Dreaming of Dancing Burritos

Somebody at my new workplace described me as "Happy". Light up the fireworks and have fun with confetti everyone; it’s a grand milestone in Mai’s life! WHEE! XD Me! Happy person! HAHAHAHAHA!

Coincidentally, I just recently created my Happy Wappy signature. "Happy Wappy" was just a badly-mangled phrase I created just to accompany my now trademark smiley face signature, which I decided to draw on all my training/work materials in lieu of my name.

Just so you know, the Happy Wappy campaign is part of my personal crusade to improve my general outlook in life.

Coincidentally (again), another one of my colleagues told me about a friend of his who was called "Happy Wappy". It must be a freaking sign.

What does Happy Wappy mean? Happy = Happy, Wappy = rhymes with ‘happy’.

Happy Wappy. Sounds happier.

Anybody who demands more explanation shall be shot at by a railgun and fed to abalones crusting the sides of defunct Philippine Navy Destroyer-type ships.

***

So the trainer asked us, "Are you HAPPY?"

I shouted, "In a call center with free flowing Lemonade–yes, lemonade–as well as iced tea, Milo and coffee? YEAH!"

Kidding.

***

I’m experiencing deja vu in my current workplace. I won’t be posting it here since I already have a few of my friends at work added to my Friendster profile; instead it will be posted in my personal blog (which you will have to find for yourself).

It’s disturbing, to say the least. I can’t tell anybody about it, but it even haunts my sense of smell.

So I encountered this email in my usual day at work (the letter sender refers to having satellite TV installed at her place):

Yesterday my fiance and I were told we could have installation by the 25th of July.  But when we finalized our order we were told that we would not have it installed until the 11th of August. That is ridiculous. I would like it installed at least by August 1st or I need to cancel.

That is too long to wait, especially because I will be a newlywed and must leave my new spouse on the 13th of August for 6 months. My new spouse and I wanted to watch tv together for the first two weeks of our marriage, but now, because we were mislead that will not happen.  Please move up our install date. Thank you for your cooperation.

To borrow what redkinoko asked me (again, I just like it. Sorry, Jet), "WTF ARE YOU SMOKING??" First two weeks of marriage for FUCKING TV??

*cue hail and brimstone from heaven. Bato-bato sa langit, ang matamaan wag magalit*

Sure, I have to admit that it is not right that the installation date has to be pushed back, but that’s not the effing point. It’s the first two weeks of marriage being wasted on TV, that’s the point. That’s INANE. The wife also has to leave for six months. They will just waste it on TV. Whee.

Then again they may be subscribed to hardcore porn. Yeah, baby, YEAH!

***

Tried my hand at writing a hardcore yuri scene, at the behest (okay, that was an overstatement) of a respectable writer, after I gave feedback for his own lemon. The second night of writing that scene, I complained to a friend "There are only so much permutations, so many synonyms for female genitals. And I HAVE USED THEM ALL!" *bangs head on the wall*.

Ignore that outburst. The truth is that I blush whenever I lift my pen (or hover my hands over the keyboard).

*splag*

Overheard convo between my brother and his officemate:

Officemate: Your sister’s roleplay costume is cool.
Brother: Cosplay, man. Cosplay.
Me: O____Ox

What are friends?

My cousin asked me that question a few days ago, and I’ve yet to answer that. See, it’s a pretty hard thing to answer, and even more so if the one who’s asking the question happens to be trashed around by the people he considered "friends".

To make things easier for me to answer (since I care enough), I asked some people–whose heads I’m sure are filled with substantial meat–what the word ‘friend’ means to them. Here are their answers:

• Anne: friend - a person whom you consider knows you enough, and accepts you regardless of your shortcomings and imperfection
• Carlo: A friend is somebody you can give your knife and can expect that he’ll kill your enemies and you can trust him not to use the knife on your throat.
• redkinoko: a friend is a sibling who just happened to have little or no genetic similarity to you.
• DT: I got these from somewhere (Francis Kong? Dr. Harold Sala? I don’t remember): A friend is someone who knows who you are and like you, anyway. A true friend speaks well of you behind your back and stabs you in the front.
• renzeiken: when you think you know the person well enough to trust him/her with your wallet.
• Chase: friend - people I can connect and relate to.

Noticeably enough, the one of the common denominator for all answers is trust. Of course, who would befriend a dude who’ll take off and run as soon as you loan him money? Who would befriend people who’d do a Judas on you (sorry, I’m not taking into account the Gospel of Judas in this post, please save the flames for later) as soon as you take him into your life?

Who would befriend people who’d believe ill of someone, when they don’t even know him beyond skin deep, and instantly believe what they hear from others before even knowing that person?

And I’m sure anyone who is reading this post is wondering, what’s the point? Yeah, we all know these shite. I’m just stating the universally obvious because my cousin here is so enraged, so bitter, so blinded by disappointment.

Don’t give up on the world, L. Drop the junk, and move on. You’ve got about approximately 70 years of life left (assuming you don’t start smoking) to enjoy life and move on. Friends will not wish ill upon you. Friends will not break your trust and betray you. Most importantly, friends will not encourage your girlfriend to sleep with one of them just because of a stupid bet. They obviously don’t care about you. If you take a look at the list above again, you’ll see that ‘betrayal’ is not included in any of the definitions.

Come on, L. They’re not worth losing your sanity or ideals. I know you love her, she may have love/d you, but not enough. You go and off yourself, nothing will ever change. Your girlfriend will still be that stupid girl who threw away something so important because of one stupid reason, your so-called friends will remain as trash, the world turns, and will not cry for you. But you will lose. I know. I’ve been there, as do many other people.

The next time you fall in love, make sure that you save some of yourself for yourself. My best friend told me that. Save some dignity. Act like the 30-year-old yuppie that you are, despite the fact that I hate the image of stereotypical yuppies. *KICK*

Take my goddamn Hello Kitty hanky and blow, dammit.

***

Carlo told me that my fic blogs Broken Hearts Guild and Soul Breaker do not let people without tabulas accounts put in comments. >.> I’ve neglected to notice that, I’m sorry. I know that I haven’t updated again lately, but if there is some glaring error that you want to point out, or maybe you just want to comment, please do so. My blogs now allow anonymous comments.

***

This is an idyllic scene: My cousin devouring my Haruki Murakami books, with The Smiths playing in the background. For some weird reason this brings me back to last Christmas season, when Richard gave me my first The Smiths mp3s and I bought Haruki Murakami books with my Christmas savings. I always read the books under the candy-pink light of my lampshade, and they always gave me weird dreams.

Now, my cousin is doing the same thing right now, and I hope I’m passing on that legacy, of sorts. We were in the same situation when we read Murakamis along with listening to The Smiths…and it just feels right.

I was sorting things to throw out and things to keep in my room when I happened upon my old Creative Writing journal from way back in college. Whoa. I feel so old. Reading the snippets and exercises scribbled in chicken shit writing made me wonder why I wrote these in the first place. Avantgarde, my ass.

SILENCE

• Silence lives in a place that looks like the sea robbed of its phosporescent glow. Silence lurks in the deep, dreamless waters where it holds down, with its own slithering tentacles, Imagination.
• Silence is like fine sand sifted with fingers spread out. Silence is like the silhouette of a figure long gone.

THE UNKNOWN

• The Unknown lives in every person’s shadow, where every object in the universe takes up space with their own fears and secrets–the eclipse of their being. The Unknown knows, of course. It knows everything everyone does not want to know, for the favorable knowledge the universe holds are already specified, tagged, and identified. The Unknown eats the collective refuse of mankind, and loves it. The refuse would then be defecated from the Unknown’s bowels and turn into the monsters that lurk in men’s hearts.
• The Unknown is the greatest fear I have encountered, and will encounter in my existence, and at the same time I feel at peace in it’s embrace.
• The Unknown is like the mugger who sneaks up behind you and hits you on the head. You know something hit you but you’ll never know what it is.
• The Unknown is appealing because of the mere fact that it is unknown, making one guess for too long and may unintentionally strike up the answer to Life’s ultimate question, and the prospect leaves some hopefuls thinking, thinking, thinking, and thinking…Not me, though.

SHAME

• Shame lives in a place that looks like my old moth-eaten dress of more than ten years past. It is colored as black as sewer muck and smelled of ten year’s worth of stagnation. It knows the Unknown, and both of them guards my innermost secrets. It tears apart the shelter I built for myself, brick by brick.
• The weird thing about Shame is that everytime I face her, she plays dead.
• Shame is like a dead cockroach. Feared while still alive, even more so when it is rotting and dead.

FEAR

• Fear lives in a place that looks like my room. It’s safe, warm, and cozy. The only thing that troubles me (and trouble it is) is the world outside the door. He is a nurturing father, sheltering me from real and imaginary harm. Stunting my growth as a person, but not as human meat.
• Fear is the meter-thick wall that bars me from true happiness.
• Fear is like what I feel when I look into the mirror–no, refusing to look at the mirror–because I know I will not like what I see.

COURAGE

• Courage lives in a place that looks like the castle spire of my fantasies: set up high in the sky, against the backdrop of a beautiful, shimmering purple sunset, overseeing all that should be seen, looking out for things that can and should be conquered. He is the king over all. He wears black, and a magnificent red velvet cloak befitting a king. He knows what should be done and what should not be done. The only hindrance to his goal is his only subject, who may or may not carry out his wishes.
• Courage is like a very potent alcoholic drink that you refuse to drink, because of its taste. But you drink it anyway.

TRUST

• Trust lives in a place that looks just like my own body, where Trust sleeps. I try hard to wake her, but no matter how hard I nudge the child named Trust, she remains asleep.  She curls in a fetal position inside the body’s heart, not doing what she’s supposed to.
• Trust is like a woefully naive child.

PASSION

• Passion lives in the heart of my own being. She is the one who makes me alive, pulls my strings, gives me a reason to live. She is the queen in tattered robes and wielding a brilliant platinum sword in her hand. She cannot be stopped, hers is the driving force within.
• Passion is the driving force.
• Passion is like a lighted match. Burns easily, burns out easily.

I had such a nice day. It was actually spent doing something nice that I shouldn’t mention here or else it may be used against me in the near future. I would say that I had sex with two hot bisexual guys, but that’s not the case. Nor is it my idea of a happy wappy day.

*gets shot by lightning* omfgwtfhax0rzzzz!!!

In any case the happy wappy mood got marred when I played errand girl again and bought chicken for dinner, just outside the subdivision. One of the things that got to my nerves–even after I managed to buy the chicken without incident–was that I was about to miss Gundam Seed Destiny, and the tricycle cue was a tad long.

So as consolation I took the change from the chicken money for myself and bought Diet Coke from the local Mini-Stop (hello pow, Ate Annie o.o/). I stood in line for the poor man’s private limo service cue, glancing at my watch from time to time. 8.20 pm. Omfg.

Halfway through the line, I got so antsy that I decided to just listen to music. I wore my headset, turned on my MP3 and tried to calm down, my jaw set.

I was mentally bopping to the tune The Moon and the Prince when I heard some irritating pubescent voice say “Tang’na mu!” behind my back. I just shrugged it off, since beggar boys were littering the streets just outside our subdivision. Needless to say, the outburst went into one ear and went out through the other one.

“Bingi ang puta oh, haha! Putang ina mo!”

I was startled, “bingi” being the word that acted as the IRQ switch that forced me to pay attention. You see, there’s a reason why I bought a headset earlier this afternoon. The SE Walkman earplugs were to be literally plugged into the ears, thus eliminating 90% (an estimate, of course) of external noise while the audiophile drowns himself in music. Which is good, of course, except when walking outside. It sure feels good whenever you reach the final belt of the chorus of a certain song, but it will be for naught if said audiophile ends up being a puddle of mashed meat on the street.

The headset does nothing of the sort. I can turn up the volume at full blast and still hear the cacophony around me, since it does not totally block my ears from external sound, and thus I digress a bit too far from my topic.

“Bingi ang puta oh, haha! Putang ina mo!”

“Hoy! Gaga! Alis! Buti na lang di to nakakarinig!”

I’d love to blame the parents, however I thought this was the sort of kid for whom any form of scolding or corporal punishment would not work. This was the sort of miscreant for whom his mother would just shake her head in utter defeat, and leave her child’s fate to the law of the streets. No fault of anybody’s, I’m sure, but that’s Life.

And so I discreetly shake my still unopened Diet Coke can. Shake, shake.

“Bingi!”

Sighing, I turned around and faced the widdle kid. About ten years old. Scruffy yellow shirt with a print of what could be the Red Ranger, after he was raped by an entire baseball team, along with the coach and the wiener-shaped mascot.

And I promptly opened the can of righteous cola into his face.

*FIIIIIIIIIIIZZZZ*

Rightful retribution? Not. Such a waste of good cola, because that kid’s almost hopeless, and most probably has a low chance for survival in a world where staring boredly at the man sitting opposite you in a jeepney would slap you with a death warrant.

Uhm, yeah. I know I’ve been slacking off too much when it comes to my fiction; work nor lack of time shouldn’t be used as excuses, but I still go ahead and do just that.

To compensate, though, I’ve been fiddling about with tabulas and just managed to make slight modifications of one of the common templates, and made separate blog pages to both of my current fics (the following paragraphs are ripped out from the About the Story pages of each of the blogs, so please excuse the blurb-ish descriptions:

Soul Breaker: A young acolyte inept whose expertise lies in another profession totally unrelated to the Holy Arts, a former Lord Knight who is mistress to an ancient demon, and just about everybody else who are called to do some major ghost–or soul–hunting.

Join Aerandir and his allies as they embark on a quest (which will eventually lead them to Lighthalzen) to free Rune Midgard from its seemingly inevitable fate of getting swallowed up by the underworld. A sequel (sort-of) to Beyond Black Doors.

Broken Hearts Guild: [WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT] Betrayal with no just cause. A man whose life, ideals, and beliefs were torn apart for no reason at all.

Tough luck. Shit happens.

Based on the Ragnarok Online universe, this is a story of a chivalrous knight, and a guild comprising of the dredges of society, who took upon them the demented and twisted "responsibility" of delivering severe justice on matters of the heart.

People have been asking me about my original fiction. Let’s just say I’ve been harboring some hopes for them, and I refuse to let them be published in the web in the meantime.

So I spent my whole day in the Las Pinas LTO office to get my first Driver’s License. After the whole grueling ordeal (wherein I spent about eight hours tenderizing my butt, and witnessed a 17-year-old literally howl and bang his head against the backrest of the chair in front of him), I asked this question to my dad:

Me: Did you ever dream of dancing burritos while you waited for your first driver’s license? I did.
Dad: No. I was the Coast Guard Station Commander in Tacloban, and the head of LTO office there had a fishing boat. The license was given to me on a (relishes next phrase) siiiiiilverrr plaaaatterrr.
Me: *sob*

I asked my mom whether it took an entire day to get her first license. She told me that it didn’t even take an hour.

Poor fools! Being deprived of dancing burritos!

Okay, I die.

By the way, the burrito sauce says "Hello".