor so to speak. Or this could even be a journal of sorts, documenting certain events in my life, from the mundane to the odd, whatever the case maybe.
Why I've decided to start this voyeuristic endeavour is somewhat beyond me. I hate to think I'm giving in to my voyeuristic tendencies 'cause I'm not sure if I even have one. Suffice it to say I guess that I'm bored, early to work by an hour or two, missing Maiah Viara like hell, and I still don't have a file to work on. In any case, I'm usually early for work. I guess as they say, the early worm becomes a bird, or something akin to that.
So here I am staring at my computer screen for like about 30 seconds already, thinking of so many things to write about but really not knowing where to begin or how to say it. Ah! Writing. And suddenly, epiphany.
I will write to show the world how crazy I am. Well, that's certainly a beginning. Better than nothing I guess. Crazy, hmm...but then again, crazy is very general. I don't wanna run the gamut of the whole crazy universe. A certain woman senator can certainly do that for me. I don't even know why she's still in the Senate, angrily pointing fingers at the upcoming powers that be. Ha! Thinking about the current situation of this country, I'd say my university professor was right. The country is inevitably going to the dogs. Alas! Enough about the country. I could give you so many what's-wrong-in-this-country litanies you'd rather peel potatoes to feed the whole Chinese population...worldwide.
It's 3:59 and still no file. This is gonna be a long wait. I'm really starting to hate coming to work early. All I've been hearing for the past few minutes is the typists' frenzied hammering of their respective computer keyboards, trying to meet their daily quota. Kinda reminds me of a symphony, a percussive one at that. Come to think of it, I haven't really heard an orchestra of just percussive instruments. Well, that's...gonna be boring. Like peeling potatoes to feed China and India during tourist season. (I don't know why I'm sort of obsessed with potatoes lately. Hmm...)
The constant percussive staccato's not so bad really. A fitting backdrop to my hopefully worthwhile endeavour. I'm even half-asleep, just typing with one eye open. Right.
Maiah's gotta be halfway to Dumaguete by now. She boarded a Ceres bus earlier. Ah, Maiah. Ever the Piscean. Imaginative, sensitive, intuitive, idealistic, and escapist. I wonder why, but she reminds me of home and of my late mom, god rest her soul. My mom passed away when I was just five. The only memory of her that I have is, she's buttoning my polo shirt on a Saturday morning in preparation for church worship. Her hands smelled of spices, as she was also cooking something at that time. That's my mom, at least what's left of her. Ah, I miss her. Enough already.
Maiah. I never thought the sentence "Ask me Again." would redefine my life in an instant. Those three words will never be the same for me again. They have become flesh and blood, palpable, concrete, palpitating with Life's energy, a vibrant entity born of hope and sacrifice. It has become synonymous with Fate and Destiny, their three-worded sibling. You will never know the implications of what you have become to me, Viara. Nor will I deign to clothe those implications in words for they have been rendered inadequate. Pisces meets Scorpio.
My shift really begins at 5:00 PM and it's 4:41. A match-made friend texts me. I don't reply. Too late. Status: Maiah-infested Area. (",)
I'm not really into blogging. This is sort of a sorry attempt to start one. I've decided to make this kinda like May Sinclair's stream-of-consciousness writing, which frankly is just another dead metaphor so to speak. Or this could even be a journal of sorts, documenting certain events in my life, from the mundane to the odd, whatever the case maybe.
Why I've decided to start this voyeuristic endeavour is somewhat beyond me. I hate to think I'm giving in to my voyeuristic tendencies 'cause I'm not sure if I even have one. Suffice it to say I guess that I'm bored, early to work by an hour or two, missing Maiah Viara like hell, and I still don't have a file to work on. In any case, I'm usually early for work. I guess as they say, the early worm becomes a bird, or something akin to that.
So here I am staring at my computer screen for like about 30 seconds already, thinking of so many things to write about but really not knowing where to begin or how to say it. Ah! Writing. And suddenly, epiphany.
I will write to show the world how crazy I am. Well, that's certainly a beginning. Better than nothing I guess. Crazy, hmm...but then again, crazy is very general. I don't wanna run the gamut of the whole crazy universe. A certain woman senator can certainly do that for me. I don't even know why she's still in the Senate, angrily pointing fingers at the upcoming powers that be. Ha! Thinking about the current situation of this country, I'd say my university professor was right. The country is inevitably going to the dogs. Alas! Enough about the country. I could give you so many what's-wrong-in-this-country litanies you'd rather peel potatoes to feed the whole Chinese population...worldwide.
It's 3:59 and still no file. This is gonna be a long wait. I'm really starting to hate coming to work early. All I've been hearing for the past few minutes is the typists' frenzied hammering of their respective computer keyboards, trying to meet their daily quota. Kinda reminds me of a symphony, a percussive one at that. Come to think of it, I haven't really heard an orchestra of just percussive instruments. Well, that's...gonna be boring. Like peeling potatoes to feed China and India during tourist season. (I don't know why I'm sort of obsessed with potatoes lately. Hmm...)
The constant percussive staccato's not so bad really. A fitting backdrop to my hopefully worthwhile endeavour. I'm even half-asleep, just typing with one eye open. Right.
Maiah's gotta be halfway to Dumaguete by now. She boarded a Ceres bus earlier. Ah, Maiah. Ever the Piscean. Imaginative, sensitive, intuitive, idealistic, and escapist. I wonder why, but she reminds me of home and of my late mom, god rest her soul. My mom passed away when I was just five. The only memory of her that I have is, she's buttoning my polo shirt on a Saturday morning in preparation for church worship. Her hands smelled of spices, as she was also cooking something at that time. That's my mom, at least what's left of her. Ah, I miss her. Enough already.
Maiah. I never thought the sentence "Ask me Again." would redefine my life in an instant. Those three words will never be the same for me again. They have become flesh and blood, palpable, concrete, palpitating with Life's energy, a vibrant entity born of hope and sacrifice. It has become synonymous with Fate and Destiny, their three-worded sibling. You will never know the implications of what you have become to me, Viara. Nor will I deign to clothe those implications in words for they have been rendered inadequate. Pisces meets Scorpio.
My shift really begins at 5:00 PM and it's 4:41. A match-made friend texts me. I don't reply. Too late. Status: Maiah-infested Area. (",)
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