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

"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

1. 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

1. You are wearing a blanket as a cape? (Superman, isdatchu?)
2. 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

1. You are an idiot whose outfit was inspired by a watermelon
2. 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

1. 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]

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:)

1. You see a person sitting at some table, without a cup of coffee in tow, seemingly waiting for someone
   
2. That person stakes out at that table for an extended period of time
   
3. Suddenly, as the clock hits a particular hour, the person stands up and heads for the counter
   
4. The person excitedly finishes his/her purchase of one choice Starbucks beverage and enthusiastically extends his/her promo card to the barista
   
5. The barista puts not one, but two promo stickers on the card.
   
6. The person makes out a smile that extends from ear to ear
   
7. [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:)

1. He walks into Starbucks in his winter get-up, with a swagger of a champion
   
2. We're not in the US therefore, there's no winter
   
3. The winter outfit is nonetheless justified by either the AC or the cool December breeze
   
4. 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!]

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

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]

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:)

1. The normally relaxing music in Starbucks is suddenly overpowered by some other song, typically unbecoming for Starbucks
   
2. You look around to try and see where the sound is coming from and realize that it's coming from a stupid gadget
   
3. The gadget is spewing out music at a rude volume level, typically requiring of earphones
   
4. 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.
   
5. 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:)

1. There's a pair or group of people in the next table who are in deep discussion
   
2. One member of the pair or group is noticeably talking at the top of his/her voice, enunciating
   
3. You are thrown off your concentration
   
4. 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:)

1. You go to Starbucks in your most casual and comfortable, close to homey, get-up
   
2. 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
   
3. 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
   
4. The whole establishment seems to stop in its tracks
   
5. 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:)

1. Are having a peaceful coffee-break
   
2. See that an evidently married couple walks in with their adorable little girl or boy
   
3. Notice the kid/s enjoy all the chocolatey goodies they could get their hands on
   
4. See a couple of banshees jumping up and down the place
   
5. 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

For the latest Philippine news stories and videos, visit GMANews.TV

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

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?