An Away (ǽ-wai) a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

The Return of the Douchebag Hater

2010-05-15T11:17:00.002+08:00

Long before the rise of the JEJEMONS and the so-called JEJEBUSTERS, I was already in the business of prying open different Friendster profiles (because Friendster is just filled with losers) and scouting for post-worthy pictures of douchebags. I had called them douchebags in the past, in my other blog. They are actually what had always been known as "jologs" and what I think have evolved into "jejemons".

Douchebags. Jologs. Jejemons.

Po-tei-tow.

Po-tah-tow.

They're all one thing--LOSERS.

I had used simple criteria in my old post to determine who in the great herds of people are douchebags. Now that we are at this juncture, I think it is but proper to come up with a fresh set of standards for douchebaggery. After all, since my early years of douchebag-busting, there are now more people who might share this same interest.

Off the top of my head, you know someone is a douchebag/jologs/jejemon if:

He/she has a stupid expression plastered across his/her freaking face every time his/her picture is taken. Oftentimes, they just want to achieve the angas effect.

He/she has an urgent compulsion to make a hand signal in a picture. The meaning of such hand signal is usually unknown even to the douchebag himself. They're stupid kasi so they do things they do not really understand or comprehend. Which brings us to...

He/she does things which he/she thinks are cool or will make him/her cool. In reality, however, they actually personify the statement feeling gwapo, looking gago. And because he/she feels so cool...

He/she has this need to give their "cool" group an equally "cool" name...and make a sappy group collage. Strike sappy. Insert cool. Of course, if the group has a name, he/she also has to come up with a cool nickname for him/herself.

He/she uses the same "cool" accessories in all of their pictures. One fake rayban aviator lenses + badass trucker cap = 1,000 pictures spread across his/her lifetime. Apparently, you can try to look cool, but...kung cheap ka, cheap ka.

A fun way to test drive our five standards is to google an ultra tacky term that only douchebags would use. Be creative. Step in their fake Nike Dunk Lows and feel the jejemon blood rush through your veins.

Ohm. Ohm. OhHHhmmMmzzz...

I decided to look up tropang gangsta. Ah, treasure trove indeed. Readily, I stumble upon a Friendster profile. What are the odds?!

Let's try our five standards on MR.[SiMpLe]

Stupid expression on ugly face. Check.

Stupid hand signal that even he does not understand the meaning of. Check.

Feeling gwapo, looking freakishly gago. Check.

Cheap aviators. Jeje cap. Check. Check.

Stupid nag-a-ala gangster nickname (Zhakim - "sakim", jejemized). Check.

Lame-ass group with a lame-ass group name. Check.

CHUPA Clan? Seriously? You think you boys are so badass? Sige nga, try to translate your group name in English. I suppose you won't feel as astig, eh?

Don't you just love the stupidity? Chupa All-Star--CHOOSE ONE?! LMAO. ROFL. I could die if I continue laughing this hard. The fugly one wearing the fake Sean John shirt even has two stars photoshopped in to be his earrings. I mean, come on? You should be pretty clueless to think that THIS is cool, in any way. Ugh. Well, even though they have squat of an idea what their group name really means, I think it serves its purpose. These "gangsters" sure do look like those who get paid for rendering certain "services" to willing and paying customers. Call boy 10 piso onli.

There. I'm officially back in the game. First mission back accomplished. From now on until school resumes, I guess, I will be devoting some time in busting more of these losers. I'll post pictures, for sure. Mocking is super fun when you actually see the mockery of human beings these douchebags are. Chupa clan...hilarious. Good times. Good friggin' times.

Dear Ate Raymond

2010-01-30T19:54:00.002+08:00

President's Son Buys Alcohol While the Metro Drowns in Ondoy

2009-09-29T00:12:00.008+08:00

Ortigas Extension, Height of Ondoy Rains

Mikey Arroyo's Important Purchase, Height of Ondoy Rains

This is not a trick of any kind. This is the ultimate paparazzi picture (grabbed from Facebook, not my own). Shown here is Presidential Son Mikey Arroyo as he was seen buying liquor at Rustan's Supermarket in the middle of Ondoy's wrath.

There is a trend I see here. The first family has this penchant for celebrating like gluttons while the rest of the country is either in mourning or in state of calamity. A few months ago, PGMA and her cohorts were reported to have all those lavish dinners. These were held while President Cory was on her last days.

Now, Mr. Pogi Mikey is caught on his way to trying to get wasted while the rains poured and washed away the lives of many. Maybe we should schedule a Winnie Monsod interview again? For the full effect? I am just so interested what his palusot will be this time. I am so sure that with that palusot will be that trademark gum-showing grin he got from his mother.

[UPDATE] Mikey's reaction to the paparazzi shot

Tama bang pati facebook i-regulate? Pwede ba? Ang engot masyado ng comeback eh. Ang engot lang as in. And, by the way, your alibi is so lame, I want to serve it to Winnie Monsod and have her eat it for breakfast. I'd utterly enjoy that bit.

The President's Son Shaking in His Boots

2009-09-01T22:51:00.001+08:00

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Dear Mikey,

A few things.

You're making your lawyers do an accountant's job. The SALN is, yes, a statutory requirement, but it is, first and foremost, a form of financial report. I do not see the logic there to have your lawyers do it. Unless you are more concerned with circumventing the law than issuing an accurate SALN.

You're pulling my leg. The corporation that you claim you have a 40% or so interest therein owns the California mansion. You figure that such a corporation is engaged in real estate. In short, assuming that what you're saying is legit, the mansion is part of the corporation's inventory (held for sale), and yet, it is used by the shareholders as a residence whenever they are in California. Such shareholders, you say, are relatives. Such reporting of shareholdings rather than real property on your SALN, you say, is justifiable. Such method of putting real property under the name of a corporation, you say, is legal. Because the corporation is separate and distinct from its stockholders? Eh, Mikey, have you heard of the doctrine of piercing the veil of corporate fiction? A corporation shall be denied from the use of such a corporate privilege if and when it is used "as a shield to further an end subversive of justice". Kakaaral ko lang 'yan. I can't get it wrong.

You must be kidding us. You want us to bring you to court just so we could prove that such irregularities in your SALN are, in fact, a direct product of corruption? Ha? Do we need a court to find out if dogs bark?

Ang obvious mo lang, 'te. Tigilan mo na kami. Namimihasa na ang pamilya niyo. Boo.

xtin

Nursing Board Reviewers or Model Wannabes?

2009-07-28T01:42:00.001+08:00

This is going to be short and fast. I hope.

I was on an FX ride to Quiapo last Saturday when, as I was passing by the España-Morayta area, I saw huge billboards of Nursing Review Centers. The ads were not the ordinary enumerations of what types of services the review centers have to offer. They were not mechanical. Not boring. As a matter of fact, they were too amusing and, well, hilarious.

The review centers, well at least those which ads caught my attention, have a thing for hiring models to endorse their services. But, mind you, these characters they call endorsers are not the Lucky Manzanos (St. Augustine) or the Sarah Geronimos (AMA). That would be too common, I guess. To stand out, these review centers hire...wait for it...wait for it...ITS OWN REVIEWERS to model for them. I say "model" not just "endorse" because I do think there is a glaring distinction between the two. When someone "endorses", that someone merely "poses" for the camera. But, when someone "models", that someone "works" the camera. Like so...

Barf bag, anyone?

I just cannot think of any sane reason why institutions that aim to educate soon-to-be PROFESSIONALS would resort to such marketing strategies that are so, I don't know, superficial? Theatrical? Showbiz-like? It does not help MY cause that they--the so-called reviewers-slash-the-next-matinee-idols--seem to so enjoy it. They're working it, aren't they? They are so working it that I think I'm going to enrol for the next review session. Or not. I'm not sure, but is this type of behavior, este, marketing strategy common nowadays? I mean, for example, I still don't see CPA review centers with established reputations such as CPAR and PRTC put up billboards with Mr. Valix or Ms. Cabrera on them. Well, it may just boil down to two things: one, these nursing review centers are not as established as the CPA review centers I've mentioned or two, CPA reviewers are not as photogenic as nursing reviewers. Who knows, diba?

Or...no one can work the camera like these blokes do. Move over, Piolo.

Piolo? No, no, no. Mr. Carl Balita (shown working it in picture above) most probably got his pensive look as inspired by another veteran by the name of...

Presenting the roster of highly reputable models, este, reviewers of the Sultan Review Group:

[L-R] Mr. Tall Dark Handsome Daw, Mr. Funny Little Man, Mr. Oblique Pose Gluta Look, Mr. Fit and Trim Founder, Tonette Macho, Mr. Lean Toward Sexy Slutty Co-Reviewer, Ms. Sexy Slutty Reviewer, and wait...Ely Buendia, izdatchu? They are a better looking bunch, if you ask me.

In fairness to Edmond Sultan, though. The founder of the SRG may actually be a model. Kudos to you, bra.

I have the slightest idea of how well these nursing review centers actually are in terms of producing topnotchers and passers. I would just want to get things straight, though. What I find so, er, amusing is the "marketing strategy" these centers employ. Their performance, which is surely very satisfactory, is not my concern, really. I just find their behavior a bit odd and laughable, that's all. They might be, well, GENERALLY presentable and photogenic (give or take a few tweaks on photoshop) individuals, but I still don't think review schools should resort to such advertising, taken that they are, after all, institutions that cater to the needs of would-be PROFESSIONAL...REGISTERED NURSES. The least they can do is be more professional and less aesthetic.

That was a fast enough post, don't you think?

For sources of photos above and links to the nursing review centers mentioned, refer to the following links:
Carl Balita Review Center
Carl E. Balita Group
Sultan Review Group (Nursing)
Sultan Review Group Photos
Boy Abunda

BF: The Smartest Presidentiable

2009-06-26T10:13:00.000+08:00

It's a good thing I didn't watch the 2nd ANC Leadership Forum. I would have either died of nosebleeds or went on cardiac arrest from hysterical laughter.

S - as in Sobra na...
T - as in Tama na...
U - as in nakaka-Umay na...
P - as in Pwede ba?
I - as in Itigil na...
* - as in Dog.

Vow.

Sina Kapitan Putok, Boy Bakat at ang Pink Boxers with Turtle Prints [pictures by the Global Paparazzi]

2009-06-02T19:21:00.009+08:00

It has been a little over a week since I got home from a two-week backpacking trip across four Southeast Asian cities.

Scorching hot summer sun.
Occasional rain showers.
Culture.
History.
Heritage.
Fun.

All that pero, opcors, may okrayang ding naganap.

I would like to introduce to you a few, very UNIQUE individuals I met along the way.

DESTINATION: HANOI, VIETNAM

Exposed in the Park

Ay, si koyah, kita brip.

Kapitan Putok

He was as any junk captain would be, I suppose. But the odor was to die for as in nakamamatay. We were meters away, but we could still smell IT. Salt water breeze and underarm emissions sooo don't go together.

DESTINATION: BANGKOK, THAILAND

Man of My Dreams

Not! I caught this hunk of a man in the middle of his photo op at the Grand Palace in Bangkok. Apparently, it wasn't fulfilling enough to just stand and smile for the camera. He had to, one, wear his oh so fashionable belt bag and, two, role his sleeve up and pose with his badass bicep tattoo showing. What was even funnier was when he wasn't satisfied with his first shot, he asked his friend to retake it! Our hunk here sure knows how to compose a shot, doesn't he? What a douche!

DESTINATION: HALONG BAY, VIETNAM

A not-so-ordinary day at the beach

Beach Volleyball

There are a couple of unusual things in this picture. One, the girl in the bikini has a tattoo which, to me, looks like her butt crack. Two, the guy in the middle's concept of beach-volleyball-appropriate get-up is appalling. Belt? White cotton pants rolled up to appear as if they were shorts? Can anybody be more hilarious?

Pong Pagong had his hand in this.

That day, I knew there was something wrong with the beach. It wasn't because of the lack of colorful marine life nor the murky waters, although they were surely part of the general atrocity. Mainly, that day on the beach was off because we kept on seeing men in truly unusual outfits. Pink boxers with turtle prints? Really? At may shawl ka pa ha...iba na yan...

And in the tradition of men in truly unusual beach outfits...

Boy Bakat's Father

Did I not already tell you that we didn't have a good day at the beach? Seriously...with so little fabric, how could any sane man think he could fit everything in there? What's that in his waist? His camera's lens cap? It's one thing to sport nuthuggers. It's another thing when you use them to store camera accessories. Blech.

And now...meet BOY BAKAT himself...

I felt the need to somehow conceal his identity. But of course, without depriving you with shots showcasing his...erm...abs? Hehe. I think he realized his booboo and got embarassed at some point. Who could have blamed him really? We were laughing at this guy so hard, not discreetly, mind you, that he immediately got out of the water and made his way to the showers. Sino naman kasi ang may sabi na mag-brip ka sa beach, ha? Kadiri lang. You are, indeed, your father's son.

It might be a while until my next trip. Something tells me that from now on, I will be forever be wary of heading for the beach. After what I've seen, I think I might need psychological treatment.

Back from the Dead

2009-04-25T16:43:00.006+08:00

Weeks have long passed since my last post and I think the time's just right to get back in the habit.

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.

The Colorum Preacher and His Supporter Cast the First Stone

2009-03-03T20:49:00.003+08:00

He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. –JOHN 8:7

I am Catholic, but I am admittedly not the very religious type. However little my efforts might seem to others, the faith that I have means more to me and is as much a big part of myself. I see this faith as my own. I don’t see the need to impose what I believe in upon others who do not share the same. If we have different faiths, it is not because one is better than the other. We’re just different. No more, no less. Plain and simple.

I don’t mind when, once in a while, I hear words from other people seemingly convincing me to adopt the same faith as theirs. What appalls me are the people who talk and preach as if they are sincere in their endeavors in sharing the word of their God, but are actually those who simply think that theirs is a more superior faith.

Unfortunately, I came across two such persons last night.

Of all places, I was on my shuttle ride home when some guy, who I could only surmise as someone young and optimistic, at the back row of the van suddenly started talking aloud. I had my earphones on, as always, so, at first, I thought it was just another person talking loudly while on his mobile phone.

It was when I started to hear, even with my blaring music on, statements like, “I encourage you to get in touch with God” and “I’m sure it will change your life the same way it did mine” that I realized that I was in the midst of something very odd.

I did not bother to listen to what he was saying. It was one thing that he was preaching in a tightly enclosed space. It surely was another that he was doing this in a van full of tired office employees, all of whom can’t wait for some rest and peace and quiet.

At the end of his “speech”, he even started getting political. He asked “us” to pray for our city mayor as, apparently, the public official needs all the help in shutting down all those night clubs along Sucat road.

Colorum Preacher: …These women deserve better. The married men who go into these clubs deserve better. These night clubs cheapen our society…so let us help and pray for our mayor for him to be successful in dealing with this issue.

Something to that effect.

At that point, he was making some sense, I admit. Nonetheless, I had half an ear to lend to him.

As he ended his “speech”, he said “goodnight” to all of us and stopped talking. All of a sudden, the man, probably in his mid-50s, who was conveniently seated beside me, was apparently so moved by Colorum Preacher’s speech that he himself began his verbal commentary on the matter.

I was not able to make anything out of the things he said. In fairness, his was just, I think, two or three short statements which lasted less than a minute (as opposed to Colorum Preacher’s seven minutes). I could only assume that the statements were some kind of affirmation of what Colorum Preacher had to say as I also heard Colorum Preacher thank him after he gave out his comment. Colorum Preacher then proceeded to start a conversation with his apparent “Supporter” (note that the Supporter and I were on the third row, while Colorum Preacher was behind us):

Colorum Preacher: [in a voice that resounded within the four tin walls of the shuttle] What church are you from, Sir?

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: [mentions his church]

Colorum Preacher: Ah, wonderful.

They kept on their loud talk and I was actually successful in ignoring them. But of course, I wasn’t that fortunate the whole ride home.

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: So, if you want, just text me because we [his church group] are in the process of interpreting the Torah.

Colorum Preacher: Yes, wonderful, sir.

Just as I was beginning to think that it was all over and done with, the two delved into the discussion of specific biblical verses, the exact denominations of which I overlooked, only remembering that they were talking about the book of Genesis, the days of creation, and the number of times God said, “It was good,” every time he created something. I did not hear how the discussion progressed, but I did witness the following appalling turn of events, right down to the last elitist sigh:

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: Do you know that that is the most violated commandment? Many of us don’t even know that we are already committing sin.

Colorum Preacher: ‘Yan ang hirap sa mga Kristiyanong hindi inaaral ang Bibliya.

Supporter ni Colorum Preacher: Sssssshhhhhh… [points to the rest of the passengers of the shuttle, including Xtin, in a gesture that looked to me as if he was saying, “Don’t say that, baka marinig ka nila (the other passengers), ang mga taong hindi nag-aaral ng Bibliya”]

xtin: [in deep thought] Hallur. Narinig na namin noh! ‘Tong epal na ‘to…

I once said in an old post:

You see, the significance of believing or not believing in a god does not lie on
the correctness or fallibility of things. what is, though, is how a person,
through experiences and maybe even research, ended up as a believer or
non-believer.

If you, Colorum Preacher and Supporter, spend more time in analyzing the Bible, word for word, it will never mean that those who do not devote their faith in the same endeavors as yours are inferior, as the both of you obviously feel.

I certainly did not appreciate how condescending these two were to the others in the van. They didn’t know who we were, yet, they felt that they could easily assume that we were beings of a lesser stature. What disgusts me even more is the fact that their only criteria in passing judgment is the assumed lack of knowledge of the rest of us as regards Biblical verses and its true meaning.

That just brings me to wonder, have these two half-wits spent some of their precious time mulling over John 8:7? Concerned lang ako at baka sila naman ang nakaka-violate nito.

Pwede ba. The two of you are hypocrites to me. Kaya magtigil kayo. Cast the first stone, damn it. Cast the first stone, why don’t you?

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Post Valentine Edition]

2009-02-25T19:55:00.006+08:00

Damn. I've been itching to write about this since after February 14th and it is only now that I finally found time.

By this time, I guess, the hoopla that was Valentine's Day 2009 has subsided (I'm keeping my fingers crossed). As I look back at it, I realize that this event is becoming more and more celebrated as years pass by. Year after year, there are more roses, more heart-shaped balloons, more heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, and more stupid couples.

Whoops, did I say stupid? Well, I should strike that now, lest I be accused of being a bitter and cold old lady (who only talks to her cats, haha).

Not that anyone is asking, BUT, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. Well, at least, not like the rest of our pop culture society. Ah, don't call the bitterness just yet. I do have a valid and non-spinster take on this. February 14 has never been V-day to me. It has always been my Mom's birthday. I have always known this special day to be a family day and not as luveyduvey ka-corny-han.

This might've been the reason why I was soooo pissed off when this Lovapalooza thing was first held on V-day several years ago. Not that I found it sappy and lame (as an excuse to kiss in public). Well, I did, but those were just the secondary reasons why I hated it. The Lovapalooza crowds, in addition to the god-forsaken couples who concertedly went out on that one night, messed up traffic so badly, so much so that I was late for class.

Harumph.

Since then, I have known V-day not only as my Mom's birthday or a cutesy-patootsie excuse for couples to go out or a night when every friggin' resto is booked, but also as a solid reason to stay in and avoid the insane traffic.

Which brings me to this year's V-day post.

I avoided the Feb14 traffic this year, but, I was, in fairness, out that night. I was out...studying, that is. I went to my favorite Starbucks and proudly browsed through my readings as I sipped my warm coffee. It was actually a so-so night. I didn't expect to see anything close to a spectacle. Well, it seemed that I was too engrossed with my studying that I almost missed out on a promising candidate for my hitlist:

THE BITTER V-DAY SPINSTERS

Worse than ampalaya. Worse than Bridget Jones. Even no better than xtin.

Tell-tale signs (you know that there are Bitter Spinsters in your midst when):

There are a couple of girls sitting together.
They carry a single red rose. Identical to the rose each one has.
All of them seem to be enjoying the night.
There are sporadic outcries of, "I love being single!" or "Gahd! I'm so happy I'm not on a date tonight."
The group talks incessantly about their other girlfriend who is, in fact, on a date that night.
They end up laughing at the thought of how ugly or lame-ass their girlfriend's date is.
The conversation takes a turn for the worse All of a sudden, Pandora's box of bitterness is opened.
The ranting goes on: from being miserable (although not admittedly due to being single) to having a crappy job or being fired from one
The get-together ends with a closer like, "I'm so happy I spent tonight with you guys." [insert group hug]
It is, after all, Valentine's Day.

When I took my nose out of my Sales book that I was too engrossed with, I noticed that Starbucks was filled by groups and groups of girls. There was one pair of girls who caught my attention, though.

Bitter Spinster 1: [on the phone] Di'ba you're on a date tonight? Ha? Ano? Tapos na? Bakit?

Bitter Spinster 2: [listening in to the phone conversation] Ano? Bakit tapos na? Nyek!

BS1: Come here na lang. Go na! We want to see what he looks like!

BS2: [jumps excitedly like someone just bit her ass]

*an hour later*

BS1 and 2: [sees their Taken Girlfriend] HEY!

Bitter Spinster's Taken Girlfriend: [hands one rose each to BS1 and BS2]

BS1 and 2: AWWWW!

BS2: O, what happened on your date?

BS1: Oo nga, where is he?

Hala, ang mga ate, no such thing as privacy. Or being discreet man lang. And to think that this was their highest point of the night. Before Taken Girlfriend came, BS1 and BS2 were sulking in their "ruined" lives. BS1 spoke of getting laid of and feigning being fine. BS2 kept on talking about a boy who would probably fit in one of the chapters of He's Just Not That Into You.

Seeing them that way kind of gave me a certain joy. On paper, I think I was no different than these young women. Alone, so-to-speak. Unsatisfied at work. Bitter in general. I also understand how a night like the 14th of February feels a bit off, simply because I'm not celebrating love the way the rest of society is doing it. But hey, at least I don't call a girlfriend up, in the middle of her date, just so she could share with me how the date turned sour.

I could be bitter. But I will not attempt to uplift myself from the dumps at the expense of a friend. That's low. And cheap. Would rather do it at the expense of an idiot like...oh, and that's another rant right there...hahaha.

Today was a Bad Day

2009-01-31T00:01:00.003+08:00

Busy season is here. Damn it.

If you would remember, this blog was a product of the busy season. Just to refresh your memory, this busy season that I speak of is that time at work where the load just comes rushing in. This period is also known as the tax season—the months leading to April 15.

Emotions are at their all time high in the office. Of course, if there would be a ranking of sorts in this category, I would be numero uno. Not that I crumble under pressure. If some people eat when they are stressed out, me? I pick fights. I fret. I bitch. And I bitch some more. That's because during the busy season, I am perpetually in a bad mood. I should actually wear a warning sign saying, "BACK OFF", just to spare some innocent souls from my wrath.

Today, my eyebrows spent 80% of the day together, with the other a bit raised at times, and my lips were curled in hostility. That just means one thing. Busy season na naman. Shet. Away na 'to.

My day's start was not that bad really. I was early for work and, of course, nothing would beat me being on time. I was upbeat and all, ready to conquer the work place when…

My manager engaged me in a "it's your word against mine" game. This is, of course, a game no lowly senior has yet to win. "Sabi mo kaya sa'kin huwag ko tignan [ang documents]…" This senior said. "Ano ka? Hindi ko sinabi 'yan ano?" Not wanting to go even further with this pointless conversation, I listened to what was left to be said and I walked out, disgruntled to say the least.

Eager to do something to brighten up the rest of my afternoon, I went to Glorietta to meet a couple of friends for lunch. The lunch was good and the company was even better. Had I known the string of unfortunate events that would transpire thereafter, I wouldn't have left and gone back to work.

But I did and then, my bad day started to live up to its name. One mishap at a time.

I walked under the scorching heat, in a jacket, along Ayala, just so I could get a cab. I had to go to the client, as it was part of the punishment from losing the "it's your word against mine" game. I couldn't find a cab so I had to relocate from time to time. I also had my laptop with me and, gahd, was it heavy! I was sweaty and admittedly not pleasant anymore. I scored a cab an hour later only to find out…

My colleague, who I was going to meet at the client's and was my sole purpose for going there, has gone back to the office. "Hello, *****? Bakit ka bumalilk ng office?" I asked. In a voice of a little terrified girl, "Ay sorry po. Akala ko dito [office] tayo magkikita." Not wanting to scare her off this early in the busy season, I fought the feeling of shouting at her and at anyone else within the vicinity. I thought I was doing great, but…

The damn cab driver "lame-excused" his way to getting ten pesos from me. Since I was not far from the office when I got my colleague's call, I just asked the driver to turn the next corner and bring me back. Although the ride was shorter than my temper, the driver managed to get 50 pesos from me. The meter said "40.00" , but when I handed him a 50-peso bill, this extortionist retorted in this lame but classic excuse, "Ay ma'am, wala pa po akong barya." Neither did I. Not wanting to shout at this beast of a human being, I mumbled cuss words to myself and stepped out of his cab. Then all of a sudden…

My colleague, who I was going to meet at the client's but has gone back to the office, suddenly popped out of nowhere catching me in the worst mood I've had in months. "Boss! Wait lang," I told my colleague in a voice that filled the lobby. I didn't realize it then but a friend had seen me that moment and told me later in the day how sungit I was to the staff. I felt bad really, but God knows that I was trying. And since HE wanted to test me even more…

The lobby security guard nagged me to clip my damn ID on. Of course, as I didn't have it ready, I had to scramble around the insides of my heavy bag. I didn't find it then so I just went ahead without putting my ID on. But the guard started to insist that I do. "Ugh. Konti na lang talaga, sisigaw na ako…" I mumbled to myself. And do you know what the guard told me? "Weh bakit kayo nagagalit?!?"

ABA'Y P*CHA NAMAN EH. HOY, HINDI KITA KINAKAUSAP, NOH? NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, MORON. ALAM MO BA KUNG ANO ANG PINAGDAANAN KO THE LAST HOUR? IKAW NGA SA LAKI NG KATAWAN MO, ANDITO KA LANG SA MAY AIRCON AT LILIM EH. ANO PA AKO NA NAARAWAN, NAGLAKAD NG DALAWANG KILOMETRO, UMALIS, BUMALIK, AT DINAKDAKAN NG PANGIT AT HAMPAS-LUPANG GAYA MO? SO TINGIN MO SA'YO LANG AKO GALIT? GALIT AKO SA BUONG MUNDO, P*NYETA!

Of course, I didn't say that. And not being able to say that to his ugly face is what triggered this post, actually. Argh. Not wanting to make a scene, I just said, "Hindi ako nagagalit," as I was trying to fight back the urge of slapping him senseless. Just when I thought I've had enough, I got into the elevator and…

The freaking operator misses my floor. Argh. Argh. Argh. "Boss?!" I called his attention. He just smiled and never apologized. In fact, he was more into making something out of my bad mood than he was trying to become apologetic. I gathered that he was thinking that him missing my stop was the SOLE reason I was in a bad mood, therefore, I was ultimately unreasonable and nagiinarte. Not wanting to make matters worse, I looked down, tried to avoid unconsciously rolling my eyes at the operator, pinched my cheek to numb the urge of bursting, and alighted at the tenth floor, after a round trip elevator ride.

I got to my workspace and thought, "I am never going to do that again." Never will I let them off like that. Never will I put their own feelings first. Never will I hold back. Ever. Again. Nagtitimpi lang ako, but since busy season na, it's this bitch's time to shine. Magalit na ang magalit. Mapaiyak ko na, kung mapaiyak ko. Kung ayaw niyo ng away, better get out of my way. Don't say I didn't warn you.

My Annoying Seatmates Here at Work [Part 1]

2009-01-19T15:39:00.001+08:00

Today is the day I shall break the ice. My silence stops here.

Over the last few weeks, I have grown FOND of my seatmates here at work. They remind me of my days as a new hire in our firm. Back when I was four years younger…four years stupider…and definitely four years more annoying.

I think you know what I mean.

It’s like after we spend three years in high school and we finally become seniors. It’s the way we see the people from the lower batches, especially the froshies. It’s the way the younger ones seem more annoying both in how they look and act. It’s the way we suddenly wonder if we were that stupid when we were in the same stage.
I could go about work without noticing them, really, but the annoying things that my seatmates are into are just too glaring to just be passed upon.

Let me just paint you a picture of how the set-up here in the office is like:

Our work area simply a vast common room where there are individual workspaces, no dividers, and no cubicles (at least for those who are not yet managers). There is a hodgepodge of files, determining the ownership of which will truly be a logistical nightmare. The place redefines overcrowding, really. A workspace typically intended for one is occupied by two people, or even more. It is where a simple breathe becomes an invasion of the next person’s privacy.

Could you just imagine how inevitable it is for each one of us here in the office to be familiar with our seatmates’ goings on? All that even when we do not intend or even want to have the slightest idea? We can’t help but be all connected, however annoying that connection might turn out to be. Annoying enough to muster that feeling of wanting to box the next person. Well, at least on my part.

I have at least five officemates within the 3 meter radius of my workspace, all of whom are at least 3 batches lower than me. They have this tendency to engage in “activities” which, to my “seasoned” and “mature” senses, are unreasonably juvenile, tantamount to nuisances, thus, annoying.

Now, I would like to introduce you to my seatmates. This time, however, I will have no accompanying pictures. I still have mercy, you know, however others might think otherwise. Besides, since filing libel charges against bloggers might be the next fad, I think making these out as blind items, at least for this post, would lessen my litigation expenses.

First of [maybe] 5 parts…

Discreetly Haliparot Girls
The name speaks for itself, really. These supposed-to-be epitomes of Maria Clara, hailing from the province, and seemingly exuding of rural innocence and womanhood, are not at all what they project themselves to be.

Discreetly Haliparot Girl #1 (DHG1) sits to my left. She is supposedly a barrio lass: speaks like she’s always whispering, sneezes like an itsy bitsy mouse, gives out a shy smile at everyone, takes itsy bitsy bites off her food, wipes the side of her mouth with her embroidered hanky after she takes a bite of her sandwich, engages in public display of physical intimacy…

Wait…what was that?

Yes, that’s right. DHG1 morphs into this creature completely devoid of intimacy issues every time her boyfriend drops by to check on her:

Boyfriend of DHG1: [in disgusting baby talk] O…bakit hindi ka sumama mag-lunch? Magugutom ka niyan? [steals a 1/8 torrid smooch]

DHG1: [smooches back]

DHG1: [in even more appalling baby talk] Eh kasi…ang dami ko pa gawin eh… [gives out a cutesy pout]

xtin: [pretends not to notice, but is nevertheless annoyed]

Apparently, the Maria Clara of today is overly affectionate and annoying. And when such attitude is displayed in the office, I don’t know because I might be wrong on this, isn’t that considered inappropriate? It’s one thing when she’s like this with her boyfriend. It’s just a whole other ball game when she does the same thing to other guys. Guys. Plural.

Other guy/s: [in an I’m-your-concerned-friend-slash-shoulder-to-cry-on tone] O, musta na? Busy ka ba?

DHG1: [in patent baby talk] Eto…

DHG1: [looks up to guy, gives out a cutesy sigh, and bats her eyelashes]

Another guy: [detects flirtation in the air]

Other guy/s: Talaga? Wawa ka naman…

Other guy/s: [sits beside DHG1, extends his arm over the shoulders of DHG1, gives her shoulders a squeeze]

DHG1: [gives out yet another sigh and leans on the open torso of the guy/s]

xtin: [in disgust and in thought] Naknampuchanamanoe. Alam mo, hija, kung nanay mo ako, makukurot talaga kita sa singit! Burikak ka na nga, salawahan pa! Ay santisima!

To be continued…

Metro Gwapito na ngayong 2009, Metro Gwapo sa 2010

2009-01-08T12:32:00.006+08:00

WTF?!?

I have been so moved to write another post about my beloved BF (Bayani Fernando, of course...not boyfriend, pwede ba?). This catharsis was brought about not by the recent developments in Congress where some solons have (finally) realized how idiotic Metro Manila now looks after BF tickled it pink, but by a certain poster plastered on a large wall near the MMDA HQ along EDSA-Guadalupe:

HATE IT. Let me count the reasons why.

The poster has BF’s face on it. Need I say more? Actually, I think I do. If a year ago, our BF had a hilarious bad boy poster, he outshines that joke with this joke. What is the punch line this time, you ask? Isn’t it obvious? It is the way his pose tries so much to be candid. He tries so hard to be pensive here, but to me, he ends up looking really fake anyway.
It highlights the kind of brown-noser he is.
It depicts how his style of “developing” the metro actually made the metro more cluttered. Ang gulo naman kasi ng collage, eh no?
It suggests that what is actually clutter, he calls kaayusan and passes them off as his achievements in office.
It is a total waste. Of space. Of funds. And of time. Yours and, of course, mine.

I was trying to find time to take a picture of the poster myself. But then, I realized that I did not have to when I stumbled upon it over at the MMDA website. Wow. They’re really proud of it over there, aren’t they?

There are many things there in the website, actually, that most of us will find amusing, to say the least.

In my recent visit, I learned of MMDA’s new battle cry:

METRO GWAPITO NA NGAYONG 2009
METRO GWAPO SA 2010

2010, sir? Did you say 2010? Aba’y kung hindi ka naman ba isang dakot na presumable! You have assumed so many things. Among them are: one, that the word “gwapo” works well with you and; two, that no one will notice that your new battle cry is actually already a tagline for your presidential candidacy. You amaze me, sir, you do. Your class act amazes me.

Despite this amazement, come 2010, I reiterate that though I do not have the slightest idea who to vote for, I am sure who NOT to vote for. My vote will never be cast in favor of a brown noser or an engineer who likes to color his projects pink.

But I still want to thank BF. If not for his tasteful new posters along EDSA (one in EDSA-Guadalupe Northbound, another in EDSA-Magallanes Southbound), I would not have had the perfect opportunity to unburden myself of even just one nuisance in my life. Thanks na rin.

9 QUESTIONS TO 2009: WHY I NOTICE EVERYTHING [an away a day year-ender special]

2009-01-02T15:17:00.013+08:00

"2008 will rock," a friend once said.

And indeed, it did. At least for this blog and for whatever purpose it wanted to serve. I have had so much fun putting together things and stories, all for our amusement. From gigster caps to shemaghs, douchebags to ang pinakamababang uri ng tao, from Starbucks Katipunan to KLCC Airport…and to cyberspace. True enough, this blog has somewhat served its purpose—I have vented out excess angst and laughed heartily along the way. Knowing that my persona has been unburdened by several angry and sarcastic posts, makes my 2008 rock harder.

Here's to a year of pintasera moments.
Here's to another year of bitch fits.
And here's to me, because…

I NOTICE EVERYTHING.

Yes, I do. I may even surprise you, as I have the select few that have recently met me and have witnessed my "gift". They note, "Napapansin mo lahat, noh?" to which I candidly respond with a giggle and an "I know, right?" I am remarkably attentive to even the most mundane things that would easily go unnoticed by a normal person.

So…does that imply that I'm ABnormal? Maybe. But that's a totally different post right there.

Whether or not I am a child of normalcy is not the issue. What is, though, are certain questions, answers to which will explain why I tend to notice everything.

Question #1
Why is it that when I'm in class and the professor shoots a question at me, I will most likely miss out on the answer?

Answer
I have been distracted by a classmate's fishnet stockings and a sudden song stuck in my head (I made it through the wilderness, somehow I made it through, I didn't know how lost I was until I found you)

Question #2
Why is it that when a friend is telling me some story, that is, as most stories tend to, taking too long to finish, it is not far of a possibility that I will zone out and stare into space?

Answer
I am taking notice of something else, say, the cute guy whose view is conveniently located behind my friend's head.

Question #3
Why is it that when I'm walking down the street, even when I seem to be busy "not looking", I am looking?

Answer
I am actually analyzing the science of your wearing a horrendous pair of boots.

Question #4
Why is it that when I'm in my ride to the office, rather than getting on with a nap, I'd look out the window? Or when I'm eating in a good restaurant, rather than getting on with my meal, I'd stop chewing food and stare at you just to mock you?

Answer
You are wearing a stupid scarf, the cultural meaning of which you have half an idea of.

Inevitably, I will go, "Pre, bakit? Malamig ba? Feeling mo ba may winter dito sa Pilipinas?"

Question #5
Why is it that when I'm boarding the plane, instead of just getting to my seat, I take my time looking at you?

Answers

I am caught off guard by your hideous Indiana Jones hat and the bald white guy you are with (which makes me ask the question, "What kind of BUSINESS is this girl into?")

2. I am utterly irked by your wearing a gigster cap

Question #6

Why is it that while in the airport, I might be on my way to the carousel to get my bag, but I will be stalled on my way by the sight of you?

Answers

You are wearing a blanket as a cape? (Superman, isdatchu?)
Your girlfriend thinks that cowboy hats have made its way back to the fashion mainstream

Question #7
Why is it that while hearing mass, I might look like I'm in deep reflection, but really, I'm reflecting on something miles away from spiritual enlightenment?

Answer
You're wearing a pair of sandals which is so typically jologs.

Question #8
Why is it that while in the mall, rather than busying myself with the ongoing sale, I'm more interested in looking around and staring at you?

Answers

You are an idiot whose outfit was inspired by a watermelon
The girl next to you has a ridiculous fashion ensemble

Question #9
Why is it that even while I surf the net, instead of keeping to news and current affairs sites, I am more interested in googling random things for a chance to INADVERTENTLY stumble upon your Friendster account?

Answers

Your barkada picture gives me sheer joy. It makes me want to listen to the Tagalog version of Low. Or the Tagalog version of Umbrella. Or just any Salbakuta song.

2. I love it that you are friends with celebrities.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Holiday Edition]

2008-12-16T10:28:00.016+08:00

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…Jack frost nipping on your nose…
Although It's been said many times, many ways…
A very Merry Christmas to you.

There is something about Starbucks during Christmas that makes it more conducive for studying. Yes, I know how geekish of a statement that was. Nerd tendencies aside, though, I might not have grown fond of devoting so many hours for studying, but Starbucks in December makes the idea of studying more appealing to me.

The soft play of classic Christmas songs, the aroma of the Starbucks Christmas brews, and the cold breeze of December (or maybe just the AC) make up a good mix of lethargy and energy.

Unfortunately for me, there are other idiots who find the Christmas Starbucks appealing to them as well. Fact of the matter is, Starbucks actually fills out with MORE idiocy during the holidays than usual. You would think that the Starbucks crowd is homogenous throughout the year. For some reason, though, the usually annoying Starbucks parokyanos become extra annoying during Christmas time. It is as if the warm and fuzzy Christmas atmosphere is actually a breeding ground for nuisances.

As much as I would like to wallow in my Starbucks holiday zen, it would only take a seemingly enigmatic but annoying idiot to irk me and ruin everything for me. If in, say, March or August, it took me a few minutes to lose my cool upon seeing the Korean Mob or hearing an Enunciator, in December, it will take me half the time. Given that analogy, ladies and gentlemen, you don't have to be a genius to figure out that in December, however relaxing Starbucks actually is, I will be more irritable than usual. There may be less species of idiots than the rest of the year, but by god, are they quality idiots—definitely worthy of a bullet. Or two.

Presenting...

My Starbucks Hitlist (Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd): Holiday Edition

Starbucks Holiday Nuisance #1 DOUBLE STICKER ABUSERS

Desperate times call for desperate measures. That is if by "desperate times" you mean a desperate need to get the Starbucks planner and if by "desperate measures" you mean staking out until a specific time just so you could get two stickers instead of only one.

Tell-tale signs (You know that one is just a double sticker abuser if:)

You see a person sitting at some table, without a cup of coffee in tow, seemingly waiting for someone
That person stakes out at that table for an extended period of time
Suddenly, as the clock hits a particular hour, the person stands up and heads for the counter
The person excitedly finishes his/her purchase of one choice Starbucks beverage and enthusiastically extends his/her promo card to the barista
The barista puts not one, but two promo stickers on the card.
The person makes out a smile that extends from ear to ear
[On some rare, but highly possible, occasion] the person, while waiting for his/her order and upon hearing another customer tell the barista that he/she is not collecting promo stickers therefore he/she will waive his/her rights to the stickers, musters enough kapal ng mukha to tell that other customer, "Okay lang, akin na lang ang stickers mo?"

I don't think Starbucks still has the promotional campaign this year, but the kind of people such a promo produced in 2007 deserves a spot in my hitlist.

In the minutes leading to the select hour, Starbucks was usually filled to the brim with eager beavers. Those who were obviously delaying their purchase until such time that they could finally avail of the double stickers promo. It would have reminded you of how French Baker looks like half an hour before closing, when all of their pastries are marked down to half off. Well, at least the guys over at French Baker are waiting for the bread. The Double Sticker Abusers, on the other hand, would kill their own young and are simply waiting for stickers, for a free planner. Wow, right?

Starbucks Holiday Nuisance #2 THE BRITISH GRADUATE ISKOLAR

It's funny when Madonna pretends to have a British accent. But if a fugly, social-climbing creature does it, it would call for violence rather than humor.

For this particular nuisance, I would rather dispense with the usual enumeration of the tell-tale signs. Let me just begin by giving you a visual to aid your imagination.

Save these images in your head, okay? Now imagine this idiot engaging in conversation with the baristas, as he was unaccompanied and had no one else to talk to. Imagine him holding extended monologues about himself and what he does. Imagine him and his trying-to-be-a-female voice causing all this verbal ruckus…wait for it…wait for it…in English. Not just in plain English, with a run-in-the-mill American or even call center agent accent. Imagine him talking in a cheap British accent. Imagine the baristas, upon hearing such a unique accent, ducking under the counter to make faces or just give out a laugh.

Freak:[in his British accent, translations in brackets] I'm finish-aing my MA the-suhs [thesis] in YUPEHEY [UP, as in University of the Philippines]

Xtin: [SOLID NOSEBLEED yet in thought] POCHAH. Seriously?

I was enjoying a zen-like state in Starbucks Trinoma when I inadvertently overheard this idiot talking in a British accent. I was wishing so badly I had not heard the cheap accent. It was so disturbing that got into a blackout of sorts. I wasn't absorbing anything I was reading. I wasn't even tasting the goodness and richness of my coffee. I was trying to fight my first instinct of hitting him at the back of his head. I even tried to discreetly record his voice, but to my dismay, my recorder failed me. I ended up just taking a picture of him. Nice outfit, by the way.

It is also worthy of noting that the British bastard had a UP 100 jacket. At a point in time, he was wearing it over his shoulders, like a shawl, in such a way that the front part of the jacket [which had a blaring UP 100 written across it] was exposed for everyone to see. To my mind, he had to do that. He had to wear his jacket that way to broadcast that he belonged to a reputable educational institution. Otherwise, no one would think that he was educated at all. Who would? By the way he was acting and talking, of course, no one would have mistaken him as an ivy leaguer. "Social climber" would have easily popped in their heads. At least, that was what popped in MY head.

British pala ah. Coño ka ba kamo? Talaga lang. Eat shit, my friend. Eat some fothermuckin' shit.

Starbucks Holiday Nuisance #3 HOLIDAY DOUCHEBAG

P're, question…Malamig? Usher isdatchu? Or is it Chris Brown?

Tell-tale signs (You know he's a holiday douchebag if:)

He walks into Starbucks in his winter get-up, with a swagger of a champion
We're not in the US therefore, there's no winter
The winter outfit is nonetheless justified by either the AC or the cool December breeze
You feel the sudden urge to strangle this guy with his makeshift scarf

Gahd. After a number of posts on it, this might sound so cliché, but I sure do hate douchebag fashion. What annoys me even more is the fact that the coldness of December gives them some sort of reason to wear their horrendous style choices. Look at him:

He looks so comfortable, leg rested on the armrest, hand placed on the hat, body tilted to forming a convenient pose and all. He seems unaware of the impropriety of his outfit.

The scarf sure looks good—good enough to be a noose, right?

There you go. This might be the shortest hitlist of them all, but the nuisance factor is truly on a higher notch during the holidays.

Now that those nuisances are past me, I can now proceed with sipping my hot drink, sitting comfortably in my seat, and studying in my lovely Starbucks corner. I'm putting on my earphones now and shutting the rest of the world out, lest another nuisance walks in and breaks all hell loose.

[See other Starbucks Hitlists here]

Oist, magsitahimik nga kayo! [Shut your pie hole!]

2008-12-10T12:20:00.013+08:00

You know you’re a Filipino if…

...You tail an ambulance just to beat the traffic.
...Instead of "I beg your pardon?" you say "Ha?"
...You're always late.
...You ask people you have just met how many children they have and what their spouses do for a living.
...You stand out because you talk and act loudly and with exaggeration.

I opted to begin with quotes from “You Know You’re a Filipino If…” because this book puts in a plain and humorous manner those annoying Filipino habits which would otherwise be considered politically incorrect to mention out loud. The last one is admittedly my original, though.

Political incorrectness is that particular defense against those who choose to not go blindly when they see Pinoys acting in an, well, unorthodox manner. Most people, Pinoy and foreigners alike, do not easily get away with criticizing these quirky Pinoy habits. Take Malu Fernandez as an example. She made unprecedented comments about OFWs she was with during a flight she took on her way to Greece [and back]. In the article she wrote, she said:

However I forgot that the hub was in Dubai and the
majority of the OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) were stationed there. The
duty-free shop was overrun with Filipino workers selling cell phones and
perfume. Meanwhile, I wanted to slash my wrist at the thought of being trapped
in a plane with all of them.While I was on the plane (where the seats were so
small I had bruises on my legs), my only consolation was the entertainment on
the small flat screen in front of me. But it was busted, so I heaved a sigh,
popped my sleeping pills and dozed off to the sounds of gum chewing and endless
yelling of “HOY! Kumusta ka na? At taga sann ka? Domestic helper ka rin ba?”
Translation: “Hey there? Where are you from? Are you a domestic helper as well?”
I though I had died and God had sent me to my very own private hell.On my way
back, I had to bravely take the economy flight once more. This time I had
already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with
all these OFWs smelling of AXE and Charlie cologne while Jo Malone evaporated
into thin air.All in all, it’s been a pretty good summer. Jetting from the
Aegean Sea to the Pacific may sound a bit pretentious until you wake up in
economy class smelling like air freshener. [source]

In yet another article:

As all of you know I have just returned from a wonderful holiday in the
Mediterranean. To cut on some costs for this impromptu vacation I was forced to
fly economy class which I absolutely do not wish on my worst enemy. I was,
however, encouraged by my travel agent to try out Emirates since it won the best
economy class, so with great trepidation I flew on Emirates via Dubai,
completely forgetting that Dubai is the hub for all the Filipino migrant
workers. Call me whatever you like but when you are trapped in economy class
that is filled to the brim with migrant workers the smell gets a little funky
after nine hours of flying. [source]

It has been months since the article was emailed to me. The mood of that forwarded mail was contempt towards Ms. Fernandez. And it was indeed contempt that I felt. There truly was a glaring feeling as if she was singling out OFWs and that she hated them or at least being with them. However disturbing her article was, I could not help but ask if, even by some small possibility, could she have been just saying the truth? Something so condescending and politically incorrect, but the truth nonetheless??

Just last month, true enough, I think I began to see what Ms. Fernandez was incriminated for saying.

I was on my way to the KLCC airport to catch my flight to Bangkok. I took a shuttle bus from the city to the airport. I took the front most row in the bus and, since I saw that the bus was hardly half full, I comfortably occupied even the seat beside mine. A few moments before the driver closed the bus doors, two familiar faces boarded the bus. It was a man and a woman, maybe in their early 50s, who had skin color similar to mine. I knew that I didn’t have an idea in the world who the man and woman were, but they were nonetheless familiar.

“Buti na lang umabot tayo,” the man told the woman as they occupied the seats just behind mine.

“Ah,” I thought, “Pinoy pala.”

But the pleasant feeling of affinity only lasted up to that point.

The whole one hour and fifteen minute-trip to the airport, the two were talking, ever so loudly, to each other, as if they were the only ones on the bus. The bus was barely empty and none of the other passengers had the same unrefined attitude as the two which made their irritating and screeching talk and laughter resound all the more. Ang ingay, p’re, sobra! I had my earphones on, but the loud talk made its way to my eardrums, disallowing me a brief rest to alleviate a migraine I have been having the whole day that had just passed. I didn’t even pay attention to what silly things they were talking about. Every sound that they made didn’t come to me as comprehensible words so much as they sounded like loud buzzing and ringing.

“My god! Hindi ba sila nahihiya? Sila lang kaya ang maingay dito!” I thought angrily.

And since they irked me, quite a bit, the whole ride to the airport, I made it a point that before we parted ways, I would steal a shot of “BOY AND KRIS”, for posterity’s sake, of course:

*****

A couple of weeks ago, on the other hand, I went to Kota Kinabalu. My friends and I were quite amused at how even in the most remote areas of the island, there were Filipinos. We gladly listened to their stories of why they were working in Malaysia and how they got there. All of the instances, really without exception, when asked where they were from, they would answer “Sulu” or “Zamboanga”, and when asked why they left and migrated to Kota Kinabalu, they would give a reply “Umiiwas lang kami sa gulo [sa Mindanao].”

We understood perfectly where they were coming from. We didn’t pity them at all because of what had happened to them—to have been left no choice but to exile themselves to a land not their own. If anything, we were relieved. The kind of relief that even just a family or two have been freed from the danger of the war in Mindanao.

Safe to say, I developed a pleasant outlook on the Pinoys we met in KK during our stay. But it didn’t take long for some idiots to [almost] ruin that positive disposition.

There I was, walking along the shores of Manukan Island in KK’s Tunku Abdul Rahman Marine Park, when yours truly was confronted by familiar distasteful behavior.

Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur [the fur], the whole club was looking at her…she hit the floor, next thing you know, Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, LOWWW…

I heard the de facto national anthem of the Philippines, Flo Rida’s “Low”, of course, blaring out from some cheap boom box somewhere along the beach. There was no doubt in my mind that I was a few steps away from a notorious pet peeve of mine—Pinoy Jologs.

True enough, a few meters from our table were a bunch of rowdy and NOTABLY NOISY individuals who were partying, dancing, and singing, in broad daylight, mind you, to MY wit’s end. At that point, I could only assume that they were Filipinos because I have yet to obtain any confirmation to that effect.

As if on cue, I walked past the group and two beer-bellied half-wits started singing some Tagalog love song. You know how that goes…at the very moment a girl passes by, these machismo Pinoy epitomes of tambays acknowledge her and pay tribute to her beauty by intentionally-but-unintentionally singing, in a patent lasenggo volume, some love song like “Ang halik mo, na-mi-miss ko…”

After the guys finish their short song number, the rest of the group screams and breaks into patent inuman ng mga tambay tuwing pista behavior. They didn’t know, of course, that I could understand, perfectly well, all their remarks and comments they were shouting at each other. A couple of those statements were about me.

I walked away from this mob, but as I was doing so, I took one more look and noticed that at least two girls, in their two-piece swimwear, those with culottes as bottoms, dancing atop their beach table, ala Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You. I looked around, but none of the other vacationers were engaged in such bakya pandemonium.

It also didn’t help that they were a not-so-attractive bunch. Matabungks outfits for the girls. Beer bellies for the guys. And of course, Tighty whities ala trunks for the most not-so-attractive of them all.

Nakakahiya, ‘di ba? What? Hindi ka nahihiya? Well, ako oo.

Well maybe the wisest thing for me to do at this point is to just desist, lest people out there would crucify me, as they did Malu Fernandez. I could say that I find similarities in my view and Ms. Fernandez’s. Noisy and unattractive people annoy us. We both turn this annoyance into criticism and sarcasm that form part of our humor. But a stark difference is that nowhere in this post will it seem like I am singling out a particular group of Filipinos. When I say Filipinos are infuriatingly noisy and seemingly lacking of discipline, I don’t mean OFWs, rich, poor, adults, kids, men, or women. I mean that we ALL have a tendency to display such behavior. It is not because we are actually undisciplined. Uneducated. Or unrefined. That is because we are not.

It is just how we Pinoys are. We can be irritatingly quirky sometimes, but we are pleasantly entertaining most of the time. Nakakahiya, oo. Pwede ding nakakairita. Pero madalas nakakatawa lang talaga.

[cue boisterous Pinoy laughter]

An Altercation

2008-11-19T09:59:00.002+08:00

See that parking slot? It’s mine, not yours, dumbass.

Two nights ago, I came home at around 1am after attending a so-so concert, which, by the way, I should also be blog-ranting about.

Upon entering the compound, I took a quick look at my parking spot. You know how it is in residential complexes. Your unit gets assigned a parking slot and when other tenants see that your slot is constantly unoccupied, they’d simply park their other cars in your slot, to their heart’s content. This I learned not early on, but only just last summer when another tenant got into this irritating habit of parking his cars in my assigned slot. I never really did mind that he did so up until a friend told me that I should assert my right over the parking slot. After all, I paid for it and this asshole who keeps on using it did not. Nor is he paying me.

There had been a couple of times when I attempted to, yes, assert this so-called right. To my dismay, however, I have only come across the driver of this alleged asshole. At first, I was, er, pleasant to said driver. I told him, nicely if you must ask, that I have been inconvenienced by their use of my parking slot.

Of course that was just an exaggeration. This “inconvenience” that I speak of relates not to any time my car was deprived of its place in the universe, the universe being the compound. I don’t have a car nor do I have any recurring and regular visitors who do. So this “inconvenience” is solely based on the pro-bono use of that little parcel of concrete, without my consent.

Ayaw ko nang naiisahan. ‘Yun lang naman talaga ‘yun.

But apparently, my calm statements toward the driver didn’t ever make a difference. Since the first time I talked to him, there had been so many times I have caught one of their vehicles in my slot. I have never been able to comprehend why the asshole [the driver’s employer] can afford to have more than one car, but can only manage to secure himself just one parking slot. Come on, does he think that he will just freeload off the other tenants’ slots? Well, maybe. But there is no way in the freaking world will he be able to do that with this tenant.

That is why it became a habit of mine to always check this slot in-question out, whether or not there is an unauthorized occupant.

That night, as mentioned, another vehicle was there, yet again. This time, it was a pick-up truck. As if trying to spite me or something, the license plate even had “CONG 8” on it, as if I was about to believe that (1) it was an authentic government official protocol plate, (2) it was not just an ordinary commemorative plate of some medical institution the asshole simply had customized, and (3) he indeed was a solon. Pwede ba?

Me being the normal me, an away a day and all, I slowly got into my usual theatrics, although minding that it was already an unholy hour and many of my co-tenants were already asleep. I threw a discreet yet moving bitch fit upon calling the on-duty guard’s attention. I made it a point, though, to express anger on the asshole and not on the guard. The guard might think that I was getting mad at him. I, of course, didn’t want that as I wanted his support and assistance in the matter.

“Ma’am, sige po, pupuntahan ko na lang sila para tanungin kung pwede na alisin ng may-ari itong kotse nila,” suggested the guard, to which I agreed. I have never wanted to disturb anyone during their sleep, especially in that unholy hour, just so I could satisfy my whim-slash-bitch-fit. But enough was enough. My patience, if you could really call it that, could only go so far.

I readied my self for a full-blown mahadera/palengkera mode altercation. I was rehearsing insults in my head while I was waiting for the guard and the asshole to come down from the third floor, where the asshole’s unit was.

After a few minutes, the guard came down, alone, so I asked him, “O, nasaan na?”

“Bababa na daw po.”

True enough, a few seconds after, I see this creature in a tattered sando and jogging pants to match approaching the guard. I give him my patent hostile look, the one where I look at him from head to toe with a facial expression saying that, “So…’yan na ‘yun? Eew. No contest naman pala.”

The asshole saw me with this look on my face, yes, but he took one look at me and, just when I was about to jump to a verbal battle, he looked away and, instead, asked the guard, in an irritated-slash-inconvenienced manner, “Anong oras ba dumating ‘yang pick-up?” referring to the pick-up that was unlawfully parked in my slot.

Wow, ah. So are you trying to tell me that you had no idea that your friggin' pick up was parked in my slot? In short, it wasn't at all your fault that the location of your vehicle has inconvenienced another tenant? Maryosep. Pwede ba, hindi bagay sa pagmumukha mo ang pa-inosente. You reek of dishonesty and un-fairplay.

He walked towards the slot. He got in his pick-up. Just when he was about to move it out of the parking slot, I gave him one last look, but again, he looked away, but of course in a manner which TRIED, although pathetically, to tell me that he didn’t mind at all that he had inconvenienced me. He drove away and found another slot, not his yet again, to exploit.

“Okay ‘yun ah. Hindi man lang humingi ng paumanhin,” I commented to the guard.

“Gan’un po talaga ‘yun, ma’am. Mayabang po talaga. Kaaway din po namin ‘yan, eh.”

“Figures,” I thought.

I thanked the guard for his help, after which I finally went home and took a rest at 2am. I didn’t immediately doze off. Maybe because I was still irked by the asshole. I was thinking very intently how and why creatures like him have to be such jerks. Walking smugly with the attitude that they are above all laws, even those which are mere community regulations.

I haven’t felt that I have won this battle yet. At least I got him off my property, so to speak. Now I must hold caution because with people like that who think that they are “in power” [cue “CONG 8” congressman daw ‘o license plate] and having had an altercation with such a creature, trouble couldn’t be brewing too far from me.

*I’d actually mention his name here, but nah, I want to live a bit longer and to not have my new car, if ever get one, scratched or its tires slashed by an anonymous hater. I know that is just how these creatures operate. Their retaliation will expectedly be as cheap and irritating as buying second hand bed linen.

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Part 2]

2008-11-03T22:42:00.007+08:00

Do you have your rifles ready? Okay, then. Let's see what other kinds of people we'd find and want to shoot in Starbucks.

# 6 BOOM BOX (BF, Katipunan, Rockwell, Trinoma)

Get some earphones, idiot.

Tell-tale signs (You know these idiots are in the house when:)

The normally relaxing music in Starbucks is suddenly overpowered by some other song, typically unbecoming for Starbucks
You look around to try and see where the sound is coming from and realize that it's coming from a stupid gadget
The gadget is spewing out music at a rude volume level, typically requiring of earphones
You stare at the idiot down who owns the gadget and see that he's enjoying the music and that he also might even start dancing or singing along to his heart's content.
You suddenly acquire a most unwelcome LSS (last song syndrome—Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur [the fur], the whole club was looking at her…she hit the floor, next thing you know, Shawty got LOW LOW LOW LOW LOWWWW)

I like "LOW" as much as the next person, you know. But when I'm in Starbucks, I'd rather bask in the mellow ambience of the establishment. I do not pay P100+ for a cup of coffee just so I could listen to your rendition of some Cher hit. I do not go there just so I could witness a showcase of your new laptop and media playlist. I have my own, thank you very much. And, unlike you, I can afford earphones, dumbass.

I couldn't care less if you're into hip-hop, house, RnB, or pop. I won't give a crap if you're into Fi[f]ty Cent, Celine Dion, or Salbakuta. I won't mind, really. But that doesn't mean you could thrust upon me your poor taste in music. More so if it is coming from some cheap contraption of yours. Tutuktukan kita, eh.

The losers in the video, aside from being a one-cup-for-all-all-for-one-cup gang, came to Starbucks Rockwell with their little el cheapo MP3 player, blasting Ne-Yo's "With You" (replay the video and you'd notice that you could clearly hear the song playing from their table). Gahd, people, can you be more lame? If you want it so badly to look like gangsters, at least play true gangster music, not luvey-duvey love songs by cutsie RnB singers…I like the song, yeah, but it's people like these losers who turn the songs I love into cheap and jologs novelty songs.

#7 ENUNCIATORS (BF, Katipunan, 6750, Gateway)

I swear I don't want to eavesdrop, but the loud mouth in the next table is making life difficult for me.

Tell-tale signs (You know if these loud mouths have arrived when:)

There's a pair or group of people in the next table who are in deep discussion
One member of the pair or group is noticeably talking at the top of his/her voice, enunciating
You are thrown off your concentration
You suddenly feel that you've become part of the conversation going on in the next table

It's nice that people like to talk to their friends. What's not is that I'm not a friend, but I could still hear, LOUD and CLEAR, what the F the other table is talking about. Thanks to the resident loud mouth. Don't get me wrong, though. These enunciators have kept my stay at Starbucks very interesting. Not only do they impart little life lessons [sarcastic cough], they also are funny as hell. Hilarious. Ridiculous.

This is the Gamer-Enunciator and friend. I came across the two of them a couple of months ago. The guy in the striped shirt was waiting for the other guy and when the chubby guy arrived, all hell broke loose. The chubby guy, aka the Gamer-Enunciator, spent what felt like three hours discussing in full detail and complete passionate reenactments of his favorite computer game and game techniques. Pow. Bam. Kaplow. He was enunciating every little game advice he was giving to his friend that I felt that everyone else in Starbucks that day became a better gamer, even just a bit. Of course I had squat of an idea of what he was lecturing his friend on. I could not even quote a complete sentence from him because I had no idea what he was talking about except that I knew that it was a computer game. That is just why the whole thing became more unbearable for me. I wanted to go to their table, smash a bottle on his head, and say, "Shut up, geek!"

#8 WHERE'S THE PARTY?-PEOPLE (Katipunan, Valero)

I was not aware that Starbucks had a dress code. Party attire mandatory.

Tell-tale signs (There is no doubt that the party animal turned up when:)

You go to Starbucks in your most casual and comfortable, close to homey, get-up
A group of people enters, each member wearing some retarded outfit announcing to everyone that he/she has just gone from a major party, with one wearing an item of clothing in gold
The group moves around like they're on a catwalk of sorts, with one or two of them almost always on the verge of giving a killer pose and as if wanting to be watched in slow-motion
The whole establishment seems to stop in its tracks
You suddenly feel inadequate and underdressed

A huge pet peeve of mine is fashion victims. I don't like it when people dress up inappropriately, more so if they do and think that they could pull the stupid outfit off. I hate it when these retardates go about the earth as if every place they go to is one big event. News flash, genius: it might've taken you half a day to put that look together, but even long hours couldn't keep you from looking fugly. And, going to Starbucks in that joke you call an attire makes your punch line more hilarious.

#9 CAFFEINE-LOVING PARENTS & SUGAR-RUSHED KIDS (BF)

There's a reason why Jollibee has a play area and Starbucks does not.

Tell-tale signs (You know if the Goin' Bulilits from hell are in when you:)

Are having a peaceful coffee-break
See that an evidently married couple walks in with their adorable little girl or boy
Notice the kid/s enjoy all the chocolatey goodies they could get their hands on
See a couple of banshees jumping up and down the place
Suddenly realize that there no banshees, only the adorable kids who have escaped the supervision and authority of their parental units and have decided to run amuck

In the picture, I caught the kid making his KSP act just so his mom would look at him. After a few minutes, true enough, this same kid was running around the store and the mom couldn't care less of the havoc his unreasonably rambunctious kid was causing.

Kudos to family time. But if you know that you can hardly control your kids, don't bring them to an adult place like a coffee shop and have them run around like crazed gremlins, let alone feed them sweets and goodies that will induce a sugar rush. You know you're not bad parents, but it sure as hell makes it hard for everyone else to see you in the same light when your issues are being irritatingly noisy little brats. If you're not one who'd strap your kids on a leash, do us all a favor and not give them sugar.

That'll be it for now. Don't despair, though. I'm sure I'll be spending a lot more time in Starbucks and there'll be a whole lot more opportunities for people-watching and idiot-bashing. I might even see the people who have been part of the hitlist and give you unprecedented updates. Until then. I'm sure it won't take me a long while.

Part 1 of Starbucks Hitlist

An Open Letter for a Euro General's Homecoming

2008-10-21T09:01:00.004+08:00

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I should have posted this the other day, but due to time constraints, mainly me rushing out of the office to go to school for a dreaded final exam, I wasn't able to.

Before I begin, you should know that I'm out of the country right now and, for obvious reasons, I may be more out-of-the-loop than usual. I haven't heard (nor have I looked it up) of any follow up news on Dela Paz. That's a bit better I guess, lest my vacation gets ruined by another corrupt policeman.

An Open Letter (to the extent and bounds of this openness, that I'm not quite certain) upon the arrival of Former PNP Controller Dela Paz...

Dear Sir,

Welcome back!

How was your trip?

Did you have fun? I think you did. With PhP 5.9 million you had lying around, I think you had all the resources to make the Interpol fun for you.

By the way, what was that convention for anyway? I didn't bother looking it up, Sir, as I am sure, so sure that I'm betting my life, that it was for a truly worthwhile purpose, though such purpose remains yet to be seen (or believed in). I guess no one should doubt the legitimacy of your trip and the contention chosen to attend it, them being a whole bunch of your kumpares in the force and, of course, their wives, your kumares. I'm sure it was purely coincidental that all of you, being the close friends that you all are, were chosen to attend that one-of-a-kind Russian convention.

Oh, what were you and Mr. Ermita saying regarding the purpose of the money you brought with you? You say the MEDIA were the ones confusing everyone, indiscriminately and recklessly using "contingent funds" and "advances" as if they are two different things when, as Ermita so gallantly and smugly pointed out, they are one and the same (an advance made for contingent funds)? Shet. Ang tatanga nga naman ng MEDIA. MEDIA ha? Shet. Of all people, sila pa ang nagkamali.

But you know, in things like this one, one could not help but think that there might be SOME truth in what the MEDIA are saying. Never mind that I have spent four freaking years (not counting another four years of finance education) auditing the contingent funds and advances of many different companies...Sir, baka nga naman magkaiba yun?

Ang labis ko lang namang ipinagtataka, General, although this is just a query, not at all am I incriminating you in any way whatsoever... Have you not retired already? From my crude knowledge of how the standard operating procedures on taking out advance goes, is not that before an employee retires or for some reason leaves a job/company, he/she must pay any outstanding advances to his name in order to be cleared for resignation? This is to ensure that all it is paid and to avoid people borrowing money and running away from their obligation to pay for them. Well, I MIGHT be wrong on this, Sir. Kung kayo nga eh, General pang itinuring, you bypassed that system. The PNP may have a MORE SOPHISTICATED expenditure cycle that a lowly auditor like me would never comprehend. Maybe retired generals are allowed to make advances from the PNP funds even after they are out of the service. Besides, you were the comptroller yourself. I'm sure it was not at all difficult for you to approve your own application for advances.

I heard you were planning to make a liquidation form of all your expenses while you and your ravishing cohorts were enjoying a contingent fund fit for a whole district of public schools. Good luck with that. Sir, tip from the wise. Collect all possible official receipts to support your liquidation form, okay? File them all properly so that everyone will believe you that the fund and your stay in Moscow were totally legit.

At this point, Sir, I want to wish you ALL THE LUCK IN THE WORLD. As in all. Pati na bad luck. Nakakasuka na kasing maging sarcastic eh. Sa mga pinakamababang uri ng taong kagaya mo, sarcasm would prove futile, as your stupidity would seem to bar you from getting its point.

So sir, advances for contingency fund ba 'kamo? Ha. Lokohin mo ang lelong mong panot. Gago.

Best regards,
xtin

Namedropping Should Be a Crime

2008-10-16T12:05:00.002+08:00

It's final exam season once again. And, as expected, I have established a camp of sorts in Starbucks. I've been spending so much time there that I am typically overwhelmed with all the an-away-a-day material I come across.

This scenario is just one of them.

Background: A woman enters Starbucks carrying at least five boxes of what I think were pastries/yummy goodies from the Conti’s next-door.

The barista on duty sees the woman and the boxes she was carrying.

Barista: [impressed] Wow, ang dami naman po niyan.

Woman: Ah, ano ito eh [insert name of pastry], bigay ng owner [insert name of owner]

B: Ah, okay.

W: [smug] Friend ko siya, eh.

xtin: [in thought] WENONGAYON KUNG FRIEND MO? MAY NAGTATANONG BA?

Ugh. I despise namedroppers. They think they’re all that because they “know” certain people or that these certain “important” people know them. Eat shit. I don’t and I won’t give a rat’s ass if you once knew the Sultan of Brunei. Or if you once dated the neighbor of the cousin of the cook of the Sultan of Brunei.

Nor would I find it impressive that you got five boxes of goodies from your friend, the owner of the restaurant. To my mind, I can get the same five boxes by simply paying for it. The two of us will get the same stuff, in the end. I paid for them and you, on the other hand, freeloaded. What’s so special about that?

I guess it’s good that you know of someone “important” and have conveniently benefited from this relationship. Okay lang 'yun. But please, don’t walk around with a smug look on your face, thinking that you’re better than everyone else just because you have this potentially fictitious friendship with this certain important person.

Get this.

Dingdong Avanzado is my cousin.
Philip Salvador is my ninong.
Carmina Villaroel used to be my neighbor.
I went to the same high school as Kitchie Nadal.
I have had my picture taken with FVR and ERAP, on separate occasions.
I shook hands with Ramon Magsaysay Jr. during EDSA II.

No big effin deal?

Yes, it’s not a big deal. It’s not because it shouldn’t be.

If it’s not you who is “important”, what makes you think that knowing someone who is will make you any different?

Starbucks Hitlist [an update to part 1]

2008-10-09T07:21:00.008+08:00

A couple of months have passed since the time I promised a second installment of my Starbucks Hitlist. I’ll be making good my nasty promise in a few weeks or so. Really. Need not worry. But before proceeding to it, I think it is only fitting to revisit Part One of my hitlist and give you some updates. I know you want it anyway, wehehe. Have your pistols ready, then.

KOREAN MOB slash ALL FOR ONE CUP, ONE CUP FOR ALL

These Kimchi Martians (pun intended, sorry) were very much on the freeloading prowl again. All these pictures were taken in a span of 6 hours in Starbucks BF (as expected). The air was filled with their back-of-the-throat murmurs and gibberish. There was excitement as if there was a birthday party of sorts. And, to my surprise, there indeed was. They occupied at least one-third of the tables and when this one girl entered the store, they broke into what I could only fathom as the Korean version of the birthday song.

NOTE THAT NOT ONE OF THEM, NI ISA MAN LANG, ORDERED ANYTHING FROM STARBUCKS. TABLES ARE TOTALLY EMPTY. COURTESY TOTALLY LACKING AT THIS POINT, EH?

The nerve of these people really. WALA na ngang mga order ang mga ito, nasikmura pang magkakanta at mag-celebrate ng birthday party? Wow ah.

Kill me, please, kill me.

ALL FOR ONE CUP, ONE CUP FOR ALL: PINOY (JOLOGS) VERSION

These Jay-z posse wannabes, douchebags really, were also caught freeloading. And you thought only foreigners have the nerve to do this shameless deed. Pinoys are precisely more notorious at it, mainly because most of us have the tendency to social climb and, at the same time, be parasitic. Take these idiots as examples. They were a group of at least five, I think, and only one of them bought a cup of Starbucks coffee just so they could be seen hanging out at the café. Honestly, they were misplaced in the area. For one, they wore these cheap-thus-hideous gangster get-ups. Two, they even had this little mp3 player that blasted what they thought was gangster music (this is a separate category in my second installment of this hitlist…coming very soon). Talk about JOLOGS. No wonder. Freeloading is simply their second nature.

CAMERA WHORES

Recall in my original post that I included pictures of camera whores who were not the STEREOTYPICAL camera whores, as indicated by the tell-tale signs (teeny boppers taking their own pictures, etc.)? Well, I’m very proud to say that I was graced with the presence of THE STEREOTYPICAL CAMERA WHORES… teeny boppers, bangs, Frappucinos, and all. Batteries not included, though.

Sighting happened in Starbucks Greenhills Theater Mall. Good thing these girls only took a few shots. Had they taken one more shot, I would’ve hung myself then and there.

THE BROKEN-HEARTED AND THE SHOULDER-TO-CRY-ON

When I came up with the first installment of my Starbucks Hitlist, in speaking of “the broken-hearted and the shoulder-to-cry-on”, what I had in mind was the image of two females, one distraught and broken, the other so eager to listen and supportive.

Upon a subsequent visit, though, to Starbucks BF, this particular hitlist category has somewhat evolved. Apparently, males also can fill in the shoes of the broken-hearted and the friend-in-time-of-need.

The two guys, to cut it short, were obviously gay. At first, I thought they were talking about some business venture or something. The problematic between the two of them was sitting nearer the window in a baby blue, starch-crisp polo. I say problematic because it was evident in his tone of voice. I could readily sense his infuriation and frustration by the way he squeaked at the end of his sentences.

I was listening in to their conversation not because I wanted to, but because, again, it was hard for me NOT to overhear them. And of course, it became a little more interesting. It was, I must say, a truly unbelievable conversation.

Background: The Broken-hearted Gay apparently had, just recently, broken it off from his boyfriend. This boyfriend of his was Chinese. His boyfriend’s mom supposedly found out about their relationship and, him being pure Filipino, was completely unreceptive and suspicious of him. And so he says…

Broken-hearted: Grabe, talaga ang mom niya. Noong nakita ako, sinabi daw n’un mom niya tignan daw ang butt ko, baka meron daw akong [insert unintelligible terms].

Shoulder-to-cry-on: Omaygad…

xtin: [thinks] Nakupo! Why in the world did I have to hear that? Why, lord? Why?

Unbelievable? Believe it. I’ve heard about airing dirty laundry in public. But his was literally filthy.

Dishing out these updates only confirms how on-target the tell-tale signs I’ve come up with in identifying these Starbucks dwellers are.

So…shooting spree, anyone? Oh, wait. Not just yet. Wait for the second installment of the hitlist, that way there will be better chances for us to actually bring someone down. Hehehe.

Artificial Intelligence

2008-09-30T18:12:00.009+08:00

If I hear one more person giving some sermon on the US stock market bailout issue, I'm going to have to punch someone. Know-it-all idiots, if you ask me.

The events in the stock markets, here and abroad, the past couple of weeks have prompted much talk among everyone. The Wall Street meltdown that was instigated by the filing for Bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers, Inc. has been all over the papers, net and TV. Of course, just as any scandal would, news has made its way through the grapevine as well. Everyone is talking. The economists. The financial analysts. The stock brokers. The investors. The business people. The business-intelligent. And, of course, also the artificially-business-intelligent.

I say artificial because it is feigned.

This stock market controversy is chiefly the type of thing where people who thrive in "intellectual" conversations brandish their knowledge of the facts and what-nots. And I say thrive because these people simply use the opportunity to make themselves appear smart.

It could be a defense mechanism. It could also be part of one's inferiority complex. Whatever it is, one thing's for sure. I hate it. Ikaw? Intelligent? PWEH.

One problem though with artificial intelligence is it is hardly detectible, if at all. One can go about fooling everyone with feigned intelligence and do so successfully. All of us could pay our precious attention to someone making a Lehman Brothers controversy sermon and have ourselves effectively drawn to the seemingly highly-knowledgeable person talking in front of us. We may be impressed by the seeming authenticity of his competencies, all the while not knowing that all we have in front of us is bootlegged.

Is it not scary knowing that there is artificial intelligence and we might have been and could still be fooled by the idiots who make use of it? More than anything else, is it not insulting?

It is. And today is the day that I do something about it. I hate artificial intelligence and I refuse to be perpetually bound in its foolishness. Ihinto ang pagpapanggap. Tigilan na ang pagbabalatkayo.

How would you know if one is just feigning intelligence?

Here's how.

#1 In Writing – Check for Shift+F7 words

When you get an email or read a blog post, try to count the highfalutin words that appear in the composition. Take note also if there are Latin maxims. If the amount of the non-layman jargon seems too good to be true, it probably is.

I used to hate it when I encountered yearbook write-ups with words like penchant, façade, enigma, etc. I wanted to strike all of those overrated terms and dress the write-up down. "Masyado naman nag-enjoy sa Shift+F7 sa MS Word!" I thought.
It's not just freakishly uncommon gobbledygook. There were also idioms and proverbs. I even caught one using the very pedestrian idiom "Still waters run deep". "Still" you say, hija? STILL? If they are "still", then why are they running? Demnit. I could not bring myself to believe that these terms are used by teenagers in their everyday conversations. A write-up is supposed to be descriptive of the person. It should be candid and realistic, not a vocabulary-building exercise.

There was also this one email that I received from a client a month ago. It read…

xxxxxxxxxx.xxxxxx@xxxxxx.com wrote on 08/12/2008 02:56:04 PM:

> Hi Tin!
>
>

>Good day!
>Sorry for the late reply, just got back from the Finance's lunch
>out. I totally agree with you in the sense that the entries-in-
>question are in fact manually prepared...blah blah blah... But
>is the control really ineffective, ceteris paribus, and that only
>these "clearing account entries" are not reviewed and approved? Talk about practicality . blah blah blah

>Thanks a lot Tin and I'm still counting on your immediate response...

>Regards,
>xxxxx

I read the email and could not comprehend the purpose of using "ceteris paribus". Was it a ploy to intimidate me with foreign language maxims? Well, I was neither intimidated nor impressed. I was not going to be fooled. I knew pretty well that this guy would not have used this term had we corresponded personally. I was actually tempted to email back something like: genus nunquam perit res perit domino ratio legis est anima ut magis valeat quam pereat ora et labora ad maoriem dei gloriam. I wouldn't have had made sense, yes, but maybe I would've feigned an increase in a few IQ points.

#2 While speaking – See if it's scripted

If you're in a seminar or in a simple conversation, familiarize yourself with the person you are talking to. Notice how much time he spends in making unwarranted sermons on current events and issues, in highly technical English. Observe how he articulates himself. Listen intently then ask yourselves these questions:

Is he an actual authority on the topic he his rambling on about?

Do his expressions sound natural and effortless?
Do his statements make sense?
Barok ba siya?
Is English second-nature to him?

If "no" is the only response you have for your own questions, then honey, the person in front of you has artificial intelligence. It is not beyond comprehension that that idiot read a book on his topic of choice and memorized a few lines from it. Maybe, just maybe, he even threw in a few actions that would make him seem ultra confident.

You don't believe me? Here. Memorize this:

A derivative is a financial contract whose value depends on the performance of a foreign exchange rate, a commodity price, an interest rate, the price of another financial instrument or other financial variables.

Now, when asked of what a derivative is, retrieve the script from your brain. Then, while reciting your lines, make hand gestures as if you're making some important point with every other statement you utter. Ha. If you pull this off, do you not think you'll be a hoot?

I once had a trainer in an audit seminar. I heard endless monologues of technicalities (just like the definition of a derivative as stated above) and expressions like, "Well, I don't know for the life of me" and I kept on thinking, "Really? You use that expression? You—a man who can't articulate even a simple sentence in full English." Isn't that nice. Straight from the business book he just read, if you ask me. Or is it Dilbert? Either way, he seemed so lame and I was so pissed off. Hindi kasi bagay eh. It was so unnatural.

#3 As regards the subject matter – Make sure it's not just a product of 5 minutes in Google and Yahoo! Answers

When the guy starts blabbing on about Lehman and other business shit, don't be impressed just yet. Artificially intelligent people tend to superficially study the topic just so they could talk as if they know the entire thing. Ask really inquisitive questions. If they either get unreasonably ticked off or act as if you've asked the dumbest question ever or just fumble for answers before your eyes, aah…there's an idiot in your presence.

Buddha said:

Again, it may be understood by a person's conversation whether or not he is competent at discussing things. If, on being questioned, a person is evasive, changes the subject, displays anger, malice or sulkiness, then he is incompetent to discuss things. If a person does not do these things, then he is competent at discussion.

Yet again, it may be understood by a person's conversation whether or not he is capable of constructive discussion. If, on being asked a question a person loads scorn on and beats down the questioner, laughs at him and tries to catch him out when he falters, then he is incapable of discussing things. If a person does none of these, then he is capable.

Buddha certainly knew what he was talking about.

I really hate people, and trust me when I say I've met more than a handful of people like this, who frantically research on something just so the next day, they could pass off their overnight knowledge as stock knowledge.

Having immense knowledge of something is particularly impressive if acquiring such was effortless for you. Knowing that you're bragging of your knowledge about the NYSE and the US' largest bailout you just got from a 30-minute run in Yahoo! Answers is a DEAL BREAKER to me. Don't get me wrong though. There's nothing wrong with researching (or using Yahoo! Answers). Just don't act as if knowing such details is second nature to you. Don't act like the guru which you are most obviously not.

Funny thing is these creatures who feign intelligence, as Buddha said, get mad when they're asked questions. How could we blame them, really? They have squat of an idea what they got themselves into. It's but natural for them to act defensive and get mad.

See this post from the blog "Things We Love to Hate".

Argh. If you have no idea how to answer a question, just say so and if, by some miracle, you do admit not knowing, don't act as if it was a dumb question to begin with. Stop shitting us. Don't pretend like you actually know. You're making it difficult for us not to believe that you're making an ass of yourself. We know more about life in outer space than you know anything about Lehman. Yeah, you're that stupid.

Now that y'all know how to spot these fakers, let's all unite and take our time hating them. Let's have our pistols ready and fire at them for every bit of bullshit they utter.

For those of you who want to feign knowledge on Lehman, see Yahoo! Answers. If you do decide to brandish your artificial intelligence, better get out of my way. If I don't catch you off guard with my probing business and finance questions, I'd just stab you just because you're an ass, because I'm sure that, just like all the fakers out there, you'll look like an ass as well…crack, fuzz, [bull]shit, and all.

BAYANI FERNANDO FOR PRESIDENT MAY 2010

2008-09-24T11:07:00.019+08:00

Yeah, right. Is that some seriously disturbed prank?

Oh shit. Are you freaking kidding me? No, effin way.

It has been months since the first time I saw his poster along EDSA. Some could say that a post about it is a bit obsolete. But, really, no one could deny the effect of that poster to many citizens out there. To this day, almost seven months after the first tarpaulin was put up, it remains an eyesore to most, especially to me.

It has been plastered everywhere. Well, at least on his pink-and-blue-coated structures that are, unfortunately, all over Metro Manila. Every freaking day, as I go to the office, I see that ugliness at least ten times in one morning. It is but logical for me to feel so irate in the morning taking that I involuntarily bask in this repulsiveness ten times too many. I have never been a morning person. This poster gives me one more reason to hate waking up in the morning. Or abhor going to the office altogether.

There have been rumors that these ugly posters have an ulterior motive, a political one, at that. And now that it is seemingly out in the open, this Bayani-Fernando-for-President shit…is just that—shit.

So, hey, BF [insert sarcasm], I want to tell you something:

I DON’T WANT YOU TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT. If you do, I would not waste my time to even read whatever crap you put in that platform of yours, let alone vote for you.

What you’ve done to the “development” of Metropolitan Manila is a JOKE. I think your candidacy will also be nothing more than that.

WHY PINK?

I can’t bring myself to understand why the city I grew up in and I have come to love is now infested with your fugly pink structures. Of all colors, sir, pink is the shade you so bravely chose. You say that it IS actually the international traffic standard to color similar structures pink. So wait, are there pink traffic posts in Malaysia? Pink urinals in Thailand? Pink pedestrian walks in Indonesia? What’s that? There are none? Hah, international standard my behind. With that kind of reasoning, sir, I’m constantly in fear that if you do get your chance to head up for Malacañang, you’d repaint it pink as well.

CONCRETE BARRIERS are causing casualties here and there. Instead of addressing the issue, of adding reflectorized warning signs or of phasing these hazards out completely, you, dear sir, again, reason out that it should be the motorists who should straighten up. That if it were not for these irresponsible motorists, not one vehicle would crash into your infamous concrete barriers, say the ones near Crame, night after night (after night).

Taxi crashes into Concrete Barrier
This page requires a higher version browsernotice that in the accident, the barriers, contrary to the statement of the good MMDA chief, were not properly made visible with reflectors and lights.

See statistics of accidents involving MMDA Concrete Barriers

So, BF, are you saying that these motorists brought it upon themselves? That all those accidents were caused by the motorist throwing himself in YOUR GOOD OFFICE’s concrete barriers? I don’t think so.

YOUR URINALS STINK. And frankly, it won’t surprise me if you do, too. I don’t know what came to your mind in putting those eyesores all around the metro. Not only eyesores, man, because they freaking reek! Shet. Ang baho. Promise. I guess you had the best of intentions, but, come on. One, they’re pink. And two, guys piss in it and the piss has nowhere to go! The piss spills over to the sidewalk most of the time. Eeeeew. My god, what kind of health principles did you learn in school?

the picture's a bit unclear, but I think you could see the piss here flowing onto the sidewalk.

YOUR BAD BOY-LOOK POSTER MAKES ME WANT TO BARF. Okay, so let’s see that again.

Watch TV report on BF's Poster
Metro GWAPO? Ah, yes. Talk about IRONY. Nakakasuka. To be honest, sir, in the beginning of your, I don’t know, CAREER[?], I must admit that I did like you. You had all these projects in all sorts of places, but never did I see your face plastered on any of them, salivating to be recognized by the people. I guess I preempted you, sir. Because, as I’ve said, when you put up your posters, you sent shivers up my spine. Kadiri, eh.

GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR SINGING CAREER. Wow. I heard that you are one of the aspiring celebrity contestants in GMA NETWORK’s Celebrity Duets. I think your 2010 candidacy preparations are going a little overboard. Bordering pathetic, even. Good job in making your image one step more similar to that of Lito Lapid, Ramon Revilla, Bong Revilla, and ERAP. I’ve had enough of entertainers-turned-politicians. What makes you think I’d feel differently with politicians-turned-entertainers?

Watch BF's duet with Renz Verano in an episode of Celebrity Duets

See why BF joined contest

DO THESE JOKES OF YOURS FORM PART OF YOUR CONCEPT OF DEVELOPMENT?

If it does, then, yes. You are a joke as well. This country has had its fair share of humor. Actually, I think it has had enough. Take my advice and don’t run for president. Better reflect first. So, when you decide to take a leak in one of your magnificent pink urinals, aim for bull’s-eye, gaze up the open sky, TAKE A DEEP BREATH, don't break into song, and start serious introspection. Please.

For a Change

2008-09-18T17:15:00.004+08:00

The Buddha once said,

Those who quarrel do not realize
That one day we must all die
Those who do realize this
Find little to quarrel about

I feel affiliation to this particular saying not because I adhere to it, but because I seemingly am the total opposite, especially here.

I make it just like a clingy, high-maintenance girlfriend. I blog just to rant and complain.

But now, there is one reason not to. This is a RAVE for a change.

Presenting my vote for the 2008 Philippine Blog Awards Bloggers’ Choice Award:

An excerpt of my favorite post entitled Who would’ve thought?:

Because my brother’s my brother, and he’s sweet like that, he introduced his girlfriend to me today. He’s always made it a point to introduce his girlfriend to me, and he’s had two. [Some have all the luck. Haha.]

After two minutes of small talk, I had to leave for a friend emergency, and I asked him [through SMS] if they were going to be alright. He replied with:

“Okay lang kami. Love u. Ingat ka.” [emphasis supplied]

How SWEET is that?

Haha. I guess it’s because I was nice to his girlfriend. Haha. Not that I’m usually not. :)

I like it because, one, it’s honest and endearing and, two, on a personal note, I would not have been as nice if I were her. It’s just refreshing to know that there is much niceness out there to cancel someone like me out. (I’m a bitch and I’m sweet like that. Hahahaha!)

I also love how Myuzeeshun uses words and phrases like:

Srsly?

Luma-laughtrip lang.

WHAPAK!

And many of her funny posts like Well, ain’t that sad - dated May 22, 2008.

It’s so candid and witty. Well-written. The layout of the page is easy on the eyes, too. It’s all of that and I so love it. Seriously.

Give just curious a click, why don’t you? You’ll get what I’ve been saying.

If you must vote, cast it for just curious, howkee?

You might ask, “Eh sino ka ba para utusan akong bumoto?” [or if coño ka “Eh, who the crap are you to tell me to freaking make boto?”]

And I just MIGHT say, “Ako? Sino ako? WALA LANG. Feel ko lang, bakit? Eh sa gusto lang naman kitang magkaroon ng chance manalo ng Nokia N82, eh! Concerned lang ako for you. Tsaka…boboto ka na rin lang might as well cast it for a blog that deserves it…”

‘Yun naman.

It just occurred to me that I’m ENJOYING raving. Quite a bit. But something tells me this streak of good karma points might end soon. I’m feeling a bit out of my element here. I should get back to the outskirts of the middle path. Hehehe.

Douchebags in Shemaghs

2008-09-15T10:22:00.010+08:00

I watched this feature in Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho last week. I was a bit surprised to see that the segment was devoted solely to feature a fashion trend that’s currently sweeping the nation. And by “sweeping”, I mean it like its literal but secretly hope that it is not true.

But it is and I don’t like it. As expected.

The feature was on shemaghs. Shemaghs (or keffiyeh) have been the must-have accessories here in Manila. They are, most of the time, the checkered scarves you typically see on teenagers, mostly college students, hanging around their necks like it’s an elaborate necklace of sorts.

Shiver. The mere mention of people who wear shemaghs makes me cringe.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’ve seen these shemaghs on other people before. I’ve seen it on Yasser Arafat. I’ve seen it on Osama Bin Laden. I’ve seen on different field reporters making a live broadcast from Iraq and Mindanao as well. I must admit that the fact that these personalities sported these shemaghs did not at all bother me. Well, that was true up until it became a senseless fad and started to catch on with herds of brainless fashion-victimized sheep.

I do have three reasons why I don’t like shemaghs.

ONE. Mainit dito sa Pilipinas. What do you need a shemagh for? Porma? Style? Aba’y p*cha naman. Kahit tumatagaktak na ang pawis mo, basta pormado ka, okay lang? Again, p*cha naman.

*side note: Notice this guy’s physique. Come on, now. I mean, he doesn’t need a shemagh to keep himself warm, right? His own body is going to do wonders already.

TWO. I’m going to bet my life that not half of those idiots who sport shemaghs actually know what a shemagh stands for. It’s cultural people. It means something, I tell you. I suggest you find out about it before deciding to go out with a shemagh on. I even stumbled upon an article and a blog saying that there have been Muslims who have expressed their discontent in the keffiyeh becoming a trend. It’s like having dreadlocks without knowing that it’s a spiritual statement rather than a fashion choice. It’s like getting a bindi on and missing the little known fact that it marks fertility rather than forms part of your make-up. It’s like wearing a Che Guevara shirt and being totally oblivious of who Che Guevara is.

*side note: Notice what these under-aged girls are purchasing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that those are a bubble gum lambanog, two Tanduay Rhum lapads, and a gin or vodka bottle. Getting wasted much? Ugh. It’s so juvenile, I wan’t to stab a pencil into my eye.

THREE. Ayaw ko lang talaga. Ang EPAL ng itsura, eh. Wala lang. I just don’t feel like appreciating it on a Pinoy juvenile. I see them and I just think, “Pwede ba? Tigilan niyo nga ako! Douchebag ka, p’re, douchebag!”

*side note: Green shirt. Green “shades” (they’re on his head, btw). A shemagh to boot. Does this not look epal to your or what?

*side note: Notice the bangketa bracelet here. I really don’t get it. A checkered shemagh on a striped shirt? I thought you people are trying look good with your porma?

Ugh. Douchebag fashion is just racking up nowadays, don’t you think? I’m so right, I want to smack the shit out of me. Well, you shemagh-lovers out there would want that, wouldn’t you?

I guess it’s going to be okay with me if you decide to shemagh-ize yourself. But please make sure that: (1) you’re in the desert or in some harsh winter conditions, (2) you know what it stands for, and (3) you’ll carry it well.

I’m sure it’s going to be an easy task for you to ignore my three tips. So, I guess I’ll just see you around. Let’s just hope and pray that I’m in some stable state when I see you lest I strangle you with that damn shemagh you have on.

Badge Not Honored

2008-09-12T09:50:00.006+08:00

Never have I actually known the meaning of this phrase until just the other day. As I frequent public buses, signs bearing such a phrase meet me and my co-passengers each time we get on the bus. Of course I knew to whom it was addressed. I’m not stupid. It is just that, then, I never really understood the repercussions, ramifications if you will, of the reason why that sign is put up.

I knew that it was for policemen and they were not supposed to flash their badge to get a free ride. But, surprisingly for myself, I didn’t actually think that a policeman would do such a thing. Well, stupid xtin, you should’ve known better.

My brother once mentioned that if he had his own blog, he would fill it with posts about what he calls ang pinakamababang uri ng tao. And who might this low-life be? It is he who is going to be the topic of this post. He who could read the sign “Badge Not Honored”, but could not seem to fathom that it is to himself, the law-abiding officer that he is, that this insult of a sign is directed. Who else would this kind pertain to? Sino pa ba kung hindi ang ating mga nagpipitagang mga pulis [pangkalawakan?].

This sudden rage of mine absolutely did not come just out of nowhere. As a matter of fact, no less than a first-hand witness account is the basis of this string of ranting.

It was a rainy Monday evening. I was coming from Timog after having dinner with a blockmate. I had accompanied him to the area so that he could run this one errand. Mind you, this was after a hellish midterm exam that drained us of all of our known bodily energy. We were tired, drenched, though a bit full from our 99-peso steak dinner, waiting for a bus at the corner of Kamias Road and Edsa.

As it was not the most opportune time to find public transportation, a bus was even harder to come by. We waited for at least 20 minutes in the light-to-moderate rains. I was growing a bit impatient so I finally decided to just get on this ordinary fare bus bound for Sucat-Bicutan-Alabang. I had to go south that night, instead of my usual north route, as I had some “business” to attend to at home.

The bus stopped, as expected, at the Cubao-Farmers bus stop to get passengers. It didn’t take much time after the bus had temporarily stopped when at least ten men got on the bus. All of us who were in our seats were caught in a somewhat awkward but noticeable silence. Our stares were rude, yes, but cannot be said to have been uncalled for. The men were all in uniform. They were all policemen. They filled the backmost row, just behind where I sat, and the three-seater to my left.

Not that I was trying to be effectively nonchalant about it, but I really could not have cared less that they were there. In fact, I felt a bit safer that they were there. At least, I thought, there would be less unfortunate chances that the bus would be held-up. Good for us.

As the bus was traversing EDSA, though, I began to notice something. Some of the policemen were already fast asleep in their seats, with their heads bobbing around with the motion of the bus, but they hadn’t paid the fare yet. I knew for a fact that they hadn’t put out even a cent because if they already had, I would have noticed the bus conductor collecting their money and issuing them tickets.

I was so tempted to ask the conductor why he wasn’t collecting the fares from the policemen. But, also coming to mind was the fact that though it was the conductor who personally waived the fares of the men in uniform, these so-called men in uniform didn’t really do anything about it. Not one of them called the conductor’s attention and voluntarily paid the fare that was due of them. It was as if they have been accustomed to this kind of “VIP treatment” while in public transportation.

All of them alighted at Bicutan. Saving a good P30 each.

Still fumed and totally dismayed by the incident of the night before, I talked to the taxi driver I encountered on my way to Rockwell the next day. I asked manong driver if it was usual for policemen to get free rides even from humble cab drivers like himself. He disappointedly told me that although some policemen do pay the meter rates, few of them even giving tips, he has had encounters with men in uniform who so gallantly decided not to pay full fare or not to pay at all. I asked him why he acceded to such lousy deals and to that his reply was, “Kasi wala naman akong magagawa.” He said that if he dared assert his right to full payment of his fare, the policeman would most probably slap him with a criminal case he would pull right out of his top hat.

I felt sorry for manong driver. But like him, there was really nothing I could do about it.

There was nothing I could do but fret about it. So still armed with an aura of discontent and anger, I went about my day-to-day commuting activities with eyes wide open, just in case I could catch even just a glimpse the pinakamababang uri ng tao on the freeloading prowl again.

True enough, at the Buendia MRT station, as I was in line for the bag inspection, I noticed this policeman who liberally bypassed the long lines of people, awaiting to get on the platform. He didn’t use any magnetic card to get in the station. All he had to do was lift the latch of the gate intended for “authorized personnel” use, and boom, he was in. At first, I actually thought he was one of them “authorized personnel”. Maybe, I thought, he was going to be on duty in a few minutes to man the station or something.

However, when I got to the platform, lo and behold, he was also there waiting for the same train I was catching.

Wow. How low are the wages of policemen, really, for them to not be able to pay even just P14 of MRT fares? What? Do they get just P10? Hhowcamon.

This post is going to be the start of my hopefully endless rantings of disgust and annoyance of the pinakamababang uri ng tao. I will be on the lookout for the shady practices of these low-lives we call law enforcers. It will not be pretty.

For every cent that you didn’t pay for but oughta have… For every peso you extort… For every little thing you get but don’t actually deserve… I will be watching. Closely. Slap me with a criminal charge, why don't you, and I'll slap you with one as well.

No White Pants After Labor Day

2008-09-02T12:14:00.004+08:00

Josie Geller: That'll teach me to wear white pants after labor day.

Gibby Zerefski: Nobody's worn white pants after 1983.

Indeed. There IS something wrong with anyone who chooses to wear white pants—ever.

I’m not talking about your generic, run-in-the-mill white pants. What pisses me off the most nowadays are white SKINNY jeans. Not just white skinny jeans…those white skinny jeans on MEN. MALES. BOYS. Those with the Y chromosome.

I mean, it’s bad enough one of the worst fashion choices from the NOTORIOUSLY FASHIONABLE ERA of the eighties, the skinny jeans—or just baston pants—have made a resurrection of sorts. The worse thing is that it has to be worn by men. The freaking fit of those jeans is hip-thigh-leg and not to mention CROTCH-hugging…Holy shit. How can a guy in his right mind find it in himself to wear something so—unflattering? And why of all colors, in God’s holy name, would they choose white? Can you be gayer than that?

Well, I WOULD understand, even if just a tad bit, if a GAY guy wears white shitty, er, skinny jeans (WSJs hereafter). To some extent, it WOULD fit the stereotype. And I must admit that there are rare occasions that they do carry WSJs well. But note the RARE in my statement. BryanBoy COULD get away with it. I'd find it so difficult to comprehend if someone else fashions it. So if someone who is not actually gay wears WSJs, I’d say he would be shitting me if he insists that he is straight. So please, stop shitting me.

It just looks so…so…STUPID. It doesn’t look good. REALLY. And people who wear these shitty WSJs almost always are one thing—a douchebag. Or a specie at least. Douchebags, as I have said before, wear things that they think would look nice on them just because it looks good on others. These men who wear white skinny jeans are, to my mind, just that.

Now, since they ARE douchebags, you’d see, apart from their WSJs, some other article of clothing that would complete the douchebag ensemble. Be it a gigster cap or collar-ups…look for it…it’s going to be there. And if you look more closely, you’d notice that for every additional piece of clothing, the person looks more idiotic. Well, they are, more often than not, idiots anyway. If the jeans, er, shoe fits, right?

Getting to that portion of my post where I share my paparazzied finds. Here are some reality captures of DOUCHEBAGS who are in their WSJs:

In Greenbelt 5
Ugh. Another Ayala Mall with more designer stores. We should blame these freaking malls for propagating a culture of shameless social climbers who frequent these designer stores in the hopes that one day, they would be able to buy even just a key chain at Balenciaga (if Balenciaga does sell keychains). To me, wearing WSJs in GB5 forces to see you in that light. Unflattering, ain’t it? Note the collar-ups.

These may be not too SKINNY for some people out there. But, for me, they are a stitch too tight.

In Trinoma
No surprise. This mall is filled, and I say FILLED, with fashion victimized douchebags. And look, the guy’s on a date…with another guy. Great. How sweet. Maybe the pair of WSJs really is working wonders.

In School
Crap. Nakakahiya. I mean, in school? So this guy really thinks that he looks decent? That he’d be brave enough to let other students see him that way? Eew. Talk about oblivious. And the hair man. I suggest that instead of wasting time, money (and your life) in buying those hideous WSJs, you should just visit the barbershop and do something about your hair. Have it relaxed. Shorten it. Chop your whole head off, I won’t care, really. Just get them out of my sight. It just occurred to me that these aren’t actually WHITE as they are obviously BLACK, but they ARE skinny jeans, nonetheless, on a MALE. Hideous. With ridiculous white sneakers. Damn.

Please lang mga tsong. I hate to break it to you, but you really have to know that you look so effin gay. And that’s only good if you really ARE gay. If you’re not, lose the WSJs. Strap on a pair—a better and more visually acceptable one. Please.

See Yahoo! Answers for the alleged source of the No White After Labor Day Rule

THE VERDICT: People vs. A Couple of Heartless, Know-nothing, Scumbags of Society

2008-08-28T10:25:00.005+08:00

WHEREFORE, the accused-appellants which we collectively identify as A COUPLE OF HEARTLESS, KNOW-NOTHING, SCUMBAGS OF SOCIETY, are found guilty of theft, destruction to property, and declared to be the PINAKAMABABANG URI NG TAO, a subspecies of MGA PATAY-GUTOM and are hereby sentenced to a shitty lifetime of misery because HINDI SILA, KAILANMAN, AASENSO, and are further ordered to subject themselves to XTIN’s verbal lashing in place of imprisonment and damages, actual and moral.

SO ORDERED.

I got a call while I was in the office last Friday. It was Cavite Kagawad WOODY MALLARI. He told me that a barangay patrolmen of his found some of my things, including my IDs, in a plastic bag, dumped in some talahiban along Aguinaldo Highway. Thank you, Sir, for contacting me.

This is as far as my gratitude could ever go, in this particular situation, I’m afraid.

I was sickened to know how much those mongrels (aka Couple of Heartless, Know-Nothing, Scumbags of Society) had taken when, the next day, my brother claimed our things or what was left of it.

I got my book back, thank God. At least I wouldn’t be spending some P1,250 just to buy a book that I have already bought months before. My cases and digests found their way back to me as well. Keys and IDs, too. But what disgusts me to the core is how these scumbags left behind evidence of their being pathetic vagrants and commoners to the study of law.

I had in my bag a pack of unused notebook fillers and they took that, understandably, as they were unused and mapapakinabangan pa naman. However, the ones that I got back, though, were the used ones, just like the picture above. But did you know that I had to tape up the pages of this filler because it was sliced off (see portion near spine where there is a bit of a gap where I had obviously put a transparent tape), leaving untouched the still unused pages of the filler. So why the crap did they have to cut those pages up? To my mind, there is only one valid but pathetic reason. They must’ve thought that they could still profit from a half-used filler notebook that they decided to cut off those used-up pages and leave those clean leaves behind. My gosh. Matindi talaga ang pangangailangan. I guess they just realized that it was pointless and hassling to cut each and every used page in my other 4 filler notebooks, that is why there was this just one notebook torn up.

Further, as expected, they took all the “valuable” stuff: the bag, perfume, mp3 player, etc. but what I found most repulsive is the fact that they even took my 20-peso plastic envelope and my 8-peso credit card holder, even my office ID lace. What the crap? Seriously?

I LOATHE YOU. NAKAKADIRI KAYO. YOU DESERVE NOTHING BUT A MISERABLE LIFE. A QUALITY OF LIVING WORTHY OF MEN OF YOUR LOWLY AND PATHETIC STATURE.

You don’t even deserve to be in jail. All you should get is a word (or two) that will drag you down and put you in your place. And, expectedly, I would be really glad to personally extend those KIND words to you—

YOU UNEDUCATED HALF-WITS. Leche kayo.

People vs. A Couple of Heartless, Know-nothing, Scumbags of Society (A Case of the Day When I Was Robbed)

2008-08-19T06:52:00.006+08:00

The undersigned accuses A COUPLE OF HEARTLESS, KNOW-NOTHING, SCUMBAGS OF SOCIETY of the crime of theft and destruction to property, committed as follows:

That on or about the 17th day of August, 2008, in the City of Tagaytay, Cavite, Philippines, the said COUPLE OF HEARTLESS, KNOW-NOTHING, SCUMBAGS OF SOCIETY, with intent to gain and without violence or intimidation against the person or force against the thing, did then and there, willfully, unlawfully, and feloniously, effect entry into a parked motor vehicle by breaking a window thereof, to subsequently take, steal, and carry away two (2) backpacks, containing various personal effects and other things of significance, the property of XTIN and her brother, without the consent of the owners thereof, to the damage and prejudice of the said XTIN and her brother in some sum beyond the comprehension of mere commoners, particularly those unfamiliar to the study of law and the law of karma and samsara. ALL CONTRARY TO LAW.

It was just last Sunday when my family and I went to Tagaytay for an overnight affair with other relatives. It was supposed to be my first family get-together for a long time since I started working and attending school. I have not had enough time to go spend time with my relatives, even though they do hold these get-togethers quite frequently, because frankly, I'd rather lose a part of my social life and get passing marks in school, rather than have the time of my life in some family vacation and flunk it all. You might not get it, that's okay. But if you don't, I think your are what the abovementioned information says--a mere commoner, oblivious to the life of the study of law.

Yes, I was robbed. Our backpacks were taken away from the inside of my brother's SUV parked on the side of some dirtroad of the main road of Tagaytay. It was not so much as a breath after we alighted and went into my relatives' villa when news broke that someone crashed the window of the SUV and took our stuff. Seriously, there was not even ten minutes.

My sister-in-law told me that my bag could have also been stolen so I went back to the car and checked. I pressed my face against the back window and saw just the void where my backpack used to sit.

And there was darkness.

My entire TNF Jester (vietnam-overrun, ty kumon) was taken. I was not concerned that: (1) my three-month old 16gb Creative Zen which I opted to pay in installments and which I am still on my fourth installment was in the bag; nor was (2) my half-consumed bottle Burberry Summer; (3) bag of toiletries complete with papaya soap, lotion, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, and tictacs; (4) wallet, without money, but with all my valid IDs and important cards (PRC license, office and school IDs, TIN card, Visa, UCPB-BPI-MBTC ATM cards [blocking all of which, by the way, was particulary an easy task except for BPI, for which it took me ten minutes to contact the customer service representative--24-hour hotline my ass], library card, and Form 5; even my (5) keys to the house, unit, office locker, and computer lock. These were, yes, important and theoretically of value to me. But the loss of these things were nothing compared to the loss of something else, also in the bag.

In the bag also were my school materials. My commentary on Persons and Family Relations by Albano. My copies of Supreme Court cases, in the original, under legal separation under Prof. RDM's class. My pencil case. And, above all, my handwritten digests of 65 cases for RDM's class which were supposed to be due--this coming Wednesday.

Tough break, xtin. Tough break.

So, if you impute no value to the last set of losses I endured or find it difficult to comprehend, I must say that, again, you are merely a commoner to me and to the rest of us who are students of law. I have never asserted, in this degree and manner, the post-graduated course I have taken. But, the loss of my bag, especially my digests, truly breaks my heart.

To the COUPLE OF HEARTLESS, KNOW-NOTHING, SCUMBAGS OF SOCIETY that took my bag and my brother's as well, I will pray for the eternal repose of your souls. But seeing that you may not have souls at all, I'll just pray for your spontaneous, yet peaceful, imploding and combustion.

But when our paths do cross in the future, better prepare yourselves. I expect so much from you.

(1) I expect you to enroll to the College of Law next year and be ready and equipped for RDM's Persons and Family Relations class. You must ace even just the midterm, at least. My school stuff will help you out on that.

(2) You must look generally presentable--if not downright boy-next-doorish. You must have fresh breath, smooth, silky, straight hair, and a mild, refreshing citrus scent. You must have all these or a girlfriend who does, at least. My bag of toiletries will make you over.

(3) You must be Upbeat and Burning the Dance Floor with the playlists on my MP3 player.

(4) You must feel disappointment for finding out that I was able to block each and every card in that wallet you got from me, within 30 minutes after you violated our property. [no thanks to BPI and their 24-hour hotline]

(5) You must be scared to death. Because I might be praying for your peaceful departure from this earth, but that should not give you any idea that I will have some hesitation in personally effecting your demise.

Mga leche kayo.

Love, xtin.

No picture was taken of the crime scene because, truth be told, I was in shock. Hindi ko kinaya. Sayang.

The Most Unique Kind of B.O. [and other things that went (horribly) wrong during my trip to Legaspi]

2008-08-09T21:57:00.016+08:00

DAY 1

In keeping with the tradition of Filipino time. Our flight to Legaspi was delayed for two hours. Many thanks to the newly opened NAIA Terminal 3 and the ever-efficient personnel who work there. Apparently, according to the pilot, the delay was due to the congestion in that aesthetically-wonderful, but poorly-performing airport. A lot of flights were delayed that morning, and since the airport (or its personnel) are still not used to handling such kind of traffic, the delay rolled to the rest of the afternoon: classic ripple effect.

Welcome to Legaspi. When we got there, we went around a bit to see which hotel we could stay at. We were not looking, mind you, for accommodations close to spectacular, because my companions and I were simply the type who just needs a bed to sleep on, just a clean one, though. We found ourselves at the reception of what its management had decided to call it The Sampaguita Ho[spi]tel, insertion supplied; pun intended. The five of us were really a bit lost on what kind of room to get to fit us all in so, like any other curious customer would, we asked the receptionist. Oh, wait, the receptionists. Plural, friends, plural, as there were at least three girls at the counter. But three heads will not always be better than one. As it turned out, the grandiose Sampaguita Ho[spi]tel had unknowingly employed the three stupidest and worst receptionists in the whole of Bicol Region. It's not as if our questions were derived from some MENSA questionnaire: Pwede ba ang mag-add ng extra bed sa isang standard room? Magkano ang extra bed? Meron pa bang family room? They gave us no answers. Only the stupid look on their faces—the kind you would want badly to slap back and forth. Yeah, they were hellish, but hey, the five of us were not about to wander around homeless for the next two days. We checked in anyway.

Pictures courtesy of virtualtourist.com (Above) The facade of hotel Sampaguita, reminiscent of Medical Center Paranaque (Left) The room rates the receptionists were not able to explain to us...

receptionist: Ma'am bawal po ang extra bed...

xtin: eh bakit kayo may rates for extra beds? ABER???

DAY 2
Being in Legaspi and not seeing Mayon. I was looking forward to seeing the world-famous "perfect cone" volcano. The one that I often saw just in my HEKASI books. Alas, the skies were not about to pave its way to satisfy my whim. It was cloudy and raining hard, even, so the most that we saw of Mayon Volcano was its base. The rest of the view was gray and gloomy.

Collar-ups in Sampaguita Hotel. Nothing to say here. A picture's worth a thousand words.

DAY 3

Going back home and still keeping with the tradition of Filipino Time. Our flight back was delayed as well. For 3 whole hours, this time. The thing still to blame was the newly opened terminal 3 and the congestions. Same old, same old. The passengers were agitated. And so were we…

The most unique kind of B.O. As if the delay was not enough, we still had to be intoxicated with some foreign smell (foreign being the operative word, as you may later find out why). SHET. ANG BAHO. SERIOUSLY. The only way to describe the foul smell is with this…have you ever had that drawer in your fridge where your mom puts all the vegetables in…the CRISPER? When you open the CRISPER, it's a mix of smells…of all the vegetables, both fresh and rotting…of bell pepper, lettuce, onion, carrots…are you getting the idea? Basta…that was the type of smell we had to contend with. It was B.O. obviously and all we had to do was to find out who was stinking the whole terminal up. And not too long after…we did find the culprit… (see guy standing up, in black shirt)

We're not even sure if it was just this guy or the rest of his group.

One thing's for sure, if it was not ALL of them, it was indeed ONE of them. Based on observation, these people came all the way from CWC and apparently, since they had to catch their flight, they did not have time to take a bath. They went straight from wakeboarding to boarding the damn plane. ANG BAHO PROMISE. Actually, we were originally seated in the third row, but since we could not stand the smell of the group behind us, we had to transfer to the first row. It was not just us. The smell was not a figment of our imagination. One other group who was staying at the last row, behind the MABAHO group, also transferred to the row behind us, just so they could breathe some fresh, uncontaminated air. It was THAT bad. SERIOUSLY.

Gigster caps, Koreans, and other Douchebags in Terminal 3. I don't think I would have to describe in detail these half-wits. Just look at the pictures.

Tama ba namang kasing mag-boxers sa airport eh, noh???

Quintessential Pinoy Douche: Total HipHop Getup

Sando. Zebra prints. Korean. Nice.

Gigster cap. So anong tinatawa-tawa mo diyan???

Ahhh…so many things went wrong those three days. The only good thing that came out of that streak of horrible occurences is this blog entry. This is pretty much it. All I could wish for now is for none of you to smell the CRISPER ever again.

Wall of Fun at Glorietta 4

2008-08-09T20:20:00.009+08:00

Demn. Some of the faces were hellishly funny [or just plain disturbing?]

I haven't had the time the past week to come up with a more thoughtful entry. But this one, I couldn't have it pass me by. It deserves a bit of my pintasera prowess, at least.

Just this lunch break, my officemates and I ate out over at Food Choices at G4. When we were done and heading back to the office, on our way, we passed by this hall--the one connecting the Hard Rock/TGIF area to Food Choices (cannot really describe where it is, as it is pretty much an abandoned area of the mall, just refer to the image below)--and saw a great big wall of pictures...all headshots.

Location of the big wall of amusement

My officemates taking their time to pay their respect to "The Wall"

You could just imagine the overwhelming feeling that consumed me the moment I saw that wall--a huge wall. Full of pictures. Headshots. Of many different people. Even of [f]ugly ones.

"Yes," I thought while looking up the wall, my eyes glistening with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning, "Let me take a moment of silence to thank God for giving me this wonderful opportunity...Enough silence. "

#1 SHAHANI

looks a bit like...

Well, maybe SHAHANI was made to look like the Golden Buddha on purpose (for sure!) But I think the Golden Buddha could take some "pose and project" tips from SHAHANI...

#2 NO-NAME

Man as man can get. Minus the plunging neckline and cleavage, that is.

#3 MAX

What a pose! My gosh! Super laugh trip...for a while there I thought our dear MAX was holding a samurai. Then, I just realized that MAX is no ninja...he's a divine DIVA! Hahaha

#4 JR

looks a bit like...

My precious............

So if you're raring to go to Glorietta to take a crack at this wonderful wall put up by Headshot Clinic, wait for another minute. All those nicely taken pictures, the beautiful and the [f]ugly, you can now view online at PROJECT HEADSHOT CLINIC ONE WORLD MANILA

ENJOY!!!

My Starbucks Hitlist: Deconstructing the Starbucks Crowd [Part 1]

2008-07-29T10:09:00.007+08:00

I want to go on a shooting spree.

I must admit that I’m a bit fixated on Starbucks right now. Can you blame me? It’s where most, if not all, of my material comes from. It has become THE venue for me to go people watching, simply because it is THE only place I’ve gone to in the past weeks where there are other more interesting people to watch.

Now if you know me and what this blog is about, you’d know that I love people watching, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I love the people I watch. I actually hate them. I get pissed off while observing them. That is precisely the irony I live in. I love people watching because I love getting pissed off by the people I hate.

I suppose hate is too strong a word. Oh, sorry…it just might be TOO WEAK. When I sit down in my corner, open my books, sip my iced (nonfat) classic chocolate, and start to allow the presence of other people to disturb me, we’re not simply talking about HATRED. Think big. Think shooting spree.

Based on a year’s experience gained through studying at many different Starbucks, here is a list that I have conjured of the kind of people you’d meet in Starbucks (and would want to shoot), the tell-tale signs in spotting them, and which Starbucks branches you’d probably have sightings of them:

#1 Korean Mob (BF Parañaque)

Lately, going to Starbucks has been like warping into masterful Koreanovela episode.

Tell-tale signs (You know that the Korean Mob is in the establishment when you):

(a) notice a HERD of adolescent Asians who look like each other
(b) see them with either a wild pair of footwear or an unbecoming Sunday dress (or both)
(c) note that their hairdo is either curly or poker straight, but will always have bangs, either way; if it's a guy, the 'do is most probably going to be the Bruce Lee cut
(d) hear them mumbling nonsense in loud, well-modulated voices that seem like its coming from the back of the throat
(e) catch them running, with exaggerated excitement, to the unoccupied set of Starbucks couches, noisily dragging their heels all the way across the floor—thereby causing one solid disturbance to the disadvantage of everyone else who was unfortunately in the store
(f) feel like they are EVERYWHERE

NOTE: SAME TABLE. TWO DIFFERENT GROUPS. FYI.

This may sound so racist, I know—that part I’m not particularly fond of—but I’m so freaking fed up with seeing these Koreans everywhere. It’s a freaking invasion! For some reason, they move in packs. You’ll rarely see one walking lonely into the night. That is just one of the many ENDEARING things about them. This group is so APPEALING that you’d find them in a few other categories on this hitlist.

Although it has been a year that I have shared my favorite Starbucks with these Koreans, I have neither acquired a taste for their presence nor developed immunity to it. Most of the time, they have not so much as stepped foot on the store floor, I already want to pull out a pistol—and shoot myself.

#2 Camera Whores (Eastwood, BF, Trinoma, Gateway)

One more flash and I promise you, magbibigti talaga ako.

Tell-tale signs (You know you they are Camera Whores if they):

(a) are a group of teeny boppers (or teeny boppers at heart) who have their digicams perpetually in tow
(b) bunch up so closely together while sipping their Frappucinos just so they could fit within the frame of a shot
(c) pose for a picture with either a Blue Steel, Magnum, or a generic slutty Wink, or a Gucci Gang take
(d) have one of them take the shot herself whilst ALSO posing for the picture, holding the camera as she raises one hand in the air
(e) take pictures of themselves, as described in a,b,c,d, in an endless number of repetitions as if Starbucks was their own personal studio, thereby blinding you with the irritating flashes that come out of each damn shot.

I know you know them. Maybe you may have, even once in your life, become one of them. Ugh. If I wanted to spend my time watching fugly model wannabes, I’d just watch Wowowee or something. I won’t go all the way to Starbucks and watch the bitches whore up their cams. If I had one successful suicide attempt for every time these Starbucks Camera Whores take an idiotic picture of themselves, I would have died so many times enough to qualify for genocide.

#3 All for one cup, one cup for all Group (Katipunan, BF, Rockwell)

1 cup=10 people. Or worse, no cup at all. Call them freeloaders, if you will.

Tell-tale signs (One can easily spot these impoverished Starbucks dwellers by noting):

(a) an unreasonably large group of people, those the size of a Korean Mob [supra]
(b) that only one or two from the group orders a drink or a pastry goodie
(c) that they are the ones who have the guts to occupy half of the seating area and talk so loudly as if they own the place

Starbucks is utterly lenient in dealing with these vagrants that they are easily taken advantage of. That is why there are more and more people who go to Starbucks, but who really can’t afford to do so. Again, hanging out at Starbucks won’t make you sosyal. It’s not a status symbol. If you have been a loser a great deal part of your life, hanging out at Starbucks with a herd of your co-loser friends and simply watching other customers drink their lattes won’t magically make you the next IT-girl/guy.

Go to Starbucks. Hang out. Build a fort inside the establishment, should you so desire. I don’t care, really. But, order a damn drink naman…a short café latte at least! Malulugi ang Starbucks niyan sa inyo, eh. They just might have to start charging all of us for their own systems loss.

#4 The Broken-hearted and the Shoulder-to-cry-on (BF, Katipunan, Gateway)

Sometimes, it takes a cup of coffee, a couch, a friend, and a jam-packed coffee shop, full of curious individuals, to comfort one emotionally stricken individual.

Tell-tale signs (you know they’re the-broken-hearted and the shoulder-to-cry-on when):

(a) a pair, most of the time a pair of two women, sits in the most discreet corner of the establishment
(b) they start up talking in whispers, but evidently talking about something really important and issue-intensive
(c) one of them suddenly wells up, sobs to death, and occasionally makes remarks like “He’s such a jerk” or “’Di ba? Ayoko na, hindi ko na kaya” you could easily overhear
(d) the other makes out a pitying expression and utters something as cliché and irritating as “O, don’t cry na. Okay lang ‘yan.”
(e) when you suddenly feel the drama of it all

I admit that I, myself, several times in my life, have aired my dirty laundry at some Starbucks. Now, I strongly feel that I should not have done that. Seeing these drama queens flooding the shop with their tales and tears of heartache does not make me empathic. It makes me feel ashamed for them for letting me view the free daytime soap opera.

#5 30-ish, 40-ish on their post reunion gimmick-slash-after-party (BF, Katipunan, 6750)

Mahirap talaga ang tumatanda—habang tumatagal, napapaghalatang repressed.

Tell-tale signs (You know you’ve spotted these old-timers when you):

(a) see a big group of middle-aged men and women, in very dressy and color-coordinated outfits (the color coordination being the result of a themed party) and with nametag stickers
(b) hear sporadic bursts of laughter that bring down the house, with one strong laugh overpowering the others, that of an old man that sounds a bit like Santa Claus laughing
(c) feel as if you’re going down memory lane
(d) notice that the group has gone to double its population within the first hour it came in the shop
(e) figure that they’re staying until the shop closes…at 2AM.

But maybe they just have some catching up to do. These people are not particularly irritating. It just feels like they’re so misplaced in Starbucks and that pisses me off just a bit. Shouldn’t you all be at home tucking your kids in and acting like typical parents would? Repressed, people. Repressed. Parang mga kabayong na pinakawalan sa koral.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Two Episodes in Nike Stadium Powerplant Mall

2008-07-22T09:53:00.010+08:00

EPISODE LAST TUESDAY

Last Tuesday, I went to Nike Stadium Power Plant mall just to see what was on sale. Upon getting there, I was greeted by a salesman, “Good morning, ma’am!”

I acknowledged the greeting by nodding back.

However, it should be said that their consumer relations tactics stopped there—for that one salesman and one other, at least. They were completely unmindful of my presence in the store that I could have snuck something out of there without triggering the alarms. They were both preoccupied in the pre-purchase routine of this guy who was there in the store when I got there.

Backgrounder: This guy was sitting down on the bench as he was examining and about to fit a new pair of Nike Hyperdunks, which costs PhP6,500. The two salesmen who were the only two employees manning the store floor, well apart from the cashier, of course, were stationed beside of the customer, one on each side, as if one was the guardian angel and the other was the devil.

Customer: ‘Di ba ito ang ginagamit ng La Salle? Pero bakit yung kanila may black? May nike.id ba ito?

Salesman1: Ay ewan ko po, sir. [stares at the shoes the customer is holding with his mouth wide open]

xtin: [stands at the end of the bench and looks at the shoes for women on sale]

C: Sa Ateneo din ‘di ba? Ito ang gamit nila? Pare-pareho sila eh. Pero si Chris Tiu lang ang hindi. Adidas talaga siya. Eh yung sa FEU? Ganito din ang gamit nila pero ibang color yata.

Salesman2: Alin ‘yun? La Salle? [also stares at the shoes with his mouth wide open]

C: Hindi. FEU. [slips his feet into the shoes, stomps a little bit, laces them up, and stands up]

S1 and S2: [continues to salivate over the shoes as the customer checks out how the shoes look in the mirror]

C: Grabe, mabinyagan na nga ito mamaya. Magamit na.

S1: Marami ka na ring Nike noh? [looks at the shoes and talks as if owning multiple Nikes is a sign of royalty]

C: Oo. [gives out a satisfied smile for the remark of S1 and for the good fit of his new shoes. Proceeds to the counter to pay]

S1: [continues to adore the customer the shoes he is about to purchase]

S2: [follows the shoes with his gaze, still salivating, then talks to S1] Ganun talaga pare. Sa pangarap na lang tayo makakabili ng ganyan [gives out a sigh].

S1: [sighs, as well, and conjures a twinkle in his eyes]

x: [feels overlooked and unattended to, rolls her eyes, steps out of the store, but still manages to steal a shot or shots]

That was appalling. The TWO remaining salespeople on the floor were salivating over the purchase of one customer, completely ignorant of what they were actually being paid for. Or maybe they ARE paid for that—Para magkanda-ugaga over a single customer and take the others for granted.

I’m not one who pays particular attention to the service salespeople provide me when I go to any store. As far as I’m concerned, the make or break situation that stands in the middle of me buying something from the store and walking out of the establishment empty handed will never be decided on the persuasive skills of a salesperson.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m completely oblivious of a salesperson’s manners in general. Though I don’t expect you to persuade me into buying anything, since you’re in the store as a salesperson, I still expect you to have a set of manners that are well intact, being in the business of consumer relations and all. I have this general expectation—you be a car sales agent in Honda, a sales lady in Kamiseta, or even a shoe sales man in Nike Stadium.

I am particularly drawn to the attitude of the staff of Nike Stadium at Power Plant mainly because I have had a previous episode with one of them several months ago.

EPISODE SEVERAL MONTHS AGO

Backgrounder: I went to Rockwell that Saturday because it was, after all, a Rockwell Weekend Sale, if I remember it correctly. I had on my brand spanking new pair of white canvas sneakers that I bought a week earlier and I wandered around the mall, aimlessly, searching for reason and purpose (Wow. That was a Gucci gang-ish statement). As the store was also on sale, Nike Stadium was packed with shoppers and the salespeople were endlessly preoccupied with anything and everything.

xtin: [looks around with nothing particular in mind then finds a laptop bag which she eventually decides on buying]

x: [approaches a salesman] Excuse me, may bagong stock kayo nito? [refers to the bag she is holding]

Salesman: [takes the bag, gives nothing but a look, turns his back, and goes to the stock room]

x: [waits]

S: [comes out of the stock room, approaches xtin, and hands over to her the new stock]

x: Thanks.

S: [looks at her, nods, prepares himself to walk away, calculates his next step which was going to be over xtin’s feet to reach the other side of where xtin was standing, and actually makes that step...]

S: [realizes that he has stepped on xtin’s brand spanking new white canvas sneakers, whispers—] Ay, sorry. [gives xtin a certain look which xtin could not understand if it was either apologetic or adversarial, as if xtin was inconveniently standing in his way]

x: SHIT! [frantically dusts off the nasty mark the stupid salesman left on her white sneakers]

SS (now, not for salesman, but for STUPID SALESMAN): [looks at xtin, shrugs his shoulders, turns his back, walks away, and pulls two other salesmen to one corner where the three of them start to whisper things amongst themselves]

x: [makes some sort of a scene in the middle of the store. Exhibits her patent pissed off look, rolls her eyes, continues to exaggeratedly dust off her shoes as she walked towards the cashier]

SS: [acts oblivious]

x: [pays for the bag with no assistance whatsoever from any other sales staff, gives one hostile look to the STUPID SALESMAN, and walks out of the store]

Well, I was acting a bit anal and diva-ish about my white sneaker, yes, but that was beside the freaking point. I wasn’t expecting him to personally dust my shoe off. But he could’ve been more apologetic about it, at least. He didn’t even have the courtesy to assist me all the way to counter, considering the boo-boo he had just committed. I thought twice if I really wanted to buy the bag after what had happened. But again, my decision was not about to rely on how a salesperson had (mal)treated me. So I went ahead and bought the bag.

The one thing I could not get over is that I did not note the name of the Stupid Salesman. To make matters worse, as of press time, I could not find the Nike receipt from my purchase, which could have indicated the name of the Stupid Salesman.

I didn’t even take a picture of him. All I remember is that he was moreno, of medium built, and had puttied hair, stereotypical of any department store salesman.

So, if you’re planning to buy some Nike stuff, I suggest you DO NOT head off to Nike Stadium at the Powerplant Mall. You can visit, say, the Nike Stadium over at Shang, where the personnel are better mannered and more accommodating (thanks to Archie Sirame and Marianne, the cashier), as I learned when I went there (the store was also packed that day as it was also on sale) and purchased a pair of soccer shoes.

And to the Stupid Salesman: THANK ELVIE, OUR HOUSEHELP, FOR IF NOT FOR HER SUCCESSFULLY WASHING OUT THE NUISANCE YOU OH SO RECKLESSLY IMPUTED ON MY WHITE SNEAKERS, I WOULD STILL BE CONTEMPLATING A (MURDEROUS) REVENGE. Well, come to think of it, even if my sneakers are white and clean again, the moment I find that receipt and discover what your real name is, I still won’t have second guesses in posting it here as a tribute to your impeccable consumer relations skills. Touché, right?

A Dancer and an Archer-Hater in Starbucks

2008-07-14T10:37:00.006+08:00

I actually have more interesting things to rant about than this, but the timeliness of relaying this story is vital. This story may go untold for just a week and the humor in it could already diminish significantly, by then.

This is my story.

In an attempt to distance myself as far away as I can from my bed and to avoid giving in, yet again, to one of my notorious slumbers, I packed my trusty messenger bag and went to Starbucks Katipunan to study.

When I got there, the most familiar ambience greeted me: the place was not so jam-packed (as it WAS a Saturday night after all, only a geek like me would rather spend time catching up on lessons I've lagged behind from than, I don't know, doing some thing more un-geeky), it was filled with people who are familiar yet I haven't met, and it was reeking of a signature smell, the type that clings on to your clothes, of a mixture of both burning cigarettes and brewing coffee. I look around one more time and say to myself, "Ahh, yes, Starbucks. I'm back," not in a contented and subtly jubilant manner so much as it was just an acknowledgment of that reality.

In any case, there has never been a good reason behind my being in Starbucks, for the past year at least. I go, very rarely to hangout, but more often to study. And that, my friends, I think, is never a good thing. Well, the nouveau geek that I am, I may make it sound like it's not as bad as I thought it would, mainly because for whatever reason it is that I am in Starbucks, one thing's for sure: I'm bound to find something interesting lurking around the establishment. And, as if on cue, two people worthy of MY anawayaday attention, came to close proximity.

STARBUCKS FIND #1 THE ARCHER HATER
Backgrounder: I was, yes, eavesdropping in the conversation of this group of four people. Although the main character was mostly enunciating everything, there were times their conversation simply became incomprehensible. But from what I gathered, they came from a party, the main character at least as she was dressed as if the themed party barfed on her, they were all ATENISTAS, and the main character has recently had an encounter with a LASALLISTA whom, I think, she likes (or not anymore) and who was flirting with her in some way.

ARCHER HATER: (talking about her Lasallista prospect) So, tinanong niya, "Always bang issue ang Ateneo-La Salle sa inyo?" Eh ako kasi nasanay ako na puro Atenista. Marinig ko pa lang na Lasallista ang tao, negative na agad! 'Pag Lasallista, iisipin ko agad [insert some incomprehensible talk], "Ang yabang!" Ang sama 'di ba? Pero, PUH-RUNG, ganun talaga 'ko lumaki.

Aww. Poor LASALLISTA. This ATENISTA does not and will not like you, ever. It's just too bad that you wear a green shirt on your back. She just sees you as, I don't know nor am I ultimately sure, someone not worthy of an ATENISTA.

To my mind, this LASALLISTA character the ARCHER-HATER is ranting about is as disturbing as the ARCHER-HATER herself. What kind of creep would ask if the Ateneo-La Salle thing will always be an issue? I think I've heard that one before. Oh, yes. In Pinoy Big Brother…TEEN EDITION! Say it with me…JUVENILE!!

All of a sudden, the topic shifts from the LASALLISTA PROSPECT GUY to the DLSU PEP SQUAD:

ARCHER HATER: …[I heard] Okay na ang pyramids nila…finally ba nag-improve na? For the longest time... [insert more incomprehensible talk]

Well, I couldn't blame ARCHER HATER for this one. Nakakahiya naman talaga ang Pep Squad ng La Salle (cue La Salle spelling cheered as A-L-S-A-L-L-E). A very valid point. Hands down.

Apart from her distinctively annoying enunciation, I wasn't that pissed off. I was just amused on how she was confidently proclaiming all her LASALLISTA bashing over at our side of Starbucks, completely unknowing that a green back was actually eavesdropping on their conversation. Hehehe. It was nice to be undercover. Nice and hilarious.

STARBUCKS FIND #2: THE DANCER (MARIBETH BICHARA, ISDATCHU??)
When I was done listening in to ARCHER HATER's conversation, I went back to studying. But as I decided to stretch my arms first before finally going back to business, I turned my head to my left and noticed a very interesting character. Not only was he blowing his nose oh so loudly quite often, he was also engaged in a physical activity not considered as conventional Starbucks behavior.

Author's tips in watching the video: #1 watch for the snap of the head (00:29) #2 wait for matching hand movements (00:52). And, yeah, I would like to apologize for the orientation of the video. I was recording with my phone and I had to do it in a way the guy would not notice that I was taping him. I have no idea how to change the orientation and rotate it. Well, for that matter, here's tip #3: tilt your head to the right.

Can't control those dancing feet (or head or hands) much? He must've been listening to one damn good dance song! I was utterly distracted every time he made those sudden movements in his corner…pero SHOCKS!!! PANALO!!!

There. My trip back to Starbucks was like hitting two birds with one stone. I got to study (which is not that great, though) AND I got back on the people-watching track. The geek in me is very satisfied.

When handwriting becomes eligible and a bachelor becomes illegible

2008-07-07T11:45:00.005+08:00

“Stop it, people, stop it. You’re confusing the hell out of me.”

I have been attending training sessions for the past week. Audit training sessions, mind you. Of entity level controls, combined risk assessments, PM/TE/SAD Nominal, and analytical review procedures. Oh, I’m sorry…am I boring you? Good. Because I was bored to death myself.

Apart from endowing upon me the gift of boredom, an added perk of the training sessions, or any audit training session for that matter, is first-hand exposure on auditor/accountant-specific vocabulary and pronunciation.

Accountants share not only technical jargon, but also a unique way of pronouncing even the most pedestrian words. I have been trying to be politically correct with this, but there is no better way of putting it than simply saying that it is kabarokan. I think we drown in the monotony of our work that we often lose our morals of grammar and pronunciation. Worse, more often than not, we are unaware of these loose morals. Not that I enjoy putting my own profession down, but this fact has never gone under the radar anyway.

I may be wrong, though. It just might be the people I work with. That’s what scares me—that this culture of accountant kabarokan is prevalent only in our office. I admit that I don’t have impeccable choices in grammar and pronunciation, but it surely is terrifying sort of knowing that I’m in an environment which fosters such fallibility. And, of course, it’s simply annoying hearing all those misplaced modifiers and short E’s in place of long E’s put together in a week-long training event.

During the past week, when I hear someone say something like “team planning event” as if it’s “TIM PLANNEENG EH-VENT” or “my role as audit senior” as if it’s “MY ROHL AS AUDIT SINIOR” or “STAFFS” instead of “staff members” or “associate” as if the word talks of a dog, there’s stress on the first syllable and there are just three syllables instead of four (AH-SO-SHEYT), I hold back my tears (of laughter) and try oh so hard to exude nonchalance. But again, there is the fear that because of the frequency and regularity of these types of occurrences at work, I just might develop immunity to it.

At one particular point, I felt that fear starting to materialize. I was listening in to the discussion and found myself trapped in an unexpected confusion:

AUDIT TRAINOR (sic): What do you think should a good senior be like?

PARTICIPANT: Like in making review notes, good seniors should not have EH-LEE-GEE-BOL (stress on second syllable) handwriting, so that the staff will understand it.

XTIN: (zones out and goes to a deep and sudden introspection)

Hmmmm…wait. Did he say illegible or eligible? It’s just so hard to differentiate between the two as both seem to have the same accountant-specific pronunciation. Well, either way, it’s wrong.

Not one of the two is pronounced as EH-LEE-GEE-BOL, with stress on the second syllable.

Illegible, or not decipherable, is pronounced as EE-LEH-JIH-BOL, stress on the second syllable.

Eligible, on the other hand, or qualified or unattached, is pronounced as EH-LIH-JIH-BOL, stress on the first syllable, not the second.

Wait, or is it the other way around? Shocks! Stop it, people, stop it! You’re confusing the hell out of me!

Shit. I had to relearn the semantics of these two words just so I could finally differentiate between illegibly and eligibility. There was momentary dyslexia there.

XTIN: (comes back to reality with a renewed sense of self, only to find out that she is still in the training room in the presence of her TRAINOR [sic] and her co-participants, still engaged in their accountant-specific conversations)

Damn.

You need to be SINGLE to understand Sex and the City

2008-07-01T13:08:00.000+08:00

I sometimes find myself in the middle of a conversation thinking what I could have done in my life to have deserved to be part of such a conversation. And during those rare but momentous occasions, I always get this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach…the urge of slapping who I’m talking to at that moment and telling the half-wit, “What did you say? Seriously?”

A week or so ago, I got myself in such a conversation with an officemate. We were talking about Sex and the City, The Movie. I was telling her that I really liked the movie and it has been the only movie for quite some time that I enjoyed watching. Apparently, she also watched the movie and wanted to tell me how much she was not able to “relate” to the movie.

Basic fact to know before reading the following conversation: I, XTIN, AM SINGLE. AND SO IS MY OFFICEMATE’S COUSIN. The cousin is a girl, btw.

Officemate: Oo, nga e. Nagandahan nga din yung cousin ko, eh. Naiyak siya sa movie.

Xtin: Ako din, may times na medyo naiiyak ako pero hindi naman natuloy.

O: Talaga?

X: Oo. Nakakaawa kasi si Carrie, eh...

O: Yun nga, eh. Ako kasi hindi ako masyado nag-enjoy/naka-relate. So nung kinikwento sa akin ng cousin ko na naiyak siya, inisip ko, “Bakit ako hindi naiyak? Anong WALA SILA NA MERON AKO?” Tapos ayun, naisip ko, “AY, OO NGA PALA. AKO MAY BOYFRIEND.”

X: (@#$%^&*waatdapakkkk!?!?!...NOSEBLEED)

Huwaw. Seriously? So you need to have NO boyfriend to be able to understand or even feel sad for Carrie? Much more, you need to be single, pathetic, and hapless to comprehend the humor of Sex and the City? Shet. Holy shet. KAYA PALA GETS NA GETS KO AND TAWANG-TAWA AKO SA MOVIE. OH, DEAR GOD, TAKE ME AWAY!!!

And I thought knowing who Mr. Big was and what Manolos are was enough for me to “get” the movie. Apparently, I have to be involved in some lame-ass relationship before I could laugh at Charlotte for having soiled her panties.

And is the phrase not ANONG MERON SILA NA WALA AKO? Talk about making a statement work for you.

UNBELIEVABLE.

*then i came to wonder...what would i have needed to get the humor of KUNG FU panda? should have i gotten myself a talking panda first, so that i could somehow fathom the cute "face nerve" antics of Po? Hmmm...come to think of it...maybe i should have gotten me a panda, because I REALLY DIDN'T GET IT AT ALL. Geheddemmit.

Back to National Bookstore with the Dunhill Junkies

2008-06-30T07:52:00.001+08:00

“Don’t you just love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies...I’d send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.” –Joe Fox, You’ve Got Mail

I am not in New York nor is this fall. As far as I know, I still am in Quezon City, stuck in the hot-morning-wet-afternoon season, and notably at the portal of a new school year.

I have talked about going back to school after a well-deserved vacation. I have gone on and on about how it is like going back to reality. “Stop it, Christine. You’re making me sick already,” I tell myself as I realize that I may be exaggerating things just a little bit.

Well, okay, enough of ranting about the resumption of classes.

One thing good about this time of year though is, yes, as Joe Fox said, that the air makes me want to buy school supplies. So, as any traditional Pinoy would, I headed off to National Bookstore to buy me some notebooks and pens.

I went in National Katipunan at around 6PM that day and, as expected, it was packed, so much so that I easily developed a bad mood. I was banging and bumping people’s shoulders to get them out of my way. Even the poor salesladies got a taste of my wrath. Good thing I had my earphones on. God knows what kind of back-stabbing, retaliatory comments I would’ve heard if I hadn’t.

With the two Corona notebooks, three gel pens, and one patent pissed-off look, eyebrows meeting each other and lips curled to a hostile frown, I went in line at the cashier. While the cashier was scanning the bar codes of my items, there were three things.

1. I took out my credit card because I didn’t have enough cash on me and was too lazy to visit an ATM
2. I took my earphones off so that I could hear whatever it was the cashier could probably tell me regarding my purchase
3. My ears being able to hear the free world again, I found myself in the middle of eavesdropping in a totally interesting conversation.

“Alam ko na kung ano ang gift mo sa’kin!” Said an effeminate-sounding male voice, “Isang ream ng Dunhill.”

“Isang ream ng Dunhill?” Asked the female voice the effeminate-sounding male voice was talking to, “Ano ka?”

“Oo, yun na lang ang birthday gift mo sa’kin. Isang ream…” Suddenly the effeminate-sounding male voice hesitates, “Ay wait, baka makita ng mama ko, hindi pa naman ako legal sa bahay.” The bitch, then, rambles on with, “Naku uuwi na nga pala Papa ko! I hate my dad!”

I didn’t hear nor see the female’s reaction to that, but I guess she was amused and agreeable to the proposal. “Isang ream? Hmmm... Sige, isang ream pero assorted…”

“Assorted? Sige…”

“Oo, assorted. Dunhill tsaka…Philip [Morris]!”

“Philip? Yuck!!” The bitch expresses his utmost disgust.

The female giggles as her CLASSY joke cashed in with her equally CLASSY effeminate friend.

“Marlboro na lang…” The effeminate-sounding male voice suggested. But, realizing the TACKINESS that was in his own suggestion, he comments, “[Marlboro?] Eeew. As in EEEW!”

I felt my right eyebrow raise itself.

At this point, these two voices were just that…voices. I didn’t know what they looked like as I never stole a glance…YET.

As Dunhill was APPARENTLY the Louis Vuitton of cigs, I expected the effeminate- sounding male voice to be a sophisticated-looking mestizo with plucked-thin eyebrows, a vest, and skinny jeans reeking of either Tim Yap or Rajo Laurel. As to his companion, I expected her to be a tall, skinny, rebonded-haired girl, with those hobo fashion ensembles. To put it simply, in my mind, these two were the kind of people who dress up like they're going to some club eventhough they're just heading off to buy school supplies. Those self-proclaimed fashionistas, if you know what I mean.

Expectations high, I turned my head to see who these two characters were.

The then anonymous voices were reconciled with their corresponding faces. To put it kindly, I was disappointed. Talk about let-downs. The talk was simply too big for the faces. Even BIGGER than the girl.

YOU? DUNHILL? Really? Are you freaking kidding me?

I looked away, signed the credit card receipt, grabbed my items, and stepped away.

That was one of the few times I left National pissed off and disappointed. Well, how could I not be?

It was bad enough that the place was jam-packed and the lines were long. Hearing the Dunhill conversation made it worse.

My god. How could a person who looks like this talk so condescendingly about an AFFORDABLE cig brand and so candidly about an unreasonably-priced cig? As if he was so used to basking in a pool of other unreasonably-priced things? Well, tell me. Does he strike you as someone who smokes Dunhill? I mean, if I saw this freak before I eavesdropped in their conversation, I would instantly think that he is someone who smokes, yes, but gets his supplies by “bumming” from his friends’ stock, because his Mama doesn’t give him an allowance hefty enough to have him afford even a stick of the cheapest cig in the market. Simply put, he is a smoker who looks like someone who can’t afford the habit. Talk about social climbing. Crap.

I don’t smoke so I wouldn’t know if there really is a difference in smoking different brands of cigs. But I think however smoother or more expensive a brand of smoke is, you can’t use it as a status symbol. If you look JOLOGS, no one will give a shit if you smoke tobacco leaves of gold. You are and will always be a cheap, social-climbing, wannabe to me.

To the Dunhill junkies, thanks for ruining my back-to-National trip. God forbid I see you there the next time I buy school supplies. Because if I do, there’s a big possibility na silaban ko kayong dalawa (I just might set the two of you on fire). Have you not ever seen the government warning on those packs and packs of Dunhills you buy? No, no, no. It doesn't say, "Smoking can kill you" nor does it say "Smoking is dangerous to your health. Well, yeah, to some extent, they do say that, but if it were up to me, I'd have it this way:

WARNING Cigarette smoking is dangerous to social-climbers. When the cancer from the nicotine does not kill you, I SURE AS HELL WILL.

Froshie Shocker: A Sight WITH Sore Eyes

2008-06-25T14:14:00.001+08:00

OKAY. BACK TO REGULAR PROGRAMMING.

Back to school, back to reality. And as I promised, I will continue my hunt for douchebags and what nots, even in the confines of the halls of school.

I have not so much as dipped my toes into the academic waters yet when one fabulous find immediately came my way.

It was in the afternoon of the frosh orientation. I was part of the logistics group that: 1. prepared the tables and chairs in the dining hall for all the froshies to have lunch in, and 2. distributed the packed meals the student council ordered for the froshies.

By lunch time, I was a bit tired from pushing those tables and chairs to have the fourth floor of the college library appear as if it were the Great Hall ala Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and helping out in bringing the food up several flights of stairs. It was a good workout, though.

So there I was, hot (as in nainitan ako) and sweaty, when I noticed a stranger with a familiar face.

I went about my lunchtime duties that day but never really failed in observing "his highness". As I was enjoying myself with my ocassional glances of "HRH (his royal hotness)", noticing his, erm, physique and such, several questions came in mind:

What color are those beautiful eyes hiding behind those shades?

Is the hall too bright for HRH?

Is HRH too humble to reveal himself, his hot self behind those lenses?

Has he been crying?

OR DOES HE SIMPLY HAVE SORE EYES?

I kept on asking myself these questions and I swear I heard laughter in my head, as if someone cued it or something. If it was actually too bright in there for HRH or that he had sore eyes, I don't freaking care. I absolutely don't care much for the arrogance that he most obviously was exuding.

Did anyone ever tell you, your royal hotness, that when indoors or when attending some indoor event, just like the frosh orientation you oh so generously graced with your oh so hot presence, that as a sign of respect, you should always take your sunglasses off, even though you think they look SOO good on you?

Crap. I was really ticked off. I even thought it couldn't go worse than that, but when I saw the froshies reading their assigned cases for the afternoon and saw HRH reading with the rest of them STILL with his shades on, I wanted to die. Or maybe those shades were prescription? Again, I don't freaking care.

I do care, though, with what is going on with your face/skin. Seeing the facial troubles you are now experiencing, HRH, I definitely don't want to be you. Call 1-800-Calayan or something just so you could take off you shades already. Honestly, if you want anonymity, I suggest not a pair of sunglasses. I say go crazy with a brand spanking new ski mask. That way, you stay incognito and look as if you're exuding a bad boy image, and we don't get to see your face. See? We all win.

Living Below the Poverty Line, Celine Lopez Style

2008-06-19T13:33:00.005+08:00

Seeing that I can't seem to upload images here in blogger, I'm resorting to a non-paparazzi, no-image-content post. I was reserving a very special back-to-school special, but it looks like that has to wait until the image uploader glitch is finally fixed.

Anyway, back to business.

Some people who walk this earth simply lack perspective in life. To me, they are two kinds of people. There are those people who lack perspective because they cannot help it. And there are those people who lack perspective because they are downright stupid, in one way or another.

I can forgive lack of perspective only if they do because they cannot help but to be lacking of any of it. It’s possible, I think. These are the Siddhartha Gautamas of our society. They grew up and got used to certain things, beyond their own choices in life. They were born and raised in a particular lifestyle such that when certain changes are introduced, they are unaware of the realities these changes entail. It is not as if they were conceived and were, right smack in the beginning of their life, given the choice on how to live their life. They could not have helped it.

But if a person lacks perspective in life and falls under the second category, those of stupid people, I cannot extend the same mercy to them. I can only extend so much forgiveness and understanding, you know.

In this kind of society that we live in now, it is no wonder that I am unforgiving of the people who lack perspective in the same air that we all breathe. It is one thing to not know and not understand. It is another to know and yet pretend not to understand. Again, stupid.

The Siddhartha Gautamas are replaced by the Paris Hiltons—the people who know nothing better. Those who act unaware, naïve, and dumb simply because it looks cute. Persecute the society that glorifies beauty over intelligence. Just the same, it is a truth we have to contend with.

Here in Manila, I know of people who “lack perspective” in life because they want to appear as affluent as possible. For some reason, a certain degree of inexperience and naivety has become the new status symbol.

I heard this one girl saying that she did not know how to cross the street. Any street. She also said she absolutely DOES NOT know how to RUN (yes, THE basic skill we all learn as precocious kids), because it makes her sweat. Hearing this girl say all this crap made me want to slap her out of her foolishness. Grrr. As if. Was she really thinking anyone would fall for her pa-cute anecdotes? Some would, but not me. Eat sh*t, I say.

This other time of long ago, I accompanied a gay acquaintance to the market. He was all coño and sh*t, no biggie as that was his usual but annoying self. There we were, in a store full of other sukis and a tindera who smelled of the goods she was selling.

“How much po ito?” Asked my gay acquaintance to the tindera.

“Singkwenta.”

This fag suddenly gave me a look and asked, in all that situation’s glory, even at the top of his squeaky voice, “What’s singkwenta?”

I stared back in disbelief. “Idiot,” I thought.

Am I painting a clearer picture of these people totally lacking perspective all of whom I absolutely hate? If you’re still lost in my figures of speech and other lame euphemisms, I advise you to read the next article I stumbled upon (thanks to Kitty Go's book, Chic Happens). If you still don’t get what I mean by “irritatingly lacking of perspective” and my ill-feelings towards these mongrels after you read it, I guess I’d have to grab a noose and start hanging myself.

The great depression
Philstar.com
by Celine R Lopez
11 September 2005

I'm flat broke. Even though my parents disowned me years ago (well, financially, at least, save for the random Fendi bag and pair of Louboutin shoes during their generous moments), I've never been this broke. I almost had an asthma attack (which I don't have) when I found out that my checking account only had 3,000 bucks. I mean, really. That can't even buy you a decent pair of shoes and maybe will account for two dinners at Pepato or a really drunken night out. I had to re-assess my plans for the future.

Causes for poverty: Moving out of ancestral home on my own meager Play-doh, funding my new fashion venture Loungerie Lux (which I hope all you readers will be suckered into buying), my addiction to anything Rhett Eala, Greyhound, couture, the latest must-have bag (the Balenciaga classic and Fendi Spy bag could have easily paid for a year's worth of rent), traveling almost every month and foie gras. Any financial analyst would just ask me to pick out his in-grown toenails if he saw my financial report for the year.

My boyfriend reads Fortune, Time, Newsweek and considers Golf Digest his tabloid. I read Us Weekly, People and Star and know more about Paris vs Nicole than the state of nation. It shows our goals in life: him to be a citizen of the world, me to be a starlet. Needless to say, my direction in life needs some manoeuvering. I'm 25, not quite the enfant terrible anymore, almost on the precipice of ceasing to be a darling ingenue. In a few years, I'll be in limbo and just be in my thirties. Let me correct that: broke and in my thirties. In other words: has-been. [Ouch! Haha.]

This month, I can actually say that I went to Australia and all I got was the W Angelina and Brad back-issue (which my friend Pepper actually paid for). So when I wear boho from now on, I'm not actually pretending to look poor like Mary Kate Olsen. I'm pure dumpster. I deserve this, really. I did this to myself.

My brother is incredible at making money. In his mid-20s, he bought a Jaguar on his own, two BMWs and a gold Rolex watch for my mother. I, on the other hand, am fantastic at spending it. Years ago, my mom tried to teach me to invest, so she gave me a sum of money to work on. Work on it I did. I tanned at the Ritz-Carlson Millennia (taking a junior suite, at that) when I felt very depressed and bought lots of Gucci, Prada and a sweet pair of earrings. Happiness and memories are priceless, says a credit card company, and I guess I'll take their advice. That was my investment. Needless to say, my chance for my mother's financial mercy was nipped in the bud.

So now it's backfiring. When I was looking around for a new apartment to re-assess my independence -- which is quite pathetic when you just start doing it in your mid-20s -- I realised how my high-maintenance lifestyle (which I don't deserve and gain from this magnificent concept called credit, which also led to the great depression) has really come to haunt me. This is officially my first apartment on my own. My first one -- when I was still the darling of my mother's eye -- was infront of Central Park in New York next to Barneys and Bergdorf. A stone throw's away from the Plaza Hotel. A charmed life despite my apartment's rather modest size.

It's funny when you start looking for a place. You start out real small. Well, I did, rather. I wanted a one-bedroom. That's all. I searched the metropolis and saw some of the most hideous pieces of real estate, if you could call them that. One was rather appealingly described as a penthouse loft. Well, it was more like a brothel/closet. It had a massive bar and a spiral case that led to the bedroom, and that was it. I was getting used to the idea of slumming -- dismal quarters stained with quarter-life-crisis angst from my predecessors. Then I found my dream building.

It really pays when your best friends are real-estate developers. It felt like it was home the moment I stepped in. The fact that my best friend lived there was a plus, much to his chagrin. Then I saw the humble one-bedrooms and comforted myself that yes, this will be my home. Mine and mine alone. Until, of course, just for kicks, I checked the two-bedrooms which I looooved -- for me it was the Playboy mansion. I was so ready to sign up and when I struck a deal with the realtor, I was in heaven. In apartment-hunting you start out small but end up suckered into something bigger and better.

Then, a few days later, I was told that the owner of the apartment was a reader of my silly column. Suddenly and mysteriously, the price rose. I leave that to speculation, but I was broken-hearted and turned down the deal. Then, just at that very moment, another unit came up; it was the biggest two-bedroom in the building and so much cheaper. What did I ever do in this life? I was so happy that I almost wrote my check out in calligraphy.

So now there you have it -- I'm a sham in chic clothing. I would rather starve than pass up Chanel pumps. This is the kind of horrible person I am. I don't even know how I got to be like this. I grew up with my grandfather, who was darling but not fabulous, if you know what I mean. He was really simple. I think my dad did this to me. He is fabulous. When we were a poor little scion family back then, he would still buy his Gucci while I was in desperate need of milk. Thus my faux-anorexic frame. Just kidding. But there is truth to that exaggeration. He was and still is the biggest label whore. He named me after his favourite fashion house, for heaven's sake. I was almost named Gucci, actually. Imagine being named Gucci in the 80s when that scandal broke. I would have never forgiven him.

So I cannot call myself nouveau poor because I was never rich to begin with. Just living way beyond my means, like all the poseurs out there. That's why I always warn you, don't be fooled by the scion. We were raised to learn how to look privileged and charmed even in the most dire of financial circumstances, like an anemic checking account.

When people turn their noses up in the air and continually say they're old rich like a voodoo chant, it just means that: they were rich once and poor now. The real deals just are. They're not obnoxious about it. So if you're a gold digger, take my advice. Don't be fooled by the flash. It may just be mirage. You may get that odd LV token of love in the beginning of your rather spectacular courtship, then you start modeling to pay for his gambling debts. Then you start seeing your beloved killing his siblings or what have you's (ie, children from outside the famille) for their inheritance. It's just plain gross. I mean, they feel entitled to it, but the truth is, it's not even their money. It's a gift. A legacy to put to good use. My mom put it in my head to bring my own bacon home.

I take pride in being a working girl. I hate being called a socialite. What is that anyway? I like to have fun in overpriced outfits, but please don't call me a socialite. Just irresponsible. And I'm now taking my future into better figures (seven, hopefully). I hope that being my new entrepreneurial and wholly independent self will make me the real deal and not just another cliched sham.

Now, do you GET what I mean? Are you not irritated?

Tell me you DO NOT hate her and people like her. Shithead of a “LOPEZ” (saying LOPEZ as if I’m supposed to be impressed by the so-called STATUS and VALUE of the otherwise lackluster surname). I literally want to go on a shooting spree. So is that what she really thinks of life below the poverty line? TOTAL LACK OF PERSPECTIVE. Talaga lang?

If a FACEPROUDRACE shirt of you bears LAY ME ON A BED OF ROSES, CELINE LOPEZ, I’ll have another made for you. It doesn’t fit you, dear. Mine would simply say, EAT SH*T, CELINE. CURSE YOU AND YOUR KNOW-NOTHING GROUPIES. It doesn’t rhyme, I know, but it SOOO works, right?

Eminem: Spotted in Vigan

2008-06-07T19:31:00.011+08:00

It has been several days since I got home from my second summer getaway for 2008. I came from my Ilocos trip last Sunday in a slightly disturbed state of mind. June has sneaked up on me. In just several days, my head will find its way back in between my law books. Coming home last Sunday was a wakeup call to the reality that is going back to school.

I cringe. And yet, all of a sudden, I smell the stench of evil satisfaction.

I took my digital camera (which I call my “husband”) out of my bag and immediately, I could not contain my excitement. I come home from a wonderful vacation to a very harsh reality. But at least, there are always going to be my paparazzied finds to console my otherwise dejected soul.

The vacation was everything BUT boring. A nice break from the monotony I have been used to at work for the past few weeks. The sights and scenes were indeed magnificent.

But of course, inevitably, I came across people who ticked me off by the mere existence and sight of them. I might have been ticked off, but the idiots surely made my day.

Take this shithead as an example:

We might not be literally right smack in the middle of the summer. But the sun is still shining oh so brightly. The heat is still scorching. So if you want NOT to get a tan, I suggest a 70SPF sunblock, not a god-damned jacket, shit. Or is he simply cold? Cold from the icy 2PM sun? The whole look’s irony is super annoying. I would’ve understood a bit if this were a female. You know the type. Those girls totally conscious of ruining their glutathione-induced fair skin. But hell, this shit is a guy. Crap.

Moving on.

The beach seemed to be filled by iconic fashion humor that sunny day. The following images contain, not adult material, but people who are adults, were on beach, and were in what we call MATABUNGKS outfits.

“Matabungks” comes from Matabungkay, or a beach somewhere in Cavite, madly popular in the early nineties, during those days places like Boracay and Palawan were still in anonymity to the vacationing public. Since those days, Matabungkay has become too, erm, stale for our taste. Okay, so by stale, I actually mean baduy. The Matabungks outfit is, hence, an outfit that is just that—baduy. Why baduy? Come on. It’s the beach. Why in God’s holy name would you swim in a cotton tank top (or worse, in an over-sized cotton T-shirt) and shorts, when you have perfectly suitable swimwear underneath? Conservative much? Don’t want to show skin? Ladies, if you all are too damn uptight to reveal even the slightest pore of your chipetik epidermis, here’s an idea: Don’t go to the beach. What’s the point, right?

This group’s outfits were not the only things that pissed me off that day on the beach. Notice that they have guys with them in their cool group (See inset, where one of them was caught wearing the guy version of the Matabungks outfit, white sando, oh yeah!). As I was going into the water, I noticed that these shitheads were smoking in the water. Yuck, right? As if they did not appear uncouth enough, I even saw a cig butt floating in the water. Gawd. Squatter. Know-nothing, uncivilized, creatures of vacationers.

If you’re not that much convinced of my assertions of what kind of people this group is, I should also mention that, they had their cottage filled with liquor, cigs, and a hookah pipe. Yes, a hookah pipe. I know, right? So appropriate for the beach…an open, family-oriented area.

Plus, the guys of the group looked like this:

Basketball shorts as board shorts, worn-out flipflops, bad-ass beer bellies, oily hair… Get what I mean? Say it with me. SQUATTER. IS-KWA-TERRRRR.

Okay, so much with getting irritated by idiots on the beach.

From the sands of Blue Lagoon, we trotted to the historical streets of Vigan.

But as our trip wound down and as we were strolling along Calle Crisologo, a celebrity made an apparition…

Not only did he lose himself in the music. He lost himself in the orange-white-yellow hoodie and cap joke of a number he had on. And, I lost my self in laughter (in my head).

So yes, this entry has come to an end. I have run out of paparazzied finds to laugh at and share. Time to face reality. Back to school. Well, it’s not ALL bad news. Maybe I could paparazzi someone in school and make this reality something to my enjoyment. Harharhar. Professors and classmates beware.

GWAPING

2008-05-28T16:56:00.007+08:00

The past few weeks, the days after I came back from my CamSur vacation to be exact, I have been slacking off at work. Well it’s not so much as slacking off as it is actually pumi-petiks, as the slang goes. That is the beauty of meeting the deadline. Work load peaks right before the said deadline, but if you do beat it, it’s all downhill after that. On some days, it’s even a free fall.

Even the Creator took a rest after a hard week’s work:

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day. Thus the heavens the earth were completed in all their vast array. By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing ; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating all he had done. (GEN1:31-2:2)

Of course, I am no god. I did rest the day after I beat that nasty deadline of mine (and made that day holy), but ever since, I have not done so much as lift a finger and break a sweat.

Though it feels utterly relaxing to be ridded of workplace worries, sometimes, it does get a bit boring. I often find myself now simply staring blankly at my monitor, at a loss of what to do next; not that I don’t know where to start, but that there is nothing more to do.

I now proceed with this entry to prevent another potentially boring chain of events to ensue. And is there a more full-proof way than to start yet another streak of virtual people watching? Oh my, did you hear that? Oh, my bad. It was just me and the sound of (upcoming) satisfaction.

To kick things off, I think of nothing but asinine and tacky words and phrases like tropa, like I did a few blog entries back. But today, the winning word, reeking of jologs, is “GWAPING”.

My earliest recollections of this word involve three guys named Mark Anthony, Jomari, and Eric. “We are…THE GWAPINGS!!!” I’d post a picture of the Gwapings but it has been difficult to find any (too bad).

“Gwaping” is a play on the word “gwapo” or a local term for a good-looking guy.

An analogy: If cute is to cutie, gwapo is to gwaping.

An individual who is ignorant to the general type of people who use the word “gwaping” would think that I would find pictures of Piolo and Dingdong dead-ringers if I google “gwaping”. Ignorance is bliss, I tell you. I hit the search button and find my way to many images from Friendster and Multiply, all somehow captioned with “gwaping”.

***

PROFILE NAME: Anthony
IN PHOTO: (Front row) The long lost back-up singers of Vingo and Jimmy of the April Boys (Back row L-R) Andres de Panadero, Lemuel Arespajenante

I have never seen studio pictures as tacky up until just recently when I saw pictures like these. I mean tacky na nga, my gosh, why in the world do you have to take your shirts off? Are you trying to epitomize what a gwaping is or do you just want to see me die of laughter? Really. I don’t get it, boys.

***

PROFILE NAME: Luchie
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: As manly as David Archuleta and Clay Aiken

Ah, yes, another studio picture. Two things: One, i2i should stop producing cheap aviator sunglasses so that people like Luchie and myself could stop daydreaming that we could get away with the look. And two, Luchie dear, shouldn’t you have left the bag out of the picture? Are you going somewhere or are your winnings from the last Mr. Pogi(ta) Search in there? The whole 500 pesos? Holy shit, alert the police! Oh yeah, and one last thing. Luchie, patay ‘ata ang mga kuko mo (I think your nails are dead). That makes three things, damn it.

***

PROFILE NAME: Jun
PHOTO CAPTION: “me and my frends ‘rolly & viva’ ang panget nila no

Wow. Again with the topless member of the group. Really? I mean REALLY? With matching “hang loose” AND “west side” hand gestures, man, that looks so good. This picture is so nostalgic. The hair, the shirt, the visor, the image resolution…it’s so reminiscent of the 90s. The era of the original Gwapings. Well, there are the three of them (Jun, Rolly, Viva). I think we could pass them off as the modern-day Gwapings, right? Jun, Jun, Jun. Your friends are not panget. Cut them some slack. Gwapings nga kayo, eh!

***

PROFILE NAME: Carlo
SHOUTOUT: “Hi guys! im a gay! i wnt a txtm8 and relationship of guy!i need with muscle and cute! If you? add this friendster. Carlo*****_24@yahoo.com or u may txt me in this no.0910-634-**** Thanks a lot!... muaaaawah,"
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Man as man can get

And here’s our winner right here. Weren’t the BENCH BODY 2008 judges right on the dot when they made Carlo the queen, er, the king of the contest? (Note that I was not the one who put the Bench Body caption in there, God knows it was there when I grabbed the photo). Who can resist that captivating smile, the wallet in his back pocket that is probably full of (milk) money, and his washboard abs? Yes, you heard me. He didn’t hold his tank top up for nothing, you know. So you guys, er, girls out there…you better call Carlo right away. He’s one hunk of a catch, indeed! That’s right, Carlo, pose ka lang diyan…maybe you’ll find your soulmate in a couple of days lang…Maybe LUCHIE is interested.

***

And there you have it. Phew! I sure cannot stop laughing, er, admiring these muy gwapitos! Gwaping as gwaping can get…I KNOW RIGHT? This wave of virtual people watching sure did steer me away from another potentially boring day.

But as for now, my work here is done. I look back at the things I have found and it was good. Very, VERY good. Off to the next wave. What idiotic word will I come up with next?

Usher and Chris Brown in CamSur (and other paparazzied finds in CamSur)

2008-05-14T14:48:00.015+08:00

Now that the busy season at work is over, not a single moment is going to be wasted. I am now joyfully in my summer vacation mode, complete with daydreams of the beach, ultimately triggered by reminiscent odours of my sunblock lotion.

And for my first trip this summer, several friends and I went to CamSur last week. I was having fun with the wakeboarding and the hiking (or whatever it is you call following a predetermined and paved mountain trail--just have to keep it real...I don't want to sound as if I'm one heck of a seasoned mountaineer...because a mountaineer I am NOT, which is quite obvious with my "hiking" attire)...

...but no amount of enjoyment will rid me of my paparazzi roots. But before I proceed with sharing my precious CamSur finds, I want you to familiarize yourself with these photos. I would like to ask you to pay particular attention to the hats the guys in these pictures are wearing.

The guy in the first picture and the guy on the right in the other picture are both wearing what has been called a flat cap(/hat). This type of hat mostly reminds of the two celebrities whose pictures appear above: Chris Brown and Usher. I am a fan of these two artists, so just imagine how delighted I was when i saw them in CamSur...or at least when I thought I saw them.

So yeah, there I was, enjoying the delicious snack I was having at around 4:30PM at the the CWC (CamSur WaterSports Center) resto, when a vision, albeit almost a vague silhouette, of who I thought was either Usher or Chris Brown, came to my all too scrutinizing view...it must have been the cap...I don't know...

When the ray of sun was finally blocked from my direct line of sight, I stopped squinting and realized that this Chris Brown-wannabe was simply yet another Pinoy douchebag. I've already mentioned that douchebag membership has gone haywire, so I should have seen it coming.

My friends and I (especially myself, of course) could not stop laughing upon the discovery of this splendid find. All this with us intentionally ignorant of the fact that the douchebag in-question was, in fact, less than 5 meters away from our table.

Humorous because of 3 things:

this guy must have thought that (a) he was an upper-class English man [see wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flat_cap] or (b) he was some kind of Chris Brown or Usher about to attend the Grammy's or (c) he was in the English countryside, that he could pull a flat cap off

i never, EVER, thought that despite this season's ridiculous summer heat, someone would even start to contemplate wearing an arm-warmer as a mere accessory
we were in CamSur. Not in some joke of a party. Which fact doubles the idiotic factor that was his outfit.

If you are thinking that "flat cap/arm sock guy" was my only CamSur find, you should be ashamed of yourself. You should never underestimate my overdedication to other people's business. I have more.

Not only did I see a specie of the Pinoy douchebag, that came in the form of the "flat cap/arm sock guy", I also had a sighting of another douchebag, brandishing her oh so fashionable cap, ala gigster...

...an appearance of a super cool circle of douchebags, complete with color coordination. I think they all look good in pink, don't you? Jeans, man...do wear jeans in a place like CWC... And the chestnut brown hair, ugh...to die for...

...not to forget the circle's ring leader...with matching white sneakers and ultra hip bangketa/baller id bracelet...and of course the metallic belt to boot and fatigue cargo shorts...all these, again, in a place like CWC...

And...to cap this blog's CamSur edition, I now present you "tan guy":

Beautiful...golden brown tan in the shape of a tank top...expensive bling...super defined abs (or ab)...what more could you ask for?

Ahhhh, CamSur. What a trip. What a trip, indeed.

Virtual People Watching: Makoy @ Close

2008-04-29T17:19:00.014+08:00

The internet is one heck of a breakthrough, aint it? Ever since the world wide web phenomenon began, it has been so much easier to locate information that one needs. One click. Done.

I am most benefited by this advancement not because it takes me half the usual time to communicate with people or finish a research paper. I am advantaged by the internet because, above all, it sure makes finding something to laugh at a heck of a lot easier.

Virtual people-watching is something I do when I can't go some place and people-watch because: (a) i'm stuck in the office or (b) i'm just to lazy to. I go to google and search using a keyword that's a bit, how should i put it, pedestrian. A word that will obviously bring about search results that are ultra humorous.

A few weeks ago, i tried googling "tropa". After a couple of minutes of browsing through some of the 20,000+ results, i realized that i hit the jackpot. LOL would be an understatement. I will be sharing quite of the few hilarious things i found through google in my upcoming entries. But now, i will be focusing on one of the most amusing among my googled hidden treasures. Presenting: the personal webpage of Mark Anthony a.k.a. MAKOY.

At first, this guy's going to appear, well, okay. He even puts his credentials on his personal info portion. The SINGLE, CATHOLIC, TAURUS, DIGITAL GRAPHIC ARTIST, and ANIMATOR that is MAKOY. Ahhhh...Makoy.

Notice that there is no mention of his expertise in the english language. But, as I came to know Makoy better through his webpage, I understood why his proficiency in english was not among his astute credentials. One look at his banner will give it away.

Nope. This banner is not an email address, mind you. I think MAKOY had his english a bit screwed up. UP being the operative term. Think "up close and personal". Now, do you get it? Instead of "Makoy...UP close", our dear Makoy creatively puts it as "Makoy...AT close". Wahahahaha.

The facade of his webpage looks a bit harmless, really. Family and barkada pictures and all. But, again, Makoy's captions, which are incidentally in his NATIVE language (cue sarcasm), put him in hot waters.

But i guess i was properly forewarned:

LOL. This site really cracks me up. In fairness, though, his credentials and grades in college (yes, it was all there, complete with course code and number of units), but, of course, minus the grammatical milestones...are impressive.

They say douchebag. I say pathological loser and poser.

2008-04-28T12:46:00.011+08:00

...Slash Gigster...
...Slash idiots-who-wear-what-they-see-other-people-are-wearing-and-think-it-looks-good...
...Slash FG/FB (Feeling Guwapo/Feeling Beautiful).

I could go on and on. Or I could simply take a slash at my wrist to end my life right now because these people are so freaking...ugh. I could consider them the cornerstone of this blog.

Because, really, the only thing worse than that white douchebag in the picture, who ,in essence, just like all the other crack*r douchebags, is just pretending to be a cool black guy, is a pinoy douchebag, who, in turn, is just imitating a white douchebag, completely unknowing of the bigger shit he has allowed himself to become. And that, the pinoy douchebag, is one of my biggest pet peeves, if not the biggest.

You could just imagine how I am when I go to the mall or just anywhere. I am pissed, most of the time, because pinoy douchebag membership has gone haywire. Their chapters are everywhere. Shit. Like when I want to grab an Original Glazed doughnut from the 4th floor of Trinoma. My day is inevitably ruined as I stumble upon a number of kids who are in the stereotypical douchebag get-up.

Let's have a recap of the anatomy of what they call a douchebag and how I call such a, erm, look:

They say, “Hat tipped at perfect angle”, I say, “Gigster cap”.

It’s how rappers have done it for the past few years and a flock of their following has decided to sport the same style…without understanding why the cap is tipped that way. It has a meaning and a purpose, I promise, but they’d rather go for the look alone rather than expounding on what it stands for. You know these people. Those who have their dreadlocks done without finding out that it’s really a religious practice rather than a stupid ‘do. Those who wear Che Guevara shirts, but don’t even know who Che Guevara is. Asar right? You'll see these caps on people, who, most of the time, appear on Sunday noontime shows like SOP Gigsters.

On most people, it just looks so…amusing. Case in point:

Even I was once imprisoned in a douchebag state of mind:

They say, “Popped collar”, I say, “Collar-up”.

This term I first heard from Mo Twister. I’m quite sure you’ve seen at least a bunch of these beings who wear collar-ups. You know, when you’re walking around some place like the Power Plant, you suddenly come across a guy who’s so generic? Collar-ups, waxed-up ‘do, and all? You could imagine him using “bora” and “dude” in most of his idiotic sentences? Yep, them.

In my case, I’ve seen most of them in Starbucks, as usual. Sipping their Americanos, looking all, well, fresh…case in point:

One I’ve seen in TriNoma, no shock there…

They say, “Extra small shirt”, I say, “Show-us-your-pecks shirt”.

These so-called clothing, albeit a size too little, is a testament to everything that is loser-y (douchebag-ish). You must realize that losers know, deep in their heart of hearts, that they are losers. But of course, they’ll never admit to it. They’d rather operate on all their defense mechanisms: the tough, gym-built bod, signature wardrobe, bad-ass wheels, etc. All these simply to hide what they fear of revealing: their true identities. So these little shirts just show that they spent hours in the gym because they want to tell us that they’re cool, bitchin’, hot (tssss…)…

As for me, the bigger the bod, the smaller the shirt, the more asinine the loser you really are. I haven’t papparazzied an exhibit of this type of douchebag yet, so I’ll update you later.
They say, “Stupid-ass grin”, I say, “Lebron? Isdatchu??”

Chin up and give it your most maangas look. It’s really a gangsta look that often reminds me of Lebron James, because of his Nike ad. I guess if a real gangsta strikes that pose, it’s kind of cool, I guess. But if some ghetto ass does it, well…see for yourself. Case in point…

They say, “Chinese lettering tattoo”, I say, “It’s probably just henna gotten from a cheap Puerto Galera outing”.

Trust me, it’s not the real thing. 90% of the time, it’s just henna from Galera. But if the dumb-ass is really desperate and zero financing for his tattoo desperation, better think that it’s shoe polish. Black-ink permanent marker, even.

Again, these losers think they look tough with these tattoos? Well, you’re not fooling me. I know for a fact that you have half an idea what that Chinese character really means. Dumb-ass. It’s like those ghetto pinoy gangs…they name themselves after the “Chinese Mafia”, but vandalize the walls with their signature graffiti “Chinese MAPIA”. Shit. I’ve seen it once in Don Galo. Maybe I should have a trip back to that area so that I could paparazzi that stupid graffiti. Yep, I’m going to do that one of these days.

They say, “Livestrong band”, I say, “Bad-ass bangketa bracelet”.

If I were Lance Armstrong, knowing that I started this Livestrong band trend for a really admirable cause, then seeing people like Billy Ang Batang Baller (cue Mike Villar’s Atrocities of Friendster), who sport the band as if it’s a, I don’t know, a mark that they’re tough and shit, I would feel so depressed. I guess every pinoy gangster wannabe has it because it’s the only accessory they could afford (3 for 10 pesos?), well apart from their bangketa bling, the stunning sterling silver pieces the manong tindero vows is impeccably silver, with matching "dip it in vinegar" demo. Shit.

There you have it. That’s just a run down of everything loser-y. I’m hoping I’d have future entries that will specifically deal with each characteristic in greater detail.

Shit. I just realized that I’ve finished this entry and I feel so irritated for some reason. I hate losers. Posers!

Paparazzi

2008-04-22T13:55:00.004+08:00

It has been established that I like to go people-watching. I like telling my friends of stories of the people I watch, even though I get pissed off by them. It could be held, therefore, that:

The people I watch when I people watch piss me off.
I love people watching.
I love pissing myself off.

Funny syllogism. It may be fallacious at some point, right? But hilarious, nonetheless.

So in celebration of this fallacy, I present to you a really amusing portion of this blog: PAPARAZZI.

This is where I'm going to post pictures and images of other strangers' unguarded moments, aside from the blow-by-blow narratives that I do provide, that I personally took or have personally taken, to help us all visualize whatever irritating thing I am talking about.

The pictures will be for two things: One, for our sheer enjoyment. Two, so that at least one of you will believe even a word I am saying. Evidence. Harharhar.

The things that I have paparazzied will be plastered all over my posts and I will just be labeling them with paparazzi so that we could all make reference to it more conveniently.

Here's to invading other people's privacy. Cheers.

G.A.R (Get a room)

2008-04-11T11:21:00.007+08:00

As I am still awaiting the final printing of the consolidated financial statements of our client, I have this lull time to blog a bit.

I marched back to another Starbucks last week, for yet another review/study session. I was feeling a bit squeamish, but it was mainly because I was a bit sick with sore throat, cough, and fever. I was, again, minding my own business in my little corner on the second floor of this Starbucks, browsing endlessly through the pages of my Hector S. De Leon textbook, when suddenly, my radar, instinctively, turned itself on.

I look to my left and my brain is bombarded by familiar words. PDA. PDPI. GAR.

Public display of affection.

Public display of physical intimacy.

Get a room.

A lean on the shoulder. A brush on the thigh. A kiss on the cheek. A breath on the ear. Endearing, much? As much as I would like to be happy for this "happy" couple, I can't. I wasn't exactly pissed off, but I was uncomfortable just the same.

Why do most couples engage in such a broadcasted way of expressing their feelings? I know that they feel like no one is watching, but do they really believe that even in such vulgar circumstances, no one would notice? Big mistake, really, unless they have always intended to be watched and scrutinized.

Good thing I was able to take a shot of how things looked. This will add to my collection of paparazzi moments.

Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, & Miranda in Starbucks

2008-03-31T08:30:00.005+08:00

I have found the chance to escape from office pressure and resume my Starbucks life. It's final examination season, anyway, and it's really time for me to hit the books.

As I was busying myself with matters of obligations and contracts, I notice four guys at the counter. At first glance, they didn't strike me as metros (metro sexuals) nor as anything out of the ordinary worth watching and exerting effort for. Two of them were wearing pambahay shirts. One looked as if he just got out of his bed. Another had his beer belly hanging over the waist-line of his cargo shorts, the kind with pull-strings at the end. I

At that point, nothing I noticed was typical or stereotypical of anything worth watching. At most, I remember asking myself why and how trashy people like them prefer Starbucks. They don't fit the description really.

That was until they stationed themselves at the four couches immediately next to my table and started talking.

Their frappucinos came and as they settled themselves, one of them suddenly spewed out, "I feel young when I'm in the south," in a familiar over-enthusiastic, almost all-knowing, pa-coño, effeminate, voice.

I look up from my book, took a glance over my left, and saw those four same guys in a whole new light. The one talking had his back against me so I couldn't see his face (thank God). I swear I saw at least one of them sipping a strawberries and cream frap. And there I had it, I was in the midst of four gay men who did not fit the gay stereotype physically, but were overqualified, audio-wise (and drink-wise).

This guy who started talking about his youth, explained his statement by going on with something like, "…I don't know because here," apparently referring to Parañaque as opposed to some northern Manila location he frequented, "there's less pressure. I could relax more," Yadda, yadda, yadda. These guys went from Piolos to Mojo Jojos. And in terms of Mojo Jojo himself, from level one gay to level five gay.

I found this guy laughable for one thing. He struck me as the type who was trying to impress people with his call-center brand of English. You know the kind. People who feel that they sound coño, but to the ears of others who actually know the difference between proper English and social-climbing English, they just sound foolish.

I often come across and get ticked off by people like gay guy number one. So I didn't really see the point of continuing to listen in his self-serving stories.

A few moments from the last disturbance from gay guy number one, I look up again from my book, because of what I heard, this time, gay guy number two say.

"I need a wallet. Maybe you guys should give me a wallet," said gay guy number to who sat across gay guy number one and whose face escapes my memory. Probably not so presentable, as it was forgettable, by my standards.

"Okay. We'll buy it from Penshoppe," said gay guys number three and four who were sitting to the left of one and two, nearer to me.

Two goes, "Eeew!" and some more statements condescending to the mentioned local brand. Ultimately, he was meaning that he'd rather be caught dead than caught keeping a wallet with a big Bench or Penshoppe logo stamped across the damn thing. "BEH-HENCH…PEH-HEN-SHOPPE…" He said, making his voice bigger and making hand gestures as he described how the big logos would appear on the supposedly icky wallet.

What does this guy think? That he's some socialite who only deserves signature handbags and wallets? (cue montage of DJ Montano)

They began to sound like the girls from Sex and the City who liked to talk about Guccis and Birkins. Problem was, Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha were in New York and were actually socialites, sexy, and hot. And gay guys one, two, three, and four were simply stuck in a Parañaque Starbucks (on a Saturday night), trying to sound socialite-ish, looking (and sounding) ghetto and cheap. They were everything but Sex and the City.

(in picture Charlotte, Carrie, Miranda, and Samantha)

Their laughs suddenly filled the air as all four of them found humor in the Bench/Penshoppe comment. Gay guy two suddenly gets a new idea for a witty comment and spews out, "McJim!" referring to a brand of leather wallets usually sold in bangketas, as gay guy number one put it, and in most mid- and low- end department stores. Alas, they broke into laughter again and all the more louder. Note that this seemingly hilarious episode came from a group of guys who came into Starbucks sporting the same thing they woke up in, brandishing an effortless out-of-bed 'do (naturally oily and spiky, mind you), and most probably wearing the same stench they woke up with.

Enter my two cents. Ano bang akala ng mga baklang ito? Na magaganda sila? Na if they do get LV or Coach wallets that it would look real on them? Eat shi*t, dearies, I say. It's not bagay din naman on you, why have this wishful thinking pa? Irita.

As if intentionally luring me into their conversation (which has turned out to be this week's winner), gay guy two says, "I think I'm going to buy Crocs."

Gay guy one then reacts, "Eew! Yuck! Crocs? Really?"

"Huh? Yeah, Crocs. They look good naman,eh. Especially the new design that they have, they don't look like normal Crocs, they look like shoes…They look good!"

"Crocs never look good!" Exclaims gay guy one. "I swear, if you buy them, I swear, I'd stop being your friend! You're not going to be my friend anymore!"

As gay guy one was proclaiming his hatred of Crocs to the whole left portion of Starbucks, gay guys three and four were giggling and seemingly seconding the motion of gay guy one, in their own discreet manner.

Gay guy one seemed to make a solid argument with his Crocs-equals-no-BFF mantra, that gay guy two suddenly sinks in his couch looking all embarrassed and defeated.

Looks like gay guy two will never get those Crocs, after all, as he might be risking one of the most important friendships he has in his life. Poor number two, for two reasons: One, he won't get the thing that he wants. And two, he gets stuck with gay guy one.

I don't know why these guys pissed me off. Is it because they sounded so trying? Or was it that I owned a pair of Crocs myself? Either way, I hated them.

(in picture: CROCS, gay guy one, apparently his trailer-park, out-of-bed porma is too good for CROCS)

I tried to zone them out of my study space so that I could get on with my review, which I successfully accomplished. I missed much of their conversation. I know that hearing the rest of it would have been enriching for me, but I had to get back with my own business. I have an exam coming up and I had to attend to that first.

I left Starbucks last night, before gay guys one, two, three, and four did. That could've been the last time I would hear from those cheap and gay imitations of Sex and the City's Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, and Samantha. One thing's for sure, though…if I get to see or hear from them again, I would gladly indulge myself again with listening in to their idiotic conversations, getting ticked off, laughing my ass off, and blogging about it.

Starbucks

2008-03-31T08:26:00.007+08:00

A few years back, it was only once or twice a year did I visit a Starbucks, mainly because I didn't drink coffee. And in the few times I did, I ordered my usual classic iced chocolate drink and went into one of my out-of-proportion fits, seeing those people, students apparently, studying amidst the coffee-slurping, english-spewing, idiots Starbucks calls their parokyanos.

"Pa'no naman sila nakakapag-aral nang ganyan? Eh ang ingay? Ako, hinding-hindi ako makakapag-aral in a place like this…"

That was, again, a few years ago. Since then my little statement has turned out to be a hypocritical one.

I don't drink coffee. But I study at Starbucks.

Not only am I a Starbucks parokyano now, I also frequent it to find a good place to *cough* study. And I still don't like coffee. Hehehehe. My own little complex irony, right?

But during my study breaks, I head back to my pathological habit of people watching. This habit I think I acquired from four years of being a kulasa. Hanging out at some in-school tambayan, waiting for other students to pass by, and riling ourselves up in making pintas all those other girls. It was fun and I have since been addicted to it. And Starbucks is just the place to satisfy my addiction. A place that has proven itself to be a haven for people like me, who loves to people-watch, criticize, eavesdrop, and tick ourselves off.

It is always packed with different people, both genuine and genuinely fake, as if intentionally calling my pintasera prowess (it's not so much as being pintasera so much as it's simply being observant, hehehe). Of course, I spend an unreasonable, unadulterated time, pondering on the creatures I watch and their so-called life, as they tell it on Starbucks Channel.

Starbucks. So many people...so little time...for me to watch and "observe" them all.