Another busy season at work just came past me and that means several things. I have endured a handful of conflicts, uttered a dictionary of cuss words, filled myself with a truck load of bitterness, and held back a lake of tears. The short of it is, now, I'm writing before you all messed up by the worst busy season ever, angry, and definitely ready to go.
Death came to take me away, but now, I'm back. Oh, most definitely, friggin' back.
As I was tied up most of the time with the unholy work hours the past weeks, I only had a few moments to myself. The selfless person that I am, I chose not to devote those short moments to attend to my personal needs. I did not so much as go up and get some air. Rather, I chose to render public service. What would that service be, you ask? Well, it's just one word—paparazzi. There's a grammatical error somewhere there, but if you're really here to spell and grammar check me, I'm sure it'll be better to just move along. If what you're too concerned with is my writing style, then by all means, find something else to read, something which will more suit your ever discriminating taste. Stop wasting your time with this post and find something else to do. I'm sure you have a life. So, please, do me a friggin' favor and live it. As far away from me and this blog as possible.
Howkay, I've transgressed a bit there. Bear with me. Hehe.
Ah yes, serving the public as a paparazzo. I've enjoyed it the past year, but I must admit that it has been more fulfilling being one the past busy season. The short breaks that I had, I looked around and tried to look for disturbing sights. It has become doubly hard, though, because I have progressively been moving away from my 20-20 vision of the late 90s. Aside from that, my new phone does not take pictures discreetly. I couldn't mute the clicking sound it makes when it takes pictures, nor could I tame the flash.
Despite being pressed for time, having deteriorating eyesight, and being left with a paparazzi-unfriendly camera phone, I still managed to steal several shots worthy enough for a comeback post.
Same old, same old
Korean mob at it again.
Cold in the Scorching Summer Heat
Five words. Hagrid. Shemagh. Shades. Starbucks. Summer. Do you get the picture? I got it and I was laughed my ass off.
The Craig David Experience
The date was March 27, 2009 and there were five things.
One, Craig David was great.
Two, the crowd bombed.
Three, the only song the upper box peeps seemed to know was Insomnia.
Four, there was this guy in sando.
Five, there was this girl with her mobile phone who spent the whole concert, except when Insomnia was on, on her seat, incessantly texting her god-forsaken text mates of god-knows-what nonsense.
YOU'RE IN A CRAIG DAVID CONCERT, DAMN IT. STAND UP, DANCE, AND HAVE FUN!
Makati CBD and Guy in Tank Top
What decent Ayala Avenue corporate office would continue to employ someone who dresses up like a douchebag? Two things. This douche might not be employed in such an office or is employed by such but the Company itself is a joke.
I better not hear this guy complain about not getting a decent job. Because, mister douche, a decent job requires you to dress decently. You won't get paid by a show of untamed arm pit hair.
Get a Room, Dudes
PDA. PDA. PDA. Blech.
Wow. I've reached the end of this post, but for some reason, I feel that it's still not enough. Your girl right here is still full of bitter thoughts and ugly bitch fits to share. I'll give myself a few more days (or hours?) to come up with another post. For now, hope you enjoyed. I'll get back to you in a bit with, hopefully, a nasty take on my seatmates at work. Let's keep our fingers crossed until then.
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